Excrucior
~Iphigenia~
Odi et Amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior. [I hate and I love. Perhaps you ask me why I do this. I do not know, but I feel it happening, and I am in torment.] –Catullus
Chapter One: Prologue
The next few years passed slowly for Severus Snape, as he tried his best to mask his hurt in a veil of bitterness and cold haughtiness, and pushed away the hope that she was returning. He turned away from the rejection that dogged him, both at his back whenever he looked behind him, and also in his dreams, where she was there, running towards him with open arms, which brought back the pain of her departure even more strongly.
Harry Potter had come two years after she was gone, and he couldn't help think of her. She had said that she was related to him, hadn't she? And she had been with Lupin, who had been friends with James…but he didn't want to think about it. He wouldn't think about it. He felt hatred flare up out of his apathy for this boy who had done him no wrong, save remind him of his Sylvia.
Various memories from the years of her absence floated to the surface of the Pensieve she had left him with. To think, he had only known her for a year, and had spent all these many years remembering that one perfect season. But it was what he recalled from the years after she had gone that he thought of most often. How he had seen her with him and a beautiful child, standing happily, in the Mirror of Erised…how he had barely been able to restrain himself around Remus Lupin when he returned sans Sylvia…when Lupin had told him that Sylvia had asked him to go as well, that she wanted to be alone…the very few letters he had received from this woman, the one woman who was meant for him.
The memories were not enough. How could he live without her? It was not a real life. He was not real without her beside him. And when he saw the Dark Mark grow stronger upon his arm, he wondered if she felt the Dark Lord's presence in her heart, and on the scar that she bore on her chest, a memento from Slytherin bequeathed to her that she might always find their Heir.
And then there was the final task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and Harry Potter emerged as the reigning hero, as usual. But this time something different had happened. Voldemort had returned. He had regained his old physical shape again. It was time. After he had spoken with Dumbledore, who had a certain glint in his eyes (Snape had always thought that the headmaster was not completely over his youthful infatuation with Sylvia), he sat down to write her a letter.
What to say? In the end, he found that only the simplest thing would suffice. Two words scrawled on a scrap of parchment. He's back. He sent the owl off, and a week later, received a similar reply. I know.
He was not expecting to see her so soon. As he finished packing up his belongings to go home for the summer, he felt a presence behind him. Turning around slowly, as if not wanting to see whomever it was, he saw her standing there nervously, her hands pressed into the fabric of her white linen dress, her olive skin darker than it had been, her honeyed hair lighter. It was Sylvia.
"Severus," she murmured, and there was a slight pause before they rushed at one another with a combination of need and desire.
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Just a little prologue to get the story started back up. See, I started writing
a sequel immediately. I couldn't help myself. Also, I seem to find it hard to
get past the Catullus poem, so I'm using it again. I want to thank Eriu for a thoughtful
review to Odi et Amo, too—I hope that you will also read this story and
reevaluate your opinion of Sylvia (who was being, by the way, selfish).