Author's Note: Just for clarification, Claira's parents are British. Claira is also British. Please reread Chapter: 38 (A New Beginning part: 2) in which Claira explains to Jacob that her parents were both born in Hampshire and lived together in Winchester, where Claira and her sister were born. They moved to the States when Claira was eleven years old, when the muggle killings began. So here parents speak British, and do so in this chapter. Claira was young enough to develop an American accent, but her speech is still very British. And yes, if Claira had gone to Hogwarts (as she had gotten her letter) Severus would have, in fact, been her potions teacher. As fate would have it (or not have it), they would not have been romantically involved had that happened.
Chapter: 43
Lost and Found
"Where the devil are you?" Severus muttered as he stood inside a muggle telephone box, thumbing through a handful of parchments he had obtained from the Ministry of Magic's Department of Public Records. None of the documents showed Claira as owning or leasing a residence of any sort.
He had already performed various locating spells without result, and he had even attempted an old magic known as dousing, in which he sought to pinpoint her whereabouts using two thin metal rods and a map of London, and also a world map. But again, nothing came of it. From what little information the records did provide, he was able to acquire her parents' address in the States and a telephone number.
After several failed attempts to dial out of the country, as he only had what little instructions the front pages of the phone book provided, he was at last able to get the hand receiver to make a ringing noise.
He held the top cusp of the hand receiver to his ear and waited for a response.
"Hello?" came a gentle woman's voice.
Severus moved the top cusp of the hand receiver from his ear to his mouth and said, "This is Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I wish to speak with Claira Madison Bell, if you please."
"You what?" the woman said. "You'll have to speak louder, dear. I can barely hear you."
Severus quickly moved the top cusp back to his ear, and then to his mouth. "I beg your pardon?"
He then moved it again to his ear.
"Hello?" she repeated. "Are you there?"
Severus gritted his teeth and moved the receiver back to his mouth, and raised his voice. "This is Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I wish to speak with Claira Madison Bell."
This time he held it to his ear in time to hear her reply.
"I'm afraid I can't hear you," she said loudly. "Sounds like a bad line. You might try calling again."
Forgetting to lower the top cusp to his mouth, he growled into the bottom of the receiver out of frustration.
He heard her gasp, and then she said in a stiff tone, "What do you mean ringing up and breathing into the phone all funny like? Having a laugh, are you? I suppose you'll be wanting to talk dirty to me next, is it?"
Severus sneered into the receiver and shook his head. "No. No. I want Claira."
"Claira?" she shouted. "What are you on about? I'll not have some pervert ringing up my daughters! If you phone again I'll have the police trace your line, do you hear me? My word!"
"You do not understand, I – "
He heard a loud clicking noise, and then silence. He dialed the number again, but no one answered. Slamming the hand receiver down upon its hook, he exited the telephone box and walked out into the street. He was getting nowhere. It had been three days since Claira had gone, and he was no closer to finding her then when he had started.
But he still had a few tricks up his sleeve.
Once he was back at Hogwarts, he sent an owl to Philip Grogger. Severus was certain the man had already used up his supply of the sobering potion he had brewed for him, and so he offered him a four months supply in return for information on one Claira Bell. Philip worked at the Ministry of Magic in the repository of records. There he had access to several magical devices used to keep track of the wizard population, habitation, births, deaths, and marriages. If Claira were anywhere to be found, it would be through his department.
In the meantime, Severus continued searching London; he checked with all the inns, both wizard and muggle. It was impossible for a witch of her inexperience to cloak herself that well, he thought. In the back of his mind he worried that her journey on the train had gone amiss, but he refused to assume the worst until he had found out for certain. She might well be staying with an old friend for all he knew.
It would be almost a week later when he received a reply from Philip. Severus was at his desk, brooding over a map of Europe when the flames in his fireplace began to spit and crackle. He made haste to the fireplace and knelt down in front of it.
A gray-bearded face appeared in the flames. "Severus, good, you're here. I can't talk long, you see. Perry will be back any moment, and if he finds out I've been using the devices without authorization – "
"Get on with it then, Philip," Severus urged. "What did you find out?"
He cleared his throat. "Yes, right. It's the damnedest thing. This girl you're after, this Claira Bell, she doesn't register as being anywhere at the moment."
"How is that possible?" Severus sneered.
"How should I know?" He shook his head. "She does not show on our wizard atlas, and I am unable to detect her person… well, anywhere on the planet to be quite honest."
Severus scowled. "There must be some mistake. Try again, Philip."
"I'm sorry, Severus," he said, his eyes darting about. "I've already stretched my neck out far enough on this one. Either she's got a clever cloaking charm on her, or she…"
Severus narrowed his eyes. "Yes?"
He lowered his voice to a whisper, looking nervous. "You didn't hear this from me, but ever since You-Know-Who has returned we've had all sorts of strange disappearances. People vanishing right off our maps! Now don't get me wrong, Severus. I'm not saying your lady friend is in trouble. But it is curious, isn't it? I mean –"
His head spun around quickly, and then back again. "That would be Perry back from lunch." He cleared his throat. "Ahem, we had agreed upon a four months supply of that potion we discussed. You'll be sending it soon then? That's a good chap."
And then his head disappeared.
"Philip?" Severus hissed. "Philip! You drunken old sot."
He had to be wrong, Severus thought, as he prodded the logs with the tip of his wand. There had to be a logical explanation for all this. Claira would not have taken such great lengths to hide from him, or would she have? Oh, but he shall find her, he vowed. Only now, his pocket of tricks had lightened substantially. He had but one lead left and it was, by all common sense, the most likely place Claira would have gone. And of course, it had to be the one place Severus would have liked to visit the least.
Two days later, Severus apparated to London and from there he purchased a portkey to a muggle town named Black Mountain. It was not his first visit to the States, but it was his first portkey to a place called North Carolina. It was dark out, and the street lamps lit his way up a sloping hill. The road was paved and lined with muggle houses that were small enough to fit inside his foyer. In the far distance, he could see the silhouette of mountains and a vast forest of trees blanketed in snow. He took a deep breath. The air was lighter here, and much dryer than that of Scotland. He could not say it was unpleasant.
He walked a little further and spotted a small cottage with a light in the window. He stared at it, and scowled. It was difficult to see the full spectrum of the house, but from what minimal illumination the lamp on the porch let out he could recognize it as the same house he had seen during his occlumency lessons with Claira. How a family of four could ever live within such close quarters of each other was beyond his comprehension.
He took another deep breath, and followed a set of stepping-stones that led to the door. On it hung a wreath and a brass knocker, which he took hold of and lightly wrapped on the door.
After a few moments, the door swung opened and there stood a girl about the age of ten. She had blonde hair and wore wire-frame glasses, which she pushed up the bridge of her nose to get a better look at him. He had seen this little girl many times in Claira's memories, and knew her to be Claira's sister Jenny. She resembled her in the eyes, but nothing else.
Her mouth fell agape as he stepped further into the light. Her eyes moved up and down his shroud of black robes. "I know you! You're a vampire, aren't you?" Her face appeared more fascinated by him then frightened. "I've read all about you. I've seen your picture in books."
Had Severus not been accustomed to being rumored as such by his students, he might have been insulted. "May I come in?"
Her eyes widened then, and she shook her head. "Oh no. The books say to never invite a vampire inside." She proudly held up a silver cross pendant, which hung on a chain from her neck. "You see? We are protected. You cannot enter our house to suck our blood unless you are invited… which you are not."
Severus looked down upon her as he would his own student who had just made a dim-witted statement in his class.
He bent over so that they were at eye level, his voice a symphony of sarcasm. "I'm afraid you have been gravely misinformed. Had I been a vampire, and wanted to 'suck your blood' as you put it, I would have swooped upon you the moment you opened the door. A vampire does not need permission to enter a muggle dwelling, nor to murder an entire family if he is hungry enough. I might have entered through a window or the back door, or perhaps the chimney." He straightened his posture. "Now enough of this foolishness. I am here to see Claira."
She stared at him dumbstruck, then after a few moments shouted at the top of her lungs, "Mum! Dad! There is a strange man at the door. He says he's looking for Claira!"
Severus scowled at her as she retreated into the living room. A short, plump man appeared holding a newspaper and wearing reading glasses, followed by a woman who emerged from the opposite side of the wall wearing an apron and a dishtowel on her shoulder. Severus's eyes softened as he watched her. She was gentle and graceful, and had a certain familiar beauty about her.
"Good evening," Severus began, extending his hand to Claira's father. "Professor Severus Snape, potions Master at Hogwarts."
Severus thought he detected a hint of recognition in her mother's eyes as he spoke his name.
The man gave him a wary handshake. "Clayton. What can I do for you, Professor?"
Severus's eyes swept the interior of the house. "I wish to speak with Claira."
Clayton's eyes narrowed at the mention of his daughter, and they took to surveying him.
Claira's mother pushed past him, a look of worry on her face. "Claira? She is at Hogwarts. Why would you think she was here? Has something happened?"
Severus's mouth thinned. "Your daughter resigned from her post precisely two weeks ago. I have been unable to locate her in Scotland or London, or anywhere in between for that matter. I assumed she would come here."
Her father's eyes were calculating. "And just what would you be wanting with my daughter, Professor? Surely your headmaster wouldn't send you all this way just to speak with her. Wouldn't it have been more conventional to send a letter or give us a bell?"
Severus glanced at Claira's mother, and their eyes met. A silent communication passed between them, in which she seemed to realize it was he who had been on the other end of the telephone call a week before. Her cheeks reddened in embarrassment for having called him a pervert.
Severus folded his arms across his chest and cleared his throat. "My business with your daughter is my own."
"Now you wait just a minute!" he growled, tugging at the waistband of his trousers. "As Claira's father it is perfectly my business, especially when an odd bloke shows up on my doorstep wearing a bloody costume fit for Death." His lip curled. "Not to mention you're nearly twice her age to boot. How do I know it wasn't you who chased her off, eh?"
Severus's body stiffened, and his hand instinctively slipped inside his robe to grip his wand. He would let no man, not even Claira's father, tell him he was not good enough for her. "I don't expect a muggle such as yourself to understand the intricacies of wizard attire, nor the many customs of our world. What I can tell you is that Claira is a grown woman and quite capable of making her own decisions, particularly in choosing a worthy lover."
"Lover, eh?" His face reddened to the deep shade of a raspberry, and his eyes swept over Severus's robes once again. "Claira has never mentioned you. Whatever involvement you think you might have with my daughter, I can assure you my little girl would have told me about it. You've come barking up the wrong tree, I'm afraid –"
Claira's mother placed her hands on her husband's chest, her voice pleading. "Clayton, stop it. Don't you understand what has happened here? Claira is missing!"
Clayton looked into his wife's eyes, and his chest seemed to deflate beneath her tender hands. "Missing? It can't be…"
Severus's heart felt as though it were being squeezed. To hear Claira's mother confirm what he had refused to acknowledge after his conversation with Philip, had awoken a feeling of such desperation and helplessness inside him that he could hardly move.
"We must telephone the police! That's it," Clayton stuttered, looking almost as powerless as Severus felt. "The police will find her alright. Come inside, Lynda. I'm sure she's just visiting a friend."
Severus collected his thoughts, and pushed past them to stop the door from closing. "The muggle authorities are too limited. It would do better to contact the Ministry of Magic and file an inquiry with the Department of Missing Persons. They have a much wider means of locating –"
"I am quite able to find my own daughter, thank you." Clayton snapped the door shut before Severus could get in another word.
Severus glared at the door, his insides boiling. Only out of respect for Claira did he turn on his heel and walk back to the road.
But as he reached for the portkey in his pocket to return to London, he spotted the silhouette of a woman slip out the side door of the house and hurry down the lawn towards him. "Severus! Please wait."
Severus stared down at Claira's mother, his fingers moving away from the portkey.
"You'll have to forgive Clayton," she whispered, pulling her afghan tighter about her shoulders. "He's a good man and he means well. But he's a bit over protective, I'm afraid. You see, we almost lost Claira during birth and well…"
Her eyes closed, and she took a deep breath.
"I was not aware," Severus said softly.
When she opened them, she gave him a warm smile. "Claira has told me all about you, of course. She is very fond of you." Her eyes praised him. "I wish we could have met under different circumstances, perhaps over dinner or a cup of tea – "
Severus folded his arms across his chest. "What is it you wish of me, Lynda?"
She reached out and touched his hand. "Please, Severus. Send word if you find her. I will telephone friends and family, and contact the Ministry as you suggested. But I have a feeling it is you who will reach her first. I shall be worried sick until I hear from you."
Severus nodded his head and took a step back. "Claira is nowhere that cannot be found. Once I find her you shall be the first to know. Good evening."
And then, tucking his hands into the folds of his pockets, he vanished into the night.
------
It was midnight, on the third week of Claira's disappearance. The wax candle weaned away from its wick, the flame flickering desperately in warning as it reached the end of its life. Severus leaned on his elbows from behind his desk, where he sat leering at the blank scroll in front of him. He had but one option left – one last attempt to reach Claira before he fell into despair.
His hair slid from his shoulders, and draped his weary face as he bent forward and touched the tip of his quill to the parchment.
The words flowed from the cavity of his chest to the tips of his fingers, and spilled through the ink onto the stretch of parchment. He did not pause to blink or think about what he was writing. And he did not stop until the final word had been expelled onto the page.
Severus's hands shook as he melted the wax onto the roll of parchment and sealed it with his crest. He did not dare to read what he had written, for it was his most intimate confession. In his hand he held his vulnerability, his one true weakness. The scroll almost frightened him to look at, but he knew it was his only chance of getting Claira back and that it must be sent. And he had better do it before he had the chance to change his mind.
He rose from his chair and pulled on his cloak. Outside the entrance doors of the castle, he shot a blue spark into the sky, and waited. Moments later, a dark form came swooping down, its large wings flapping loud and powerful against the cold night wind. Severus held out his arm for the falcon to perch upon.
"Tonight I must ask you for a favor, old friend." He stroked its beak, and then tied the scroll onto his leg. "This letter shall be your most important delivery yet, and perhaps your last."
The falcon squawked, and batted its wings in preparations for flight.
"Find Claira, and do not return until you have received her response," Severus murmured, his lips brushing the feathers on Falcor's head. "Make haste, my friend. For if you do return I shall consider your debt repaid, and I will set you free. Go now."
The bird let out a great screech, and leapt from Severus arm. It soared high above the highest tower of the castle, as if searching for the right direction to travel, and then swooped back down to bid Severus a farewell. The tips of his wings brushed Severus's shoulder, and then the falcon disappeared into the darkness.
He would travel for three days with little rest, the magic in his breast pulling him north towards the mountains. His journey was wrought with peril, but birds do not tell tales and although Falcor's adventure was worthy of its own legend, no one would ever know how he had battled a great Thunderbird whose nest he had unwittingly flown over, or of how he had lost the scroll during the fight and had to retrieve it from the den of a Mountain Troll. Falcor was brave and strong, and he reached his destination with little more than a few ruffled feathers to prove his loyalty.
He circled a dark, jagged mountain, charmed to conceal its true identity: a fortified chamber which encamped a small army of Deatheaters, and the Dark Lord. Alighting on its west side, Falcor began to claw and peck at a mound of rubble. He worked until sunset, and as the light faded beyond the horizon he broke through the earth and fell to the bottom of a cold, dank cave, where he landed on a shivering body.
The body twitched, and then a thin hand reached out of the darkness. Falcor flapped his wings and snapped at the dirty fingers.
"Falcor?" a woman's voice rasped, horse and deprived of hydration.
The falcon cocked his head, and then dropped the scroll at the woman's feet.
Scrambling to the beam of moonlight let in by the hole Falcor had dug, Claira broke open the seal and read Severus's sharp, slanted handwriting.
Claira,
I must ask you again, for all the wrong I have done you, to forgive me. I realize our time together has been filled with an over abundance of tears and apologies, and for this I also beg your forgiveness. This letter was not meant for excuses, nor shall I make you absurd promises I will most likely break. Instead I shall only tell you what I know to be the truth: I do not understand love. But if love is the feeling of warmth your smile brings to me, the insatiable desire I feel in the simplest of your touches, if it is the overwhelming sense of loneliness and heartache I now feel at your absence… than love is what I feel for you.
I will understand if my confession has come to you too late to make a difference. But I would regret if I had never made it or asked you to come back to me. Tell me where you are Claira and I will come to you, as I had attempted the night you left on the train. It means little now, but if you had told me you planned to leave I would have stopped you and confessed my love to you then. I see now that I was blinded by greed and ambition, and it has cost me your love. I am not the man I once was. And I shall never be the same man again thanks to you.
I accept that I may have lost you to a better man in future. Even if your answer is no, it would appease me to know you are safe and well. That is all that matters to me now. Please send word. I shall await your response for however long it takes, faithfully and devotedly.
Yours Always,
Severus
Teardrops trickled onto the scroll. Claira attempted to wipe them away so that she may read his words again, but the black soil on her fingers turned to mud at the touch and smeared across the parchment.
"Severus," she whispered, staring up at the sliver of moon she could see through the crevice.
Just then she heard footsteps outside the wooden, makeshift door that trapped her inside the small grotto. She had given up trying to escape when she had been shocked unconscious by the door's dark enchantments. And just minutes before Falcor's arrival, Claira had prepared for death when she refused the Dark Lord for the final time that night. But hope had come in her darkest hour of need. She now knew Severus loved her, and that he had tried to stop her from leaving Hogwarts. Her heart felt alive for the first time in weeks, and she knew she had to survive… to see him again.
She thought of what Severus might do in her situation, and how he might have fooled the Dark Lord for all those years when he had turned spy for the order. She thought of his courage, and gathered the strength to stand.
"Falcor," she whispered, "You must go now. Hurry, before they see you."
He peered at her through yellow eyes, but he did not move. She could hear the men lifting the spells on the door and she tried to take him into her arms, but he pecked at her hands. "Falcor, please!"
He took flight then, circling the cave, his eyes on the scroll in her hand. The falcon seemed to sense the danger at the door, but he did not attempt to escape. It was as if he had a greater purpose.
Claira stared up at him, her eyes wet with tears. "Severus told you to wait for my response, didn't he?"
The falcon screeched.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
And Falcor fell to the ground, his wings spread and his body stiff as stone.
"What have we here?" came a cold, hissing voice.
Claira could not bear to look at the face of Lord Voldemort for more than a second or two without cringing. She stared at the floor instead, at the boots of three minions he had brought with him.
"What have we here?" he repeated, summoning the scroll from her hand. "Lumos."
His eyes devoured the words that were only meant for her to read, and it angered Claira to watch this man, this monstrosity, steal its intimacy.
"So, Severus has a heart after all, is it?" His black, slit eyes were on her, his hand lifting to silence the murmur of laughter behind him. "Tell me, girl. What do you make of this?"
There was silence, and then…
"Lies." Claira was no longer cowering, and her eyes were now set on the Dark Lord, on his ugly, wry smile. "Severus does not love me. He only wants me back in his bed. I hate him for what he has taken from me."
"Is that so? We shall see," he hissed, gliding across the cave to her. "We shall see."
He grabbed her jaw and jerked her head up so that she was forced to look into his eyes, his long fingernails scratching, digging into her flesh. And then he was inside her head, searching through her memories. She could not stop him. But as he reached her memories of Severus, Claira applied the skills Severus had taught her during their occlumency lessons, and she was able to steer the Dark Lord to the memories she wanted him to see. So she showed him only the worst of Severus; she revealed how he had wormed his way into her heart, how he had taken her virginity and then returned again and again, only to leave after he had finished. She showed him only the arguments, the tears, and the heartache.
"Enough," Voldemort grinned. His fingers slipped away from her face in an almost tender caress. "It appears the both of us have been betrayed by the same treacherous rat who calls himself Severus Snape, and thus we both have a cause for revenge. I find this quite interesting."
He rubbed his chin in thought, and then suddenly he spun around and pointed his wand between her eyes, his expression savage. "I can see to it Severus gets every bit of what he deserves. All you have to do is pledge your allegiance. Join me, Claira. Join me," he hissed, pressing his wand to her skin, "or die."
The men behind him began to mutter to each other, passing queer glances.
Claira closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and said, "Yes."
When she opened them Voldemort was grinning once again, his wand held at his side. "You have made a wise decision. Kneel before me and hold out your arm – No, your other arm."
One of the men behind him grunted in disapproval.
"Silence," he warned, taking hold of her wrist.
Claira winced at the pain of receiving the Dark Mark. It was a horrible, ugly thing, and she nearly vomited at the sight of it. It was a lucky moment the Dark Lord had turned away from her just then.
He snapped his fingers. "Dolohov, escort Miss Bell to the washroom. Mulciber, ready Rookwood's chamber with the girl's clothing and necessities. You see, Claira. The Dark Lord rewards his obedient servants."
"Master!" cried the man who had made the grunt. "Where am I to sleep? I do not understand what need you have for this filthy mudblood. She is not worthy to wear the mark of the Dark Lord."
"Crucio!"
And Rookwood was curled up on the floor, screaming and twitching. Claira covered her ears.
"You fool!" Voldemort spat, releasing him from the curse. "You dare to question me? Do you think you know better? No matter. I shall show you."
He slashed his wand and a deep gash formed at Rookwood's throat. The man grabbed his neck gagging, blood oozing out between his fingers.
"Claira, tend to his wound." Voldemort ordered, his expression one of amusement.
Claira's hands began to glow before she even touched them to Rookwood's throat. She whispered the incantation and closed her eyes, allowing the magic to flow through her body to her fingertips. She hated to heal such scum, but she had to obey if she wished to live. The Caduecueus Aura was her gift, and it was now Voldemort's to control – for the time being, she thought.
Rookwood coughed and gasped, and touched his hands to his neck. The wound had been healed. He looked at Claira in astonishment. Relief.
"Is there anyone else here who wishes to challenge my decisions?" His cold, dark eyes swept the faces in the room. "No one? I thought not."
He took Claira's hand and helped her to stand and then, like night and day, he snatched her hair and jerked her head back, his mouth inches from her throat. "And the Dark Lord punishes those who disobey me. I can be generous or cruel. I am a God. You are fortunate to be in my presence."
And then he threw her at Dolohov, and waved his hand at him to take her away. His attention returned to Rookwood. "This shall be your new sleeping quarters. Your usefulness has worn thin, I'm afraid."
The man crawled to him on his knees, and kissed the hem of his robes. "Forgive me, my Lord. Forgive me."
"There may be some use for you yet," Voldemort drawled, looking bored. "I can think of nothing at the moment." His eyes scanned the filthy cave and settled on Falcor. "Except perhaps the bird. Clean him and bring him to me. Severus will be expecting a response from his beloved. I mustn't disappoint him."
-----
The Great Hall was a medley of laughter and conversation. Severus sat quietly amongst the cheer and sipped his soup, and occasionally dunked a biscuit into his bowl, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He would have rather been in his study continuing his search for Claira, if it were not for Dumbledore urging him to make an appearance at dinner. He had been skipping meals of late, preferring to take them in his chambers where he could be alone to think, and according to the headmaster it did not bode well for student and staff relations.
And so it was here that Falcor found him, exhausted and hungry after a horrendous journey. All eyes turned to watch the large falcon swoop through the rafters and land, with a careful grace, upon the head table.
Severus blinked his eyes at the bird, as if uncertain whether he was imagining him there, and then his spoon slipped from his fingers and fell onto the table with a clatter. He reached eagerly for the scroll, his heart pumping, pounding in his chest. Falcor squawked and flapped his wings, and snapped at Severus's hand.
"Easy now," Severus growled, taken aback by his falcon's vicious behavior. "You are welcome to anything on my plate. And I stand by my word, once you've given me the scroll you are free to leave the castle – Damn you, Falcor. What is the matter?"
Blood tricked down his thumb where Falcor had bitten him.
Concentrating on the falcon's sharp talons, Severus made one swift grab at the scroll and snapped the string that tied it to his leg.
"Severus, wait!" Dumbledore warned him, peering curiously at the bird from a few chairs over.
But it was too late. As soon as Severus took the scroll into his hand, Falcor's feathers burst into flames. Severus shielded his face with his arms. Within seconds the falcon had burnt to ashes, and from the ashes rose a greenish smoke. It hissed and swirled, and curled into the shape of a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth.
One of the children screamed. And then the entire Hall fell into a frightful hush.
Dumbledore stood amongst the silence, staring.
Severus's eyes dropped from the Dark Mark to the slightly singed scroll in his hands, and his fingers began to tremble as he unraveled it.
His breathing stilled.
You always did have a taste for Mudblood. Tell me, how many more deaths must happen in your name before you realize you cannot hide from me? The Dark Lord does not forgive so easily. Claira was only the first of many who will suffer in your place while you cower behind your castle walls. But your end is nearer than you think. Pray your death will be more merciful.
Severus felt the life drain out of him. It was not the answer he had imagined.
It was his worst fear realized.
He closed his eyes to the pain - to the cold, bitter truth. Claira was never coming back. She had been taken and murdered because of him, because of his mistakes.
Because he had been too proud to admit he had loved her.
If he had spoken the words to her she might have stayed. He could have kept her safe. But now, she would never know how he had felt… what she had meant to him.
He could scarcely breathe.
"Severus," said a gentle, soothing voice. But it quivered, "Is it Claira?"
The scroll fell away from his hands, and he stood. He pushed past Dumbledore and exited the Great Hall through the staff door.
He walked everywhere, and nowhere. There was not a place to be. Not a thing to be done. Nothing mattered. Life no longer had a purpose. He felt confused. Desperate. In one fatal swoop everything of any importance suddenly was naught. Only pain seemed to have any relevance to his existence.
It was pain that lead him to Claira's chamber. The lock he had blasted had not been fixed, and he was able to enter through the door with ease. It creaked loudly as he stepped into the darkness. Perhaps if he had something that belonged to her, something he could touch or smell, the memory of her face would replenish with all its brilliance and vividness. It had become obscured somehow in the time she had left.
He lit the fireplace with his wand and began to search; first inside her wardrobe, and then beneath her bed, and any other place that might have hid a forgotten treasure. Nothing was found. And it angered him. He wanted something to hold. His need became more urgent, and he began to toss about objects; lamps, sheets, drawers, and things that were furnished by the castle but had not belonged to Claira. Then he began to smash them. Frustration turned to chaos, and within minutes he had turned the room inside out, broken all that could be broken.
Depleted of energy, he sank against the wall and raked his fingers through his hair, and bowed his head in defeat. And there he remained; long after the fire went out.
Sometime during the night he fell asleep, slumped against her upturned mattress. He dreamt of a cold, dark cave. Claira was on the ground, wrenching and crying out. The Dark Lord stood over her, pointing his wand and laughing. Severus was there, watching but unable to help her. She looked up at him, begging, calling his name. His wrists struggled against his restraints, but he could not save her in time.
He woke up screaming out her name.
To be continued...
Thank you to all who left a review. There were very few this time, and I wonder if anyone else is reading this story? If you are, please leave a comment. I need all the motivation I can get to finish these next couple chapters. Thank you again, and stay tuned...
