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?"
@@@
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.
