A/N: Okay, so yeah. This chapter came waaaay late. I know. But I am done with school now and I PROMISE they will come more frequently now. Anyway, this is the obligatory "Sylvia explains everything to the Boy Wonder" chapter, for those of you just joining us who need to know about her. Some things are hinted at, too. More exciting secrets will follow in the next chapter. Just so you know, I'm now having a "find the worst piece of vintage clothing Sylvia could wear" contest. If you have any submissions, let me know. Oh, and sorry for the damn long epigram. I love T.S. Eliot and I couldn't cut any of it.
Chapter Four"After such knowledge, what
forgiveness? Think now
History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors
And issues, deceives with whispering ambitions,
Guides us by vanities. Think now
She gives when our attention is distracted
And what she gives, gives with such supple confusions
That the giving famishes the craving. Gives too late
What's not believed in, or if still believed,
In memory only, reconsidered passion. Gives too soon
Into weak hands, what's thought can be dispensed with
Till the refusal propagates a fear. Think
Neither fear nor courage saves us. Unnatural vices
Are fathered by our heroism. Virtues
Are forced upon us by our impudent crimes.
These tears are shaken from the wrath-bearing tree."
~T.S. Eliot, Gerontion
"Harry Potter is missing?" Dumbledore repeated. "Did the Death Eaters take him?"
"We don't know. We just haven't been able to find him, Ron, or Hermione since the attack. So, as I say, he is missing," McGonagall answered sharply, her nerves clearly on edge.
Snape knew this news shouldn't make him happy, but he couldn't help but feel a vague sense of joy at these words, then immediately rebuked himself. No matter how much he hated the boy, he had defeated Voldemort.
"Uh…professors?" came a rather sheepish voice from the entrance of the tavern. Everyone swiveled to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione standing dumbfounded. Hermione had spoken, and was slowly approaching Professor Dumbledore.
"What happened, sir?" she asked. "We were—we were up at the Shrieking Shack, just to, you know, look around…" She trailed off as a shaggy black dog appeared next to her.
"I completely understand, Miss Granger," Dumbledore replied, glancing over at the transfigured Sirius Black. "However, do not ask me what has transpired here. I myself have just arrived. I believe Professor McGonagall would be a suitable source of information."
"We were sitting here, enjoying a round of drinks—" McGonagall began, only to be cut off by cries of "Severus, Severus".
"Sylvia?" Snape yelled, turning his head somewhat frantically to find the origin of her cries.
She ran down the stairs from the top of the tavern, wearing a hideous lime green dress made of velvet. A collective cry of disgust went up.
"Oh, good god," Snape said, and hastily performed the vestinovi spell. Unfortunately, the clothing he was picturing Sylvia in was her sheer polka-dotted chemise.
"Sevy!" she cried, trying to cover herself.
"Merlin's beard, Severus," Dumbledore said, performing the vestinovi spell himself. Now Sylvia was clothed in a sparkling black gown with a long slit up the thigh, clearly from the 1920s.
She shrugged. "Your fantasy of me is so much more pure than Professor Snape's, Albus," she said wryly. Now everyone in the tavern was staring at her. "I'm sorry. Do continue, Professor McGonagall." She silently sped down the stairs and stood next to Snape.
"The tavern was overtaken by a group of Death Eaters, who incapacitated us before we could draw our wands. They said that we professors had to—we had to live, so that we could see what an old fool Dumbledore really was." McGonagall glanced quickly at the headmaster before continuing. "They then left the tavern and made their way into the town. We couldn't see anything, but we could hear the screams. When they disapparated, we were freed, and went outside to see what had happened. What we saw…" she couldn't continue.
"What we saw," Sprout continued, putting a comforting hand on McGonagall's shoulder, "Well, it looked like a scene from 15 years ago. Chaos, destruction, death. We've lost three students, I know Minerva told you that, headmaster."
"Their names?" Dumbledore asked quietly.
"Colin Creevey, Blaise Zabini, and Cho—"
"Cho?" Harry repeated, shaking his head. "She couldn't have—"
"I'm sorry, Harry," Dumbledore said. "This tragedy has impacted us all—"
"Cho would've known better!" Harry screamed. "She would've—"
"Harry." It was all Sylvia said, but she put her arms around him to comfort him. At first, he relaxed into her maternal embrace, his grief making him forget that he barely knew this woman, but then he started away from her.
"My scar!" he said accusingly, placing his hand on his forehead and wincing. "Headmaster, she—she—she—"
"Albus," Sylvia said. "I am sure that there are things you need to attend to. Perhaps I should have a discussion with Harry, and come speak with you later?"
"An excellent idea, Dr. Oliver," Dumbledore responded, looking very tired. "Minerva, can you call the prefects to me? We're going to need to have them lead their housemates back to the castle…"
***
Sylvia and Harry sat in her room at Hogwarts, sharing a cup of tea together, Harry staring with bright eyes into his.
"Harry, I know how hard this must be for you. I remember when Remus and I heard about the death of two of our friends—"
"You know Lupin?" Harry asked, surprised. "Who are you? You seem familiar to me, you know. And did you…did you know my parents?"
"Who I am is a very hard question to answer, Harry. Give me a minute on that. Lupin and I have been close to each other for many years. I actually met him at your parents wedding. You see, I am your father's great-aunt—"
"Great aunt?" Harry repeated incredulously. "But you're not old enough to be his great aunt!"
"Harry, have you ever heard of the Three?" Sylvia asked.
"No," he mumbled, looking down into his tea.
"A long time ago, Mother Nature appointed three women to be her guardians. They were immortal, but they soon became lonely, so she offered them a chance to assuage their loneliness—for each of them, there was one man that was made to be their soul mate and companion. They would age a year for every human century until they met him. When they had conceived with him, a girl would be born, the next member of the Three. A few generations later, here I am."
"Wow," Harry breathed, his grief eclipsed by wonder at the woman's age. "How old are you, then? In human years?"
"Oh. That's a hard question to answer. I don't think I've ever thought about it. I was born in the 5th century before the common era, but I don't know my exact birth date. So I suppose that I am about 24 or 25 hundred years old."
"Whoa…er, sorry to be rude, but what's this got to do with my scar?" he asked, staring at her in a mixture of wonder and fear.
"Harry, when I was a young girl, about ten years ago (my years, I mean), I and my two companions came here to Hogwarts. It had just been founded. I was the eldest of the three, and in something of a quandary because I felt that the balance of Nature was being disturbed, and it was chiefly my job, as eldest, to restore it. I met a man named Salazar Slytherin, who…tricked me into bearing him a son. He knew that any child born of the Three, even if it was a male child, would live longer than a child of two wizard parents…"
"Seriously?" Harry said, looking as if this information overwhelmed him. "You knew the Four Founders?"
Sylvia nodded. "Slytherin marked me, Harry, with a scar, that would lead me to find his and my heirs whenever they were in trouble or needed me. Several decades ago, by your count, I felt a great surge of power through that scar, and I knew that one had been born to take Slytherin's place."
"Voldemort," Harry said, looking a little pale around the edges.
"Yes, the man you call Voldemort. He sought me out and…he…" She wasn't quite sure how to say the next part to a teenage boy. "I was pregnant with his child, Harry."
"He has a child?" Harry yelped.
"No, the boy was stillborn," Sylvia replied smoothly, used to repeating this to those worried with the possibility of an heir to Voldemort. "But that's why your scar burned, Harry. I guess I still have a bit of Tom Riddle in my veins, left-over. I am sorry to have caused you any alarm."
"Do you know where he is?" Harry demanded. "Where Voldemort is? I know you do, I can tell by the look in your eyes!" He stood up, staring at her almost maniacally. "I want to kill him, Sylvia; I want to kill him for what he's done to my parents, and Cedric, and Ch—Ch--…" He broke off, crying.
"Harry, please. I can't give you that information. You are not ready to face him again, you—"
"I've faced him countless times, and I've won! You have to tell me, Sylvia, you have to—"
"Er, Harry," came a ghostly voice from beside the wall. The two living beings in the room looked over to see the ghost of Wilton Quirrell*, former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, float into the room. Both Sylvia and Harry started.
"Wilton," Sylvia said just as Harry gulped, "Professor Quirrell."
"I hate to eavesdrop," Quirrell murmured, "but I couldn't help overhearing. Dr. Oliver, would you mind if I talked to Harry alone for a moment?"
"Please, Wilton, go ahead," she said, gesturing to the door. Quirrell swiftly floated out, followed by Harry. The two passed Snape, who was on his way in. She saw Harry flicker a bewildered look at the potions master, clearly wondering why he was visiting her quarters.
"Sylvia!" Snape said, rushing to hold her in his arms. "Oh gods! Are you all right?"
"Severus, I am fine," she said, dismissing his concern. "There are others we need to be worried about." She glanced towards the door. "How is everyone holding up?"
"Albus is speaking with the Ministry of Magic, and Minerva is addressing the school in the Great Hall. Added security is a necessity at this point," Severus pronounced very officially. He then stared down at a single bead on Sylvia's gown (the same one that Dumbledore had placed her in), apparently unwilling to meet her eyes. "What did he tell you, Sylvia?"
"Tom?" she asked. "He was so—so happy, Sevy," she shuddered at the thought of it. "He was so excited at this act of malice, and that no one could deny his return. He wanted to flaunt his power over Dumbledore, and he told me that he didn't completely trust me; he wouldn't let me return until the attack had been committed."
"It's just going to get worse, Sylvia, don't you know that?" Snape asked, grabbing her by the shoulders, wishing he could hold her, and that she would never be taken from him again.
"I know," she said tiredly. "How does evil survive generation after generation, when we do our best to stop it? Where does it thrive, where does it grow?"
"You are going to have to destroy him," Snape said, not answering her question. He wasn't sure how such destruction was done, but he knew his history, and he knew that the Three had done a similar thing with Slytherin all those years ago.
"I know, Sevy, don't you think I know? But where is Rosamund? If we don't have her, we can't do anything. Until now, I must do my best to prepare the—" She cut herself off just in time. "I can't tell you everything right now, you know? But you need to know that Albus and I have a plan. He can't be allowed to go on forever, can he?"
"No." Snape and Sylvia looked up to see Harry standing, determined, at the door, Wilton hovering behind him. "No, Sylvia, Prof. Snape, he can't be allowed to go on forever." His eyes were wet with tears, but he stood firm, committed to destruction.
@@@
*This is the manifestation of Quirrell from Normandie M's "Redemption" and (sort of) "Love of Finished Years". I recommend both, and Quirrell will frequent my story.
Aww…mushy, sad, crying Harry. Doesn't it just make you sick? Maybe the next chapter will feature more Draco. Oh yeah, and the last chapter was chapter 3, but I accidentally called it chapter 4. Don't be confused; this is the real chapter 4. I'm just too lazy to change it.