Chapter Fifteen

A/N: This chapter took so long to go up due to the unexpected absence of ffnet for a while, which I'm sure we all suffered from. There is some mush ahead, so be aware, but in retaliation, there's also some dark stuff. Also, the chapters may come less frequently because I am now in college! Still, I will try to keep everything expedient. Hope you like it!

Chapter Fifteen

After confirming something that he felt he already knew (though how or how long he had known it, he was unsure), Severus Snape did something that he had never done before, something that he had always thought of before as a thing that would cause regret, an idea not worth the consequences. Severus Snape acted on impulse.

Leaning in towards Sylvia, he began to kiss her, and she responded with passion. As his lips met hers, he felt for the first time as if the great void he had felt for so long, the emptiness in his soul, the great evil he had done had been undone, that the vast misshapen pieces of his life had been righted. He tangled one of his hands in her hair and with the other began to undo the tiny buttons on the back of her robe.

Hurriedly, she broke away from the kiss, and for a moment he could only blink back at her, surprised.

"I just thought," she said in an unnaturally nervous voice, "That we could talk. Figure out more of this mystery, don't you think? I mean, it's really so very interesting that you are so enamored of philosophy and that my father…my father…"

"All right," he said slowly. As to what might be bothering her, he had no idea, but he thought it best to let her have her way. He then told her the story of his visit to Greece, and how he ended up in the small bookshop, examining a copy of The Republic. "When I opened it up and read a few words," he explained, "Suddenly everything felt better. The world seemed clearer…I'm not sure how to describe it…" He then broke off, a little embarrassed.

But she was leaning forward with interest. He took a moment to admire how her honeyed hair fell around her face, and the many enigmas in her hazel eyes. How had he not realized before how beautiful she was?

"Sevy," she said, sounding excited. "Do you think that maybe when you read the words of Plato, the words of my father, that Nature was giving you a clue about me?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I don't know, Sylvia," he answered frankly. "All I know is that right now…I feel more alive than I have ever felt before."

She smiled at him, and he remembered how he loved the crinkles that appeared around her eyes. "This is new for me," she admitted. "It seems a little strange, to have been alive for thousands of years and have something new happen. But there's never been another One. You are the first."

They talked for what seemed forever to Snape, and when he finally rose to go, he embraced her again, and felt the same warmth wash over him, as if he had been immersed in her goodness.

He then walked down the corridors to his room, grinning foolishly, feeling like an adolescent again. His sense of mirth even increased when he ran into one irate Professor McGonagall, tartan robe and all. He had never noticed how stunningly angry she could look.

"Severus," she exclaimed (to him, it sounded like more of a screech), "You've got lipstick all over your mouth."

Smiling at her, he rubbed his hand absentmindedly across his lips. "Do I?" he asked. "I suppose I do."

"Really, this is out of hand," she proclaimed. "Who have you been seeing at this late hour? Don't you know that the school has a reputation to maintain?"

"Don't worry, Minerva," he said lightheartedly. "I promise I will keep the manner in which I act respectful to the dignity of the school." He remembered when he had admonished Sylvia with the same words, and had to suppress a laugh.

With that, he left her, and retired to his rooms.

***

He seemed to fall asleep almost immediately, a silly smile on his face. He only assumed that the dream came soon after.

He saw the visage of the Dark Lord, the face that had been haunting him for years, horrible and gruesome. A hood covered his head, but not his face. He sneered unpleasantly at Snape, who was cowering on the floor before him.

"So, you think she is yours now," he said coldly, slowly bringing his long, thin fingers together and up under his chin.

"I…she is…" Snape gasped, suddenly hoarse and unable to speak at all. He realized grimly that he was very afraid, and he hated himself for it, for this weakness of his. He wanted to be strong for Sylvia, to be able to protect her.

"She belongs to me, you know. She always will. Her mark has connected her to me…forever. And neither of us will die, unless you interfere." All of this was said with a slight smirk, as if Voldemort was daring Snape to even attempt to interfere.

"Sylvia does not belong to you!" Snape said, before he could help himself. He regretted it almost immediately as he heard the other man's high, cold laugh.

"Even so," Voldemort replied matter-of-factly, "One thing still remains true, slave. Even if darling Sylvia is not mine, this much is certain. YOU belong to me. And you will do my bidding." He laughed again, and Snape shivered. Then he smiled mirthlessly, and Snape's Dark Mark burned horribly, vividly black, as he heard the Dark Lord whisper a word he dreaded. "Crucio," he murmured, and Snape wondered at the fact that he did not even have to say it with great force. He only had an instant to wonder at it, before pain, horrible pain, riddled every nerve in his body.

After what seemed an eternity, he was finally released from the pain, and came back to himself, to hear the man (or was he a man?) laughing again. He watched as the tall inhuman shape in the cloak began to leave the room, then turned to give a word of final parting.

"Remember," Voldemort added, "That you belong to me, in my service forever. Do not forget, slave. And tell your Sylvia that."

It was at this point that Snape awoke, turning his head back and forth on the pillow as if to erase the dream. Tell your Sylvia that…some panic made him want to go to her, and make sure she was all right. He hurriedly threw his robes back on and lit a candle.

Only then did he realize something both terrible and terrifying, something that stopped him momentarily in his tracks. His Dark Mark, which was normally so faded even he could barely see it, had burned black.

After a short consideration, he began to run wildly through halls and up stairs to get to Sylvia's quarters. He had never realized before how far away she was, and it seemed to take him twice as long as it normally did to reach her.

Finally he arrived, panting, at her door, and without thinking too much about it, opened it immediately. What he saw gave him little comfort. Sylvia was here, she looked safe, and she was asleep. But it was clear that she too was having a nightmare, as she thrashed about wildly.

As he got closer, he could hear her murmuring, "No…no, Tom…" He then had little doubt whom she was thinking about. Shaking her gently, he was surprised when she sat up quickly, eyes wide, in response to his method.

She looked befuddled for a moment, her eyes trying to take everything in, and then noticed his face, illuminated by the candle. She jumped.

"Sevy! You…you scared me." She put her hand to her heart, and he thought that it was not the gesture of a frightened woman but something else, something else entirely.

"I'm sorry. You were having a nightmare. So was I. I came up here to tell you about it." Now that he said it aloud, it sounded horribly stupid. For a brief moment he asked, Severus, what on earth are you doing? You've made a fool of yourself over a woman. If there was one thing you promised not to do…

Sylvia was watching him curiously, almost as if she could hear the conversation going on in his head. "What was your nightmare about?" she asked.

"I imagine it was the same as yours," he replied. "It was him, you know, and he threatened me." For some reason, he was frightened to speak aloud the name that had haunted his dream.

"Yes, and then he frightened you, didn't he? He made your mark burn," she said softly. "He did the same to me. I wonder how much of a man he is, sometimes. How did he know?"

"Sylvia, surely you don't think…it couldn't have been real!" He said this quickly, hoping that if he said it, it would be true.

"Sevy, he is alive," she answered, touching the tiny triangle above her heart again briefly. "I have not known how to tell Albus, but I imagine he guesses. I think that now it is time for him to know for sure."

"You mean that the Potter boy didn't destroy him?" He felt a great loathing at the name alone. Oh, how he hated James for his bravery, for the fact that his own son had inherited the bravery and had done something, even when he was so weak and powerless, that no one else could have done.

But he had always dreaded, known somehow that it was true—that the Dark Lord could not die. He had seen Voldemort fortify himself against death; he himself had even brewed him potions to aid in the process.

"No, dear Harry wasn't able to completely obliterate him," she answered, and a look of sadness, or anger, passed briefly over her features. "Sometimes I wish I could go to the poor boy, take him in. I am, I think, faintly related to him, but Albus forbids it. Who am I to question him?"

"What do we do now?" Severus asked, trying to get her mind off anything even remotely connected to James Potter. He felt that she must know what would be right to do, that she could give him the wisdom he needed to stave off Voldemort.

"Nothing," she said grimly, her face tightening with resignation. "We wait, Severus. We sit and wait for him to come to us. What else could we do?"

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Yikes! What a depressing way to end my chapter! I had to do something to get rid of all the mush…Anyway, thank you, my favorite people, my wonderful reviewers. Thanks especially to my new reviewers Mona Lusa, Rathera Mutimwiya, and Amy Lee! Thank you so much.