The trains were bleak without their usual hordes of students, the shiny new enamel seemed so wasted without the little personal decals the children took the liberty of carving. Even the usual tray of goodies which he had indulged in so many times before was absent, though he would never had admitted partaking in something so frivolous.

He was forced, instead, to stare out of the window, watching his asylum become just another tiny pebble atop another tiny mound of dirt. His eyes closed, a sharp gust of pain seeming to assail him in the center of his chest.

In a lapse of composure, he blew his breath on the window, watching the steam form, and with his long fingers, drew a hasty sketch of Sirius Black. He smiled, the corners of his mouth curling up in an uncharacteristically mischievous expression. It evaporated quickly, as did his cartoon, and he soon reverted to slumping sulkily in his seat, spindly arms crossed over his chest, dark eyes hazy with emotion and fatigue.

To his surprise, the journey lasted half as long as he had expected, mostly because he slept most of the way. It was a good sleep, a hard, unrousable, refreshing much needed sleep that bordered upon unconsciousness. His head was slumped forward, lank hair lazily obscuring his infamous nose and daggerish eyes.

This is exactly how she would remember him.

A gentle tapping, almost a stroke is what finally stirred him. She had tried roughly shaking him, but found that harshness had elicited nothing more than an indifferent sigh, and a change of position.

His eyes opened questioningly, and he said nothing for a few seconds, only struggling to place both where he was and who was glaring him full in the face. She was almost as raven haired as he, and her eyes were equally annoyed. They were a darker shade of brown, perhaps that of bitter chocolate, and he found himself smiling at the irony. Her olive skin glowed in a healthy, flush-of-youth way, and she had small, perfectly formed lips. He was glad, though he knew not why, that they were not overly large, nor overly thinned. He had long lamented for something of a more sufficient moue. She smiled, nervously, but still looked irritated; she would have been an utterly striking woman, except for the fact that she appeared to be about 15.



She said this in a low whisper, but there was something rocky about her voice, a gravelly quality that scraped along the bottom. She had a mature tone; he nodded slightly in response, still not knowing what to expect. She gave him a quick, but sincerely grateful smile. She settled herself into the opposite seat, giving his reclining legs a gentle shove.

Severus gave her the briefest of overviews, not quite being able to conquer the more physical side to his personality. She looked at him again, almost in a challenging way, her oddly coloured eyes forcing his own to be directed elsewhere. Peripherally, he noticed that she had smirked when his gaze shifted uncomfortably, and this rather irked him. He had never liked when someone had the ability to unseat him.

Nadyae de Ambruzzi'.

She offered him her slim hand and he noticed, with approval, that her fingernails were an appropriate length, and that she had exquisitely long fingers. Her wrists were thin, and he saw the round, revolving joint beneath her skin. He tentatively took her hand in his own, feeling distrustful of handshakes all of his life; her skin was very cold, almost bitingly so, and he resisted an urge to wrap her hand in his sleep warmed robes.

A thought occurred to him.

Dumbledore said an Analiese was to accompany me, not an...not you.

He finished lamely, not remembering, nor having an inkling as how to pronounce her name. She winced at the other mention, and he instantly knew that this was a departed relation.

My sister. She died recently, Dumbledore had no way of knowing. I was to take her place, and am very honoured.

My condolences.

Even though his brief, almost terse expression of apology would have been deemed offensive by another, she looked almost gladdened. She nodded, eyes furthering their spectrum of color, and an expression passed over her face he could not discern.

Tell me, professor, are you equipped with any kind of aide, magical or otherwise?

She had a brisk, business tone, and she gestured towards his robes. He raised an eyebrow in question, then realised what she had meant by the inquiry.

No. My wand was disabled. All I have are my potions and a few, sparse ingredients. I was not allowed a magical weapon, out of the fear that I would be traced.

She nodded in a troubled manner, then eased something out of her satchel. It was a metal object, beautiful in its blackness, gleaming, yet devouring the light that reflected on it. It looked like a black pearl, resting between her fingers. Suddenly, a cold caught him down the spine, and he sat upright, a draft of unknown origin embracing him. She was offering him a gun.

Do you know what this is?.

She opened his hand, and he winced, though imperceptibly, and she wrapped his own fingers around it. He was surprised at how heavy so small an object was, and how warm. He could practically feel the buzz of sheer destructiveness from it, and thought it preposterous that one stray pellet from the thing had the ability to slay another upon immediate contact. Much like the Killing Curse; with that thought, he gave the thing another troubled glance and put it carefully in his robes, where its location would be known solely by him, and where it granted easy access.

Is the thing necessary? It's a troublesome thing to lug around, and rather ineffective and....

Her eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips. She leaned closer to him, and he could detect an angry fume from her body. One of the reasons he was so excellent at intimidation was because he had the ability to sense fluctuations in body heat, facial temperature, flushes, as well as various parfumes humans gave off when pleasured or antagonized. Oddly enough, the two scents were almost indiscernible.

I can't help it if I can't offer you something superior, professor, but I had a request to keep you in a relatively alive condition for as long as you are in my sanctuary. Besides, you will find it quite useful. Appearances are deceiving.

He wondered, idly what she had meant, and was vaguely troubled by her insinuation. He looked at her again, and found nothing more than an a beautiful girl, caught up in something that she was too young for.

He sighed and leaned back, preparing to rest again. But he found that when sleep finally enmeshed him, it came in a monstrous form of faceless, formless darkness that submerged him on all sides, pushing him beneath its tempestuous surface and drowning him with its weight. He sputtered and gasped, sweating profusely and jerking violently. He was vaguely aware of a foreign smell beside him, whispering frightened reassurances in his ear, and tentatively stroking his face.

His muscles relaxed at the contact, and he found that two capsules were being wedged between compressed lips.

Just swallow these. They'll make you sleep.

The voice sounded so placid, so utterly confident in the ability of these magical thing, that he did what he was told. Sugar coated and medicinal tasting, he swallowed with difficulty, and his stomach clinched when he mused over the word magic'. Something he had always lived with, and perhaps something he would not be able to survive without.







A/N: Finally getting somewhere, ne c'est pas? Anyways, thanks for reviews and putting up w/ my delays. Appreciated as always.