Chapter 25: The Medallion
She stared at the closed door for a few moments, and then, as though in a trance, walked slowly over to the large windows, pressing her forehead against the glass in an attempt to cool her flushed body. Severus had been intense, dominant, overpowering…and absolutely wonderful. She took a deep, shuddering breath and marveled at herself. Marian had never thought that she was the kind of girl that secretly had a primitive, cavewoman urge to be at a man's mercy, but apparently she did-as long as Severus Snape was that man. Causing the normally cool, imperturbable wizard to lose control and channel his anger in such a…positive direction had sent her arousal skyrocketing. For a moment that left her breathless, she wondered what it would be like to completely surrender to him, to lie bare under his sinewy body, taking all of him when he was like this, fiery and unquenchable. She sensed that no other rapture would compare.
Marian didn't know how long she stood there, staring unseeingly out into the darkness, her thoughts scattered and disjointed after her altercation with the mercurial spy, but eventually she began to shiver, and paced back over to the fire, which had inexplicably roared back to life and was emitting a delightful heat.
She frowned to herself and wondered where Severus had gone. He shouldn't be forced to spend his Christmas Eve roaming cold, dark corridors in an effort to get away from her. She suspected that a little over an hour had passed. When she had set out for Hogwarts initially, her plan had been to spend only a couple of hours with Severus—just enough time to give him the information. But she hadn't counted on getting injured (although she had been completely healed for nearly a whole day), or in not being able to finish briefing him, and now she was facing her second night…if he let her stay.
The rush from his bruising kiss had finally passed, leaving her sick at heart and deeply ashamed. After months of isolation, trauma and guilt, he needed her comfort and understanding. But instead, she had goaded him with an idea that she admitted might—possibly—have been (a bit) arrogant. She knew how selfless he was. His care was always for others, never himself. Today Marian had dropped many bombshells on him, and he had taken the news of his own probable grisly death with equanimity, but she had pushed him still further, causing him to fear for her life as well.
Why had she informed him of a passing theory she'd had that she might not even have the skill to implement? She loved scheming and collaborating with him, but she really should have known better. Still reeling from the heightened emotions, she wondered why she had sabotaged herself, causing him to understand that his fears meant so little to her. And if that hadn't been enough, she had behaved irrationally, letting her temper and wounded pride get the better of her and taking an ugly cheap shot that had finally exasperated him. She never should have impugned his character. She had known that it would hurt him, that he would take it hard, and had said it anyway. Marian bowed her head, and tears of bitter regret dripped slowly, coating the tasteful sparkles on her dress.
After spending a long time in self-recrimination, suddenly her eyes hardened with resolve. Never again would she drive him away. He had no one else. The last thing he needed was another critic, another hand throwing stones. It had taken an ugly conflict, but Marian finally grasped that love required more from her than efforts to preserve Severus' life. She must also protect his heart, his spirit. If someone else had spoken to him the way she had, she would have wanted their blood. There was no excuse for her lapse.
Marian was generally even-tempered, and knew that she had the capacity to ignore his harshness and focus instead on the insecurity and genuine worry that prompted it. She would be his safe haven, not another hateful accuser to compound his hurts. If he could forgive her after seeing her at her worst, she would be much more careful with him in the future. The remorseful witch vowed to cherish him and to keep her words gentle. She would not lose her temper with him again. He should have the best of her and she would save her cruelty for her enemies. Severus had not deserved this brutal treatment-especially not from her. Never from her.
She numbly decided that she would make use of the time he was away by taking her shower and changing for the night. She briefly considered a sumptuous bath like the one the night before, but decided to deny herself that pleasure. Marian sped through her ablutions, thinking that surely he would return any moment. She resolved to make things right between them. He suffered enough on a daily basis, without her dropping in to make him feel worse. She put on a simple white gown and stared at it critically in the mirror.
All at once, it changed to a luscious, Christmas green. She transfigured it until it was just right, and the slim straps became silk holly leaves climbing delicately over her shoulders. The gown was soft and short, wrapping about her, with beautiful detailing. Emerald vines hugged her body and glittered in the light. She covered the lovely confection with a dark green robe, trimmed in white fur that slightly opened in the front, showing glimpses of her luscious bodice.
Now that she had adorned herself, she wandered back into the bedroom, where there was still no sign of Severus. Growing genuinely concerned, she poured a glass of wine and sipped it slowly, staring moodily into the flames and lightly clasping the vial of Nagini's venom, which had lain forgotten on a sofa cushion. After about fifteen more minutes passed, she rose and began pacing restlessly, still toting her wine glass.
After Severus had left his quarters, he had roamed the halls, burning off furious energy. He had been terrified by Marian's foolhardy plan and had lost his temper. He cringed when he thought about how he had assaulted her mouth, but paused mid-step as he relived how incredibly fantastic she had felt succumbing to him. And when she had begun to kiss him back with equal passion, he had known that he had to get out of that room before he ended up trying to take things further, and experienced the pain and embarrassment of being turned away.
He swallowed hard and kept moving, more quickly than before, spurred on by his swirling emotions. Mercifully, he met no one, because he hardly looked himself and had never felt less cool and collected. Eventually, he calmed down a bit and was able to regroup and bend his formidable intelligence towards devising arguments to refute her scheme.
After he had been stalking through the dungeons—who knew how long it had been really—an icy fear suddenly gripped his heart. What if she had gone? What if he returned to his chamber only to find it empty? At once, nothing else mattered, as long as he could look on her again.
The harried spy rushed through the castle, muttering the password to the headmaster's staircase and loping up the steps, before finally passing through his office and flinging open the door to his bedchamber. Marian heard him and whirled around, gently placing her goblet on an end table, her heart leaping at the sight of him. He was flushed and breathing hard, and looked a little wild.
The moment Severus saw her, he paused on the threshold, gazing at her, drinking her in. He thought she looked like a wood nymph, an elven queen. She watched him with wide, deceptively soft eyes and seemed poised for flight. He did not know how to apologize, but she appeared to be waiting for him to speak. He cleared his throat and fell back on sarcasm, his old standby. "You look like one of the Bacchae," he muttered sardonically, motioning to her wine.
Marian had waited to see if he was still angry, and when she understood his present frame of mind, rushed towards him in a flutter of green and surprised him by wrapping her arms around him. "I'm sorry," she murmured into his robes, "I'm so sorry! I never should have lost my temper and spoken to you so cruelly. I mean to make you happy, not to hurt you."
He said nothing, but clutched her slender form to him with enough force to suggest desperation. After a few moments of exquisite closeness, where she felt his warm, steady pulse against her temple, Marian slipped away from his embrace. Interlocking her hand with his, she led him back to the sofa. They sat next to each other and each seemed a little abashed. Severus cut his eyes towards her several times, and finally spoke up, remarking stiffly, "Marian, I never should have-"
She playfully touched her forefinger to his lips and purred, "Severus, I'll find it highly insulting if you apologize for kissing me."
His eyes widened, but he still had an aura of shame about him when he replied, "Very well, then not for the kiss….But I certainly owe you an apology for…unnecessary roughness."
He glanced away, but Marian cleared her throat and answered a little too breathlessly, "Don't apologize for that either."
Severus didn't misunderstand, and his eyes immediately darkened with lust. He leaned slightly away from her in an effort to keep himself from coming back for round two. Marian noticed his withdrawal and took the opportunity to return to business and to distract herself from an urgent need to make love with him in front of the fire for hours….
"Listen, swee—Severus," she began unthinkingly, and blushed crimson when she caught herself in the middle of a Freudian slip. He didn't comment, and she surreptitiously glanced up at him through her lashes. Marian could have sworn she saw his lip twitch, and there was a glimmer in his eyes that hadn't been there before.
"Anyway," she went on a bit desperately, trying to recover her equilibrium, unconsciously clutching and twisting a handful of her velvet skirts, "I was thinking about that plan I brought up to you, and about what you said."
He looked as though he was going to interrupt, so she sped up her words, "Perhaps it wasn't the best idea I've ever had. It definitely had some kinks to work out….Now that you know all the facts, maybe we could come up with something together…."
"Marian, no," he said gently, but there was humor and not anger in his tone this time.
She nearly protested, but found his long, elegant finger resting on her parted lips. The look in his eyes was playful, and she realized that he was returning her gesture of a few moments before. For a split second, she felt a longing to dart her tongue out to taste him, but resisted, not knowing how he would react. He spoke again, asking her in mock-severity, "Besides, who would look after that ridiculous little pet of yours if something happened to you?"
"You?" she asked teasingly, giving him a coy smile.
She was rewarded with the rare sound of his rich baritone laughter that made her nearly squirm with happiness. "Not a chance," he replied, with a quirk of his lips, "I'd toss that wretched creature onto your funeral pyre and be done with it."
"You would never!" Marian answered in a scandalized voice. Her eyes twinkled up at him with merriment and she paused for a beat before adding, in a mixture of skepticism and amusement, "So that's why you think I shouldn't take any risks, because I have a dog to take care of?"
His shadowed dark eyes flickered over her face, gauging her receptivity to his next words. "And me," he rejoined, in a tone that was intended to be light but somehow came out serious, slightly questioning.
"And you," she confirmed fiercely, "I will always be there to care for you."
He looked away, momentarily flustered. Marian thought that his expression was the most adorable thing she had ever seen. But Severus quickly regained his poise and met her gaze levelly.
"I will hold you to that," he said finally, in a very low voice.
With barely a pause, he continued in a different tone. It appeared that his unfailing irony had come to his rescue. "Perhaps you will not die anytime soon…if you can avoid carrying out your mad schemes, at any rate," he responded drily, "As to your plan, how do you imagine the Dark Lord will react if everything goes smoothly? There are two likely outcomes once he notices that dozens of his minions have suddenly disappeared, leaving no witnesses and no bodies. The first scenario is that he will suspect they have been killed. If this happens, he will retaliate. It is impossible to predict whether his revenge will be focused on the Order or spread indiscriminately among the innocent.
"The second possible outcome is that he will believe a large number of his servants have suddenly deserted him. I guarantee that this will make him even more paranoid when dealing with his remaining followers….He might even make us swear the Unbreakable Vow to prove our loyalty," Severus added, hoping that he would dissuade her by showing how her plot could ruin him.
She sighed and responded, "I'll admit that a lack of knowledge of the Dark Lord's psychology was a major fault in my plan. I suppose you're right…it's not a good gamble. Very little payoff in exchange for awful, unpredictable dangers."
"Putting all this talk of odds and risks aside, you should not be mixed up in something like that. It is one thing to take life in a battle. But what you are suggesting—assassination—it will damage you…harden you," he said unhappily.
"You have convicted me!" she exclaimed, hanging her head, "I was wrong, and you make me ashamed. I play an excellent Lady Macbeth-I always have," she added with a brittle laugh.
She forestalled his objection by murmuring in a low, intimate voice, "That's one of the reasons you're good for me. You bring out my better nature….It has always been my tendency to come up with diabolical plots. I know that my arrogance has grown with my knowledge and independence. I'm fighting it, but am not even close to the person I ought to be. A weaker man would collaborate with me, or follow my instructions. But not you….You're too strong and have too much discernment to be led astray by me. And the funny thing about it is, I don't resent you for foiling my schemes. Instead, you make me want to be better—more honorable."
Severus was a man of ideals and secret integrity, but no one else ever saw his goodness, so he didn't either. His heart had been pierced by her earlier taunt, but as she lifted his pale hand to her lips and kissed it reverently, she went a long way towards undoing the harm she had caused when she had called him 'amoral'. His throat closed momentarily and he couldn't seem to speak. Finally he answered in a hushed, agitated voice, "Thank you. But I do not deserve those words. Our souls are not even on the same plane. Yours is light and goodness. Mine has fallen into darkness."
Before she could contend with him, he picked up the vial of green liquid that she had dropped and decisively changed the subject, "So, do you plan on telling me what this is?"
She allowed him to change topics, but kept his hand in her lap, stroking it gently, trying to show him the falsity of his words. "It has the potential to be your last line of defense—if all better plans fail," she answered, and summoned the second vial, which was filled three-quarters of the way with red fluid.
"Red and green—Christmas colors," she commented with a smile.
He quirked an eyebrow at her attire and she nodded and shrugged self-deprecatingly.
"Nothing wrong with being festive," she murmured.
"No indeed," he replied, eyes lingering a little too long on the ivory swell of her breasts, that looked as if they were encased by green vines, stray leaves splaying across them tantalizingly. He forced himself to look away.
Marian held up the green flask and said, "This is filled with Nagini's venom. It was extracted from Arthur Weasley and separated from his blood. You're looking at it in its pure form. This other vessel contains the antidote developed at St. Mungo's….Unfortunately, potions is not my area, but I thought that you might be able to come up with a vaccine or something. If we were able to neutralize the venom, which is a powerful hemotoxin, then if you were bitten, we would only have to contend with blood loss and tissue damage—which would be quite enough to be getting on with. But at least you would have a chance of survival…however slim. I know you're busy, and hate to burden you with something else, but I thought that I would, well, try."
"This is a wonderful gift, Marian," he said, but on a sudden thought, asked worriedly, "How did you get this? Does anyone know that you have it?"
"Don't worry, Severus. I have had them since Arthur was attacked. There's nothing to worry about, really," she soothed him, secretly pleased at his concern for her.
"But never mind about that—I have something even better for you," she removed a small gift box, wrapped in shiny green and gold paper, from her bag.
"Let me present," she snickered over her pun and his answering snort did nothing to conceal the fond way his eyes were glimmering at her. "The first line of defense," she added after pausing for a beat. She handed the box to him shyly and murmured, "Merry Christmas," as an afterthought.
His lips curved upwards in bemusement and he carefully opened the box, to reveal a round pendant on a silver chain. He gently lifted it up and scrutinized both sides, pondering it for a moment before glancing up to meet her eyes in question. In excitement, Marian explained, "It's a Portkey—a very special one. Yours is the only one that exists. It has taken me months to create. That's one of the reasons I waited so long to see you."
She noticed him reading the inscriptions on both sides and laughed self-consciously, "It's a silver denarius from the reign of the Roman emperor, Septimius Severus-who was a wizard, in addition to being a strong, capable ruler….I didn't want to make the Portkey something that would draw too much attention, but I hated the idea of something valueless and uninteresting around your neck, so I chose this, because well, you share the same name….But that's unimportant. It's what it can do that matters."
Marian was embarrassed and speaking much too quickly. This invention had been a labor of love, very difficult to make, and created entirely for his benefit. It was critically important to her that he accept this gift.
"How does it work?" he asked curiously.
Encouraged by his interest, Marian resumed her tutorial, "Well, it must be touching your skin in order to activate….I wish that you would keep it around your neck perpetually until the end of the war. After all, you never know when it might come in handy….You can use this Portkey an unlimited number of times. But the best part of all is that it is not cued to a timer or a word, but to your will."
He raised an eyebrow skeptically, but she smiled at his disbelief. He was going to be impressed by what she told him next—she was certain of it. "It activates nonverbally, and you do not need a wand, or even full use of your limbs. You need only be conscious, because your will triggers the Portkey. This creation would only work on an extraordinary man—an intense sort of person, the kind ordinarily capable of powerful wandless magic—in other words, someone like you," she said, a bit self-consciously.
"Let me try to understand," he said slowly, "This device senses my desire and acts on it…. Tell me, can your device differentiate between will and desire? Every time I stand before the Dark Lord or attend a Death Eater gathering, I yearn to be as far away as possible. But even though I long to escape with everything in me, I have no intention of actually running away."
Her eyes shone at him in warm appreciation, and he couldn't help but notice that they seemed emerald green next to her nightgown. Marian answered firmly, "Absolutely. It wouldn't do you much good if it couldn't. With this Portkey, the distinction between desire and intent isn't merely a philosophical or semantic one. My device will not whisk you away from any situation unless you will yourself away. It doesn't operate on fear or hope or fantasy. You must make a conscious decision, and intend with all your considerable mental focus to leave behind whatever bad situation you find yourself in. You have to be in earnest in order to activate the Portkey—kind of like how you have to mean certain powerful spells."
"Extraordinary. This is a safeguard against many kinds of ill fortune. I could laugh in the Dark Lord's face before suddenly disappearing out of his reach….Marian, it is as if you had given me one of the Hallows themselves. In fact, I prefer your gift to them all," he whispered, and while he spoke, he inquisitively turned the pendant and silver chain over and over in his hands, exploring them by feel and sight.
Touched, she watched him fondly for a few silent moments. "I'm glad you approve, James Bond," she answered, with a hint of laughter in her voice.
"Who?" he asked absently.
"Oh, a fictional British spy—very famous among Muggles. He's known for his vast array of gadgets—and his ability to charm women off their feet, of course," she laughed.
"Then that is where your comparison breaks down," he answered drily.
"Oh, I don't know about that," Marian said coyly, playing with the shiny gold ribbon, winding it about her fingers, "You can be rather…compelling."
Severus felt a powerful surge of pleasure, but tried to hide it by saying acidly, "Flattery will get you nowhere, my dear….And in any case, your suave Muggle never had a gadget like this."
Deciding to move the conversation along before she took it upon herself to defend his desirability, Severus looked up and quickly murmured, "Where will this Portkey take me?"
"To my home in America. It is Unplottable and protected by the Fidelius Charm. Only you and one obscure person in the United States know of its whereabouts. You will be completely safe there," she replied, but for some reason, the answer she had given made her feel a bit vulnerable, as though she took too much for granted in delivering him to her home. There was something very…intimate about the whole thing. But Marian held her head high and refused to succumb to her insecurities. It was true that she wanted him, but she had caused the Portkey to send him to her home for safety reasons, not because she wanted to play house. So there was no reason for her to blush, really. If only her cheeks were capable of reasoning it out for themselves.
When he remained silent, and didn't utter any devastating criticism, she took heart again and continued. Marian held up her right hand and showed him a plain silver ring. To him, it looked exactly like a wedding band, and the sight evoked a visceral, violent storm of emotions that took him by surprise.
Marian was blissfully unaware of his sudden disquiet. "I will be immediately notified through my ring's Proteus Charm if you activate the Portkey, and will return home at once, in case you need medical treatment. I have been reading books about healing injuries and stockpiling potions and medical supplies in case the Dark Lord manages to give you a parting-shot—which I sincerely hope doesn't happen," Marian said, trying to remain businesslike, but she could feel herself melting with desire under the warmth of his approval.
Thinking that she was finished, and watching her with his penetrating gaze, he said softly, "You seem to have thought of everything, Athene."
She clapped her hands in joy and asked, "Will you wear it, then?"
He eyed her as though she had just stated the most obvious thing in the world and replied waspishly, although something soft and affectionate threaded its way through his usual irascible tones, "Honestly, Marian. The choice is effectively one of life or death. You have created the most brilliant magical object that I have seen in many years, and I would be a fool not to accept it….Do you have the intention to make others? It could potentially save many lives."
Anticipating an argument, she nevertheless answered steadfastly, "No. There are no others, and there will be no others—at least not until your pressing danger is over. This Portkey is one-of-a-kind, and I will not risk the possibility of someone revealing to the enemy that such devices exist. Your murder will soon be on the Dark Lord's agenda-if it isn't already, and I want you to be able to get away safely. That is my primary objective, and I would do nothing to compromise it….And before you decide to do anything foolish and noble," and here she gave him a severe look, "know that your Portkey is keyed only to you.
"The moment you touched it, you claimed it as your own. It will not respond to anyone else's magic—including Accios-and the chain is equipped with an Unbreakable Charm. If anyone else touches the necklace, or orders it to reveal its secrets, nothing will happen. Only you have the power to access the Portkey. If you are being scanned for hidden magical devices, it will not register, because it lies completely dormant until you decide to implement it—oh, and I added another charm to keep the chain from catching on your hair. It also won't fall off of its own accord, even if you are suspended upside-down. I thought about making the whole thing invisible, but that seemed a bit counterproductive."
Severus took a deep breath and murmured, "Well, you are certainly a clever little witch. I have done nothing to deserve such a gift, and I have nothing to offer you in return….But I must ask again, why me? Potter is in far greater need…."
Marian sighed and said gently, "Severus, you don't know your worth—your intrinsic worth, I mean. You are second to no one. And as far as Harry goes, he already has backup. He had Dumbledore, and now he has Hermione and Ron, who are very able allies. You have me…."
"And you are proving yourself rather useful as well," Severus said with an ironic twist of his lips.
"Put it on," Marian urged, "I won't be able to breathe easily until I see it safely around your neck."
She saw the glimmer of a smile and he retorted, "I had better change first. It would be somewhat difficult to drop the pendant down through the tight collar of my robes."
Marian nodded, and settled back into the couch to wait, with a feeling of relief that he had accepted her interference on his behalf without protest. Severus only took a few minutes, but she could see he had taken a shower by a few tell-tale water droplets that had somehow escaped the drying spell from his wand. He wore a nightshirt that looked identical to the one he had worn the night before. His old-fashioned attire seemed strange to her, because her male relatives and friends had all worn boxers and t-shirts at nighttime, but she had noticed long ago that clothing and manners were far more traditional and less 'Muggle' in the British wizarding world than they were back in America.
She had gotten used to the more ornate dress code herself, and even enjoyed it. It allowed her to put her creativity and transfiguration skills to use, because she usually didn't revel in shopping. But even though Marian liked the sumptuous gowns and robes that she invented (saving the best for the rare occasions when she saw Severus), she longed for a time when she could travel to the backcountry again, and trade in her silks for a pair of trail-runners and clothing made of Muggle, water-wicking fabrics.
Severus seemed a little stiffer than normal as he strode across the room towards her, and she suddenly sensed that he was feeling a little self-conscious. So she smiled up at him and whistled as he walked past. He shot her a reproachful, long-suffering glance, but she noticed with satisfaction that her tactic had worked. His usual fluid grace reappeared, and it seemed as though he had never had the momentary lapse of self-possession. Severus dropped down to the couch and gingerly plucked the pendant from its cushioned box. He glanced at her for a moment, and Marian had the idea that he wanted to ask her to put it around his neck, but he seemed to change his mind and quickly looped the chain over his head, tucking the coin beneath his nightshirt, next to his skin. Marian placed her hand over his chest where the pendant lay concealed, and felt the comforting thud of his pulse, that seemed to have kicked up a notch. She couldn't bear the idea of that warm, living flesh lying cold and still.
She looked up at his face and felt desire, but also a return of that concern she had felt the night before, when she had noticed how weary he looked. "What are your plans for tomorrow?" she inquired carefully.
She was almost sorry she had asked, because a light seemed to go out of his eyes, and a look of resignation took its place. "It is Christmas, so I am sure the Dark Lord will require my presence at Malfoy Manor. No doubt he will want to give a speech, and then will encourage his Death Eaters to mingle, drink, and share Muggle-baiting stories with each other before he unleashes them—us—back onto the streets," he said bitingly.
He didn't ask if she would be leaving tomorrow. He didn't have to. But Marian could have sworn that she saw vulnerability in the glance he shot her from under his velvety lashes. "Well, you had better get a good night's sleep to prepare for that ordeal," she said, and added soothingly, "I want you to rest tonight. I know what a toll all of this is taking on you."
"It is very difficult for me to find rest," he answered fitfully, "the nightmares rarely allow it."
At those words, Marian rose and took him by the hand, returning the sofa to its original form and sending it sweeping across the room to its proper place with a burst of wandless magic. He cast a sidelong glance at her that managed to convey both his curiosity and wariness.
"I know a preventative for nightmares….It's not foolproof, but it definitely improves your chances for a peaceful sleep," Marian said, "First, we'll address the physical: drink a tall glass of water before bed."
He raised his eyebrows.
"Trust me! You're used to the humid dungeons. Being up here in this tower, in the dry winter air, you're far more dehydrated than you think you are. And thirst does strange things to the mind. I always have night terrors when I'm thirsty. Think of mirages in the desert," Marian argued.
"Alright, I will follow your logic that far," he conceded, but looked far from convinced. Marian strongly suspected that it was because he had had the nightmares when he had been a professor in the dungeons as well—although perhaps they had not been as often or as…pronounced.
She smiled at him, a bit apologetically and said, "But I'm afraid logic will take you no further. It won't help at all with the other two parts of the treatment."
He motioned for her to continue, and Marian walked him over to his side of the bed, where she conjured glasses for each of them and filled them with water. With a mock salute, she took a sip, and he elegantly followed suit.
"As I see it, there are three components that can cause nightmares," Marian resumed, "If any one thing is off, a nightmare will result. If multiple things are off…well, I think that's the situation we're having now. We've addressed the physical side. The other two aspects are the spiritual and the emotional.
"You're tortured by guilt, and you need forgiveness and redemption. There is only one cure for spiritual distress, and we cannot achieve it on our own—although we can ask for it….Severus, do you think that we might…pray?"
He looked as though he had a myriad of questions, but suddenly felt very tired and overwhelmed, and answered hesitantly, "Very well, but I do not know how."
"I'll pray for both of us," she said quietly.
Instead of protesting, he allowed her to take his hand once again, and gently sank to his knees on the thick carpet beside the bed, following her lead. He possessed vague memories of doing something like this as a child. When he had been frightened, listening to his parents downstairs as they screamed and ranted at each other, getting closer and closer to where he had huddled, alone and distressed, he had mimicked the characters he had seen on Muggle television that had gotten on their knees and folded their hands, whispering requests like incantations. Severus hadn't understood what they were doing, but recognized instinctively that there was power there. He imagined it to be something like magic. And so a few times he had followed their lead and called out to someone in the darkness, asking for help, for protection. But he had never known the one he had petitioned.
Severus and Marian knelt beside the bed, facing each other on the curious carpet that looked like a map. She took both of his hands in hers and closed her eyes. After a few moments, he reluctantly followed suit. Marian was a Protestant and the prayer she uttered was not formulaic, but it still sounded very serious to him.
"Dear Lord," she began, and then she asked for her God to forgive her for her bloodlust and hate. She thanked him for many things, for her life and the hope she had, and for letting her meet Severus and showing her the truth about him. Her voice was filled with joy and thankfulness, and Severus' hands trembled in hers, but he did not interrupt.
Soon her tone changed, and she prayed earnestly for the outcome of the war, for a better world and for the survival of her friends. But mostly, she prayed for Severus—prayed for him with a concentrated passion, asking for his redemption, survival, strength. She prayed for his happiness, for his nightmares to vanish, for his burden to be lifted and for him to be filled with a knowledge and love of God. She asked many things for him and committed Severus to the care of her Christian God.
Marian's words cut Severus to the heart. He could tell that she believed in the one she was petitioning—cared for the one she was speaking to. There was love and trust in her voice. Whatever else He was, Marian's God was good. Severus understood that all of her words had been spoken in earnest. The prayer had not been some sort of exercise to help him get to sleep. It had been intimate and genuine…and powerful. He had felt closer to her, relishing this newly discovered part of her, but he also felt set apart, as though he was eavesdropping on a private conversation.
When she finally uttered, "Amen," denoting that the prayer was over, Severus said nothing, merely helping her to her feet and then sitting on the edge of the bed, sipping his water contemplatively. The experience had been unusual, and he was feeling…relief, along with a strange sort of holy awe. Even the scientist in him had no wish to break the silence in order to ask questions.
Marian went around to the other side of the bed and seemed entirely unselfconscious; even though she had just bared her soul and her deepest beliefs to the man she loved. But it was not in her nature to be ashamed of the best part of herself, and so she took Severus' unusual mood in stride, dropping her robe to the floor and slipping quickly under the covers.
After his last sip and a considering glance at Marian, Severus doused the lights and lay beside her in the darkness. Finally, after several minutes had passed, he remembered something that he needed to ask her. "Marian," he murmured, "what is the third element for the prevention of nightmares?"
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "I had completely forgotten. Well, once your physical and spiritual needs are taken care of, some consideration must be given to your emotional ones. I find that when Ms. Bear sleeps against me, I have no nightmares."
"And you conclude from this-" he began sardonically.
"Severus, stop it!" she snickered, "I realize that I just gave you a beautiful opening for a sarcastic comment, but you're going to have to save it until I explain myself. I was going to say that touch has the power to ease the subconscious mind. I believe that physical contact with someone that cares for you is a steady source of comfort, and that your sleeping self recognizes this," she finished, using her best lecturer voice to ease the embarrassment she felt at essentially saying that she was volunteering to hold him in her arms all night for his own good, and that she was a fitting candidate for this position because she 'cared' for him. Marian cringed and felt thankful that he couldn't see her rapidly blushing face in the darkness.
She was unprepared for his serious reply. "How much contact is required to gain the desired result?" he asked curiously.
"I suppose that I could sleep touching your hand or…more," Marian replied reticently, desire suddenly blooming throughout her body.
She suddenly felt his warm hand grasp hers lightly. She had prepared herself for a suggestive comment, and was frankly surprised when none came. His nightmares must be terrible indeed. After a while, her eyes adjusted to the dim light. The reddish embers in the fireplace, combined with the frosty glow of the winter stars kept the room from being completely cloaked in darkness.
"And what will I do once you've left?" he asked, so softly and sadly that she was uncertain he had spoken at all.
Marian felt an answering anguish rise up in her at his softly-voiced question, but decided to try to keep things light. "I'm sure you'll be relieved to be rid of me," she replied jestingly.
"Far from it," he countered, in his resonant tones that reminded her of some sort of expensive, beautifully-seasoned wood.
Marian squeezed his hand, and he added after a beat, "You are not really all that arrogant—well, you are, but your confidence lines up evenly with your ability….Also, I lied about your accent. It's unusual, but I find that I rather like it. I always have."
Marian basked in his praise—from him, it was praise indeed. Severus was not generally the sort of man that was overly extravagant in his compliments. She cared little for what other people thought of her, except for Severus. If only she could have his good opinion, the rest of the world could be damned, for all the notice she would take.
"Thank you. Now that I know I have your approval, I won't have to keep dressing up to try and impress you all the time," Marian joked, trying to conceal her obvious delight under the guise of merriment, but the moment she spoke, she was uncomfortably aware that her words were poorly chosen, because she had she had just told the complete truth—the completely embarrassing truth.
"But you always look so lovely," he rejoined, quickly covering what he considered a far too enthusiastic response by changing the subject, saying, "Do you transfigure your clothing? I rarely see such artistry on the street," and he pointed to the vines that wrapped seductively over her creamy shoulders.
Relieved that he hadn't noticed her gaffe, Marian smiled and responded, "Usually. It's a great opportunity to use my transfiguration skills and be resourceful. I don't transfigure clothes all the time, but probably a great deal more than most because I dislike shopping. But I do enjoy the ability to dress up without spending much time or money."
"Won't a quick 'Finite Incantatem' undo all of your hard work?" he asked thoughtfully.
"Not anymore," she answered with a smile, "I layer my charms in such a way that it would take several 'finites' to undo my handiwork. But I had an experience like that back when I was in my first year at university. I had gotten fairly adept when it came to Transfiguration and regularly altered my clothes. When it was getting close to the time for the Halloween costume party, I thought that I would show off my skills and create something really fantastic.
"So that night, I adorned myself as a Roman lady and wore a dress that would have been nearly impossible for a Muggle to wear without having to be cut out of it at the end of the night—not because it was tight, but because the whole gown was held up with several strategic sashes. It was really quite impressive, if I do say so myself. Perhaps a little too impressive—it was obviously transfigured, and someone couldn't resist putting me in my place by whispering a Finite Incantatem."
"What did you do?" he asked, anger glimmering in his eyes on her behalf.
"I felt at once when the gown changed back to my regular street clothes, so I decided to bide my time and play it cool. I didn't even pause on my way to the bar, but simply waved my wand to transform my clothes into a Grecian gown and to turn my hair into writhing snakes….No one bothered me after that," she answered mischievously.
Severus smiled softly, his head resting near hers on the pillow. They were so close to each other that they almost shared breath, "You reacted appropriately," he conceded, "Had it been me, I would have immediately started searching for the culprit, not resting until I had cursed him so badly that my vanished costume would prove the most unremarkable incident of the night."
Marian snickered at his words, but sensed that he was being honest and not exaggerating. She had spent her entire time in Britain hearing two things about Severus Snape. First, people had gone on and on about how he was such a stickler for the rules as a Hogwarts professor, and secondly, they had brought up his (apparently very wide) vindictive streak. She supposed that he had adopted his 'two eyes for an eye' code because of his life of indentured servitude and abuse. After all, beaten dogs are the fiercest biters.
She stroked his arm and answered merrily, "Oh, I found out who it was that night, and by the next day had surreptitiously hexed him so many different times that he never looked in my direction again. I heard later that he had had a crush on me. He wasn't very bright, and someone had told him that if he said 'Finite Incantatem' that my clothes would fall off. Idiot!" she snorted with laughter.
Severus' lips twitched in an approximation of a smile and he commented, "He certainly merited whatever punishment you chose to inflict….You said that you used a wand that night. Have you always concealed your wandless abilities?"
"Well, yes," she replied nonchalantly, "My parents knew, and they indulged my eccentricity to practice wandless magic. Like most parents, they thought that their child was cleverer than all the other children."
"Mine certainly did not," he blurted out, before he thought to censor his words.
Marian had heard that he had had a miserable home life as a child, and so when his bitter comment spilled out, she was unsurprised. Instead of peppering him with questions, she merely eyed him with sympathy and murmured, "How ironic. Because they were the two whose child actually was cleverer than all the rest."
Severus said nothing, but Marian could sense that she had soothed him. She continued, "I have always had many secrets, but that's because I have few friends. It's not that I'm particularly mistrustful. I just prefer privacy. I see no need to alert the masses to my business. I prefer that most people know next-to-nothing about me and that the ones I care about know everything."
"Who made the list?" he asked lazily, but his eyes belied his tone, shining with alertness and interest.
She shot him an assessing glance and admitted drily, "My parents are dead, and I am separated from my family and oldest friends by many miles and experiences….So just you.
"You're the only one that I trust and care for to the extent that I would have no secrets from. If you're still at all in the dark about me, it's only because we're rarely able to spend time together. And when we are, there's no time to talk about the past, or hopes and dreams and hobbies. Life-or-death matters get in the way—curses, the war, horcruxes…."
"I suppose you are right," he mused, "It would be a wonderful thing to be able to enjoy one another without being constantly distracted by the Sword of Damocles….But you have many friends. I am surprised that none of them share your confidence. I cannot understand why you have settled on me."
"Love for all is love for none, as the saying goes," she said flippantly, and then added quickly, "Not that I mean that you shouldn't care about all mankind. I just think that anything important is cheapened by being spread around. The people I value above all others should be the only ones entrusted with power over me."
"I could not agree more," he replied meditatively, "I have confided in no one for many years. I gave Dumbledore information and some of my secrets, but only the ones that would be of use to him. The rest I kept—still keep."
"Was there no one that you loved—a friend, relative…lover…that you could unburden yourself to?" Marian asked, only daring to be so bold because of the faint light and because the normally forbidding man reclined beside her, relatively at ease instead of in his usual impenetrable, tense-as-a-bowstring habit.
"You're asking the wrong person about love," he answered grimly.
"Oh, I don't think so," Marian answered straightforwardly.
He glanced up swiftly, assessing her with an intense glance, "What do you mean by that?"
She sighed, "In general, men aren't like you. People are pragmatists. Most people's love is a…tenuous thing, with a swiftly-approaching expiration date."
"And what have I done to merit exclusion?" he asked dryly. "I am practically known in the wizarding world as the patron saint of pragmatists."
"That has been your reputation, but it's only because people are misinformed," Marian said earnestly. "You were never an opportunist, switching to whichever side offered you the greatest advantages. That is not the kind of man you are. You give your whole energy to one side and hate the other. You know the good. You understand loyalty and seeing things through to the end—even if it ends in death, as all real loves do. No—if you loved, your love would be worthy of the name."
A shiver of longing passed through him at her words and he replied hoarsely, "You should not romanticize me."