A/N: Okay, this is the boring "explanation" chapter. I promise the next chapter will be more interesting; I do promise! And it will be coming soon, because I am really excited about writing it.
Chapter Two
"So bowed am I before thy mystery;
So bowed and broken on Love's terrible wheel,
That I have lost all hope and heart to sing,
Yet care I not what ruin time may bring
If in thy temple thou wilt let me kneel."
–Oscar Wilde, "The New Helen"
After they had finished reacquainting themselves, Sylvia made him sit down on his chair, ignoring the mess he had made of all the clothes and other things he had been trying to pack.
"We should talk, Severus," she said to him, placing his hand in her own and rubbing it affectionately.
"I have to admit, Sylvia, that I like what we did just now better than talking," he said, smiling slightly. He had been thinking about it for days, how he would react now that he knew she was returning. He had had all these years to think of a proper response for the hurt that she had placed upon him unceremoniously. He had thought he would be cold, bitter, sarcastic—and yet, what he had just done had little to do with any of those things. He supposed he was right when he had said what he said to Dumbledore when she left. He hated her and he loved her, but he loved her much more than the hate could reach.
"Sevy," she said, using his old nickname, "I have spent all these years back in my birthplace…at that old bookshop in Greece that you told me about, remember? That's where our house was."
"Socrates lived in the bookshop?" he said, never ceasing to be amazed by her immortality, by the fact that she had been alive these many years, by her inhuman beauty and grace.
"Well, not in the bookshop, Sevy. It wasn't there." She was laughing at him. Gods, he had forgotten how much he loved the way her eyes crinkled up when she laughed.
"As much as I guessed," he said, laughing back. How long had it been since he had laughed?
"This isn't the tangent I meant to get on," she replied, still smiling a little. "I want to talk about—about things, you know?"
"Oh yes, things," he said sarcastically, realizing that she was going to apologize for the years apart. He wasn't sure an apology was sufficient, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to even hear it.
"I've had a lot of time to think, Sevy, and I realized that I was selfish. I was supremely selfish. But all these memories rushed up on me, memories of all these centuries, and I thought to myself, these memories will be gone when I am. And what is it like? I have seen many a man die, and I have watched as the light leaves his eyes. Do you know what I mean?"
"You have no idea," he murmured, thinking of the times when he had caused the light to leave an innocent man's life.
"But where does that light go? To the Forms, the pure existence that Plato was so fond of?"
"Or to nothingness, as Nietzsche would say," he replied lightly, always having preferred the nihilist to other philosophers.
Sylvia hadn't heard him. "Ruth used to tell me about when I was little, and Plato took me on. My mother died in childbirth, and my father—he was killed for the truth that he believed. After he was gone, she says that Plato had me come live with him. They couldn't explain to him why I never aged significantly during his lifetime—I was still an infant when he died as an old man. But she says that he used to say, 'The mysteries of the gods are not for us to know,' and that was the end of it. I like to think that he found the Forms he sought in the end."
She had gotten passionate. He loved it when she was passionate about philosophy (or philosophers). "Sylvia," he said hopefully.
"Hmm?" she asked, wondering what he might want.
"You've been gone for so long. Don't you think we should make up for lost time? Again?" he asked, gesturing to the bed.
"Oh, absolutely," she replied, smiling brilliantly at him.
***
Afterwards, they lay together comfortably in the bed, Snape playing with Sylvia's hair, Sylvia playing with his. And the subject that Snape had wanted to avoid for as long as possible came up just when he did not want it to.
"What will you do about his return?" Sylvia asked, searching for any expression in his eyes, something that could tell her how he felt. She had been away from him for so long that she did not remember how to read him.
"I have to go back to him, and plead for mercy," Severus replied, looking away from her on purpose.
"Sevy, you can't!" she said, horrified. "He would never take you back—he will kill you. What does Albus say?"
"We've talked about this at length over the years, you know," he said sarcastically; she did not, in fact, know, seeing as how she had not been here those many years. "What I would do if he returned. And it is decided. Albus needs someone on the inside, though we cannot know how much he knows about my activities before his downfall."
"But Severus, please," she breathed, but he interrupted her.
"Sylvia, you are part of this plan. I know that you and the Headmaster have probably discussed your role in this. You're going to go back to him, aren't you? You must ask him to spare my life. Not torture—I expect as much for being unfaithful—but you must tell him that I have to live. He knows that I'm your One, doesn't he?"
"He does; in fact, it was he who told me you were," she replied, looking very worried. "And he wants you dead so that I will not be. He wants me to live with him forever." She shuddered at the thought; as much as she was afraid of dying, she was much more afraid of living forever with that sort of evil.
"Then you must tell him that you want to live with him also. Do you understand, Sylvia? Tell him that I must live until you have completed preparations for a special ritual that you have to do to kill me. He won't know better, if you say that it is an affair that only the Three know of; simply tell him that if I die before the ritual, you will die. That should be enough to motivate him to let me live." He scrutinized her appearance. Her ability to carry off this lie was all that would save him, but what other options did he have?
"I will do my best," she said, her head bowed, as if with the enormity of the situation. "I feel so old, Severus…I ache. I want the evil out of my bones."
"I know, Sylvia," he replied, "I want it out of my bones too."
***
The next day she and Snape went to talk to Albus about Voldemort. Not having seen her yet, the Headmaster was clearly overjoyed.
"Ah, Sylvia! You have returned! We have waited so long for you," he said, settling down comfortably behind his desk.
"I know, Albus, though I believe that recent circumstances have more than warranted my return here," she replied in her most serious tone.
"Where are Rosamund and Sophie?" he asked. "I have been doing extensive research on the journals of Rowena Ravenclaw, and I have come across an interesting section about the Three. Apparently, you have to all be together in order for a certain ritual—"
"It's not gone so far as all that, has it, Albus?" she interrupted him hastily. "How did you…?"
"We'll discuss it later," Dumbledore said, glancing at Snape, who was feeling distinctly left out. "But can you at least tell me where they are?"
"Sophie is in Rome, and has been there for quite some time. The last I heard, Rosamund was back in America, in Boston, but she hasn't contacted me in several months. I'm worried about her."
"As am I," Dumbledore added. "I don't know how much you and Severus have spoken about—"
At this point, Snape felt it was safe to interrupt him, and finally join the conversation. "I have told her about what we must do."
"Sylvia," Dumbledore began, "A great deal is resting on your quite capable shoulders. Our own Professor Snape's life, in fact. We need you to convince Voldemort that he must live until you have gathered the Three for a ritual not dissimilar to the one that Ravenclaw mentioned."
"But Albus," she interjected, "Such a ritual, even if it did exist, would be supremely different from the one that we had to use then."
"Yes, I realize that," he replied, "But I'm not sure that Voldemort does. His desire for you will blind his rationality. And that is just how we want him. Can you return to him?"
"How could I not?" she asked, fingering her scar.
"Sylvia, you are a remarkable creature, do you know that?" Dumbledore asked, a certain light in his eyes that Snape had seen before.
"Oh, Albus," she demurred. "I am only doing what I was created to do. I can do no more, no less."
"But the Headmaster is right," Snape said quietly, reaching for her hand, "You are quite remarkable."
"Albus," she said, obviously trying to change the subject, "What will be done about Harry Potter? He attends school here now, doesn't he?"
"He is safe with his relatives for the summer," Dumbledore replied. "But yes, he does attend Hogwarts. He will be a fifth-year."
"I should like to speak with him, you know, just in case he will have to help us," she said, and Dumbledore appeared to know what she was talking about, though Snape (as usual) had no idea.
"I think you should wait until Harry returns to school here to speak with him," Dumbledore advised. "His relatives are most decidedly Muggles."
"Are we done talking about Potter?" Snape asked sharply; he really could not stand the boy who played hero at every opportunity.
"Yes, I think we're done here," Dumbledore said. "But be on your guard, both of you. We don't know when Voldemort will summon you next. I trust both of you will be as cautious as you can in this situation. You are helping us to rid the world of a great evil."
As they walked out, Sylvia murmured only loud enough for Snape to hear, "When does the world not contain a great evil, or one just beginning to germinate? It is in the nature of things." As she said it, she looked different—larger, perhaps, and awe-inspiring.
"Nothing that Voldemort does is in the nature of things, Sylvia," Snape replied a little harshly, wondering what she was thinking. But he had seen a flash of something powerful in her eyes, and it frightened him. He wondered if anyone else had ever seen it, and if they had, had they worshiped her? For it was at times like these that she seemed to him a goddess, an object of worship. He wanted nothing else than to worship her always.
But the light faded and she then looked as tired as she had earlier. "I know, Severus. I'm sorry. I have grown jaded, and I'm exhausted. I just want to sleep sometimes."
"You can always sleep with me," he offered with a smile, and grasped her hand, leading her towards his room.
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Okay, that's the end of this first installment. Next chapter, Sylvia and Snape get to go visit Voldie. Woo….that'll be fun…hmm. Anyway, thanks to all my wonderful reviewers: darling Normandie M (we shall see Quirrell when the school year starts up again—and if you like Quirrell, read her story "Redemption"), Brina, swiftfootede (aka Elokin), and of course, my own little baby bear Severa. If you find the idea of Severa and I running around on various antics mildly amusing, I highly suggest her fic "Rubida Luna".