21. Tomorrow and Yesterday

Greengrass stood before Severus in the Defense classroom, her hands behind her back and her chin held high. "Professor Snape," she said in a very stiff tone, "I apologize for my insolence last week. I shouldn't have spoken to you the way I did. That was out of line."

He simply started at her from behind his desk. Merlin's beard, the girl wasn't even trying to sound genuine. If she wanted to weasel her way out of punishment, she was going to have to do better than this. "Miss Greengrass," he said, "do you expect me to believe that you're speaking sincerely?"

"Oh, we both know I'm not," she replied unabashedly. "But I'm standing here groveling. That oughta count for something."

Shaking his head, he declared, "You're not going to Hogsmeade tomorrow."

Her shoulders sank, and her face took on a dejected expression. "I have spent every night this week washing dishes in the kitchens, scrubbing bathrooms, cleaning the owlery... Hasn't that earned me a break? And there's not going to be another Hogsmeade weekend until the end of March."

Severus was unaffected. He merely went back to the essay he was grading and waited for the girl to leave. However, she came around the desk and knelt down on the ground. Severus furrowed his brow as she said, "Look at this. I'm on my knees begging. This is humiliating, for God's sake!"

"Then get up!" he ordered. "You're making an arse of yourself." Greengrass did as told, and Severus pondered whether to let her off the hook simply to get rid of her. After a moment, he stood up and went over to a closet, from which he rolled out a very large tank covered with a black sheet. "All right," he said. "If you're really that desperate, you may go to Hogsmeade. But first..." he removed the sheet, revealing a half dozen lives snakes "...I need someone to sort them into individual cages. They've been fighting amongst themselves."

Greengrass stood frozen, gaping at the creatures. In a quiet voice she muttered, "I'm afraid of snakes."

"Don't worry," he said. "They're highly venomous, but they won't get through these." He tossed her a pair of dragon-hide gloves. "Face you're fears, Greengrass. Or else you'll never make it as an auror." He left her glaring at him as he headed out, making his way off to the dungeons.

As he passed by Warbeck's quarters, he was halted by the faint sound of music, as well as two of the most God-awful singing voices he'd ever heard. He listened in, recognizing the upbeat melody and lyrics.

"And when I touch you I feel happy... inside

It's such a feeling that my love, I can't hide...

I can't hide..."

One of the voices was male, and Severus wondered who the hell she had in there. I swear to Christ, if this is the vampire... he thought. The door was closed, but as it turned out, unlocked. Quietly he pushed it open to have a look inside.

What he found was Warbeck and George Weasley, jumping around like lunatics and singing along to the Beatles.

"I wanna hold your haAaAaAand!

I wanna hold your haAaAaAand!

I wanna hold your hand!"

Severus noted that they each had their own liquor bottle, and were clearly sloshed. He stepped into the room as the music faded and a new song began, and called out, "What's all this?"

Warbeck and Weasley turned their attention to him, both with idiotic smiles on their faces. "Oi - Snake Man!" the latter greeted.

Warbeck waved the Defense teacher forward and said, "Come on in, sing with us! You were a child of the '60s, you know these lyrics!"

"What's going on in here?" Severus asked. To Warbeck, specifically, "You've given an alcoholic a bottle of whiskey?"

"It's all right, doll," she said. "He's going into a treatment center tomorrow."

"And this is my 'Last Supper' of sorts," Weasley cut in, taking a swig. Looking over at Warbeck, he went on, "We're going out with a bang! Isn't that right, lass?"

"You got it!" she replied, and they clunk their bottles together. "And I'm introducing him to muggle music."

"These are the Beatles!" Weasley excitedly informed Severus. He then asked Warbeck, "What's that other one you mentioned? King?"

"Queen," she corrected. "I'm telling you, you haven't lived until you've heard the genius that is Bohemian Rhapsody."

Severus furrowed his brow as she went over to the source of the music - a record player. A curious sight, as electrical devices didn't work in the castle. "How is it running?" he asked.

As she replaced the Beatles with Queen, she replied, "Magic!" That was all the explanation he got before she grabbed him by the arm and led him towards the sofa. "This one isn't danceable," she told Weasley. "Just sit back and enjoy it."

The redhead did as told, and reluctantly, Severus did as well. Listening to a muggle rock group with the potions mistress and George Weasley was one of the most bizarre situations he'd ever found himself in, but he thought it best that the two drunken fools have someone to supervise them.

When the song came to an end, Weasley had an awestruck expression on his face. "Bloody hell," he breathed. "That was... I have no words."

"Didn't I tell you it was genius?" Warbeck said. "Eh! Can you still hear out of the... hole where your ear used to be?" Before the redhead could answer, her eyes widened and she exclaimed, "Oh, my God! You're van Gogh!"

"Who?" Weasley asked.

"Vincent van Gogh, he was a muggle painter. He cut off his ear."

"Why?"

With a shrug, she replied, "I don't know, he was a nutter."

Weasley leaned close to Warbeck and asked, "Wanna know who cut off my ear?" He nodded to Severus and said, "It was this nutter."

Oh, bloody hell, Severus thought, rolling his eyes. Warbeck slowly looked over at him and asked, "You were the one who de-eared him?"

Severus hesitated, his jaw set and an agitated look in his eye, and said in a cold voice, "It was an accident."

There was a moment of silence, before Warbeck burst into laughter. A second later, Weasley followed.

Severus surveyed the both of them as though they had lost their minds. "You find that amusing?" he asked.

"I'm sorry!" Warbeck said, attempting to stifle herself. "It probably isn't, but..." she trailed off, covering her grin with her hand.

Beside her, Weasley said, "Eh, it's all right, Professor. Oughta thank you, actually. I find it's a hell of a conversation starter."

Warbeck's face took on a solemn expression as she said, "It's a real shame, though. I finally had a way to tell you and Fred apart - and then he died."

Another silence. And then, once again, she and the redhead broke out in a fit of laughs. Weasley was holding his stomach as he cried, "And that is what they call irony!"

Once the laughter died down, Warbeck announced, "Oh, by the way, I got you something." She summoned a small box and handed it to Weasley.

He opened it up, took a look at its contents, and said, "It's a ring." Glancing back at the potions mistress, "Are you asking me to marry you?"

She gave him a light smack on the arm and replied, "It's inscribed. Read it."

He took out the piece of black metal and held it up close, squinting as he read, "'God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.'"

Warbeck explained, "It's a prayer they say a lot in recovery programs."

Weasley slid the ring onto his finger and gazed at it. He was quiet for a long moment, a pensive expression on his face, before he said, "I'm afraid, lass. What if it doesn't work? What if I just walk out before the thirty days are up?"

"Then you go back," she said matter-of-factly. Indicating the ring, "But that's what the middle part is about - you can change this. You can get better. Whenever you feel the urge to drink, recite that a few times." A pause. "And imagine me dragging you back by the remaining ear, because that's what'll happen if you walk out."

He gave her a small but genuine smile, and asked, "What are we going to do when we can't be drinking buddies anymore?"

She gave it a moment of thought, then wrapped an arm around him. "We're going to dance," she said. Weasley spread out on the sofa and laid his head on her lap as she went on, "Ya know, you were the first bloke I ever danced with. At the Yule Ball."

With his eyes shut, he murmured, "Mm," smiling to himself at the memory. "I remember I flipped you over, and you lost your balance and knocked Flitwick on his arse."

"This is why you and I could never be a thing. Imagine our first wedding dance."

"You know who you should marry?" Weasley asked. "Charlie. Join the family, why don't you? We're already got Hermomine and Fleur and Harry - it's only a matter of time."

"Mrs. Callie Weasley," Warbeck mused. "Oh, look at that, I'd have the same initials."

"Exactly. It's meant to be."

Silence fell upon them, and soon enough, Weasley was sound asleep. After a while, Severus spoke in a low voice, "Don't be surprised if he doesn't end up going tomorrow."

"He will," Warbeck said. "He might not stay, but he is going. We had a long talk about it. I told him about the Azkaban plan."

She and Shacklebolt had worked out exactly how her Cruciatus experiments were going to go. The biggest question had been who was going to perform the curse on her. No one who was well-intentioned would be able to pull it off, so they'd come to the conclusion that the best place to find someone who could was prison. She and the minister were going to make the trip to Azkaban the following day.

Warbeck went on, "He asked me what the hell I was thinking, letting myself get tortured. I told him how I wanted to try and fight it off. He said that was impossible."

That was one thing that Severus could agree with George Weasley on, but he kept quiet. She had already heard his thoughts on the matter.

"I said that it's all in the mind, it's a matter of willpower. And he figured that if I could withstand the Cruciatus Curse, then he ought to be able to muster up the strength to get sober."

Severus studied her for a long moment, then asked, "Why are you doing this?"

She pondered the question, and replied, "For Frank and Alice."

"It isn't going to fix them," he reminded.

"No," she agreed. "But if I could figure out a counter-curse, then... at least something good could come out of what happened to them. Their 'deaths' wouldn't be in vain." A pause. "And nobody would ever have to feel that pain."

Don't do it, he wanted to say, knowing that her efforts were going to be for naught. Had she forgotten just how excruciating the curse was? He had seen her go through it, via the Carrows' minds. Her thrashing and flailing on the ground as she burned from the inside out. Digging her nails into the stone floor and cracking them off. Her body twisting into unnatural positions. The corners of her mouth tearing from an hour of inhuman, ear-splitting screams. And finally the pathetic, barely audible sounds she'd croaked out when her throat became raw. And the sadistic bastards still hadn't let up.

In a quiet voice, Severus said, "You know what it's like."

She didn't respond right away, and he guessed that she, too, was thinking back on Dungeon Twelve. Finally she said, "Yes, I do. And I'm dreading it."

He was surprised to hear her say that, and jumped at the opportunity to try and sway her. "Then tell Shacklebolt it's off."

With a look of exasperation, she said, "Don't do that. Don't try and talk me out of it - that's not why I'm telling you this. I'm terrified. I don't want to go to bed because when I wake up it'll be tomorrow. And then I'll have to force myself to step into that fireplace, Floo to the Ministry, and then make it up to Shacklebolt's office without wigging out and Disapparating. So I don't need you to fan the flames; I need you to put me at ease!"

He gave it a moment to make sure she was finished, then asked, "When have I ever put anyone at ease?"

She rolled her eyes and said, "Well, then just sit there and shut up if you don't have anything soothing to offer." She moved Weasley's head off her lap and stood up, going over to a crucifix that was hung on the wall. "'Courage to change the things I can,'" she muttered to herself. Then she whispered, "God help me."

Wisdom to know the difference, Severus thought. He wasn't going to bullshit her and say that she could will the pain away. And there was no getting around the fact that the Cruciatus was going to be just as unbearable and agonizing as she remembered. Perhaps more so. But he didn't want to leave her in this state, afraid and alone, with no relief.

Just as he'd left her in Dungeon Twelve.

With no clear understanding of why he was doing it, he began, in a soft, quiet voice, to sing.

"Yesterday... all my troubles seemed so far away...

Now it looks as though they're here to stay

Oh, I believe... in yesterday..."

The girl had her back to him, but turned her head slightly. He was grateful that she didn't look at him as he went on.

"Suddenly... I'm not half the man I used to be...

There's a shadow hanging over me

Oh, yesterday came suddenly..."

As he sang, he rose to his feet and came up behind her.

"Yesterday... love was such an easy game to play...

Now I need a place to hide away

Oh, I believe in yesterday..."

He got quiet, and Warbeck slowly turned to face him. Her mouth hung slightly open, and she looked a bit stunned. After a moment, she said, "I'm... amazed."

Severus struggled to hold her gaze as he ordered, "Don't ever mention this to anyone."

The corner of her lip twitched as if she were about to smile. "I like your voice," she said. "In general, not just the singing."

He didn't know what to say to that, but her unwavering stare made him feel as though he had a spotlight shined on him. He looked away, once again wondering whether she was capable of reading him.

A moment of silence passed, before she started to sing. "Hey, Jude-"

"We're done with that," he cut in.

Looking sheepish, she muttered, "Right. Sorry."

Severus summoned a Sleeping Draught and handed it to her. "Take this," he ordered. "Go to bed. The sooner you do so, the sooner tomorrow will be over."

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He really did have a soothing voice, and Callie replayed his song over and over in her mind as she prepared for her first round of "experiments."

She was sitting with her eyes closed, breathing deeply and deliberately. In between verses of Yesterday, she was reminding herself that no actual, physical harm would come to her, that the pain wouldn't last forever, and that it was nothing but mental manipulation. Like the Imperius Curse or the extreme sadness that Dementors brought. If those effects could be overcome, then so could this.

"We're ready when you are," Shacklebolt informed her.

She opened her eyes and looked over at Hermione, who'd come along for moral support. She, too, had been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse - by Bellatrix Lestrange, of all people. Presently, the Gryffindor gave Callie a nervous, but attempting-to-be-encouraging smile, and the potions mistress said, "You don't have to go in there if it's too much."

Hermione took a deep breath and replied, "No. I want to."

Along with the Minister, they were also accompanied by two aurors, as well as Madam Rochester. As an empath and Legilimens, she would be able to keep track of whatever feelings or thoughts passed through Callie's mind while she was under the curse.

As one of the prison guards led the group down a dimly-lit, stone-walled corridor, Shacklebolt explained to Callie, "This is your party, Professor. Nothing is going to be done without your explicit permission. If you want to stop, we stop. Whether that be for five minutes, an hour, the rest of the day, or if you choose to put an end to this study altogether."

Callie nodded once in understanding, and replied, "Got it."

The minister went on, "In addition to my men, there will also be two guards present. And the prisoner is going to be shackled at the ankles; the non-dominant hand will be restrained. At any given moment, two aurors will have their eyes on you, two on the prisoner. All four will have their wands at the ready.

"The laboratory - for lack of a better term - is completely padded. The floor and all four walls. This is for your protection in the case of thrashing, spasms, what have you.

"As discussed previously, we will count down to the moment the curse is performed. To start, we'll go for ten-second intervals. Following every performance, Madam Rochester will assess your mental and emotional states, and she must give the okay before we go again." He looked over at Callie and asked, "Do you have any questions?"

She shook her head and replied, "No."

They came to a stop outside of the "laboratory," and Shacklebolt stood in front of Callie, staring at her with intensity in his eyes. "You say stop, we stop," he reminded. Pointing to Rochester, "She says stop, we stop." He paused, before concluding, "I say stop, we stop."

Again, Callie nodded, but said, "One condition. If I say stop while I'm under the curse, it doesn't count. No matter how much I scream or what I say, or what I do, keep it going the full ten seconds."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes. Screaming and thrashing and begging is probably all I'll be able to do at first."

The minister held her gaze for a moment, then set a reassuring hand on her shoulder and declared, "We've got you."

She gave him a soft smile and said, "Thank you, sir."

He then gestured for the guard to let them in. One of the Ministry aurors entered first, followed by Shacklebolt, and then Callie. The room looked like something out of a mental institution, covered floor to ceiling in white cushions. Two guards stood at the back, and between them was Alecto Carrow.

She was a lot thinner than Callie remembered, her hair was lank and scraggly, and she looked like she had aged ten years in the span of less than two. The moment she saw Callie, her lip curled into an animalistic sneer. In place of a proper greeting, she growled, "I thought they were screwing with me when they said I'd get to torture you again."

Unintimidated, Callie replied, "Hello to you too, Alecto."

The woman spit in her direction, and Shacklebolt, remaining composed, vanished it. "We won't have any of that, Carrow," he warned. She glared at him before setting her eyes back on Callie.

"For what it's worth," the potions mistress said, "you got off rather easy. The Dementors are gone."

"I heard about you and that bastard Snape," Carrow hissed. "You shoulda let him die! He shoulda died, the filthy, traitorous rat!"

"Silence!" the Minister barked.

But Callie said, "No, let her speak. I'm sure nobody else cares to listen to the raving lunatic." Approaching Carrow - who was currently wandless - she went on, "Talk to me, darling. Share with me your grievances. If you'd like, I can pass on any messages you have for Professor Snape."

"Here's a message - fuck the both of you!"

Callie smirked at the woman and said, "I'll be sure that he gets that." Turning to the others, "Let's get started, shall we?"

The guards and aurors stood at the ready while Shacklebolt went over the rules with Carrow. Apparently, one of the aurors was also a Legilimens, and he would be able to anticipate if the woman was planning to fire a Killing Curse. As Shacklebolt held out a loaner wand - her own had been snapped after she was convicted - he explained, "Your previous offenses have already cost you your wand. Anything more, and next it will be your hand."

She scoffed and grabbed for the loaner, but he snatched it away. "Ah ah," he said. "Slowly." She extended her arm and he carefully set the wand in her hand. "You don't move until I say." Keeping his eyes fixed on her, he stepped back and asked, "Professor Warbeck, are you ready?"

One more breath, and she replied, "Yes."

She shut her eyes as the minister said, "We go on three." He paused, then began the count. "One... two... three."

"Crucio!"

Callie's blood was replaced with fire. Lying on an open flame wouldn't have felt any worse. She must've been screaming, but she couldn't hear herself. Her eyes might've been open, but she saw nothing. There were no coherent thoughts in her head, as Rochester would later confirm. She may as well have been as mindless as Frank and Alice were, only she was still feeling the pain.

And then it was fading away. Not because she had fought it - she hadn't even been able to try - but because the ten seconds were up. When she came to her senses, she was shaking and crying on the padded floor.

"Warbeck?" the minister called out.

Callie rolled over from her back to her stomach, her voice raspy as she said, "I'm all right." She looked up and saw Hermione staring at her, wide-eyed, covering her mouth with her hand. "I'm all r-right," the potions mistress repeated. But even as she spoke, tears were running down her face. Hermione and Rochester knelt down at her side.

"Ready for another go, lass?" Carrow teased. But Callie ignored her; the minister and the guards would deal with that.

"Merlin's beard, Callie," Hermione breathed. "That was... You were flailing around like mad, as if you were trying to break free of your own body!"

"Try to keep still," Rochester instructed Callie. "You need something to focus on in order to detract from the pain. Focus on that. And hold my hand; perhaps something tangible might help."

"Okay," Callie said, "But if I end up whacking you, don't hold it against me. And perhaps I should start out on the floor." She sat cross-legged and took hold of Rochester, who gave the okay to proceed. Again, Callie shut her eyes and told herself, Try to keep still. Try to keep still.

Shacklebolt asked, "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

There was a beat of silence, and then, "One... two... three."

"Crucio!"

After the third try, both Shacklebolt and Rochester insisted on a fifteen-minute break. Callie had found that she couldn't keep still, couldn't feel Rochester's hand in hers, couldn't even think. "I've gotta be able to keep my mind intact," she told Hermione and Rochester. "I've gotta be able to think. Otherwise I can't do anything. I can't fight it."

Rochester got a thoughtful look on her face, and said, "I have an idea." When they reconvened for round four, she had Callie lie on her back and look her in the eye. Again the two were holding hands, but this time, Rochester ordered, "Keep your eyes on mine." The potions mistress did as told. "What color are they?"

"Brown," Callie said. "Ambery-brown."

"Keep looking," the older woman instructed. "Don't pay any mind to anything else. Not the minister, not Carrow, not Hermione... Only my eyes. Focus on them. Think of them as an anchor holding your mind in place."

The room was dead silent as Callie gazed into Rochester's eyes, seeing nothing else, not even the rest of her face. After a minute or so, the woman asked, "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Callie replied.

Again, Rochester ordered, "Keep your eyes on mine."

Off to the side, the minister counted, "One... two... three."

"Crucio!"

Once again, her body was filled with flames. It was no less painful than the first three times, no more bearable, and she lost sight of Rochester's eyes. Yet she could hear the woman, very faintly, calling out to her. There was an echoey, faraway quality to her voice. "Callie, look at me... Look at me!"

But the potions mistress was consumed by the pain, though vaguely aware of a high-pitched shrieking sound. If she could've given the matter any thought, she'd have recognized that it was coming from her.

"Callie, my eyes! Focus on my eyes! Ambery-brown!"

It was only when the pain began to abate that the woman's eyes came back into view. Rochester was holding Callie's head in place and forcing her to look. I see them! the younger woman thought. For God's sake, don't lose them again! "Keep going!" she shouted. "I'm all right!"

Without looking up, Rochester ordered, "Go on, Kingsley."

But the minister argued, "She needs a break."

"I'm fine, just do it!" Callie demanded.

Shortly thereafter, "Crucio!"

The fire resumed, and Rochester's eyes disappeared - but only for a moment. Focus. Amber-brown. She was still screaming at the top of her lungs and wildly kicking her legs, but through all that, she kept her eyes set on the woman's.

"What color are my eyes?" Rochester asked. The potions mistress didn't respond, so she repeated, "Callie, what color are my eyes?"

Brown! Callie wanted to shout, but the burning rendered her unable to speak. She could only scream.

"Talk to me, Callie, fight through the pain. You can hear me. You can think! Now speak!"

Somewhere in the next scream was a decipherable, "BROWN!"

"Right!" Rochester replied. "And what's my name?"

"ORPHIE!"

"Very good. Now keep your eyes on me."

Callie did as she said, but shouted, "Stop! STOP!"

A voice that was not Rochester's called out, "Wand down, Carrow!"

The pain began to fade, and Callie was still eye-to-eye with Rochester. She could also feel the woman's hand in hers, and hear her voice perfectly clearly as she said, "Keep your eyes on mine."

Callie was gasping for breath and sobbing. It took a while before she was able to speak again, and when she did, her voice was low and croaky. "I h-heard y-you," she stuttered. "I... s-s-saw y-you."

Rochester smiled softly at her and said, "You spoke. You thought. You kept your mind intact."

Off to the side, Hermione was crying. Callie was trembling all over, but she lifted her gaze to her friend and assured her, "I'm all right, Hermione." As a matter of fact, she was much better than all right - she had actually done it. She had managed to think through the most unimaginable, excruciating physical pain anyone could ever experience. She'd been able to focus on Rochester's eyes, to hear her voice, to form the words to answer her questions. To keep hold of her mind.

It's possible, she thought. It is possible to think through it. And if she could do that, then she really could try to fight it.

If she'd have had it her way, they would've kept going. But the minister put an end to their experiments for the day. "Go home," he ordered. "Rest. Recover. I'll owl you later in the week about scheduling another session."

At the end of it all, Hermione looked as though she were keen on having done with the whole thing. "What now?" she asked.

"Practice," Callie said. "I wish we could've tried more." She felt oddly energized, and anxious to get back to the castle to continue with her tolerance training.

"You really think you'll be able to fight it off one day?"

"Yes," the potions mistress replied resolutely. With a smirk, she added, "Slytherins achieve their ends." She sure as hell wasn't going to stop trying. This was now the third time she'd been subjected to the Torture Curse, and she was still standing.

I can beat it, she thought. And I will beat it.

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Waiting for her to return to the castle, not knowing what the hell was going on over at Azkaban, had left Severus restless all afternoon. He kept reminding himself that this was an entirely different situation from Dungeon Twelve. That it was a heavily regulated, controlled "experiment," that she could bring it to an end whenever she wanted, and that she wasn't going to be beaten and bloodied up this time.

Still, he really wondered whether the girl was legitimately mad. She had practically set herself on fire as an exercise in pain tolerance, carved up the back of her hand with that blood quill, jumped into the ice cold lake in the middle of winter... And even her time with the vampire proved that she wasn't all too sensible when it came to her own well-being. And she was almost obsessed with finding some sort of consolation in what had happened to the Longbottoms. He could imagine her stubbornly pushing herself beyond what was harmless or tolerable, "for Frank and Alice."

On the other hand, he found it likely that she wouldn't be able to endure the curse for very long. That despite her determination, she'd realize after one or two good shots that it was simply too much. Too painful. Unbearable. Perhaps she had built up a higher than usual tolerance for pain, but no bed of nails or tattoo could compare to the Cruciatus Curse. She'd been in over her head.

It was starting to get dark outside when somebody knocked on his door, and he practically ran to answer it, hoping it was her and that he could relax again. Instead it was Garland Price, holding a letter in his hand. With irritation in his voice, Severus asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I was told to bring you this, sir," Price replied, handing over the letter.

Furrowing his brow, Severus tore open the envelope and removed the parchment that was inside. Only three words were written - Tomorrow is over.

She's back. Severus ordered Price away, then made off to her quarters. He knocked on the door and it swung open.

What had he been expecting? The quivering, traumatized mess that she'd been the last time she was subjected to the curse? Yes, he must have, because he was taken aback at the sight of a perfectly calm and unharmed Warbeck lounging on the sofa, a cigar in her hand and a self-satisfied smirk on her face. "Yesterday..." she sang off-key "...all my troubles seemed so far away..." She paused and informed him, "It's been stuck in my head all day."

"You can't carry a tune," Severus remarked flatly.

"I know," she said. "I haven't got that velvety, lounge singer thing you have going on, but-" a shrug "-we can't all be wickedly talented."

He shut the door and stepped forward, surveying her. "You don't look any worse for wear," he said. "Did you actually go through with it?"

"I did. And it was..." she turned her eyes upward, thinking back on it "...indescribable. I don't think you could properly explain that kind of pain to someone who's never experienced it."

"You knew, going into it, how bad it was," he reminded.

She took a puff from the cigar before she said, "I remember the way you described it that one time. You told me there's no room for anything but pain, that you can't even think about anything else. You can't see or hear anything either; it's almost like the Living Death. Only with that, you can think but not feel. With the Cruciatus, all you can do is feel but your mind is gone."

"Which is why it's impossible to counter it," Severus said. "The mind is so overwhelmed by the pain that even visual and audial stimuli can't be processed. Higher functions, such as conscious thought, are out of the question."

She held his gaze a moment, then stood up and approached him. "No," she said. "They're not. They were, at first, but... I managed it. I could see Orphie Rochester's face. I could hear her voice. And she asked me what color her eyes were, and I spoke. I could think. I could think about something other than the pain. There was room!"

Severus merely stared at her; she was quite exited about this. And if he were being honest with himself, he did find it rather astonishing that she'd been able to talk while under the curse.

"Okay, not a lot of room," she conceded. "But it's a start. I wouldn't have been able to do any of that the last time, in Dungeon Twelve."

"But you were prepared this time," he countered. "You knew it was coming."

"Yes, and it was still every bit as painful. But I forced myself to keep track of Rochester's eyes, and to speak when she told me to. I was able to keep hold of my mind." A pause. "I told you it's all a matter of willpower. That's what magic is, it's making things happen by willing them to happen. You said that fighting the curse was impossible, but it isn't. With the right motivation and strength of mind, it can be overcome. I know it can."

She was much too overconfident. If she didn't come back down to earth, then sooner or later she was going to be in for a world of disappointment. Severus went over everything she'd told him, and asked, "You actually spoke? Screaming in agony doesn't count, mind you."

"I actually spoke," she replied with a take that! sort of expression. But then she amended, "Well... I was speaking while screaming, but that counts. Give me a little bit of credit, would you? I accomplished something that you said couldn't be done. I feel good about this, I wanna celebrate."

She went over to where the record player was set up, and Severus asked, "What do you have in mind?"

"Ordinarily I'd have a drink," she replied, flipping through her collection of music. "But in solidarity with George, I'm giving it up until he's out of rehab."

"Bloody hell, that could be as long as two, maybe three days of temperance."

She paused to give him a pointed look, then made her selection and set it on the turntable. "He and I worked out a little ritual," she said." Every day at..." she checked her watch "...just about this time, we dance." With a wave of her wand, the record began to spin, and a cheerful-sounding melody rang out. Warbeck moved, rather ungracefully, to the music, and said, "Feel free to join in whenever you'd like." Severus rolled his eyes, then watched with a raised brow as she bounced around and sang along to the lyrics.

"She comes in colors everywhere... she combs her hair...

She's like a raaaaainbow..."

Christ, she's terrible, he thought. But even so, he grabbed a glass and a bottle of whiskey and took a seat. He had to admit, after seeing her half-dead the last time she'd been cursed, the girl's uncontainable liveliness this time was more than welcome.