Disclaimer: All characters are the property of the infamous J.K. Rowling, except Sasha and a few others.

Author's Note: I actually wrote this a long time ago, but since nobody was reviewing (glares evilly) I decided to wait…sounds like someone else I know…

Prologue

Chapter 3:
Veteris Vestigia Flammae


White, intoxicatingly white, and not only this, but rippling, swaying and blowing gently; the shadows played in and out of the transparent cloth while it bustled in the breezy air. The wind would pick up slightly, tousling the curtains and some items strewn about the room, before dropping back down to the normal, low hum. At one of its peaks the wind flipped the pages of an old newspaper lying dejectedly on a couch-side table.

The sliding, glass door was wide open, surrendering to the breezes that blew ruthlessly into the small apartment. This door led out onto a high patio, which overlooked a frosty, Muggle city. A woman sat on an iron deck swing outside, despite the biting cold and the wind that blew her hair into her eyes and across her face. Her eyes were closed and the wind seemed to thrash at her defiance. She has played this game before, this match with nature that ended, always, in a draw.

She has pulled her legs up and encased them in her arms as she faces the west horizon. Soon the light will fade and the fiery ball of radiance will dip below her vision leaving the trailing cape of starry sky in its wake.



"He hasn't left yet," Sasha thought dimly as she gazed into the sky. A bitter cold was nipping at her cheeks and fingers making her eyes water with the chill. She had pulled her knees closer so she could rest her head on them. Snape was still in the apartment, though after they had seen the newspaper he hadn't said one word, neither had she.
"This is nice…" her mind said drowsily as heavy eyelids drooped. The wind did nothing to avert her psyche's destination, only adding to the numbing sense of slumber. The setting sun blurred as a curtain of blackness fell over her eyes, the lead that had formed on her eyelids finally becoming too heavy. She drifted away silently, the whisperings of the breeze no longer present while her dreams formed.

They were misty at first, but as the fog cleared she found herself at Durmstrang, talking to her owl, Hermes. Sasha looked down at her young self, at the thin age of 14, caressing the bird with the back of her hand and making soft noises from the back of her throat. Her image sat upon a collection of flat rocks under a naked tree. Frost clung to her robes and hair, the ground was covered in a fine layer of snow and the air was chilly with the winter season. Sasha saw someone coming near her image's stony perch from behind walking quickly and clumsily. It didn't take long before the younger Sasha turned around and peered from behind the tree, noticing them as well. The one form turned into two people as they neared, furiously walking for her rock. Hermes shifted from one leg to the other and both the young and older Sasha looked at the owl, one in mild confusion and concern, and the other with knowing breathlessness.

The two people revealed themselves as they neared to be a burly sixth year and none other then her own slimy classmate, Karkaroff. An unpleasant smile twisted the latter's features, creating an even more unattractive affect. The sixth year was not much more handsome, but had the air of slight dignity and repose, which caused, in turn the young Sasha to relax on his benefit.

"Well, well! Look who it is! The little Winters girl crawling around in the snow with her owl. There is food back in the school for that beast; you don't have to dig up worms for it, you know, " he sneered.

Sasha observed her younger self bristle slightly and her eyes glare like burning coal at her fellow pupil. He sniggered with a greasy voice, which was deadened by the snow.

"Why do you say that? Are you hungry?" The fourteen year old spat stroking the smooth feathers of her pet. Karkaroff stopped laughing and looked at her with hatred. The older boy now stepped forward and spoke.

"You are not allowed out here at this time, Winters, and if you go in now I will not report this to anyone," he said stiffly. It was obvious that Karkaroff had dragged him out into the cold to punish her. It was also clear that the older boy was irritated and wanted to get it over with quickly.

"Says who?" She said coldly.

"Just do what he says, Winters!" Karkaroff said viciously. Sasha stared at him in a mocking calm that seemed to provoke him. Provoke him it did, indeed. With a snarl he lunged forward at the young Sasha. She stepped back quickly, hating to think of being touched by him, but not quick enough. He toppled her over, sending Hermes into the air with a screech. They wrestled for a few minutes before the screaming sixth year could pull them apart. All three were breathing heavily.

"I should have known better," the heaving, younger Sasha thought, "then to have motivated him. What has gotten into you?"

Hermes gracefully landed on her shoulder and glared at Karkaroff, while the dreaming Sasha looked upon all, unseen, with a meaningful eye. The panting boy looked downright murderous at both girl and owl.

And so it began, the hateful relationship sparked again, but this time it actually led to flames.





It was so snug, Sasha thought, groggily, as she snuggled unconsciously closer to a soft warmth as the night's dream began to diminish behind her eyelids. She reached up her hand, blindly, and pulled the warm pillow closer to her body. The morning may have come, but the nippy air hadn't softened one notch. Vaguely Sasha acknowledged the friction of a heavy blanket around her thighs, yet her greedy hands clung to the velvety cushion she lay against. "So soft," she thought as her mind began to slip away again but stopped as she suddenly recognized the slow rise and fall of her head. As she stiffened instinctively she could just make out a slow heartbeat coming form the pillow. Her eyes snapped open and took in the bright glorious light of day. She shielded her eyes with a lazy hand and blinked furiously. She observed the deck and the city below sluggishly, and the gentle rocking reminded her she had fallen asleep on the swing.

Sasha felt a slight moving and turned her head sleepily towards the cushion she had fallen asleep on. It was no cushion.

Severus Snape opened his eyes slowly, sleep still dwindling in his thoughts and reflexes, and looked down at the thing that clung to him desperately close.

When their eyes met their faces betrayed mutual shock. Sasha quickly removed her hand that, when asleep, had crept up his chest to rest on his shoulder. She dislodged her head from its resting place on his upper body.

Sasha moved back as her mind, to her great dislike, observed their situation with frustration. Snape had been, and was still, sitting up-right on the far end of the swing. "Did I crawl over to him in my sleep?" She though dismayed and utterly embarrassed. A blanket had previously been hastily wrapped around her, but in her slumber she had carelessly discarded it around her once curled-up feet

Snape was facing her with surprise written all over his chiseled features, his body was straight and rigid, and it didn't look like he was breathing much.

"I-I…what the hell are you doing out here!" Sasha snapped defensively, feeling the rise of indignation through her awkwardness.

Snape became angry at her outburst: his eyes flashed but his tone remained level when he answered.

"I came out here to sit while you were dead to the world, you're not the only one who enjoys this kind of weather," he hissed.

"Well that's certainly not what you were doing a minute ago, now was it?" Sasha said angrily. Somewhere inside she knew that this uncomfortable situation was not wholly his fault, but she'd be damned if ever she admitted it.

"Following your example, you mean? Yes, it was."

The conversation halted at that and the lull in sharp words left room for rational thought. The looks of ire slowly washed away from their faces and there was a silence that followed only interrupted by the noises of nature.

Sasha shot a sidelong glance at the Potion's Master. He looked dazed, and rather embarrassed and as Sasha eyes wandered to his wrinkled robes, where her hands had been earlier, the slightest warmth came to her face. Snape caught her eye and the heat increased a degree.

Sasha blinked and stood up from the swing, causing it to buck slightly under the loss of weight. As she made to go inside a slim yet firm hand shot out and pulled her back. Snape had rose in an instant and Sasha found herself pulled closer to him, almost until touching. The tension grew as he glared down at her through ebony eyes, so dark they were almost hypnotizing. She was close enough to feel the tiny gusts of breath he made against her skin and to be able to count each and every perfect eyelash.

Snape looked down at the woman he held too close. She looked collected enough, but her chest heaved almost above normal and when he scrutinized her deep eyes he found a reflection of fear. As he realized this his hand softened faintly.

He scrutinized her carefully. Never had he cared, before, whom he associated with, who it was he could call his ally. Only Dumbledore seemed to fill those shoes responsively and Snape knew he could not survive, in the present world, with only one pair. An idea had presented itself long ago, before ever meeting her actual acquaintance, slowly, but as he had turned it over and probed its crevices, he had enjoyed what he discovered.

Sasha's lips parted as she tried to find a thought to grasp and vocalize, but Snape beat her to it.

"Come to Hogwarts," he whispered hoarsely, and he loosened his grip on her arm. If she wanted she could pull herself away and slip out of his blazing gaze. But she did not.


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