Author's note: As always, I'm sending BIG thanks to Blaise, who is simply the best. Thanks also go to Finland where Butterfly will hopefully soon be reading this… (Butterfly, I wouldn't recommend locking up certain people in a closet… Not yet. Let's not be so hasty.  *winks*)

Chapter 10: Beneath the Surface

There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface
Consuming, confusing
This lack of self control I fear is never ending
Controlling, I can't seem
To find myself again

My walls are closing in

—Linkin Park: Crawling

"A good day to you," Sariss said as soon as she'd entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. "Please sit down and set up your quill and parchment if you haven't already thought of it. You will have no need of your books today."

The students looked a bit confused at that. Apparently, they hadn't expected something like that. After all, she hadn't scheduled a practical lesson for today…

"This will be no practical lesson. Today's lesson will cover a wide range of subjects—nonetheless they'll have one thing in common. They all focus on fighting the Dark Arts. To fight them you must know what they are. I have been informed that you've already had some experience with the Unforgivable Curses, so I trust that this lesson will go much more smoothly than I expected it to go." She scanned the faces of the students. "If we have some time left after this, we'll try to start on Aurors and what their duties are. However, I don't think we'll get to that today. So," she smiled, "you might just use the opportunity to prepare yourselves a little for next lesson… After all, you're about to leave school for good and should start thinking about what you're going to do after you've passed your N.E.W.Ts with reasonably good marks, hopefully…" she drawled and gave a small smirk.

Some of the students smiled. Draco Malfoy did not.

"All right then. Enough of this introduction. Let's get started. Who can name all three of the Unforgivable Curses?"

She scanned the students who had raised their hands. Of course Hermione Granger would know it. If Sariss let her speak now, she might as well let her take over the lesson right away. This girl had great potential…

"Yes, Mr. Thomas?"

"The Cruciatus, Imperius and the Killing curse—Avada Kedavra," Dean Thomas spoke. He uttered the incantation hastily, as though he was afraid that only by saying those words the people around him would start falling dead to the ground.

"Well done, Mr. Thomas. Five points for Gryffindor for that answer—and don't be scared. It takes much more power and, above all, practice to cast those curses properly. So there's no need to be scared to name them. You should never be frightened to call something—or someone—by their proper name, even if it's Voldemort." She watched some of the students flinch as she said his name. And she had to admit it made her shudder, too—but for different reasons…

"Now, why do we call those spells 'curses' in the first place? And why are they counted among the Dark Arts? After all, there are other ways to kill or hurt someone, ways much more satisfying for the one who kills another person…"

She noticed with a satisfied sneer, that she had the students' rapt attention.

"All right, then. The Dark Arts. Perhaps you'd like to take some notes on this, you know, for your N.E.W.Ts," she drawled.

"Ready? Here goes… The Dark Arts differ from other forms of magic only in the intent of the wizard using them. Most magic in itself is relatively neutral—it can be used for good or evil. It's our choices that decide whether the magic we use is Dark or not. Some magic, however, is Evil in its intention through and through."

Sariss was aware that her voice had an edge to it as she told this to her students; but it was necessary. They needed to have this imprinted into their souls. Even the Slytherins. Above all the Slytherins. Who knew how many of them would become Death Eaters despite the best efforts every teacher in this school undertook to prevent them from choosing the Dark Side. She would have liked to deny it, but it was the truth: There were almost no Dark wizards that hadn't been in Slytherin—which didn't mean to say that all Slytherins had to become Dark wizards. Sariss had known good examples for this…

She continued, "Spells of this kind are often called curses to distinguish them from simple charms or hexes, that may cause some discomfort but do no serious damage. Curses are spells that are all too often intended to cause harm to another person. This intention to do harm places that spell into the realm of the Dark Arts. However, simply casting a Curse spell doesn't mean that a person is using the Dark Arts. Ultimately, the deep, true intention of the caster is what makes the difference." At that the students started to whisper to their classmates.

She cleared her throat.

"Silence, please!" Sariss commanded after several seconds when the whispers hadn't subside on their own.

"Miss O'Hara, Miss Parkinson… After I've finished my lecture you may ask anything you wish about what I just told you—but not now. I think I am going to answer many of your questions during my lecture already. Now if you could kindly lend me some your precious attention…" The murmurs subsided after a few more seconds. "Thank you."

It was unnerving. Malfoy stared at her with those pale-grey eyes of his in a way that made her feel highly uncomfortable. She drew her eyes away from his.

"Right. Now, how to decide what is light and what is Dark magic… This is a very difficult distinction to make in many cases. That's why understanding the difference between acceptable and Dark Magic is of key importance for witches and wizards in training, which is why Defence Against the Dark Arts is such an important class for students at Hogwarts. Other schools have a reputation for teaching the Dark Arts, not simply Defence Against the Dark Arts. However, we do not. We learn to defend ourselves. We do not just attack and destroy. We try to preserve, to create even. To protect life and not bring death if we can help it." Sariss took a deep breath, then continued in her usual quiet but clearly audible voice.

"The typical Dark spell is called a Curse. There are offensive spells that shoot out of the wand like a gun; curse energy causes physical damage to things it hits besides the magical effect. Hexes and jinxes are lesser spells that adversely affect the target. As you've already learnt—hopefully—these spells are not necessarily Dark Magic. It's the intention of the caster that makes them Dark, evil… However, Dark magic consists of more than simply curses. Above all, it contains spells that involve tampering with the free will of another person, or torture or even kill another person. Those curses would be considered Dark magic indeed." She paused. "You already know those curses. However, for the purpose of revision, I will explain them once more to you in a few minutes. Before we come to that, there's something else to add to the subject of Dark magic… Lord Voldemort—" (Many students flinched again…) "…spent years in magical research into ways of becoming immortal. This pursuit is also an example of Dark magic, presumably because it tampers with the natural order of things. You must never interfere with the intentions of nature. Life and Death form a circle that must not be messed around with. Never ever. Not even if you are of the opinion you'd set a wrong right by doing this. You can't set wrongs right by doing something wrong. Do you understand?"

The class was silent, except for the scratching of quills and the rustling of parchment. Some students looked up and nodded slightly. Others swallowed.

"Now that we settled this, let's jump right into the Darkest of all Arts, as they are considered by many people, the Unforgivables themselves.

I think we should start with the Imperius Curse. The incantation is 'Imperio'; it is derived from the Latin word 'imperare' of which the first person singular is 'impero.' It means 'to order, govern; to command.' Most of the spells that are based on Latin words are very old ones that have been used for centuries, some of them even for thousands of years. The Imperius Curse basically causes its victim to be completely under the command of the caster, who can make them do anything they wish. Anything at all. People have tortured, maimed and killed their loved ones—their children, wives, husbands, friends… It's not easy to fight this curse. Many wizards can't withstand it at all—Mr. Weasley? Do you have something to add that could prove interesting for all of us to hear?" she asked, as she had noticed that Ronald Weasley had nudged Harry Potter in the ribs to get his attention and whispered something to him.

The poor boy blushed furiously. His face turned almost as red as his hair. "No… er… well… It's just that… Harry can… He can withstand it… quite well, actually, can't you, Harry?"

At that Harry Potter, too, blushed an embarrassed shade of red. Obviously the boy wasn't as fond of the attention that was paid to him as the Daily Prophet liked to express on a regular basis…

"Really?"

Harry Potter nodded, pressing his lips tightly together.

"I shall take your word for this. I don't think it would be a good idea to cast any Unforgivable in here without seeking the Headmaster's counsel first… However, if you'd like to demonstrate…"

"I'd rather not," Potter whispered, throwing a nervous glance in her direction. Unbelievable! This boy was actually shy! How come she had been teaching him for quite some time now but never noticed this? It was almost as though he wished he weren't the famous Harry Potter…

"I won't force anyone of you to do something you don't want to do. There's no need to try and keep a low profile in my lessons… After all, that wouldn't be of much use anyway…" she trailed off.

"Interesting… Well, where were we? Yes… It is very hard to fight the Imperius Curse. Particularly hard it is to fight it when you are being given the order to do something you would like to do but would never dare to do under normal circumstances. Those are moments when you can't tell that your thoughts are not your own. And that is another aspect of why this curse is so dangerous when cast on you." She pushed a loose strand of hair out of her face once again.

"Let's continue with the Cruciatus Curse. The incantation is 'Crucio.' Its basis is the Latin word for 'to torment,' which is what the Cruciatus Curse basically does. It inflicts terrible, almost intolerable pain on its victim—however, it leaves no visible injuries except those the victims cause for themselves, such as biting down on their lips or digging their fingernails into the palms of their hands to keep themselves from screaming…" She suddenly noticed that her voice had dropped to a whisper. Oh, yes, she had seen many people who had suffered this curse. The worst case she'd ever laid eyes upon had been that of the Longbottoms; she had known Frank Longbottom once, when he had still been an Auror—and he had been good at what he'd done… not anymore. "If the caster intends it to be so, he can inflict such pain onto his victims that the prolonged use of this curse drives them insane—the mind shuts down because it can't bear it anymore, can't take any more of this…"

Sariss paused once again to take a closer look at the students—Neville Longbottom in particular. The boy was sitting there, wide-eyed, his hand that held the quill trembling slightly as he finished taking his notes. She admired his composure. A true Gryffindor he was deep inside; if his parents had lived happily ever after, perhaps he wouldn't have been so timid and fearful. She suddenly wondered if he had a girlfriend—he was handsome and polite… a nice and friendly boy, who had lost his parents at a time he had needed them most—too young to grasp fully what had happened, too old already to forget that one day they had been there, the next they had been gone…

She cleared her throat, trying to force back the memories that were pressing in on her.

"Now, here comes the Darkest and worst of the Unforgivable Curses. In my opinion, it is the Unforgivable. Avada Kedavra—the curse that made it far too easy to kill. It is a very old curse, ancient even. It must have been developed thousands of years ago—it is at least two thousand years old, most likely much older. The word 'Abracadabra' is a cabbalistic charm in Judaic mythology that is supposed to bring healing powers—not quite the intention of Avada Kedavra in modern times; but it is one of the spell's sources nonetheless. Another one is the Phoenician alphabet which is called a-bra-ca-dabra." She pronounced it slowly and carefully. "But the most important source lies in a language that is very well-known among Christian scholars—Aramaic. The very language Jesus Christ spoke. Anyway, this is not of great significance here… In Aramaic Avada Kedavra translates literally as 'Let the thing be destroyed.' The translation makes it quite clear, if you ask me, that you don't have to overcome any opposing emotions you might feel when you cast it—you're only 'destroying a thing'—that's what the curse says. It takes quite some guts to kill someone with your bare hands. Avada Kedavra, however, is simple, a clean curse, no blood, no mess; the curse is cast, the victim drops to the ground, soundlessly, looking as though he were asleep…" She took a deep breath. Memories, evil memories. She would have done anything to get rid of them. "The green light of Avada Kedavra means instant death. There's no counter curse; no way to overcome it… And as it happens to be, we have the only person ever to survive the unblockable, instant-death-bringing curse, right in our midst."

Sariss looked at Harry Potter who seemed as if he would have dearly liked to transfigure himself into something very small that could slip out of the room unseen…

But suddenly he spoke up. "How was this possible at all? I mean, I know my mother… died protecting me—but the curse isn't regarded as an unblockable one for nothing, is it?" It was hard for him to ask this, even after such a long time; Sariss could see this clearly written on his face. He was like an open book; everything he felt showed so clearly on his face as though it had been painted right onto his face, his eyes…

"I'm afraid I don't know the answer to your question. What happened to you will most likely prove to be an eternal mystery, never to be explained… I'm sorry. I can't help you with this, either," she added at the expression on his face.

"The casting of the curse does not only affect its victim," she continued her lesson. "It also affects its caster. The more the caster uses it the more he loses himself in Darkness and the harder is it for him to turn his back to it and come back into the light."

Pansy Parkinson had raised her hand, as Sariss had said this. "Yes?" Sariss nodded, prompting her to speak up.

The girl cleared her throat and then asked, "How? I mean—how does Avada Kedavra affect its caster?"

"Every time you use Avada Kedavra, it takes a part of yourself away and replaces it with a tiny little bit of Darkness. The more Darkness you gather the harder it becomes for the Goodness in you to fight it, until one day, there might be no turning back anymore," Sariss answered quietly. "So perhaps it is better not to learn how to cast it at all."

~*~*~

"…perhaps it is better not to learn how to cast it at all."

"Have you ever used it?" Seamus Finnegan asked after he'd raised his hand so he'd be allowed to speak. Professor Ravon nodded.

"Yes. Once."

Harry swallowed. This woman had actually killed someone? Using Avada Kedavra? He could hardly believe what he heard. She was so… well… nice. A Slytherin—but… nice…

"What was it like?" Seamus asked curiously. He seemed intrigued by the idea that he could ask someone about things like this, who'd had a first-hand experience; after all, most of their former DADA teachers hadn't had that… especially not in this area. And no one had thought of asking Moody. Harry guessed that Moody had used the curse as well, the way he'd acted all the time. However, if the real Moody had cast it, he couldn't really tell, but the impostor had. The late Barty Crouch, Death Eater that he had been.

Harry involuntarily wondered if she had been a Death Eater once… But he dismissed the thought again—she might give the impression that it was not unthinkable, but she was just too nice for this… And if he had still had any doubts about her, her answer would have confirmed them as totally unfounded.

"If you have a single sane fibre in your body, you won't ever cast it again if you can help it. It does not only take your victim's life—it also changes you. I don't ever want to be forced to cast it again. That's why I quit and became your teacher."

Malfoy spoke up, without even raising his hand first. "Why? Didn't it feel… good?" Harry was shocked at the tone in Malfoy's voice. It was so cold, so full of malevolence… Harry exchanged somewhat horrified glances with Ron and Hermione who wore equally shocked expressions on their faces, as he himself must have worn at that moment. And this wasn't even a real question. Seamus had already asked what it had felt like… No, this was an insult, cleverly disguised in a question. It would have been a subtle insult if Malfoy hadn't paused dramatically and emphasized the word 'good' in such a sneering way that he might as well have openly accused her of murder.

Professor Ravon, however, only narrowed her eyes and looked at him.

She placed her palms flat on the teacher's desk and stated very calmly, "You don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Malfoy."

"I know more than you think. I know many things…" he said, his usual sneer quite firmly in place. And very quietly he continued—but Harry could still understand him as he, Ron and Hermione were sitting close-by—"…about you."

~*~*~

"Didn't it feel… good?"

Malfoy. I should have known he'd bring this up one day or the other. His father must have told him the details. It's always the same with these Malfoys. You know one of them—you know them all.

Oh, yes. The very instant Seth Malfoy had been hit with the Killing Curse she'd flung his way—it had felt good. Too good. Revenge always felt good. He had killed her best friends. He had killed the two people who had become a family to her, the brother and sister she never had, the two people she'd felt good with, the two people that always stood by her side ignoring or even accepting the sometimes upsetting or even frightening things that happened around her—things she caused. But they would never do so again… only because they'd been sent to take care of that particular Death Eater attack that had cost so many innocent lives—Muggle and Wizard.

They had been a team. Rick, Aurora and Sariss. The three of them had gotten out of every single mission successful and unscathed. It had always been the three of them—until the teams were split up, leaving only two Aurors to each team. Sariss had teamed up with Mundungus Fletcher, who was still sort of an old friend.

And only a few weeks later, Rick and Rory were no more…

After this incident, the Aurors had been given permission to use the Unforgivables. By some people this was considered a privilege, a dangerous privilege at times, but also necessary since the Death Eaters had seemingly agreed not to take any prisoners anymore for questioning purposes or something like that. They just Apparated, killed—sometimes when they felt like it they tortured before killing—invoked the Dark Mark and Disapparated again.

The Ministry had to work fast to try and prevent the worst. The Death Eaters were seemingly no longer caring if they survived or died. They rather died than letting themselves get caught, and thus they were casting Avada Kedavra numerous times. Unblockable curses, which you could only dodge, while they blocked the Stunning and Disarming spells you sent their way easily.

Sariss wished she had been there sooner, to protect her friends the night that particular attack occurred. She would have saved them. They'd still be alive… And she could have been sure that the reason for which she later on cast the curse had not been… revenge… That it was well done, as her superiors had told her over and over again. "You saved lives by using the curse, Ravon," Harker had said. But she hadn't saved the lives she had wanted to save earlier…

She'd always known that this friendship was as necessary as the air in her lungs; she'd needed their reassurance as a child, the knowledge of having someone to talk to—someone apart from people who were already grown up and had to deal with other things; things more important than the worries of a teenager who didn't have enough control over her magical abilities. She couldn't have run to Dumbledore on every single occasion now, could she? And they had always been there…

Until this very day, she'd been asking herself if it had really been necessary to kill him that way. Couldn't she just have reached out with her powers and smashed him to the ground or into a wall or anything? Then they could have taken him prisoner perhaps… And she wouldn't have had to live with the knowledge that she was a killer, a presumably cold-blooded killer…

Not that she hadn't killed before. When you were an Auror, it was inevitable that you killed a Death Eater from time to time. That was something Sariss could cope with fairly easily. She had thrown them against walls or into the line of their fellow Death Eaters' curses.

Only this once she had uttered the incantation. The incantation that made her guilty. Guilty of casting an Unforgivable Curse.

Did it make that much of a difference that she as an Auror during these Dark times had had the license to use it under extreme circumstances? Did it make a difference that if any other person had cast it, they would have spent the rest of their miserable lives in Azkaban, when she wouldn't, only because there was the license? Wasn't the license only an excuse? Did it make her less guilty?

She thought she'd stopped thinking about this after Dumbledore had asked her once if she'd change the past if she could to make his death undone. She'd answered, "I don't know." Then he'd said, "If you had said a clear 'Yes' I would have told you that you're naïve to even consider it. Who could even dare to claim the knowledge of all the consequences of a single curse? As far as we know some of us could very well not be here had things happened differently… Had you said 'No' you'd have been a hypocrite since there's no reason to feel guilty about things you don't feel sorry for. Your answer plainly stated that you keep in mind the consequences of your actions as well as what might have happened if he had lived beyond that day or rather night." He'd taken her hand after those words and squeezed it slightly. "Well, don't feel guilty. Regrets will get you nowhere. They only tend to paint the blue sky black, to hide the sun behind the thundercloud of guilt and remorse when everyone else enjoys a beautiful day. You don't need another thundercloud in your sky."

Regrets…

She placed her palms flat on the teacher's desk and stated very calmly, "You don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Malfoy."

"I know more than you think. I know many things…" he said, his usual sneer quite firmly in place. And very quietly, so quietly that it was barely audible, he continued—"…about you."

Perhaps it was the way he said it… Somehow, she knew that he was not joking; that he might indeed know something even if she herself did not really know what exactly that was. "Then you know more than I know, Mr. Malfoy," she stated in a very controlled voice; she thought she felt her blood rushing through her veins, heard her pulse roaring like thunder in her ears. His tone of voice made her shiver—and in the case of Sariss Ravon, that was quite an achievement. She could not only sense the menace, she could hear it, too.

Malfoy sneered and stared right back into her eyes. It was a duel. Whoever broke eye contact first would lose—and both of them knew it…

~*~*~

It was as if her face were a mask; she moved not a muscle; her eyes were wide open, fixed on a point somewhere in the air in front of her, somewhere between her and Draco Malfoy. Harry could see her eyes clearly and—as often as he'd seen them—for the first time he noticed that they had a very… peculiar colour… The way they looked in this particular lighting… That's why it felt as though she were looking right through the people around her. They were of a light green, with a bit of brown around the pupils, framed by a thin rim of grey as if it were there to keep the green from leaking out… Eyes, that looked as though they could hypnotise, that could lock themselves with yours and make you unable to look away…

But still, something was wrong…

A muscle in her cheek twitched slightly… Professor Ravon blinked several times and then spoke in a somewhat shaky voice, "Mr Malfoy, perhaps it would be better if—"

And suddenly Malfoy's inkbottle trembled—the ink inside of it started to boil—and it shattered into a million pieces. A few small ones hit Malfoy in the face and drew a bit of blood—but it was nothing serious. Harry could see that even from where he was. Professor Ravon looked as shaken as Malfoy and whispered "Oh, my goodness…" Then she rushed out through the doorway muttering, "Class dismissed—Essay on Unforgivables—12 inches—due Monday."

The lesson had been almost over anyway.

Why did it seem impossible for them to get taught DADA by a—in wizarding standards—normal teacher? Was it a wizarding character trait to be surrounded by riddles and strange occurrences? Harry thought and exchanged curious, questioning, glances with Ron and Hermione as he stuffed his parchment and quill into his book bag.

All of them turned her heads as they heard Draco Malfoy whisper to Crabbe and Goyle, "She's going to regret this. I'll get her back for this…" Becoming aware that he was being stared at, he turned to face Harry and the others and sneered, "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," Harry provided the standard answer to a question like this.

"You'd better watch your back, too, Potter…" Malfoy trailed off, an undertone in his voice that made it all too clear that this was not intended to be an empty threat. After all, he was a Death Eater—Harry had to keep reminding himself of this again and again. It had been clear for years that this would happen, but when he had seen Malfoy's initiation in his dream he could hardly believe that it really happened…

Malfoy sneered, and then, giving Harry a meaningful glare, he swept out of the room, Crabbe and Goyle trailing after him…

~*~*~

Sariss rushed along the corridors, up and down the staircases, not knowing where she was going at all. Too many thoughts raced through her mind…

Suddenly she found herself standing in front of the stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office. The corridors and staircases seemed to have led her there. Yes, perhaps it would be a good idea to talk to him; it had always been a good idea to talk to him when something like this happened…

What had been the password? She knew that it must be floating around her mind somewhere, but she couldn't think clearly; she was too confused… Perhaps he'd changed it today. It had been quite some time since he'd changed it last time, after all…

"Chocolate Frog?" Obviously not.

"Sugar Quill. Liquorice Wand, Butterbeer…" No, no and no.

"Fizzing Whizzbees."

"Jelly Belly Beans?" Dumbledore favoured the names of Muggle sweets after all…

"Sherbet Lemon?" No, of course not. That was an old one…

"Popcorn?" she asked tentatively, not really convinced that this was a possibility at all. Nothing—as had been expected. Come on, Sariss, be creative…

"Canary Creams?" Perhaps he used one of the Weasley brothers' inventions…

"Ton-Tongue Toffees." That wasn't it either…

"Ginny Gems?" No. This was getting ridiculous.

Now, if this doesn't work I'll just sit down and wait till he comes down for dinner…

"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes!" she said as firmly as she could; the volume of her voice had increased with each failed attempt…

And suddenly the gargoyle moved to the side to let her pass.

If those boys knew that their joke-shop's already famous enough for the headmaster to use its brand for a password…

Sariss walked up a few steps and then waited for the staircase to lift her up. After a few seconds, she found herself at the top, in front of Dumbledore's office door. She lifted her hand to knock and noticed that it was still trembling slightly.

Stay calm, Sariss, control, control…

But before she could knock a voice from inside answered already, "What are you waiting for? Come in, please."

She opened the door, cautiously peering inside. How had he known that someone had been standing in front of the door in the first place?

Dumbledore smiled and stood up as she entered. Fawkes the Phoenix was perched on his usual post behind Dumbledore's desk, gleaming in every possible shade of red and gold, rustling his feathers and making a sound that could be interpreted as a greeting. "Hullo, Fawkes," Sariss whispered.

"I almost went down and opened the entrance for you," Dumbledore said now. "I would have given you and the other staff members my new password at dinner. I changed it only an hour or so ago… However, I think this won't be necessary anymore. The whole school should know by now."

"I'm sorry." Had she shouted that loudly?

"It's not a problem. The most secret things tend to be known by the most people—especially when in Hogwarts…" He was funny sometimes; one couldn't deny him a certain subtle sense of humour…

"That wasn't really what I meant—I think," Sariss answered, banishing the smile he'd managed to draw on her face.

"What happened?" Dumbledore asked now, concern clearly audible in his voice.

"I lost control," she admitted. Then, with a heavy sigh, she added, "Again."

He nodded gravely. "I think you'd better sit down…" he said and indicated for her to sit down in one of the armchairs in his office…

~*~*~

"I think you'd better sit down," Dumbledore said, pointing at a fluffy armchair by the fireplace, willing the still trembling DADA mistress to sit down and moved to sit down in the other armchair for himself.

Perhaps it would be a good idea… Yes. Tea. Tea would be nice. She has always liked it…

Thus, Dumbledore quickly summoned a House Elf—it was Dobby—who, within a matter of seconds returned with a tray laden with a large pot of tea, two teacups and a plate filled with chocolate and mint cookies. At his nod, Dobby disappeared with an audible crack, but not without throwing a pitying glance in Sariss's direction who sat slumped in the chair…

Dumbledore poured her a cup of tea and offered her the plate with the cookies. She shook her head (when had she ever declined her favourite chocolate-mint cookies?), but accepted the teacup.

"It's happened again," she spoke up. "It's getting worse; I can feel it."

"What happened?"

"In class," she began. "I was teaching about Dark magic and the Unforgivables, you know, and it went quite well. The students were interested and asking questions, discussing among themselves—until Draco Malfoy, that little—sorry, Professor—."

"What is it with you and the Malfoys?"

"I don't know. Might be their smug arrogance, their way of worming their way out of everything that has to do with the Dark Arts…"

"They always were associated with the Dark Arts. That's where their wealth comes from."

"Greedy lot."

"Yes, hungry for wealth and power they have always been. And now that young Mr Malfoy has come of age, he must follow in his father's footsteps…" Dumbledore said. "But I interrupted your report. Please continue your explanations…"

"Yes. Well, Malfoy spoke up and actually asked if I had liked casting an Unforgivable. That… boy… actually had the nerve to ask if I had enjoyed killing in such a casual voice and with so much menace. And he didn't really ask it. The tone of his voice made me so angry! And I told him that he had no idea what he was talking about. And then he said he knew things about me. And I don't know what he meant by that. All I know is that he was not joking, Professor Dumbledore. What could he possibly know? And the look on his face. And then the inkbottle exploded right into his face. I hope I didn't… But it was as if that was not a boy looking back at me. I tell you, he is dangerous. I can sense it. It's been emanating clearly recognizably from him all year and it's gotten worse."

"I know. He's a Death Eater."

"How do you know?"

"I have my sources," he answered evasively.

"What kind of sources?" she asked cautiously.

"Spies and something like that."

"Who?"

"I can't tell you, Sariss. It's dangerous enough as it is. Too many people knowing about too many others—"

"If one of them were to be caught they could be forced to tell everything they know…" Of course.

It was worth a try. Knowledge is power, after all, isn't it?

"Yes."

"I understand. Trust no one, is it?"

"Exactly. You of all people should be aware of the importance that this war must be fought in secret. We can't fight Voldemort openly. He has too many followers, although that may not seem so. Yet, the wizards who stand against him are mostly civilians, people who are more worried about the safety of their families and friends than about fighting. Instead of fighting, they hide, which is very wise of them. Too many lives have been lost already. Every single one of us has to find their own way to fight the evil that has befallen us."

"How am I supposed to fight against the Dark Side any longer when I can't even control the powers he fed to me?"

"I think you've lived by the dictum of Know Thine Enemy long enough. Don't you think it's time to go by the well known Latin phrase Temet nosce?"

"Know thyself? I know who I am." She paused, the realization dawning on her that in fact she did not—not really. Then: "I know what I am. I am dangerous, more dangerous than the Dark Lord's whole army could ever be. I could destroy this castle with a snap of my fingers if I wanted to. Are you aware of that? One slip of control…" she added. She had an expression on her young face that she of all people didn't deserve to be able to bring about as easily as that, the old man thought compassionately.

She seemed to ponder something now, her expression growing thoughtful. Then she spoke again, quietly, pensively, "Professor?" The old man nodded at her, willing her to go on. "Have I ever given you the impression that I'm… I don't know… that I'm… cold? I mean, not physically but emotionally—like I didn't feel anything…" she trailed off, at a loss for words that she could use to express herself more clearly. Then: "Am I… heartless?"

Dumbledore understood. "My dear, we both know that 'tis not so. You've just grown so accustomed to having to restrain your powers that you included your feelings in this, too."

"You mean I'm too scared to lose control to feel anything?"

"That's not quite what I meant," Dumbledore answered. "You're only too scared to lose control to let your feelings show. You suppress them out of habit if I dare say so openly, because it hurts you if you don't. I've known you long enough to tell you that quite openly, I think. I wouldn't want to make you angry—for my own safety I wouldn't dare that," he said lightly with a twinkle in his eyes and a mischievous smile on his lips. "You're a tinge too sensible for your own good; you think too much with that little head of yours there." He rested the tip of his index finger on her forehead, still smiling. "And then, when it really counts, you don't think and get carried away with your so very suppressed emotions instead."

Sariss just had to smile back but turned her face slightly away from his penetrating gaze.

"See?" He gently tipped up her chin so she looked up at him. "As long as someone manages to bring that smile out of the depth of your soul, you can't be cold inside your heart."

She sighed; the smile was fading already. It was replaced by a very sombre and sad expression. "It's just that… Sometimes I feel so empty and it makes me so sad and so angry…" she whispered, closing her eyes tightly.

The teacup Dumbledore had put before her started trembling and shattered into pieces…

~*~*~

CRASH!

Sariss flinched at the sound; burying her face in her hands, she uttered a muffled "I'm sorry." That said she moved to get up, intending to return to her rooms—perhaps getting a potion first that would let her fall asleep fast so she didn't have to lie awake pondering another of those little accidents that tended to happen when she got 'emotional' as Dumbledore had put it once when she'd caused a crack in the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall…

~*~

It had happened in Sariss's seventh year at Hogwarts. She had come to hate Malfoy, Rosier and Wilkes with a passion after all they had done to make her life miserable. Didn't they have enough Gryffindors to tease and annoy?

"Well, well, well, why so alone, ice lady?"

"Drop dead, Malfoy." Over the years that had become Sariss's way of greeting her least favourite person. Well, the least favourite person to personally get on her nerves.

"No need to be rude." Sariss rolled her eyes and groaned. If only there were more people in the Great Hall. If only she hadn't been so early for lunch. If only Rick or Rory had chosen Arithmancy. As it was, they had a very long way from North Tower to the Great Hall.

"Alright, Malfoy. What do you want?" she asked, annoyed. Why wouldn't this obnoxious git just leave her alone? And in addition to that, Rosier and Wilkes were standing by, sneering, enjoying themselves for no particular reason or so it seemed. Their expressions and the atmosphere around them made her feel uncomfortable. They are up to something…

She had hardly finished this thought when she heard Malfoy mutter something; a spell, she presumed.

And suddenly something started wriggling on her head. "What? What have you done this time?" Sariss asked, exasperated. If one didn't know better, one would think they were ten-year-olds…

She started getting worried when something hissed and slithered down in front of her face. A pair of eyes looked at her and the head it belonged to hissed, "Hello, lovely one…"

"Malfoy!" she screeched, startled at the fact that the snake actually seemed to be capable of human speech, more furious than scared that he had transfigured her hair… And thus, she gave Malfoy a glare that could have made hell freeze over. "Turn it back!" she hissed, baring her teeth at him, so angry that she didn't seem to be capable to think clearly. The snake still looked curiously at her. "Turn it back!"

The few people around her stared at her as she looked around for someone to help her. A few fellow students had just entered but they all stood frozen to the spot, only staring at her. No one moved, no one said anything at all. It was completely silent, so very silent.

Sariss was thunderstruck. "Malfoy! I'm so going to kill you and your cronies!" she shouted, the snakes still wriggling and slithering around. She could even hear them talking about what was happening—they seemed a bit confused. It wasn't that Sariss was scared of snakes; it was just that she would dearly have liked her hair back as it always had been—she'd always considered it the best part of her—it was just that Malfoy was a complete git, an utter bastard, not worthy to be a Slytherin in her opinion. He has no honour, she'd always thought, no pride, no dignity.

She still glared at him, growing more and more furious in her panic and fright every second that passed with them all staring at her. All of a sudden, crackling sounds could be heard. Little pieces of plaster fell down on them. Sariss looked up; a crack had appeared in the enchanted ceiling. She knew she was the one who caused this, but she couldn't make it stop.

Too late…

"Oh no…" she whispered, chancing a look at the other students.

"Sariss?" Rick asked cautiously from a few yards away. He and Aurora had entered the hall the moment, she'd screamed at Malfoy.

"Rick, Rory…" Sariss stuttered, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of her friends. But they only shook their heads and whispered as one, "You're a Parseltongue." That was the moment she realized that it wasn't only that something wasn't right—no, there was something seriously wrong about all of this, about herself…

The professors, too, had finally realized that something was happening. They made their way through the throng of students that had gathered around the girl. McGonagall was first. She was out of her mind at what she saw; Sariss could tell as much from the look on her face. However, with a swift flick of her wand she turned Sariss's hair back to normal. "Dear goodness! Which one of you had this incredibly stupid idea?" she said, first scanning the crowd, then throwing a glance at the ceiling.

Sariss followed her gaze upwards again, chancing another look up at the ceiling, staring at the damage she'd caused. "Oh no…" she whispered again, tears starting to rise in her eyes.

"Miss Ravon!" Snape fought his way towards the Slytherin table. She heard his voice but seemed to be incapable of speaking or even turning her head. She kept staring at the crack, frightened, in shock at what she'd done; that she'd lost control—she'd disappointed Dumbledore… It was as if she were frozen. Yet, she felt herself tremble.

"Miss Ravon?" Snape asked. "Are you alright?" His voice sounded so strange to her, so different, he sounded genuinely concerned.

Sariss swallowed hard and bent her head, her hair obscuring her face. Tears had started running down her cheeks. "I'm… I'm sorry," she choked and turned to run out of the Great Hall—it was too humiliating to have to cry when two or three dozens of people were watching you—but Snape held her back as McGonagall said, "You had better talk to the Headmaster about this. If I'm not mistaken he should still be in his office or at least only on his way down here…"

If only he had been here a minute ago…

"No word of this must leave this castle," Snape said softly. "Not even this room."

"I'll handle this," McGonagall said. "You take care of the girl."

Snape's touch was gentle and hesitant as he put one of his hands on her shoulder, took hold of her arm with the other one and turned to go, heading towards the doorway. After a few steps, however, he stopped, turned back and snarled menacingly, "Malfoy, my office, 7:30 tonight. Rosier and Wilkes, 7:45. Bring a pair of Dragonhide gloves for each of you. You'll be facing detention for this sick joke of yours! Your turn, Minerva."

At that he turned back to Sariss and said, his voice soft again and sounding surprisingly soothing, "Come on, let's go. I'll take you to the Headmaster."

He led her straight to Dumbledore's office. She was still crying softly, silently, seemingly unable to stop. She had covered her face by her hands so she didn't have to bear Rick and Rory's eyes staring back into hers when they'd still been in the Great Hall. She still had them there. "Now, stop crying already. It's not that the ceiling couldn't be fixed…" he said, a slightly annoyed tone in his voice.

"It's not that. Not really. It's… it's just… everything…" she made a small but nonetheless all-encompassing gesture and sniffed, unable to go on. She fought the urge to simply throw herself into his arms to let herself be held and comforted. It was something that Snape clearly wouldn't allow—as if Sariss herself would have been comfortable with the mere thought. Snape, of all people. You didn't let yourself be comforted by a teacher or anyone else, for that matter—not even Rick or Rory—unless the teacher in question was Professor Dumbledore—or at least so she thought. Dumbledore had become her family. She had no one else left.

And now he would have to expel her…

Snape sighed, whispered the password to the gargoyle and proceeded up the stairs, gently guiding her, as she couldn't see very well with all those tears shrouding her vision.

McGonagall caught up with them. "Those boys really overdid it this time," McGonagall whispered to Snape but Sariss could hear it.

"I wish I could object to this statement…" Snape answered in an equally low voice.

Sariss almost started when Snape knocked at the office door and Dumbledore said, "Come in!"

Snape opened the door and pushed Sariss in while McGonagall followed and closed the door.

"Headmaster," Snape said, his voice devoid of any emotion now.

"Albus. There has been a… um… an accident," McGonagall explained their intrusion.

Sariss did not look up. She could only hear the soft rustle of the Headmaster's robes as he walked around his desk. She could almost feel his eyes bore into her skull. "Sariss, I think you had better sit down for a while. I'll be with you in a few minutes."

Having said this, he walked out of his office, two sets of feet following him. The door snapped shut. Sariss thought she might as well face expulsion sitting down in a comfortable armchair. Through the door, she could hear hushed voices, but she couldn't understand what they were saying.

Somehow, the thought of being expelled in itself wasn't that horrible. It was rather the thought of having disappointed Dumbledore. She had failed him. She had tried so hard and yet she'd failed him on account of Malfoy. She should have known better than to stay in a room when he entered. But there had been teachers. Quite a distance away but anyway. There had been teachers. That he'd done it under those circumstances at all! What kind of spell had that been? Sariss had no idea. In all her studies, she hadn't come across that one. Not even in the Restricted Section. It must be serious Dark Magic. He'd surely be expelled alongside her. That was something she couldn't help but smile grimly at. He'd go down with her—after having served his detention first. Everyone knew that Snape was not lenient about detentions that were to be served. If you were ill, it was only delayed, never forgotten.

'No word of this must leave this castle,' he'd said. How were they supposed to accomplish that? Memory Charms would be highly unethical in her case.

After a few minutes, just as Dumbledore had promised, he returned—alone—and sat down in the armchair opposite hers. She chanced a look at his face. He was looking at her intently. "So?" she asked tentatively, hating the fact that her voice was full of tears.

"So, what?" he answered.

"You're going to expel me, aren't you? I lost control; I couldn't do anything about it. He and the others, they made me so angry. This time I really messed it up… You must send me away…" She was wringing her hands furiously. They were so very cold… She sniffed and took an unsteady breath. "I'm so sorry." She started crying again and put her hands over her face.

Dumbledore sighed, took her hand, gently drew it away from her face and put a cup of tea in it. It emanated such comforting warmth… He must have conjured it up while she'd had her face buried in her hands. "Nobody is going to expel you just because you got… well… emotional again. And you're not the one facing detention, or has anyone confirmed anything otherwise?"

She looked up at him, shaking her head and sniffed. He nodded encouragingly. She took a sip of the tea. It was deliciously warm and sweet; she felt better instantly.

"I'm a Parseltongue," she said. "Just like him."

"Yes, just like Voldemort," Dumbledore confirmed. "Another one of the powers you got from him. I wonder what else there is still to be discovered about you."

"I don't want this. I never wanted this," Sariss said, putting the empty cup back onto the tray that was sitting on the nearby table. "Please, Professor Dumbledore, can't you think of anything that could be done to make this stop. I'm so very tired of all of this…"

"Dear child, we've been through this so many times already—."

The teacup shattered. Sariss flinched. "I'm sorry," she choked. "I…"

"No harm done. Nothing has been damaged beyond repair. That's what magic is used for mostly, after all—repair broken things…"

With a flick of his wand, he repaired the cup and filled it again, offering it to her once more.

"I can't walk back in there," she said, accepting the cup but not drinking. "I can't face them all. They hate me. Most of them hated me already before this happened."

"They're only a bit scared of you," he said lightly. "But there are many people who accept you, some people who like you; and a few people even appreciate you… As for the others… Messrs. Malfoy, Rosier and Wilkes will most certainly not prove much of a problem anymore. Severus has devised a particularly nasty detention for them. He didn't bother taking away any points." Dumbledore smiled. "After all, he'd be taking away a quite large amount of points from his own house… He'd be mad to do this. And it wouldn't teach them a lesson. This task will be much better accomplished by a few weeks of pickling and peeling quite a few barrels of acid fungi and taking good care of some extremely nasty specimens of the Venomous Tentacula. In fact, I think Professor Sprout will be more than happy to have someone else clipping and feeding them…" His eyes were twinkling so merrily as he said that that Sariss had to smile back despite the tears that were still trickling down her cheeks…

After that incident, life—surprisingly—had become very much easier—as Sariss only had to mention 'acid fungi' or 'Venomous Tentacula' and within an instant, there had been only empty space where seconds before three boys had stood. Sariss had had so much fun with Rick and Aurora joking about the mysterious disappearances of a certain annoying trio, after they had sorted out everything that had happened. They had accepted it. It had not been her fault; she had not been the one to blame. They had believed her that she had had no idea of this before the very incident in the Great Hall revealed her being a Parseltongue.

And Malfoy, Wilkes and Rosier had been scared of her, too, because of the incident in the Great Hall. It had felt good.

To some extent, it had felt good to be feared for a reason and not just for the sake of it…

Next chapter:

More, even earlier memories. Someone dreads being in love and the object of these newly found affections has another chat with Dumbledore.