As always, Samara had drowned her sorrow by throwing herself into work, staying at the hospital late every evening. The only thing she could not get herself to work on now was the Cruciatus potion. When she was at home, she sat on the sofa, and stared into the fireplace gloomily, just like now, on this Saturday evening. Trixie had tried all sorts to cheer her up, cooking her favourite meals, tempting her with sweets, putting fresh flowers in her room - but to no avail.

Nearly three weeks had passed, and Samara had not heard anything from Snape. Her pride had stopped her from contacting him. No, he had to make the first move now. In only a few days it would be full moon again, when they were supposed to finish Dumbledore's medicine, and he could hardly do it alone.

Her eyes fell onto the weekend copy of the Daily Prophet, which her owl had dropped onto the coffee table. The words 'Dumbledore Murdered!' where shouting at her from the front page in oversized letters. Surely, that couldn't be true… Samara took the paper, and started to read the article. Her eyes started swimming as she hastily skimmed over the story.

It couldn't be! According to the article, Severus had killed Dumbledore at Hogwarts, in front of the very eyes of Harry Potter, by casting Avada Kedavra, before fleeing from the castle with a group of Death Eaters. The Ministry's Aurors were looking for him everywhere, but had no idea where he was. The wizarding population was asked to keep their eyes open, and report any clues that could lead to Snape's arrest without delay.

Samara was unsure what to think. The Daily Prophet was not renowned for accuracy of reporting, but to make up such a story seemed unbelievable even by its standards. Well, there was one way to find out - she could write to Poppy. She went to her desk, took a piece of parchment and a quill, and wrote:

Dear Poppy,

I read the terrible news in the Daily Prophet. Please tell me it is not true.

Yours truly, Samara

She rolled up the parchment, and rushed up to the owlery at the top of the East Tower. Her owl, Snowy, blinked at her in surprise; it was rare that Samara wrote a letter to anybody at all. Snowy held out a leg for Samara to fix the message to, and took off into the darkness.

***

Severus Snape stood by the window in his bedroom at Spinner's End, careful to stay behind the curtains to conceal his presence from any passers-by. It was a typical summer's day for the north of England, nothing but rain. Looking down onto the deserted street, where puddles of rain glistened under the heavy grey sky, he wondered if this precaution was necessary, how safe the house was. Spinner's End was a Muggle property, not a wizarding home; surely the Ministry was not aware of it. Only a handful of people knew where he lived; one of them was dead, the rest off them were Death Eaters - and Samara, although she would not know where the house was located, having travelled there by Portkey. But he had to be ever so careful, ever so careful... If he was caught, it was unthinkable.... He doubted they would even give him a trial, it would be a Dementor's kiss, no questions asked. If anyone approached the house, he would have to Disapparate immediately, he couldn't take any chances. And yet, he was glad that he could be here for the time being, glad he could get away for a while from Malfoy Manor and the other Death Eaters, to be alone with his thoughts and his pain.

Did Dumbledore have any idea just what he had asked of him? To become a murderer, the wizarding world's most hated, most despised member? He wondered what Minerva was thinking of him now. It had taken so long to win her respect, so long for her to accept that he was truly on their side. Or Filius - he preferred not to know what he would do to him if he ever got his hands on him now. Or Poppy, who had looked after him in almost motherly fashion, on a few occasions when he'd returned from a Death Eater meeting, worse for wear. All that, the respect and trust of his colleagues, his allies, which he had worked so hard to earn, all lost in an instant.

Now he was on the run, an outcast, in mortal danger anywhere he went, just like Sirius Black had been. He jerked his head as if to rid himself of that thought, like an irksome fly.

Dumbledore... He still couldn't fully accept the fact that he was gone forever, vanished, dead by his own hand, by those dreadful words from his own lips, those words he never, ever, wanted to pronounce. And yet, it had been so easy, a simple incantation, focusing his mind on feelings of spite and hate, something that cost him little effort, a flash of green light... Tears welled in his eyes, and he made no effort to restrain them. He would miss the old man sorely, the only person who truly understood his twisted mind, and still seemed to esteem him, the wizard whom he had respected above all others in the world, and whose authority he had been able to accept without question.

Severus felt lonely, much lonelier than ever. He was used to it up to a point, but this was so much worse. The thought that he would go from this world, remembered only as a murderer, a traitor, without a single soul knowing his true motivation, his true allegiance, the only man who did know dead, it pained him more than he would have imagined. And there was one person, one woman, whom he longed to tell the truth more than any other, whose sympathy would have meant the world to him. But he had blown it, again.

He felt uncomfortable, recalling the last conversation with Samara in the lounge at Ravencroft. His words had come out much harsher than he had intended. How was it possible that he, who could slice his enemies to pieces with precise, calculated irony, never seemed to be able to find the right words when it truly mattered? Those words were enough to make her hate him, how much more would she detest him now, when she found out what he had done? And yet, he just had to speak to her, and a plan was starting to form in his head.

He sat down at the wobbly little desk, and rummaged through the drawers, looking for a piece of parchment amongst the old Potions essays. Grabbing a tattered quill and a bottle of nearly dried-up ink, he started to scribble a note.

Once finished, he sneaked out to the patio, carefully checking that nobody was watching, and took his small black owl out of its cage. The bird looked at him resentfully, no doubt bemoaning its fate for making it serve such a neglectful owner, but relieved nonetheless that it was finally let out of its prison. He tied the roll of parchment to its leg, being bitten by the disgruntled creature in the process, and cursing it under his breath, before allowing it to take off, and watching it soar up into the sky.

Back inside, he sat down on the sofa in the dark living room, resting his face in his hands, and listened to the sound of the wind soughing down the chimney. Even though he was extremely tired, he wouldn't allow himself to sleep. He had put powerful alerts around the house, but you could never be too careful. Considering his letter, he ran through all the possibilities. The first one, highly implausible, would be for Samara to come and meet him alone, as he had asked her to. The second, far more likely, would be for her not to come at all. The third one was what really worried him, for her to alert the Ministry, and them setting him a trap. He couldn't risk that, not only for his own sake, but for Dumbledore, for what he had promised him.

An idea came to his mind, although it was crazy, no doubt. Could he really hope to win back her trust if he tried to kidnap her? But, on the other hand, he had to make sure he got Samara alone, and he could not think of any other way.

There was a fourth possibility of course; the wretched bird could just get rid of the letter and disappear, and Severus couldn't even have blamed it.

***

The next morning at breakfast, as Samara half-heartedly poked around her bowl of porridge, Snowy was already back with Poppy's reply. Samara hastily unrolled the parchment and read:

Dear Samara,

Yes, unfortunately the Daily Prophet is not exaggerating this time. We are all in shock, can't believe that Albus is gone. No one will ever be able to replace him. I still can't believe that Severus betrayed us all like this. Albus trusted him unconditionally, never let anything bad be said about him. And Harry witnessed it all, the poor boy.

Yours cordially, Poppy

PS: It would be nice if you could come to attend the funeral.

Samara was stunned. Albus Dumbledore was dead. It was difficult to grasp the enormity of that fact. Never again would she see the old wizard, who had been so kind to her when her family was killed. Never again would he look at her with twinkling eyes, dispensing his infinite wisdom. The wizarding world had lost its greatest hope of ever defeating Voldemort. And as if all this wasn't bad enough, his murderer was the very man who had been working with her for months, seemingly caring about nothing more than to save the headmaster's life, the man she loved and as much as she wanted to, still could not stop loving.

They had been so close to saving Dumbledore, a cure for him had been only days away. How was it possible, how could she have been so wrong - she, who rarely erred in her assessment of people. How could Snape have been so cunning, so ruthless, so false? She had never felt so betrayed.

Samara spent the morning with the horses in the field, crying her eyes out. While nothing could console her, their company was soothing at least. Suddenly, a black owl that Samara had never seen before swooped over her head, and dropped a small parchment into her hand. As Samara opened it she immediately recognised Snape's characteristic scribble. Her heart was beating up to her throat as she read:

Samara,

I know what you must be thinking, but things are not what they seem. Please allow me to explain. Meet me in the usual place outside Ravencroft this Sunday at 6 o'clock. You must come alone, you must tell no-one. Please trust me.

Yours,

Severus

She didn't know what to think. Could there be an explanation? Could it be that Severus was innocent? What was it that he wanted to explain? After all Harry had seen him do it…. What if this was a trap? What if Snape wanted to ingratiate himself further with Voldemort by getting another opponent out of the way? What if he tried to Disapparate with Samara straight to Death Eater headquarters? What if he wanted to kill her? She didn't have a lot of time to make up her mind, the proposed meeting was only hours away. Samara wished she could have asked someone for advice, but Snape was now the wizarding world's most wanted criminal, and if he was caught there would be no less than a Dementor's kiss waiting for him. The mere thought made her shudder; she was not prepared to give him away.

Samara was debating the question all afternoon, unable to come to a decision. When it was a quarter to six, she couldn't resist the temptation of seeing Severus again, seduced by the possibility that all could turn out well, telling herself that Severus wasn't a cold-blooded killer. But she had to take precautions, she would take along Rowena. The intelligent mare would be able to sense whether Snape's intentions were sincere. She could make herself invisible and protect her if necessary.

There was no need to explain the matter to Rowena, as usual, she already understood. She followed closely behind as Samara walked into the forest. It was a grey and misty day and the forest had something spooky about it, as if danger were lurking behind every trunk. When they approached the fork in the paths, Rowena's feet no longer touched the ground, and she could be neither seen nor heard.

When they stopped at the meeting place, Snape was nowhere to be seen. Samara was starting to feel uneasy, and took her wand out of her pocket. It was foolish to come here. She stood no chance against him should it come to a duel. And Rowena was only a horse. She was about to turn around, and run back to the safety of Ravencroft when Snape's black-cloaked figure suddenly stepped out from behind a tree. He fixed her with fathomless eyes, his face betraying no thought or emotion, his posture emanating power and determination.

Before Samara could move, her wand was thrust out of her hand, and Snape caught it neatly out of the air. A fraction of a second later, he was beside her, his hand clenched around her wrist firm and inexorable like steel. He jerked her towards him and pressed her against his body so hard that she could hardly breathe. She tried to scream, but there was no air in her lungs and no one to hear her anyway. She could feel the unmistakeable tug in her stomach. No! She was terrified. She must not let him Disapparate with her to somewhere out of her control. Where was Rowena, why was she not helping her?

She struggled and writhed about as hard as she could, but the tugging got harder. She was fighting a battle of wills against Snape, concentrating all her power on resisting him, planting her feet firmly onto the ground. She could sense his overwhelming power, and though she managed to resist for a few moments, he was stronger, and unlike her, he had a wand. She felt her feet leave the ground, felt the familiar pressure in her ears as they Disapparated. A split second later, Samara found herself in a place she did not recognise. They were by the sea, at the top of a cliff. She felt grass under her feet, and to her left was a steep precipice leading many metres down to the edge of the ocean. Snape was still holding on to her with an iron grip that didn't allow her to move. His eyes were flashing dangerously from between narrow slits.

"Did you come alone as I told you? Look at me!" he hissed at her.

The hand that had been clenched around her wrist now grabbed hold of her hair and forced her to look him in the eyes. His black pupils bored into hers without remorse. Samara realised what he was about to do. She wanted to look away, but couldn't, as if she were hypnotised by his gaze. She tried to picture a black curtain, tried to completely empty her mind. But the images swam up in front of her inner eye, and she couldn't help it. The image of Rowena and her walking through the forest, and she knew that Snape could see it, too. She gathered all her mental strength to pull away from his gaze.

At that moment, Snape suddenly released her. She staggered, but quickly regained her balance. Without losing a second, and before he could do anything to stop her, she had taken two big leaps toward the edge of the cliff, and jumped into the depth, beyond his reach.

"Samara- No!" she heard him cry behind her.

She spread her arms wide, the wind caught underneath her cloak, and she gracefully sailed down towards the narrow strip of pebbly beach at the bottom. Never before had Samara felt more grateful for the gravity-defying properties of Ipterripus' tail hair, which Trixie had woven into the lining of her cloak. Once she reached the ground, she focused her mind for a second, and Disapparated back to the place in the woods where she had left Rowena.

The mare was still waiting in the same spot. Samara ran towards her, and jumped on her back.

"Quick, Rowena, get us out of here, he will be back any moment!" she panted.

It wouldn't take Snape long to realise that she wasn't dead. Her heart was racing. But the mare did not move; she just snorted and shook her head. At that moment, Snape Apparated only metres from them with a soft pop.

"Rowena, hurry, please!" Samara squealed, terrified, desperate to get back to the safety of Ravencroft and its protective spells.

"Your equine friend has far more sense than you have," he sneered and held out her wand towards her. "I think you may want this back."

Samara was looking at him in disbelief, but slowly it dawned on her. Did Rowena know Snape meant no harm? Was that the reason why she had refused to leave?

"Please, Samara, will you listen to me."

"You killed him! You -"

"I don't deny it. But don't you want to understand why?"

Samara looked at him, torn between hope and fear.

"Let's go somewhere safe and I will explain." His eyes were pleading. "Samara, please trust me."

Rowena took the decision on behalf of her, and started to walk back towards Ravencroft, turning to look back at Snape as if inviting him to follow them.