Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters, they are the proud and magnificent property of J.K. Rowling.

Author's note: This chapter is rather short, I wanted to get this over with. I have chapter three finished, but I think I'll wait for some reviews before I put it up ::wink wink::.

Prologue

Chapter Two:
Bitter Tidings


Sasha passed in and out of consciousness throughout the rest of that day. None of those brief periods when she wasn't asleep were pleasant. The night came upon the world stubbornly, the sun died slowly, spilling dark, vibrant blood over the sky. When all that disappeared and all that could be seen through the curtains near the couch was black, starry sky, Sasha ventured to get up. Before she was far, one arm grasped her shoulder and guided her back to her former resting place.

She protested groggily but the firm escort only put a goblet to her lips. She resorted to glaring at Snape from above her cup. The liquid burned and the aftertaste was disgusting, but she washed it down and handed the empty goblet back to Snape. He took it and urged her silently to lie back down. She relented and soon she was fast asleep.

The next morning Sasha awoke and found herself somewhat well. The potion of the previous night had worked, beside the drowsy consequences. Sasha had dressed and was sipping tea on the balcony when she heard, more then saw her silent visitor step out into the light. He was watching the street below, but his mind was elsewhere, she knew. As Sasha was making to go back inside he spoke.

"The potion has worked?" It was still stern and quiet, commanding a response. Normally she would have retorted cheekily, but not after someone had been so kind to her. She found his manner rather amusing, and played off it in something akin to the same way.

"Yes, thank you. I am going to travel back to London tonight," she paused expecting a reaction, and when he stayed silent she continued, "if you would kindly tell Stephen I will not be coming back to The Golden Quill, the next time you may see him, I would be grateful."

An emotion flittered across his face briefly, and he took a step forward as he spoke.

"What? Where will you work? Surely you won't stay in America?" Snape sounded incredulous but his emotion was checked quickly behind the usual mask of imperialism. Inwardly Snape was frustrated and rather sickened at himself.

"No, I will not. I can barely stand it here as it is, "she looked around at the buildings she could see with mild dislike.

"I see," he said softly then walked back inside leaving her outside in the warm breeze with her thoughts.

"What was this?" something screamed in his head as he collected his things. The cauldron seemed heavier then it had ever been, and his tools, vials, scrolls and ingredients were like scattered bits of burnt wood after a campfire; soon to be carried away by erosion and still no one would bother to pick them up. Despite the agile movements he made his mind was not so composed.

"Concern for an aggravating woman whom has wasted enough of your time already," he picked up his quill and parchment, "and for you to even care is more then enough reason to wretch upon the floor," his cauldron and bottles soon followed, "now think of it no more, you have a job to do in a few months, we must prepare," the ingredients disappeared along with scrolls and notes, "and for god's sake Severus, buy some new dress robes!" Everything was gone, except a very thick tome lying closed; it's title facing the sky. A long, pale finger twisted over the gold, cursive lettering following the language closely with his tip as if soaking the knowledge through those short words into his very veins. The book then too, disappeared.

He came upon Sasha, for what he thought would be the last time, reading The Daily Prophet. A strange owl was sitting on the windowsill chirping lightly as it pecked at a piece of bread at its feet. Sasha's face was more interesting then these two things, though. Her eyes were rather too large, which was slightly frightening, as the dark blue, watery depths grew larger; overflowing as in a downpour.

Her brow was slightly furrowed and the hand holding the paper open was clenched too tightly, causing creases to spread like a web outward from the small hand.

She looked stricken-if Snape was one to exaggerate, he would say. He neared her calmly and, as her back was to him, glanced over her shoulder to read the front page. It read:


17 MUGGLES AND 6 WIZARDS DEAD

An event which has caused an uproar all throughout the wizarding community is that of last night. Six families, five being muggle and half blood, the last a pureblood, were murdered last night, all in ten minutes of each other. Aurors responded to the calls quickly, only to find the charred remains of the families floating as a gruesome memento some twenty feet in the air. One of the victims was none other then the newly married couple, Mr. and Mrs. Havering, coming from quite an old line of purebloods. Is this ripple of violence some cruel demonstration that no one is safe? We have from authority that…


The article went on to say more on the location and other suspects. Sasha felt Snape's presence behind her and turned slowly to face it. She looked up into his hard features, looking for something she couldn't find. His brow furrowed slightly at seeing her expression. His mouth was set grimly in a straight line and his eyebrows didn't twitch. Suddenly Sasha realized her eyes were damp. She thought swiftly of turning away, but she could not…she could not avert her eyes from his. Sasha had once warned herself against the dark, hollow tunnels set before her, she had known the danger that lie in those eyes. Instead of all she thought, she let a single tear roll down her cheek and knew it could not be helped. His eyes were sweeping over her face like flowers in a windy field, she thought. His eyes flowing in waves across her features, pausing when he drifted across her eyes to stare down into her soul.

"Who were they," Snape asked softly, directing his stare on the page he had read. She followed his gaze and reread the important name three times before answering, keeping her head facing the tabloid.

"Cousins. Not too closely related," she stopped afraid she might choke upon her words if she continued. A lump had formed in her throat and she coughed slightly before finishing, "they were expecting a child. A boy, I remember. Tom had always wanted a boy…"

Another tear followed the first and she hastily wiped it away only to have a few traitorous more slide down after. She shivered and covered her face to turn away but was stopped by a soft hand on her back. It pulled her close to an uncomfortable warmth, yet a reliable, strong chest which she gladly rested her head upon as silent tears drained from her eyes. She remembered the look on Tom Havering's face when he had proudly announced the news. "I am going to be a father!" He had shouted grasping any pair of hands he could and shouting with joy. It was carved into Sasha's memory permanently. That look of absolute ecstasy in his eyes, his lips never faltering from the brilliant smile, and the healthy blush in his cheeks as he rushed around in bliss. He had been gorgeous. It was his happiness that had made him so. The light in his face. The light in his eyes. The light in his future. Now it seemed so vibrant, yet cold, this memory she held. For it was like watching a movie twice: you already knew what would eventually happen and there was nothing in your power to stop it.

Snape held this sobbing body steadily yet cautiously. Never had he held a woman like this to him. Never had he allowed it. That jeering, cold voice would return to him, horrified with the situation it was witnessing, soon. Yet it did not. All he could hear was a slight humming in his ears that frightened him beyond what and conscience could ever do.

Sasha felt the arms that had wrapped around her protectively slacken and fall away. She had the initial, horrifying feeling of drowning, but in an instance she had regained some sense and composure and turned her back on the Potion Master.