Author's note: Yay! You haven't forgotten me! Thank you, Blaise. No matter what, I can always count on your very much biased und thus extremely favourable *winks* opinion. Big thanks once more to our Finnish Butterfly *waves* and to Charlsie who pointed out something in Chapter 9 that might be confusing for some people. I've added a paragraph that ought to clear things up. Aren't I good to you? ;-) Oh, and thank you, Maridale! I hope I'll hear from you again.

I so love writing these author's notes before the actual chapter… Anyway, first read and hopefully enjoy and then let me know that you're reading. Nothing is more frustrating than not knowing how many hits a story gets. *wants a hit counter*

Chapter 11: In My World Love is for Poets

In my world
Love is for poets
Never the famous balcony scene
Just a dying faith
On the heaven's gate

—Nightwish: Swanheart

"Now, no harm done," said Dumbledore gently putting a hand on her shoulder pushing her back down into the plushy armchair. "Reparo!" he shouted and with a wave of his wand restored the cup to its original form, handing it to Sariss—who took it gratefully—and poured her another cup. "Thank you." She took a sip of her tea.

"Suddenly I don't think my coming back here has been such a brilliant idea anymore. Too many memories."

"I hear the nightmares have come back…"

"How did you…? Oh! I assume, Professor Snape told you about the Dreamless Sleep Potion?".

"Yes," Dumbledore said; strangely, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Does it work?"

"Do you want me to be honest?" The headmaster nodded. Sariss exhaled slowly. "Not really. It usually wears off in the early morning hours; if I'm very tired and very lucky, I make it until dawn. If not… Well, anyway, then they come. Actually, it is only one; always the same, every night… It's the nightmare… I remember everything that happened…" The tears came again as the words poured out of her mouth. She recounted the events of seventeen years ago, and it startled Dumbledore how clear her memory of what had happened still was. It was the vision of a ten-year-old girl but he had already listened to it once, and that, Sariss also still remembered very vividly. Dumbledore didn't interrupt her when she began to speak about her memories. She just needed someone who would listen. And now that she didn't write her letters to him anymore, it was understandable that she needed to talk; now that she didn't have her best friends with her any longer it was clear that she needed to confide in someone, someone who knew, someone who simply listened. And as she spoke, Dumbledore too envisioned what she was talking about. It was almost like using a Pensieve, although the images were now only in his mind and not in a shining, silvery bowl filled with swirling liquid thoughts. Sariss had closed her eyes, presumably to keep the tears from flowing, but perhaps she didn't want to see his expression as she spoke of everything as though she were there, as though it happened in those very moments.

Her memories were a terrible thing. Dumbledore was almost glad when she reached the part of the story when he had entered the stage, so to speak…

~*~

Sariss felt woozy, as though she were wrapped with layers of cotton wool, drowsy and very, very tired. The bed she was lying in was so soft and plushy and warm and all…

She had had another one of the outbursts that everyone around here so dreaded. A few windows had broken and a large crack had appeared in one wall, while another one of the walls had been blasted away entirely. They had said it was her doing. But Sariss had no idea why it happened. She didn't want it to happen… Just like the many times before…

They must have put a spell on her to keep her calm and quiet.

She was thankful for it.

Sariss opened her heavy eyelids when she sensed anxiety and heard voices outside. They were muffled, but if that was the case because they were talking very softly or because Sariss was under the spell that felt so nice that she didn't even want to break it, she couldn't tell. What she could tell, however, was that she could have overcome the spell easily if only she'd wanted to. No, better if it stayed the way it was… So comfy…

"I cannot express more clearly, headmaster, that if it had been possible I would have informed you immediately that the Dark Lord learnt about the Ravons' whereabouts—"

A very anxious voice, very worried. Afraid.

"We've already talked this over, my boy. There's nothing to be gained by your feeling sorry for everything you couldn't prevent from happening."

Equally worried, I suppose. Strange feelings. Is sad, too. This emotion-sensing thingy is so weird…

Her eyes fell shut again. She was too comfortable to keep them open any longer. Too drowsy… However, she listened to the hushed voices; like hoarse whispers they sounded, drowned out and muffled as though she had cotton wool in her ears. If they knew, she could hear them?

"Headmaster—"

"Right now, our main concern is the girl. We must find out what exactly Voldemort did to her."

Voldemort. So that had been Voldemort… Sariss thought. Mum was right to tell me that he should be feared…

"I wish I could tell you this. He informed nobody about what he was up to. Completely secret. As to Gabriel…" he sighed. "Almost all of us had been dismissed the day he broke his memory apart. He wanted to do this alone. Do you think he—?"

"We'll know soon enough if he suspects spies amongst his followers… For now, I think it would be best if you returned to him so as not to arouse suspicions. In his opinion, you'll have done what was required for me to keep on trusting you. Tell the Dark Lord about what you saw. I'll take care of the girl." This man, too, sighed now. "Poor little thing…"

"Good day, headmaster."

The man who had been addressed didn't reply. The other man walked away. Faint footsteps could be heard if Sariss strained her ears.

The sound of a door opening. Footsteps. The sound of a door falling shut…

A hand smoothing her hair back…

Sariss blinked wearily and croaked a weak, "Hi."

The man smiled. "Hi, little one. You look tired."

"'S jus' the spell," she mumbled sleepily.

"Do you want me to take it off you?"

"Nah. Too comfy. Don't want to cause a mess again," she whispered. Apparently, the spell started to wear off when she was straining to stay awake and wanted to talk. She moaned softly. "It's wearing off already… I'll have to have it cast on me again so I don't cause trouble. They get angry when I do that. I don't like them shouting and yelling… Anger hurts. Here." She slowly lifted her hand and placed it onto the man's chest, over his heart. "And it makes me angry, too. And then I cause more of a mess. And then they get even more—."

"I see," the man said softly. He was an old man. Long white hair and an equally long white beard hid his face almost entirely. But his eyes were happy eyes, despite how worried he was. They twinkled behind his spectacles, like two small ice-blue stars in the sky…

He patted her hand. "Are you cold, little one?"

"Sariss."

"Excuse me?"

"My name is Sariss and yes, I am a bit cold now. The spell made me feel really comfy and all, but now it's a bit cold in here again, but it's okay. I've been cold ever since—."

"I see," the man repeated. "By the way, my name is Albus Dumbledore. I am headmaster of Hogwarts School of—."

Sariss sat up. "Hogwarts! I was supposed to go there in… My mum said I…" She sniffed. "They killed my mum. He killed my mum. Voldemort."

"How do you know it was him?"

"I heard you talking with that other man. He's so scared of what's going to happen. He's sorry, just like you are—and you're both worried, too, worried about me… But I don't know why you'd—."

"How… You can really sense those things?" he asked curiously. Dumbledore wasn't giving her the feeling of being interrogated like the others had given her from time to time. She could never tell them the whole story because they were so anxious and all, so many people that Sariss started feeling strange and freaked out, causing those 'things'. They must have tried a dozen times to get her to talk it over…

No. This man was so calm—worried but calm—that Sariss was calm, too.

"Uh-huh. It took me a while to figure it out, you know, that those strange emotions weren't mine… And it's so hard to tell them apart. Most of the time it's so confusing."

"So you… er… you weren't born with this?" he asked, although he must have known already.

Sariss shook her head. "No, it started… I have no idea how long ago it was. It was on my birthday when he… when he… when that potion was given to me."

"A potion?"

Sariss nodded.

"What kind of potion was it, dearie?" he asked.

"I don't know. It was some sort of greyish goo. It tasted awful. And it made me feel so cold all of a sudden. And I was so scared. I wanted my mum to help me. That's what mums are there for, isn't it? To take care of their children and protect them…" She sniffed and swallowed. "But… but…" Her eyes flowed over. She couldn't go on.

"Shh. It's alright," Dumbledore said softly, conjuring a handkerchief out of thin air and wiping away a few tears that slithered down her face. Sariss hadn't even realized that she was crying.

"Thanks," she croaked and sniffed again. "I'm sorry. I don't cry that easily. At least before all of this happened I didn't…"

"It's alright, honey," he said.

A sob tore from Sariss's throat.

"What? What's wrong? What did I do?"

"Nothing. It's not you. It's just that… my mum always called me that…" she sobbed.

"You miss your mother, don't you?" Dumbledore asked, although it was not really a question.

Sariss blew her nose on the handkerchief. "Uh-huh," she nodded, hiccoughing, choking on a sob she had tried to suppress.

"It's alright, love, cry. Go on. There's nothing to be ashamed of. It'll make you feel better once it's done." Dumbledore put his arms around her and let her cry until no tears would come. It took a long time. But the man was very patient, rubbing her back firmly and gently at the same time, stroking her hair tenderly. For the first time in, she didn't know how many days, she felt safe. Not because of a spell that built up an illusion of safety around her but in reality.

After a while she mumbled, "Your beard tickles." She pulled away and scratched her cheek.

And Dumbledore broke into a grin that was visible despite said beard. He conjured another handkerchief and Banished the drenched one. "There," he whispered and wiped her face. "All of those salty little fellows out or do you intend to keep some for a souvenir?"

"All out, I think," she replied, sniffing. "At least for a while, I guess."

"So. Is there something you'd like to ask me before you continue to tell me about what happened?"

"Could you—would you… Please take me away from here. They're very nice when they're talking to me and all, but they're so distressed all of the time. I don't blame them for it. I am too. But I feel so—."

"Does it hurt? Here. Like anger?"

"It's a bit different. I can't explain it. It feels a bit different, only a little bit. But it, too, makes me want to throw something. Mr Dumbledore, you see, I know that it's normal to feel like throwing something from time to time, but usually I don't do this. I never destroyed something only because I felt like it. But now it's different. I don't feel like destroying something. It simply happens. I can't do anything about it…" she spoke in a very small voice, struggling to find the right words to describe things that were well beyond the mental capability of a ten-year-old girl. "Please, Mr Dumbledore, please help me. Make me normal again. You must be a powerful wizard if you're headmaster of Hogwarts. You must be able to help me. My mother said you're the one wizard even Voldemort is scared of. If you can't help me—."

"I'll do what is in my power, my dear, I promise," the man answered, tears in his eyes, but apparently very glad that she wanted to come with him.

"Thank you," Sariss choked. A tear slithered down her cheek.

"Now, now. I thought all of them were out?"

"Must have hidden in a corner, the little git," Sariss smiled sheepishly, despite herself, wiping the rebel tear from her cheek, sniffing once more. "There. That's were it gets you."

Dumbledore smiled back. "Such a lovely smile. We'll have to work a bit to make it show more often."

"What are you going to do with me? Where are you going to take me?"

"Hmm. An old friend of mine would be a good option to take care of you until we have sorted this mess-causing thingy out. Arabella would surely be delighted. She's got a lot of cats. Do you like cats?"

"I don't know. I never had one."

"Well, I hope they like you. Cats are sensitive creatures. They might sense the power that's concealed inside of you. We'll see how it affects them."

"What do you mean?"

"They'll either like you or run from you."

"I don't care as long as they don't scratch or bite me."

"Very practical way of thinking, you have there, dearie."

She shrugged. "But I'd like them to like me. They're supposed to be so very soft and all. I always wanted to have one myself… A little black one with feet that look as though it were wearing white socks… Do you think that Arabella woman has one like that?"

"As she has very many… The chances are there."

"So… What's up with those powers, then? Why should a cat be afraid when I don't want to hurt it?"

"Animals are very sensitive creatures. They sense those things. In your case, they'll sense very clearly that there's something in you that's not quite what one would expect from a girl—pardon my choice of words—as small and delicate as you are. The powers that are inside of you even scare the Aurors. They're around you like an aura."

"Like a what?"

"Like an invisible cloud. Like smoke. If it were visible one could almost cut yours with a knife."

"But you're not scared. Not scared at all."

"I am a highly powerful wizard," he winked. "And I'm old enough to know when to trust my instincts and when to trust my reason. The powers I sense in you do not necessarily mean that you're going to destroy everything. They're just a bit too much for you now."

"What can I do about them then? If they're so strong and all?"

"You'll have to learn how to control it. I believe it can be done and I'll try and teach you. Once you've managed that, I must bring you to Hogwarts as quickly as possible. Hogwarts is the safest place for you to stay—along with Gringotts bank of course. But you wouldn't like living in an underground vault, would you?"

"Not really."

"And once we've come that far, it won't take too long a time until the new school year starts. Until then, you'll be safe at Hogwarts. You can make friends if you feel like it or learn a few spells already, fly on a broomstick… Have you ever flown?"

He sounded so optimistic despite his worries. But—Sariss assumed—a man as important as the headmaster of a wizarding school had many things to worry about, important ones, and not so important ones…

"No," she said. "Mum… mum always said it wasn't safe."

"Too true. You'll like it. It's very much fun when you know how to do it properly. Madam Hooch—she teaches flying, a very nice witch, you'll like her, I'm sure—Madam Hooch will be delighted to teach you and help you find a broomstick that suits you—."

"Do you… Do you want me to tell you what happened now?" she asked tentatively. The man wanted to come to the point, but he didn't want to pressure her, lest she do some of that magic that no one around here wanted to see…

"If you're up to it. Didn't work too well with the Aurors, did it?"

"They made me freak out. They—."

"I know. So you want to tell me instead?"

"I can try. But I don't know if I can describe it in a way so you can understand. They didn't understand when I tried to tell—."

"Just tell it like it was. If I don't understand something I'll simply ask you to try and say it differently, alright?"

"What if I can't explain it?"

"I don't expect an analysis of the events. Not even from a full-grown wizard—or witch—would I demand that. Just speak like the child you are."

"Okay," she said slowly and then began to recount the events, pondering her answers when he asked what Voldemort had said exactly, what that potion had been like…

~*~*~

A few months later she found herself at Hogwarts, curiously eyed by the students who seemed not so sure what to make of her. Thus, Sariss spent most of her time in the library. Books didn't flinch when you tentatively touched them, didn't care that your hands were always cold, didn't have feelings that put your defences to the test. But all in all, Sariss was all right. She had Dumbledore, who cared for her as though he were her father, never scolding her when she broke something doing accidental magic, always comforting her when she felt sad. And there was Quidditch. She found she liked watching it very much. She liked bathing in the atmosphere and excitement that the game caused.

When the new school year was about to start, he took her to Diagon Alley to get a wand for her, although they had discovered that she didn't really need one. But Sariss wanted a wand, just like everybody else. It would look really strange if she were the only one without a wand, wouldn't it?

Dumbledore first took her to Gringotts bank and showed her how you got your money from the goblins without too much trouble arguing about taxes and stuff like that. Sariss's eyes went wide when they rushed through the tunnels that harboured the vaults. This was very much like flying…

Long tunnels, deep under the surface of the earth. One would get lost in them if the goblins weren't there to guide them… One would never find the vault one was looking for—and if one happened to find it nonetheless, one would never find their way back up into the daylight…

After quite some time, the little wagon they'd been sitting in stopped, and the goblin jumped out and prompted Dumbledore and Sariss to follow him down another tunnel. It was only a few yards until they reached vault number 221.

"This all… Is this… mine?" she asked in awe, her jaw almost hitting the floor when she saw the piles of gold and silver that came into view when the goblin opened the door.

"All yours. The Ravon legacy. Yours is a very old wizarding family—."

"Was."

"What?"

"Was a very old wizarding family."

"I never said you were the last one."

"You said it was all mine. So I must be the last one."

"That's a very perceptive little head you have there, dearie," he smiled and indicated the money. "Now pop some of it into your purse already."

Sariss went and tentatively touched the wealth that was all hers. What a life it would have been if Voldemort had never existed. She and her mother would have been wearing fancy dresses, living in a huge manor, surrounded by servants who fulfilled every single one of their wishes. And perhaps a father for Sariss, too. A nice man. A man like Dumbledore, although a bit younger perhaps…

But it would never be that way. Voldemort had sought to that.

Sariss mentally shook herself. Thinking about what could have been wouldn't make anything better.

After chancing another look at Dumbledore who nodded encouragingly, she shoved handfuls of gold and silver into the purse. In Sariss's case, a handful wasn't very much yet. She was a small girl with equally small hands. But that would change. She'd grow up. She'd grow up because at Hogwarts, with Dumbledore, she was safe. Voldemort wouldn't get her. Dumbledore wouldn't let him. He had promised he wouldn't.

"We're going shopping," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "You'll be needing a lot of things. First, a wand. I'm very curious already what kind of a wand it will be… Then your books and a cauldron and robes and loads of stuff you don't really need but would like to have nonetheless. Your birthday is in a few days, after all, if I recall correctly—."

Sariss whirled around. "Don't. Please. I don't want to celebrate. It's nothing to be celebrated," she rushed out.

"What? Do you intend to mourn it instead?" Dumbledore asked incredulously.

"I want to ignore it. I just want to forget everything, which I can't with that cursed day recurring every year anyway." She swallowed hard. Now was neither the right time nor the right place to break into tears.

Dumbledore sighed and sadly shook his head when he indicated for her to leave the vault, which she did.

"Poor little thing," he muttered and ran his hand over her hair when she walked past him. "You have everything other people would give their wandarm for. You're pretty and rich and very gifted even at your young age. Soon you'll be a beautiful young woman—I'm sure you'll be looking a lot like your mother one day—and you'll be a powerful witch."

"I don't care," Sariss whispered.

"I know. You don't really care about any of this. You only want a family, feel loved and be happy—the only things one can't buy with gold."

"Do you think it'll ever get easier?"

"I don't know, child, if you're lucky the memories will fade, the nightmares will stop. Other than that…"

"I understand. Thanks for being honest. Now let's get this stuff you were talking about. The pretty, useless stuff."

"Pretty useless, huh? That's funny," Dumbledore said.

Sariss shrugged. "I am funny. I just don't laugh at my own jokes—and those of others, for that matter."

"The day you laugh your head off will be the happiest in my entire life."

"You'll have to get very old then, I think. I don't feel like I'll laugh my head off any time in the near future. And laughter doesn't necessarily mean that someone is happy."

"That's a quite philosophic statement for someone so young. Have you been reading a book on that perhaps?"

"Yes, but I have also been watching you and others. It is not necessary to laugh when you're happy. People cry when they're happy sometimes. Other people only sit there, a faraway look in their eyes… Happiness is something very complicated and elusive if you ask me. I have forgotten what it felt like before all of this happened. Sometimes I get a very small glimpse of it, but it's like the Golden Snitch. My fingertips already brush it and then it's gone…"

"A nice explanation, very expressive. You have been reading very much during the last few months, haven't you?"

Sariss nodded. "One question. As soon as I've read every single book in the library, can I go into the Restricted Section and see the books there?"

"What might you be looking for in the Restricted Section?"

"Er… Perhaps I'll find something that—."

"You won't find anything. The whole staff has tried to explain what the potion did to you and found nothing. Not even in the Restricted Section."

"Then I'm sure I'll find some books there that deal with the Dark Arts. I want to learn everything about them and as soon as I'm leaving school, I want to go after them. I'll be an Auror or something like that. Are there others who go after Dark wizards?"

"Hmm. Going after Dark wizards. Sounds like revenge."

"I don't care what it sounds like. I just want…" she trailed off. "You're right, I guess… Yes. It's revenge."

"Revenge won't make you happy. It won't make anything undone."

"But it'll get him out of my head. The dreams will stop when he's gone. They must."

"What if they stop on their own?"

"At the moment it doesn't seem as though they were ever going to stop. I think I'm never going to sleep in peace. And I don't think I'll ever be really happy again. Not when I see his face before my eyes every time I close them. You'll have to get extremely old if you want to live the day I'm really happy. Most likely you'd have to live forever."

"It's a good reason to grow very old, isn't it? Waiting for someone to be truly happy…" Dumbledore muttered when they were led back up towards daylight…

~*~

It was late afternoon by now.

Sariss had finally fallen silent. Sometimes it seemed that she ran out of words when she went into her ramblings. Fortunately, she also ran out of tears after a while.

Dumbledore sighed. "After all those years that nightmare still haunts you? Have the memories not faded?"

"The dreams were almost completely gone, you see. And when I dreamt them nonetheless they weren't very distinct, just fragments and feelings—but since I came back here they've become more and more distinct, as though a cloud gradually lifted itself from my memory. And that's why I've been almost living on Dreamless Sleep Potion lately. I know it's not good to take it that often and in such doses. But I'm afraid I'll go mad if I don't… And as for the memories… They'll never fade."

"I see," the old man said, looking at her over the frame of his half-moon spectacles.

The two of them lapsed into silence.

Sariss fidgeted nervously, her fingers playing with the long sleeves of her robe. She looked as though she wanted to say something else, something that was not easy to say, a question not easy to ask, a statement not easy to make…

"What's on your mind, my dear?" Dumbledore thus prompted her to speak after a while. He felt he could almost sense the words that were left unspoken swirling around in her head. Strange how easily he could read her; she seemed to let down her defences when alone in a room with him.

"There's something else, isn't there? Another dream; another memory?"

"No, not that, although it's almost as much a problem as they are." She looked up at him. "I… I'm not sure how… I don't know how to put it into words, Professor. I've never really spoken about those things, to no one, actually, and since you're the closest thing I have to—forgive me my choice of words—a father…" she began hesitantly. Then she took a deep breath and rushed the words out, "What does being in love feel like?"

Dumbledore's smile that had appeared when she had all but called him her father broadened and he laughed softly. "That's quite an unusual question coming from you. You who seem so independent, so self-sufficient most of the time."

"Yes, that's right. I seem so. Now please answer my question before my face turns crimson—a colour that absolutely doesn't suit me—and I have to rush out through the door to drown myself in the lake out of sheer embarrassment."

Dumbledore still smiled. If you knew, how very well pink cheeks suit you…

"Now why would you want to know what it feels like?" he asked suspiciously.

"I'm… just curious, that's all," she faltered.

Really convincing that was, my dear child… not.

"Just curious, huh?" he asked mischievously. Then he added, quite serious again, "Do you think you're in love?"

She gave him a slightly annoyed look and seemingly having regained her usual composure, she said, "I fear… Where you ever in love?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, then you should be able to tell me what it feels like."

"That's something that's not easily explained. Perhaps you should first tell me what you feel and then I'll try and see if your symptoms might just point to the fact that you're in love…"

"How subtle you always manage to draw the information out of me while you volunteer none at all…" she drawled.

"Out with it, come on. I promise not to laugh at you. There once was a time when I, too, tried to describe what I felt and failed miserably—or not."

She chuckled at that. Finally, he had drawn her out of the deep dark ocean that was her memories. Then she tilted her head to the side, a thoughtful expression on her face as she bit her lip in thought for a second. After a few moments she began to speak, "Er… well… this must really sound stupid now… Oh, gods, I can't." She shook her head. "This is too embarrassing. I should never have started a conversation on this topic. It's so… so—."

"I think 'weird' is the expression you're looking for."

"That might just be the exact term to describe my current situation with. Weird. Strange… I mean, really strange. I don't know what's come over me. All the time there was nothing. It was okay; everything was as always. I could handle it, I mean, as I am never really okay for a reason we both know, I could handle it quite well."

Dumbledore nodded. The conversations always returned to that topic. He could wait for her to bring it up as one waited for the sun to set, as one waited for it to rain or for the rain to stop, as one waited for the sound of thunder after a flash of lightning had struck the surface of the earth.

"And then?"

"I don't know when it started, but I've recently started to be aware of… I don't know… strange thoughts, thoughts that came from the back of my mind as though it weren't really me who was thinking them, but it was me, nonetheless. As though something had woken up, turning me upside down and inside out when I look at—when I see… him." She sounded annoyed at herself when she said the last few words.

"Hmm. Upside down, huh? Inside out? That might just be terms to describe being in love with. Perhaps you're also confused at him? You do not know how to react when you're around him?"

"You can say that. But there's also something else that I can't quite fathom—."

"And what is that? Try to describe it. A certain feeling?"

"Yes," she replied very softly and ran a hand over her face to brush some of the rebellious hairs out of there. "It's a feeling. I just can't give a name to it. It's constant, like stomach-ache, as though something were sitting inside of me, clasping a hand around my intestines and squeezing slightly, but it doesn't really hurt, you see, it's more like pressure, tension, perhaps. Somehow, like the calm before the storm when you're waiting for the first bolt of lightning to zigzag about the sky…" she trailed off. "I feel so incredibly stupid. How could I ever have gotten the idea that I might be in love—with him of all people?!" she exclaimed, but her words were not really directed at Dumbledore. "He so annoys me."

"I am very curious to learn about the man that makes you feel that way, my dear child." Dumbledore smiled benevolently. "I fear I must inform you, that you show all the symptoms of a serious illness," he said. "You are quite indubitably in love with him."

"Oh, gods! I really don't know if that's a good or a bad thing. I assume there's nothing to be done about that?"

"Quite right you are about that."

"What am I supposed to do about it? I really tried to ignore all of this, you see, but this stupid little voice is starting to get the upper hand. I don't seem to be able to make it shut up when it's insinuating all this… stuff. I even had a dream a few nights ago… He refuses to leave my mind."

Dumbledore laughed quite openly now. "A very serious illness it is. Unfortunately—or fortunately—it cannot be cured that easily. You might just have to see if this being in love thing turns out to be real love."

"But the thing is I don't want to be in love. I don't want to love at all. All the people I've ever felt anything for are dead. All but you, Professor Dumbledore—and now him, too. I don't want to lose again. I can hardly manage my own life, twisted and strange as it is. How could I manage to be part of someone else's life, too?" She sighed and shook her head. "I was wrong. It does hurt…" she whispered. "Does it ever stop?"

"I cannot tell you this. I can only advise you to listen to what your heart tells you for a change. This head of yours is much too busy for its own good."

"I refuse to answer to that statement," she said sternly, but a small smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth. She got up to leave. When she had almost reached the door, she turned around once more. "You haven't asked me who I was talking about. Why?"

"Because," the headmaster grinned knowingly.

Sariss rolled her eyes, apparently catching on to what he meant by that. "And I was having such a hard time avoiding saying his name."

"Why don't you say it now?"

"I'd rather not. It's enough for you to know it without my telling you. I'll not let you trick me into confessing that I'm in love with—him. This way it's not possible for you to tell him that what I said was about him. Not even under the influence of Veritaserum, which he might just slip into your pumpkin juice one day or the other. At least I wouldn't put anything past him," she said with a smirk.

Dumbledore still smiled. It seemed to him that he was doing this quite a lot today despite the initial seriousness of her visit. "You don't trust anybody, do you?"

"I find it safer to not make a habit of it. No. Present company excepted, of course—usually. But when it comes to certain matters I don't even trust you—or myself."

He nodded. "Very well, but if you should decide to let yourself fall into love—"

"Nice way of expressing that I am thinking too much. Again," she threw in.

"—you'll have to trust your… ahem… significant other… to a certain extent."

"I'll think about it when the time comes. If the time comes. It's no use bothering my mind with matters that aren't pressing, yet."

"Has it ever occurred to you that you answer every suggestion that I make with 'I'll think about it' and many of the questions I ask you with 'Not really' instead of with a clear 'Yes' or 'No'?"

"Not really," she grinned at him.

He grinned back and nodded at her. "Alright then. Is there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?"

"I believe not."

"Then off you go," he ushered her out of his office. And grinning broadly he added, "I'm sure you have very much to think about now, not least this seemingly fiercely desirable—."

She turned around very quickly and interrupted him before he could finish his sentence. "Thank you, Professor," she said sharply, the relief that she had stopped him just in time clearly audible in her voice. Yet, her cheeks reddened quite a bit. It had always been easy to make her blush. She was so very easily to embarrass—and despite what she liked to point out, it didn't not suit her. Remarkable how a face that was so extremely pale under normal circumstances could turn so very rosy within the fragments of a second…

"Despite your making fun of me, you've been of great help. Very great help. And I'm feeling much better now." She tried quite in vain to pass her embarrassment over. "I'll just have to think what to do now. But one thing is for sure: Whatever I do, I must not lose control anymore. Something like this must not happen again. Next time I might accidentally kill someone who doesn't deserve it…" Sariss squeezed his hands tightly for a few seconds, before leaving. "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore, thank you."

"Any time, dear child, any time," he muttered as he saw her disappear down the spiral staircase. He returned to his desk and sat down, still smiling, when he started going about his business as a headmaster.

~*~*~

Quite some time later the door swung open and the Potions master stepped in.

"Don't even bother to knock, Severus," Dumbledore mock-scolded him.

"I fear it has become a habit of mine to enter without asking first, Headmaster. Forgive me my intrusion, but I must speak to you about an important matter—."

"And what might that be?"

"Sariss Ravon."

"It's always about her, isn't it?"

"Headmaster, please. This is a serious situation. I have just been informed that there has been a… er… an accident earlier this afternoon. In Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Sariss has already spoken to me about it. Who told you?"

"Students," Severus replied curtly.

"And?"

"Malfoy must have crossed a line he'd better not crossed," Severus said. "Other than that… What has she told you?"

"The way I understand it, it started with a lesson about the Unforgivable Curses and went quite well until they started on Avada Kedavra. You know that she was involved in the death of Seth Malfoy several months ago?"

"State it as it is, Headmaster. She…"

"She cast the curse, yes," Dumbledore said. "So Mr Malfoy—senior, that is—has already filled you in about what happened. That it was she who did it."

"Actually, Lucius Malfoy never stated it as plainly as that but he has been showing quite an interest in her and her activities since… the night. I merely had to draw my conclusions."

"The night he sought to it that his son entered the Dark Lord's service, Severus? It still pains you to speak about Death Eater initiations, doesn't it?"

"It does, Headmaster. However, this is not the point here. And I don't think Lucius sought to it. Come to think of it, Draco never had a choice. He was born a Death Eater; it's in his blood. The Malfoy blood." Snape sighed and shook his head. Then he continued, "But let's return to our problem. What happened?"

"You said it yourself. Malfoy crossed a line he'd better not crossed. No one told you what exactly he said?"

"No, they said, they couldn't understand what he said. He spoke too softly for them to hear—and he himself refuses to repeat it—even to me."

"Then let me inform you that Mr Malfoy was implying to know things about her and she sensed—as I understood it—very disturbing emotions coming from him, as though he knew things about her that even she doesn't know."

"What kind of things? What is it that Malfoy knows, yet she does not?"

"We don't even know that he knows anything at all. There aren't many people who could have told him those things about her… And the ones who, perhaps, could tell him… hmm…"

"Are you speaking of Death Eaters?" Severus asked. "They don't know a thing. I would have learnt it if they knew something, if something special were going on. Although the Dark Lord's interest in her seems to grow—but I already informed you about that."

"Yes, Severus, yes. However, I doubt they—which might just mean solely his father—have done more than implying something to young Mr Malfoy. He most likely doesn't know more than you do. Otherwise, he would have expressed himself more clearly… But what their motives might be… that is your special area of expertise."

"I have no idea why they—we, since I am one of them for all they know—might be doing this… Are they trying to get her fired, perhaps? To make it easier for them to obtain hold of her? But then again, how could they ever manage that, powerful that she is?"

"Only by trapping her."

"Let's assume that they do manage to do just that. What then? She would never change sides, would she? She seems not the type of human to do that, join the forces she's fought all her life, join Voldemort… They'd kill her…"

"I believe it is as you say."

"Then we must protect her."

"She is well-protected in Hogwarts, Severus, she always has been."

"And what if she leaves Hogwarts grounds? She's been doing that on a regular basis, if I may remind you."

"The farthest place she'll go is Hogsmeade and they'd be very foolish to try and kidnap her there with all those people around. As to the fact that she visits her late friends on a regular basis… As she thinks herself capable of defending herself—which she is indeed—I don't think anyone could stop her from doing so—not without, among other things, letting her in on your relationship to the Dark Lord."

"That would be just what I'd need. She'd be accusing me of personally killing her friends."

"If she did, you'd tell her the truth. You didn't. Very simple. Besides, all of the Death Eaters involved back then were either caught or killed."

"I could have escaped?" Severus chanced, trying to find all possible trains of thought she could follow and thus find the ultimate reason to despise him.

"I don't think she would think this far. Her mind would be otherwise occupied, I daresay. But anyway, I'll ask her about her little journeys to the cemetery and tell you if there should be a change of schedule. It might even be wise to tell her to change it from time to time. She'd understand without enquiring any further if I asked her to do that, merely as a precaution… You might want to keep an eye on her yourself if I understood that correctly?"

"Yes."

"You'd better cloak your emotions very well then. I take it, you wouldn't want to be caught spying on her, do you?"

"I do not intend to spy on her, headmaster, whatever your implications might be."

"Well then, I'd say it's roundabout impossible for them to obtain her under the current circumstances."

"There's still a chance. Very small, but nonetheless, there is. She's too unpredictable—and on the other hand, she's too predictable. I'm more worried than I can express in words. No matter how precise I might recount the Dark Lord's words, I could never recount his intonation when he speaks of Hogwarts, of you, and of her. I think I fear for her."

"Quite understandable regarding the feelings you harbour for her. But I'm worried, too," the old man admitted, "in more than one respect."

"Headmaster, please. It's merely about her safety. I told you I know when I've lost a game like this."

"A game? If you regard something like love as a game, then let me answer in the correct terms. You don't know that you've lost before you haven't even played. You might just win the game." Then the headmaster applied a mischievous smile onto his face. "Although I'm not sure you really win when you win the game. She's not your ordinary woman, Severus. She'd most certainly prove quite a challenge—emotionally, I mean. Remember that she senses your emotional state, if you do not guard it very well—which you, thankfully, do most of the time—and her own isn't as stable as she'd like it to be, either. It never was. She's just good at controlling herself, that's all. I am fairly sure that you'd be in for quite some surprises if you played and won the game. You'd get more than you bargained for."

"Stop making a fool out of me," the Potions master all but snarled. "And I never said that I was in love."

"I'm not making a fool out of you. And you needn't say it. I'm just telling you what I see," Dumbledore replied lightly.

"And what is it that you see?"

"I see a man who is afraid to be rejected, to be turned down. Say, what was it like at the Christmas Feast?"

"I refuse to answer that question."

"How come everyone always refuses to answer me?" Dumbledore asked himself softly, yet loud enough for Severus to hear.

"Perhaps it is because you ask the most indiscreet questions imaginable?" Severus stated dryly.

"Then you think that, perhaps, I should let you ask the questions?"

Severus was surprised, but recovered quickly. Yes, indeed, for once Severus wanted to be the one to receive some answers. As to the questions… One sprung to mind. Or perhaps two.

"Why does he want her? Who is she really, Headmaster? I'm asking you again, knowing that you must know it. That girl is a riddle to me, a complete mystery; she's still a mystery. Who. Is. She?"

"She's the daughter of Electra Ravon, Severus, whom you, unfortunately, never had the pleasure to meet—Voldemort saw to that… A very intelligent and brave witch she was, very pretty and highly powerful—quite logical, considering the fact that the blood of Ravenclaw ran in her veins—and thus in danger as soon as our dear friend Tom Riddle laid eyes on her… But Sariss is an entirely different matter…" Dumbledore trailed off.

"I already knew what you just told me. Voldemort tends to go after the descendants of the Founders," he said impatiently. "But there must be more. You haven't answered my question. Who is this girl?"

"Now, Severus, the last thing she is, is a little girl; she'd be quite… well, ahem… not pleased if she heard you say that—but I won't deny she's definitely a riddle—to me as much as to herself, you and everybody else."

Severus must have realized that Dumbledore wouldn't—could not—answer to his questions, since he excused himself, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "This is useless," and left, slamming the door shut a bit louder than strictly necessary as he did so.

~*~*~

Dumbledore shook his head when the Potions master had left. He couldn't answer his questions when he couldn't even tell Sariss—yet.

The information that the headmaster had kept secret all those years must not be known until the right moment came. In his opinion, he had already said too much. If he had said those things to Sariss, if she had listened to this conversation, she might have figured them out on her own, reading his emotions and all as he spoke. If she had no other talents at all, she'd still be able to put one and one together and get two. Clearly, that was something she had inherited from her mother, who had realized when it was necessary—crucial—to do certain things, to go into hiding—and her father… He was also an entirely different matter.

Thus, he'd never even implied anything to her. It would have been painful for her—maybe too painful—if he had and if she were to learn about it before she was ready for something as big as that. She might not be able to cope with it—yet, again…

Next chapter:

The terrible trio get suspicious, enjoy a Divination lesson and try to get a few answers out of Hagrid. Severus gets to be confused. A tiny little bit of Quidditch. And Severus makes a pass at Sariss—sort of.