Author's note: Very long chapter ahead, folks! As a matter of fact it's the longest in this seemingly never-ending story.
Thanks for commenting on the last chapter go to:
Blaise—Try to find the PotO quote in here, sis! Only one of the little (sometimes rather insignificant) changes I made in this story since you saw it the last time ;-)
Butterfly—Want to teach me how to say a few things in Finnish?
Miriam—You contributed a great deal to my personal hyper-ness. But that doesn't change the fact that you're in for a really evil cliffie. I can't wait to hear you complain about how I could just leave it at that. As Blaise would say: 'You're a meany, Sariss!' ;-)

We've reached a magical moment! My 100th review (Miriam)… *wipes tear away* Now let's hunt the 1000th!

Chapter 18: Sweet Death

In your creation heaven did decree
That in your arms sweet death should dwell

—Nightwish: Deep Silent Complete

Sariss Ravon stepped inside the Three Broomsticks, lowered her hood and brushed a few snowflakes from her cloak, glancing around, searching…

Greeting Madam Rosmerta and nodding at some students, who quickly returned to their conversations, she walked through the main room, towards the alcoves that were a bit separated from the rest of the room and thus offered a little privacy. She walked past one and the next and the next—when a pair of strong arms pulled her inside one of the niches.

"What kept you?" a velvety voice asked, but the owner of it didn't leave her any time to reply since he had already pulled her near, cupped her face and lowered his lips to hers, thus very effectively silencing her. Again she felt dizzy, drunk on his scent, the feel of his lips, his tongue, teasing her, warming her to the very core of her being, driving the outer world away.

When they pulled apart, she had to take a deep breath before she whispered huskily, "What a pleasant welcome. I should have kept you waiting for a little while longer."

"I would have come and got you myself if you had."

She smiled sadly. "No, you wouldn't have. Some students might have seen us and let us never hear the end of it. Or worse things could happen. You know what I mean. But I don't want to talk about that now."

He mimicked her expression strangely accurately—or so she thought—and said, "That's why we're sitting here—hidden from curious glances—and not out there on a silver platter… May I get you something?"

"That would be nice." And smirking, she added, "I happen to like nice men."

"I'm a nice man."

"You're not," she said teasingly, throwing him a mischievous glance.

"Really?" he drawled. "What am I then? Enlighten me."

"You're angry and sarcastic," she answered, seriousness hidden behind a small smile, "but at the same time I find you incredibly gentle if the situation calls for it and mysterious, too. I'd like to solve a bit of the mystery that's Severus Snape."

"I bet you would," he said, giving her another quick kiss from across the table before he stood up and drew himself up to his full height. "So what may this mystery that I am order for you, Milady?" he raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I think I'll have Butterbeer to go with the mysterious Potions master."

"Certainly." He grinned lopsidedly and went on his mission to acquire a Butterbeer.

After a minute or so, he returned and set a steaming mug on the table. "There you are," he said and sat down on the opposite side of the table so that they were facing each other.

"Thank you," Sariss replied and took a sip from her mug, closing her eyes and sighing contently as the warm, tasty liquid ran down her throat.

When she opened her eyes again and set the mug back down on the table she found Severus watching her intently.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Quite the opposite actually."

She tilted her head in suspicion. "You think I'm weird, don't you?" she chanced.

He shrugged. "Not more or less than anyone else around here."

"Nice way of avoiding saying yes."

"Thank you."

"Just to let you know, you're not the ordinary guy either."

"I hope so," he grinned for a moment. "Otherwise you wouldn't sit here with me, would you?"

"Who knows?"

"Quite an indistinct answer. Your favourites, aren't they?"

"I believe in being diplomatic. Most of the time at least."

"But sometimes you aren't. I clearly remember—"

"Ouch! Don't even start. I'm still blushing furiously when I only waste a thought in passing to what you're referring to." She turned her gaze away from him, watching the swirling brownish liquid in her mug.

"At least you're aware of your evil temper."

"I can't help it! It's—"

"I know. You've always been like this," he interrupted her. "It's part of you. It's who you are." It was amazing how soothing his presence could be sometimes…

"I hate it," she whispered bitterly, not looking up.

He was silent, only watching her intently with these glinting black eyes of his as she took another sip of her Butterbeer to bridge the silence that had fallen so heavily upon the two of them when she had uttered those words.

"I'm sorry," he said after a while.

"What? Why?" she asked, surprised to hear an apology for whatever from him. If there was one thing Severus Snape didn't do it was apologize—or so she had thought.

"I know you're reacting to the people around you; and when you're with me it's that all you throw back at me is what has originally been thrown at you by me. It's about high time I, too, apologized," he said, taking her hand, caressing it. Her hands seemed so small and fragile to her when he took them in his. They didn't give away the immense power that lay within them.

"I don't know what to say," Sariss replied softly, almost inaudibly.

"Say you forgive me," he suggested, still running his fingertip over her knuckles, her long nails, her palm. Little shivers went through her.

"I do. There's nothing I wouldn't forgive you if you asked me to." At that, a sad expression appeared on Severus's face. Her face fell, too. "What is it? What did I say?"

He'd let go of her hand and took a large swig of the contents of his goblet, before he said, "Nothing of importance. Let's not ruin this otherwise lovely day by talking about me. Let's talk about you instead. A much lovelier topic of conversation if you ask me."

~*~*~

She shook her head. "Believe me, it isn't. My life doesn't make a nice topic for small talk."

"Why? Is it—," he stopped himself just in time. "Why shouldn't it be a nicer topic than mine? Apart from the part that must not be mentioned, I mean?"

"The part that must not be mentioned," she repeated. "I always refer to it as 'the incident' or—."

"And there we have you talk about it anyway."

"I'm shutting up already."

Severus took her hand again and this time pressed his lips on the back of it and let them linger there. "Strawberry," he said dreamily, "or am I imagining things?" His lips grazed over her skin as he spoke, since his mouth hadn't left it yet.

"It's not only strawberry. It consists of a number of scents to cover up its original smell, which I never liked."

"And what is it?"

"You see, as my skin is pretty fair it sunburns very easily, even when it's wintertime. I need to apply Sun-Protection Potion regularly—unless I'd like to look as if a Pink-Paint Charm had gone seriously wrong. And that would be the bearable version of what could happen. As I understood Madam Pomfrey, serious sunburn could award me with a new nickname: lobster. That's all that happens. I do not tan."

"Lobster? That's what my mother once said to me when I was a small child and hadn't listened to her warnings. I, too, inherited rather sun-sensitive skin. But later on I always hexed everyone who called me that. So, no further trouble on the lobster side."

"Yes, but as it turned out, I'd have preferred 'lobster' to being called what they called me—and I couldn't simply curse it out of them all."

"Why? What did they call you?"

"Vampire," Sariss whispered, throwing a bitter smile in his direction. "It took them only a few weeks to come up with that one, actually. I didn't even mind it at first. I simply didn't care. But then it went… I don't know… It became too much for me—and I pride myself on being capable of taking quite a lot."

Severus had never noticed that. Shouldn't he have known what was going on in Slytherin House?

"Often?" he asked softly, although her tone of voice had given him his answer already. "What did they say?"

She looked at him and began. "Where's your coffin?—Where do you keep your native soil?—Want to have a bite?—Here have some garlic? (And unfortunately I really am allergic to garlic and onions and the like.)—A rose for the vampire, what do you think, fellows?—Welcome to Slytherin. See that one over there? Get yourself a cross to wear it around your neck at night.—Do you think a stake through the heart would kill her?—How about if we swapped her pumpkin juice with holy water—or even better: Blood? No, we can't risk doing her a favour—"

Her voice was dripping with cynicism as she recounted every single cliché that had ever been thrown at her. Maybe she was trying to cover up how much words like those could hurt a child. Every child received some taunting in his or her life. That was unavoidable. But not even Severus had received so much that he could recount the exact expressions in the way that she did now…

Perhaps she'd always used irony as a shield to keep her going when she was actually breaking inside? How often did you have to be told that you were repulsive until you started actually believing it?

Not as often as most people think.

He felt inclined to interrupt her and asked, "Why haven't you—"

"Because I refuse to burden anyone with my problems," she whispered. "And I don't want other people to burden themselves with my problems. Very few did it nonetheless. I'm kind of glad they did. But fortunately that vampire business stopped once I had myself under control and couldn't be made to lose it that easily anymore. Of course, the respective people had been very creative on that sector. So they went smoothly over to new things. But by that time… I'm not sure what had happened to me… I think I've somehow hardened. I've become steel back then. I realized that I mustn't let words hurt me. My friends were of great help. But since they've been gone it's like—" She shook her head at herself as if she couldn't believe that she was actually pouring out her heart to Severus Snape who had been teaching her for seven years and never noticed anything alarming. Well, never was not quite right—but did it make a difference?

Perhaps it had been a mistake to ask her to talk about herself instead of himself? Severus could certainly have come up with a topic that would have been safer for both of them than their current one was. Safer, because it didn't spoil the mood. And Severus wasn't in the mood to see her do anything else but smile at him.

"Oh dear. It must be my nerves. I've been just so on edge recently… I'm sorry. Like I said, I don't want to burden anyone with childhood ghosts and all that minor stuff when there's so much amiss in the wizarding world. When people die, what's my life in comparison to theirs? It's—. Maybe I shouldn't have quit being an Auror? I mean, there seem to be more and more attacks everywhere. Wouldn't I be more useful if I fought out there? Life seems so easy when it consists entirely of work, you know?"

Severus only nodded. She spoke as though she were writing in a diary. He didn't know whether she meant to make conversation or merely voiced her thoughts aloud.

There were so many things about her that he didn't know. Many little things. Some larger ones. Many things with little meaning. A few that meant a lot.

What startled him was that he actually wanted to know them all. He wanted to know what made this woman who she was. What had influenced her? What did she want? What did she expect from herself or him or other people? She was young. What would she do when the school year was over? Would she stay for another year? Would she go look for something else?

There was a long silence.

Sariss had stopped talking; and Severus seemingly couldn't bring himself to voice his thoughts. After all, saying he was sorry wasn't an option. He couldn't be sorry for something that he hadn't done. He had done enough things he actually was sorry for.

She had drawn her hand out of his quite some time ago. Now she had both of her hands splayed against the surface of the table and watched them. No, she rather seemed to be scrutinizing them.

"Sariss?" he whispered after a long time.

"Hmm?"

"Can we agree on talking only about nice and pleasant things?"

"There aren't many nice things in existence." She hadn't looked up.

"You are."

"I'm not nice."

"Sometimes you are. For example, when you're not subdued or shouting. Well, I've even come to find you nice when you're angry. So, I must admit, that you're not a nice topic for conversation at the moment."

"Thank you," she said sarcastically.

"I mean it. I would rather have you be mad at me than be… like this."

"But that's what I am most of the time. Sorry to disappoint you."

"I'm not disappointed."

"You should be. I would be if I were you."

"Why is that?"

"Well…" she began. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I've got the impression that you haven't quite gotten what you bargained for. I mean, it's quite clear to me that no one wants the iceberg when they can have a volcano."

"What makes you think it impossible for me to have bargained for the 'iceberg'? Besides, I love a good challenge," he said, letting his fingers crawls towards hers. "And I have a feeling that I might be able to melt the ice away if I knew more about what's hidden underneath the ice. I'm not joking even though it may sound strange to you. I do want to know as much as I can about you."

"Why?" she asked.

That was a very tricky question since there was no actual answer to it. Why did he want to know so much about her? Well… Indeed a tricky question. He liked her very much, despite the fact that she was sometimes a bit strange. If you overlooked some—although not immediately obvious—things, she was incredible. Her emotional state was the problematic thing, her memories were another. She could have been perfect if the Dark Lord had never existed.

"There's really not much to know about me, nothing nice anyway. And the rest… The few things that would be safe to talk about are nothing new, especially for you. I mean you've known me since I was about that height." She indicated a height of about four feet. "And what's left to know about me… well, it's that I don't know it myself."

Severus was thoughtful now, pondering something. "Well, then what do you believe in—apart from being oh so diplomatic?" he finally asked. A simple question. Small talk. But Sariss seemed not to mind. It would be better now to talk about minor matters—things that were of no importance out there in the wizarding world that was suffering the Second Dark Age of Voldemort. He liked her; he didn't like the tears in her eyes whether they stayed there, unshed, or ran down her face.

He found he also liked listening to her soft voice.

"Er… I believe in being prepared," she answered after having thought for a second or two.

"Always?"

"Always."

"And if that's not possible?"

"It's always possible to prepare yourself for what's coming to you. It's just that sometimes you fail."

"Have you ever failed?"

"Only few times, but it was never a complete failure. On the other hand, in one case it depends on the point of view…" she trailed off, finishing her Butterbeer. "I've got to go to Honeydukes before heading back to the castle. I'm running low on chocolate as it is and they really make the best. You should know I can't live without chocolate. There you have it. I'm an addict." She got up.

He followed suit. "I'm coming with you."

"You know, you don't have to accompany me everywhere. Don't feel bound or something like that. I'm a big girl."

"I'd rather not leave you alone. I have a bad feeling."

"You worry too much."

"Remind me again, which one of the two of us stated just a few minutes ago that it would be wise to 'always be prepared'?"

"Guilty as charged, Severus," she smiled, brushing his hand with hers, a gesture that made another set little shivers run up and down his spine. "But Hogsmeade is safe. No Death Eater would dare come here and cause trouble. There are just too many good wizards and witches around, aren't there?"

"I have a bad feeling nonetheless… I feel as though I were being watched—and you, too. Do you sense anything out of the ordinary?"

Sariss shook her head and then followed him outside.

~*~*~

They walked towards Honeydukes, nothing about them betraying the fact that they were actually a bit more than just trying to get along with each other. The street was rather empty since the snow had started falling more and more thickly. Sariss drew her cloak tighter around her. Fortunately, she had a pair of gloves with her, too. Suddenly she wished Severus would put his arm around her, but she knew he wouldn't. If the Dark Lord were to learn about their relationship, it might indeed make her a target and as far as she could tell, he didn't take treason lightly. He'd punish Severus by hurting her and then he'd finish what he had started seventeen and a half years ago…

They had just passed the path that led towards the Shrieking Shack when Draco Malfoy suddenly approached them, Crabbe and Goyle with him. "Professor Snape?" he asked, glancing only for the fraction of a second at Sariss. "I have a few questions concerning that essay about that new, improved Shrinking Potion we started on, last lesson."

"If you should be looking for me later on, Professor Snape, to finish our conversation, you can find me at Honeydukes," Sariss said politely, her voice and body language betraying nothing at all.

Severus curtly nodded at her, then returned his attention to Draco Malfoy. "Well, then ask your questions, Mr Malfoy, but make it quick."

"Alright. About this dash of leech juice that has to be added…"

Sariss made her way down the main street. The snow was falling rather thickly now and it had become quite windy, too. A snow flurry it had become. She clutched her cloak tightly, careful not to stumble because of the packed snow. She screwed her eyes to small slits since the wind seemed to burn them, so bitingly cold was it.

The streets emptied; people hurried to get inside a shop or the post office to shield themselves from the storm. Sariss, too, hurried towards Honeydukes. The main street was soon deserted.

Sariss had almost reached Honeydukes—it was only a few more yards and then crossing the street—when she felt something.

'Do you sense anything out of the ordinary?'

Oh yes.

Nervousness perhaps, anticipation. Perhaps even excitement. Strong feelings. She shook her head, trying to force those emotions back. There was darkness behind them. No happy anticipation. Evil. Someone is up to something, she thought, reaching into her sleeve to get her wand. She didn't really need it in case something happened, but it was part of her, made her feel more normal. Now where—

But she couldn't even finish her thought since she was struck by a spell, a Stunning spell it must have been. It hit her in the back and she stumbled.

"Stupefy," a cold voice said, and Sariss felt herself lose balance and drift away.

The last thing she saw before she fell into the snow, were two black-clad figures advancing on her through the snowstorm, their wands brandished at her, one of them muttering "Wingardium Leviosa." And as though she were a doll, she was lifted into the air and floated towards them.

No. Please no…

Then there was nothing.

~*~*~

"Is that all, Mr Malfoy?" Severus asked, now quite impatient already—and not only because his toes were starting to get numb. Did this boy never open his Potions book at all? Usually it wouldn't have bothered him. But today he had intended to be with Sariss, talking with her outside of school, about things that had nothing to do with Hogwarts, just small talk, getting to know her better, trying to solve a bit of the riddle she was… And it was rather cold, too…

"Yes, I think. Thank you, Professor Snape."

"You're welcome," Severus whispered absent-mindedly, brushing the snow off his cloak, as the three Slytherins turned and went in direction of the castle.

Alright then. Honeydukes it is.

With long strides he proceeded along the snow-packed main road when suddenly, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a movement in the alley between the post office and a small shop that sold talismans and trinkets, hence its name.

Curious, he changed direction and headed towards the alley, reaching for his wand as he did so. Always be prepared, isn't it?

When he came closer, he could tell that Sariss had obviously failed once again, although she had not told him what the first time she'd failed had been exactly. However, now she was lying on the ground, in the snow, carelessly dropped down there, unconscious, Stunned—by Lucius Malfoy who stood menacingly over her.

"Well done, old friend. I knew you had it in you," his drawling voice penetrated the silence.

Severus stepped closer. "What is the meaning of all of this, Lucius?"

"Isn't it obvious? We caught her for the master. He's intending to grant her an audience. However, she did not appreciate this generous offer."

Severus smirked. "With what did she deserve this honour?" Lucius, although quite familiar with the concept of sarcasm and irony, had never been perceptive to the Potions master's sense of it—although, this time, (Severus had to grant it to him) it wasn't that obvious—and it was good that way.

"That I cannot tell you," Malfoy smirked gleefully. "It is the Dark Lord's business alone. He wouldn't tell and after all, it is not like him to inform his followers of such petty matters as to what his motives are. He commands; we obey. You should know that, Severus."

"I do."

"Very well."

"But there's something that displeases me. Why have I been left out of this plan? I could have been useful. I could have made this much easier. She trusts me," the Potions master said. "Has Draco deliberately distracted me and held me back?"

"Of course he has. If he hadn't, you would have had to fight us, just to keep up your act, showing loyalty towards Dumbledore by defending his protégée. You never know who watches you… And there's this annoying business that she would have sensed your obvious discomfort if the Dark Lord had involved you as you're constantly around her. She would have been warned. And…" he gave the Malfoy-equivalent of a chuckle, "just in case. You haven't developed sort of a soft spot for her, have you?"

"Certainly not," Severus sneered with as much disgust at the sheer thought as he could possibly manage and dismissed the mere possibility of it with a casual wave of his hand. He hoped it was convincing.

"Good." Malfoy's eyes glittered balefully. "The Dark Lord will summon his followers soon. Prepare yourself to come to where he will be waiting for us all."

"When will that be?" he asked coldly.

"Tonight," Lucius Malfoy answered, a mad glint in his eyes. "Lestrange! Pick that up," he indicated Sariss, "and then Disapparate. See you soon, Snape." And with slightly popping noises, the two Death Eaters were gone—with Sariss.

Damn.

~*~*~

"Enervate!"

Sariss blinked. She felt groggy and was shivering. The ground below her was hard and stone cold. As she moved to get up, she realized that her hands were tied behind her back. Why was that? She strained her memory. Stars danced before her eyes; she felt dizzy and confused. But her drowsy mind slowly provided information that led her to the answer to her question.

She had been in Hogsmeade on her way to Honeydukes when… Damn. Failed.

She tried to get her hands apart. They were bound palm to palm.

No magic. Perfect, just perfect. Perhaps I can break them—?

"Took you long enough to react to the Reviving spell," Lucius Malfoy's cold drawling voice said. Sariss jumped slightly. How come she hadn't realized—? She had to escape. Somehow, she had to escape… Fly! Fly away!

She tried to concentrate her jumbled thoughts on the required transformation. It was so hard to think clearly…

"Te abstineo mutationem," Malfoy continued. "No use trying to transform and fly away, my dear."

No!

Damn. Again.

Sariss wanted to cry. Had the bastard thought of everything? Only a minute more and she would have been up in the air, flying along that corridor and she'd certainly have found a way out of this place to somewhere where she could—.

Apparate.

I need a minute to calm down first. I don't want to splinch myself.

"What do you want?" she whispered cautiously, dreading the answer.

Calm down. Don't let him see that you're afraid.

I'm trying. I'm trying.

"Not so brave anymore, are you? You were proving to be quite a nuisance when you were with the Ministry—but something tells me that this won't be the case for much longer. I can assure you," he breathed into her ear as he pulled her to her feet.

She tried hard to break the restraints; the muscles in her arms and shoulders started to ache after a few seconds.

"Magical," he sneered, noticing her efforts. "Unbreakable. Not even by you."

I should have stayed in bed today…

"What do you want?" she asked again.

"I can't speak for the Dark Lord, dear, but I for my part would just love to see you dead. As dead as Seth to be exact," he hissed menacingly.

"So this is about revenge?"

"Much more than that. The master seems to regard you as a guest of honour," he said. "I wonder for how long you'll be treated like a guest."

"I don't feel like a guest at the moment, Malfoy. If you treat your guests like that, it makes me wonder how you treat your prisoners," she replied, concentrating hard, preparing for Disapparation—

She bounced right back.

Damn.

"My fault. I should have informed you that there are wards to prevent Disapparating. Everyone can get in, no one can get out lest the Dark Lord allows it. Apparently, he's taken everything into account." Malfoy had an expression on his face that was somewhere between amusement and evil anticipation.

They've beaten me at my own game.

He shoved her forwards—no, it wasn't shoving. He had his hands on her upper arms and rather pulled her if that was possible, as he was behind her and much too close for her taste. He was literally breathing down her neck. Very suggestively, he breathed into her ear, "Check mate."

She wrenched herself out of his grasp and whirled around, angry and furious at the feelings coming from him. The bastard was enjoying himself immensely; if she hadn't already felt his emotions, the look in his eyes would have given him away.

Sariss was even angry enough to spontaneously mentally slap him, although it didn't hurt him very much, it just astounded him; he waved the sensation on his cheek away like one would brush off a spider's web. If only she could deliberately do magic by pure thought, without her hands…

However, she noted with relish that his cheek was actually a bit red where she had 'struck' him.

"That was you, wasn't it? Nice try, but not of much use as long as your hands are tied, is it?" he sneered and slapped her hard across the face. Hard and cruel. With the backside of his hand to make it hurt more.

She swayed and leant against the wall for support. "You unimaginable bastard," she snarled. Her face felt as though dozens of very thin needles had been stuck into every single nerve-end and pore. Had her hands been free she would have cradled her cheek in them, trying to wipe away the pain, but the way it was now… Well, at least, her lip wasn't bleeding although it felt very numb already and about twice its usual size…

He only smirked and gave her a mighty push that made her stumble forwards. Thankfully, she managed to keep her balance. It would have been too humiliating to try and get up again with her hands of no use to her, or, even worse, be pulled to her feet by this bastard once more.

She struggled again as he touched her ("Don't touch me!") but he held her in a death grip now. If her hands had been free, she would have clasped them to his throat and squeezed… Slowly…

But the way it was, only a few torches exploded and then died. He kept pushing her forwards until they reached a large stone chamber. A very large chamber with a domed ceiling and a smooth marble-like floor, but no windows. Only the torches provided some light. A throne was sitting there. Voldemort's throne. What a megalomaniac…

"Now what?" Sariss asked as they came to a halt a few yards before they reached the throne.

"Now we wait, pretty one," he breathed into her ear, "although I must say that I intend to have a bit a fun with you as soon as the master is through with you—if there's something left of you to have fun with, that is."

"So I'm already dead, huh?"

"I suppose that depends on you. You might even leave this… place in one piece and unharmed. A small chance—and what a pity that it's there, isn't it?" he said against her ear. She could almost feel his lips brush her ear lobe.

Sariss recoiled. "Get your filthy hands off me."

Bastard.

You enjoy Severus doing this very much…

If only he were here now… But this is Malfoy. He's… He's disgusting. He's cold, and I don't like the smell of him. He's old enough to be my father!

No kidding.

Not much and he would be twice my age. Even for me that would be—Yuck!

True… Then it's not how someone touches you but who touches you…

Soon, I fear, there'll be no one touching me at all.

Why?

Tonight I think I die.

Sariss's mind was racing. Escape, her pulse seemed to pound constantly. Escape. Escape—but how? She had already tried. She couldn't Disapparate, she couldn't transform, she couldn't break free of the bonds, she couldn't even do proper magic except for a bit of spontaneous torch-killing. Granted, the slapping-thing had been quite impressive, even for her standards, but she had paid for it instantaneously. She wouldn't give Malfoy another reason to mistreat her as long as she could help it. (How long would she be capable of helping it in the first place?) He would only enjoy himself—and as long as there were no visible signs of his 'attentions', the Dark Lord wouldn't even punish him. Voldemort didn't like his 'guests' to be mistreated unless he said so. Sariss knew this. She had hunted and interrogated enough Death Eaters to know the way this man's mind worked…

"Why so reserved?" Malfoy said, his hands travelling to places on her that needn't be touched to keep her in check at all.

"I'm deeply sorry, Malfoy, but I'm not in the slightest into bondage," she snarled. "You might want to ask your wife instead. Does she know about your favourite pastime? Does she keep count for you? Monday: Twice Avada Kedavra. Tuesday: Unfortunately only one Cruciatus curse?"

"She's my wife, not my priest."

If I can hate him so much, how much must his wife hate him?

"Don't worry. She knows all of it. The whole wizarding world knows what you do. They just can't prove it."

"You know nothing," he spat, viciously grabbing hold of her hair and forcing her to face him.

"What's the matter, Malfoy? Your wife not letting you have any?"

"Slut!" he hissed and slapped her again. Harder than he had already. Much harder. He'd struck hard enough for Sariss to stumble backwards and drop to the ground, hitting her head on a step in the process.

Why don't you ever learn to keep your big mouth shut?

Ouch…

Now think, Sariss, think…

I… I don't think I can think of anything…

No thought would come. Blank. Her mind was blank.

Me neither. No idea. Wait. Wait for him to come. Wait for him to finally kill you. After all those years…

Wait. And wait some more…

Well, at least you might get some answers…

Oh, I only wish I were at home…

~*~

5th September 1980, 9:30 am; somewhere in the Welsh countryside…

Sariss was woken up by a soft hand smoothing over her hair, a voice whispering her name.

She opened her eyes and blinked. A face looked back at her. A beautiful face with large brown eyes and dark brown curls falling slightly past the woman's shoulders. "Hmm? Mum."

"Happy Birthday, honey. Look what I've got for you." She smiled.

Sariss sat up, smiling, too, and throwing her arms around her mother. "What is it, Mum?"

Her mother handed her a letter with a red seal. An address was written on it with green ink. It was not the address of where they lived. They were in hiding after all. It must have been left somewhere else and her mother had gone off to get it. "The letter from Hogwarts," they said in unison. "In a bit less than a year you will go there and be safe at last."

"Why aren't we hiding there already if it's so safe?"

"If everyone who was in hiding were to go there it would be quite full there. It would make Hogwarts even more of a target than it already is. And as strong as the wards are… if they were breached with all of us in there, we'd all be dead within the blink of an eye. It's safer the way it is now," her mother reassured her. "Don't you worry. Voldemort won't find our Secret Keeper… And now get up and dressed. I have a present waiting for you."

Sariss jumped up. Her braids flying behind her as she jumped out of the bed, smiling from ear to ear, she quickly grabbed some clothes and was ready in only a few minutes.

"That was quite fast."

"What is it, Mum?"

"Close your eyes, honey." Sariss did so and was led into the adjacent room.

"Can I look now?"

"Not yet…" There was a rustling and a hissing sound. "Now you can look."

Sariss opened her eyes. A small chocolate cake was sitting on the table, a candle flickering merrily in the middle of it. 'Happy 10th Birthday' was written on it in scarlet and green icing.

Sariss beamed. "Mum, this is great. Thank you."

"Make a wish," the woman that was her mother said, pushing her down into the chair.

Sariss looked at her mother, thought for a moment, closed her eyes, took a deep breath and—

The door burst open. The candle went out. And a hooded figure walked in.

"No, not you, not now," Sariss's mother said, pulling out her wand, grabbing Sariss by the arm and pushing her behind her to shield her from the figure's view.

"Stand aside. You knew I'd find you one day although I had to tear your location out of your Secret Keeper by force. I always knew he was a stubborn bastard—and too loyal for his own good… A typical Gryffindor," the figure mused quietly. "Now leave. I only want her." At that he looked at Sariss and the little girl that had been clinging to her mother crawled away into the farthest corner of the room.

"No! You can't have her!" the woman shouted and launched herself at him, wand completely forgotten and probably not of much use anyway against this… this disgusting thing of a man.

"Mum!" the girl screamed, tears running down her face, frantically scanning the room for something to defend her with, for an exit that was not blocked by the horrible figure that was now looming over her mother pointing his wand at her.

"If that's what you want," he said casually, "Avada Kedavra!"

A flash of green light illuminated the room as the woman slumped to the ground. "Mum! No! Mum!" Sariss sobbed, stopping dead in her tracks to get to her mother when the figure started to approach her. The man reached out for her with his claw-like hands…

And Sariss screamed and screamed. At the top of her lungs she screamed for her mother, anyone who would hear her—until the hands grabbed her and held her mouth shut. She stared around wildly, feeling as though she'd never blink again, struggling and kicking. "Don't be afraid," the figure hissed in this high-pitched voice that made every single one of the hairs on her body stand on end. "I am here to give you a birthday present."

Then he took his hand away from her mouth and grabbed her throat instead. "Rosier! Wilkes! Assist me!" he shouted.

Sariss still struggled and screamed as much as his hand on her throat would allow her. She dug her fingers into his wrist, but simply was too small and weak to only loosen the firm grasp of the monster. Tears were streaming down her face. Those red eyes looked into hers as though they wanted to pierce her soul.

"Shut up!" the man with the red eyes yelled and the little girl flinched, but didn't stop struggling. "Stop screaming already! Rosier! Wilkes! Get a move on! Bring it to me! NOW!"

Two more figures rushed through the open doorway. One of them carried a steaming goblet. It smelt dreadful. Its stench penetrated the entire room.

"Seize her!" the man said to the other man. "Rosier, give me the potion."

The red-eyed man took the goblet as soon as the man that must be Wilkes had taken hold of the little girl.

"Will you keep still, bloody little brat!" he yelled and shook the little girl that was Sariss, as she tried to wrench herself out of his grasp—not that she'd have had a chance.

The man called Rosier came to his assistance. They had her in a death grip.

Sariss had screamed herself hoarse by now. Only small rasping sobs escaped her lips. "Mum! Mum, please! Please, Mum, get up, please, help me," she croaked, beyond reason, as the man brought the goblet towards Sariss's face. She started kicking again and landed a few good hits to the man's knees and shins, not enough to make him stumble but he winced a bit. "You! You little bitch!" He grabbed her throat again. "Drink!"

Sariss pressed her mouth into a thin line and screwed her eyes shut. Whatever this was, it smelt awful. She wouldn't drink a drop of this disgusting stuff. No way.

He squeezed her throat a bit tighter until she had to gasp for air and then he poured the glittering silverfish-grey liquid into her mouth and forced her to swallow.

Sariss's body was wrecked with shudders and then she collapsed to the floor, as the men had released her. Gasping for air and coughing she looked at the leader who brandished his wand once more. She wanted to be sick. The potion had tasted even worse than it smelt. It had tasted like something dead. No. Worse. Like death itself.

He waved it, then pointed it first at himself and then at her and said clearly audibly, "Delego Facultatem."

Sariss felt as though she were hit in the chest by a cannon ball and was thrown against the wall by invisible forces, gasping for air once more as the impact had pressed it out of her lungs quite thoroughly. But it wasn't only that. Her whole body seemed to be burning at first and then it felt as though it turned to ice. She felt so cold all of a sudden, as though she were dying of cold. Whimpering, she curled up into a small ball, clutching her knees, which she had drawn to her chest as closely as possible.

Noises could be heard from outside. Curses were being shouted. But the girl hardly noticed any differences in the curses or the voices. It was like a badly tuned radio. Voices overlapped and echoed, curses and screams, shouting and yelling and rumbling noises…

"Master, we must leave. The Aurors have come, too many of them," a man's voice shouted. "Hurry, my Lord."

The man with the red eyes turned around, startled. Another man had stumbled into the room. The man he had addressed with 'Master' nodded and he left again.

"Rosier, take hold of her and then prepare to Disapparate on my signal," he said quickly, and the man he'd addressed grabbed her roughly by the arm and yanked her to her feet. For a moment, Sariss felt very dizzy and couldn't focus her eyes on anything. "We'll have to finish the ritual somewhere else."

"Let go of me! Don't touch me!" she screeched when she realized that they meant to take her away to do something else to her.

The man with the red eyes nodded to his companions.

They now prepared to Disapparate. Sariss had seen her mother do so on several occasions. She could Disapparate from home but had to come back by Floo or the ordinary way. Anyway, that's why she knew what they were doing. And she knew that she would be Disapparated along with them as long as one of them had hold of her. She had to escape, somehow…

Thus she gathered all the strength she could muster, waited for the moment shortly before the man would be unable to stop the process of Disapparation and wrenched her arm forcefully out of the man's grasp. A sickening crack could be heard and the man gave a scream of anger as well as pain before he disappeared with a faint popping noise. He had let go of her. Just in time.

The little girl had broken his wrist.

Sariss slumped to the ground again, crawling towards the unmoving form of her mother when two more men rushed through the doorway. They, too, wore black robes, but they also wore the insignia of the Ministry of Magic on their robes.

They quickly scanned the room to make sure that no evil wizard was there anymore. Then they looked at Sariss who broke into relieved sobs as soon as she realized that they were probably here to help, that they had driven off the evil men who had hurt her mother and made her drink that awful stuff and had cast this strange curse onto her…

"It's alright," one of the Aurors said, rushing to her side. "You're safe now."

"I want my mum," Sariss cried. "Mum!" She moved to get to her, but the Auror gently held her back.

"Sweetheart, there's nothing that could be done," he whispered, looking firmly into her eyes; his hands equally firmly on her shoulders. "Your mother is in heaven."

That was the moment when the realization sank in, the moment when Sariss couldn't hold back the tears any longer. When the tears earlier had been those of fear and fury, these were ones of sorrow. She threw herself into the man's arms who lifted her from the ground as though she weighed nothing, and cried miserably. So miserably that even the man carrying her and whispering words of comfort swallowed hard. Sariss felt that he was almost as shaken as she was. Indeed, it was as though it weren't just her own feelings that made her cry. More and more emotions enveloped her, seeped into her.

"Shh, they're gone. You're safe," the man tried to comfort her. "We're taking you away from here in a moment, alright?" He set her on the floor again. Sariss sniffed and bit her lip, large tears running down the skinny little girl's face.

The other Auror had picked up the body of her mother. He carried her very carefully, as though she were only asleep, but her arm dangled limply at her side. The man threw Sariss a glance so full of pity that it was almost unbearable. Genuine pity. It felt heartbreaking to the little girl. Then he walked through the doorway and took the body that had once been Electra Ravon away.

"Mum!" Sariss screamed at the top of her lungs. "Mum! Please come back! Come back—!"

A strong breeze seemed to start blowing through the house…

"Sweetie, there's—."

The windows exploded with loud crashing sounds; shards of glass flew everywhere.

Sariss screamed and put her hands over her ears.

The wind was howling through the openings that had once been the windows…

"What the—?"

Sariss couldn't breathe…

The whole house rocked in its foundations. Plaster crumbled from the ceiling. "Make it stop!" she screamed, her own voice echoing inside her head.

"You're doing this, aren't you?"

Cracks appeared in the walls.

"Please, stop it, child. You'll hurt someone. You could kill us if you don't stop."

The grabbed her around the shoulders and shook her, pleading with her to stop whatever it was that she was doing. She stared at him wide-eyed, no, not at him, through him.

The torches flared up, exploded and then died. The curtains had caught fire…

But that couldn't be… The torches were charmed to not burn things…

Plaster was raining from the ceiling…

Slap!

Sariss blinked, astounded. The man had slapped her right across the face. But strange as it was, suddenly she could think clearly again. "I'm—."

"Sorry, sweetie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, do you understand?" he asked softly and drew her into a hug, gently rubbing her back for a moment before he moved to look at her again. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Sariss rubbed her prickling cheek. "Not really… Did I…" she faltered, looking around at the devastation she'd apparently caused.

"Fire…" she whispered. The chest of drawers was starting to burn, but the man merely looked at it for a short moment before returning his attention to her.

"Has this happened before?" the man asked.

"No, mum… mum was always angry when I did accidental magic. I never did something like that," she sniffed. "I want my mum back…"

"Hey, little one. Are you going to tell me your name or do you want me to guess?" the man tried to sound casual when he clearly wasn't.

"Sariss," she croaked. "Sariss Ravon."

"I'm Frank Longbottom. Just call me Frank, okay? And the guy standing over there with the very distressed expression on his face is Mundungus Fletcher," he forced a smile.

"Hi, love." Fletcher nodded and smiled sadly. He must have come back as soon as…

Sariss, too, tried to plaster a smile onto her face. It was a faint smile. Then she sniffed. Smiling now kind of made her ache all over when she didn't feel like it at all. She thought she'd never feel like smiling again. Everyone around was so very sad and angry that she could hardly feel something of her own. This was so strange. She felt as though she weren't there at all, only the others. Only pain…

"Get the girl out of here, Frank. I'll put out the fire," Fletcher said.

Sariss choked on another sob. "Help me, sir. What have they done to me?" she whimpered.

"I don't know, love, I don't know." Frank sighed. "Now come, let's go. This is no place for you to stay in those times. We'll take you to a safe house…"

He lifted her and carried her out of the house. Sariss buried her face in his shoulder to not have to look back. She knew she would never return there…

She would never return home…

~*~

Malfoy roughly pulled her to her feet. The world was spinning around her for quite a few moments before she got it back into focus.

And then they waited. It seemed like hours when it couldn't have been more than a few minutes.

After a time that seemed so terribly long that Sariss would have loved to simply slump back down to the floor, for the sole reason of not having to be so close to the sneering bastard that was Malfoy, he groaned with pain and let go of her for a moment to clutch his arm.

They're coming…

Popping noises announced the arrival of the first Death Eaters. One by one, they appeared and arranged in a loose circle.

Then one of them stepped forward and walked towards her and Malfoy—who had his hands on her again and was still clutching her with his filthy fingers. She had a very strong presentiment of what he would most likely just love to do to her if it weren't for the Dark Lord to interrogate her first. Sariss had no illusions regarding her fate. This would be it. Goodbye, cruel world. No one could be lucky enough to survive a second encounter with the Dark Lord—unless you were Harry Potter, of course.

The Death Eater nodded at Malfoy who nodded in return. The two of them positioned themselves on either side of her, however slightly behind her, and placed their hands on both her arms and shoulders.

After another minute, the Dark Lord appeared and with him another Death Eater who was nursing his arm. Apparently, Voldemort had used him for calling the others.

"Into your place, Nott."

Bowing, the man made his way to a gap in the circle. The two remaining gaps were closed. Obviously, those were the places usually occupied by the ones who held her. Then, all but the two Death Eaters on either side of her knelt down and whispered, "Master."

Voldemort moved towards his throne with billowing, sweeping, robes, striding as though he were invincible, almighty.

He was very thin—one could only see this when he was walking, the way his robes hung on him—barely more than skin and bones… and Evil. He looked as though he were only kept alive by magic, Dark and arcane magic, which most likely was exactly so.

"You! Take her wand from her," he commanded, pointing his bony finger at one of his servants, and the person he had addressed did so. It was the Death Eater to her right. He reached into her right sleeve and pulled the wand out. Sariss flinched at his touch. It seemed to linger still although he had retreated already. How could he know…?

Then he presented it to the Dark Lord who only nodded. Thus, the Death Eater pocketed the wand. Sariss couldn't see his face. It was completely hidden by the hood and the gloom that surrounded them. Only a few torches on the walls illuminated the room now, a ghastly lighting, as though they were in a tomb…

Actually, the wand-thing was of little to no meaning. He must have known this as well as she did. It was just a gesture, a symbol that he could take everything away from her now, should he want to do so. First, her wand. Last, her life.

Voldemort smiled. It was a smile that could freeze the blood in your veins. Thin-lipped, cold, evil. He pointed his wand at her and said casually, "Claudo veneficium." She felt as though chains had been put around her chest and stomach… She was a bit dizzy. Strange. She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head to clear her mind.

And then one of the Death Eaters freed her from her bonds—a surprising but not completely unexpected action.

She moved to rub her aching and throbbing wrists but the men still held her. She could have broken out of their grasp easily—but it didn't seem a very wise thing to do with Voldemort pointing his wand at her and about two dozens of his loyal servants lurking in the proximity. She knew more than enough Latin to understand what that spell had done, why her hands were not bound anymore: For a limited time, it had locked her magic inside her so she couldn't use it. If she fought now, even if she dodged the spells, it would nonetheless take only one single spell to get through and stun her—it had already happened once…

Trapped.

"Doesn't she remind you of the Prodigal Son, Lucius? The child returning to the father's side after having had a taste of life, reality?" the Dark Lord spoke up, a small evil smile twitching at the corners of his thin-lipped mouth.

"I am but your creation; and I do not have the slightest intention to return to your side—I've never been there and I won't ever be," Sariss hissed. There was nothing to lose by being disrespectful, nothing to gain by exchanging niceties.

He took a step towards her, reaching towards her face with his spidery fingers. She would have recoiled if Lucius Malfoy and the other one hadn't had her in a death grip. Thus, all she could do without making them curse her just yet, was turn her face away from him and wince as he undid her hair so it fell down all around her like a cloak and then ran one of his fingernails slowly down her cheek, almost like a caress…

"What went wrong that you stand against me?" Voldemort whispered. "My beauty. Have I not given you power beyond all imagination? Do people not respect you for what you can do, for your many talents?"

"Respect me?" she laughed mirthlessly, jerking her hair out of her face "No, you don't even know what that means. What you're referring to is if they fear me. And that many did, many still do. But not because of my deeds, only because of what I am like. Having experienced your reign of terror they don't understand that power doesn't necessarily lead to evil, to the suffering of others, to death…"

"How pathetic. Just like your mother used to—"

"And you're the one who killed her!" she interrupted. Oh, yes, she'd dared to interrupt him; she enjoyed the expression this insolence made flicker over his face for the mere fraction of a second. But the Dark Lord regained his composure much more quickly than she would have liked. He pretended he hadn't heard her statement.

"If you join me, I could—," he continued, seemingly unaffected.

"I'll never join you." She'd done it again. "Wasn't it enough that you made my life a living hell? What was in the damned potion you forced down my throat? What was that spell you used for? We were never able to figure out the full extent of what it did to me."

Voldemort ignored what she'd just said. "Join me. Let us rule the wizarding world together—Join me and I will give you the world to do with it as you please."

"I have no use for the world. All I ever wanted is a plain, simple life…"

"Stupid child! You really think you can fight me?" Voldemort roared. It made her flinch. "I may have provided you with a much greater ability to perform magic than I ever had—who would have thought how much of myself you already had in you…"

"I am nothing like you!" she snarled defiantly.

"Oh, but yes, you are; a great deal actually," he whispered, leaning close to her. "You even look quite like I once did from a certain point of view—I can see that now—although there's also quite some resemblance to your mother; you have your mother's eyes, after all… and your voice resembles hers…" Her eyes widened at what he was insinuating. "Yes," he hissed in that high-pitched voice that had made braver witches and wizards than her shiver in fear of what was to come, "you are mine. My creation. My flesh and blood. My daughter. Sariss Electra Riddle, I am your father."

"No… No, that's not possible, that's not true. It can't be…" She was trembling now as though one had dropped a bucketful of cold water over her and she felt that way, too. She couldn't think clearly anymore, couldn't speak, couldn't move—even if she hadn't been restrained by the two Death Eaters she couldn't have. In fact, they were the only things that kept her upright at all; one of them had just tightened the grip on her arm. He must have felt her sway…

All Sariss could do was screwing her eyes shut, holding back tears of anger, fury and hate—feelings that were directed not only at him but also at herself and, which was strange, a terrible sadness she could not quite tell where it came from.

Monstrous, she thought. I am even more monstrous than I thought I was.

"Why else would I have increased your powers so drastically if not to make you my greatest asset? The loving daughter by her father's side." He was very close to her as he said this. Then he retreated a few steps and continued, "Very unfortunate that my former teacher realized who and above all whose you are and took you to Hogwarts—the only place to keep you safe from me! Curious that he allowed you to attend school at all, knowing who you are, isn't it?" The Dark Lord sounded as though he were deep in thought now. "And then it happened. That fateful Halloween night that spoilt my plans. I remember it clearly… The green light of Avada Kedavra hurtling towards me…" he trailed off. Then he snapped out of it and shifted his attention back to her.

"You want to know what that spell did?" he changed the subject abruptly. "It gave you power, but I guess you and that old fool Dumbledore already figured that out… You're much more interested in knowing what that potion did, aren't you?" Sariss nodded mechanically. "Ah, yes, the spell combined with the potion I so eloquently named the 'Angel potion,' although that expression does not do justice to it …" he trailed off once again, absent-mindedly brushing a rebellious strand of her hair out of her face, almost—lovingly… A fatherly gesture… Sariss shuddered involuntarily.

Angel potion…

"I feel generous today. You shall have your answers, since it won't make any difference anyway," he spoke. "You have the most valuable and feared… talents, if you want to put it that way… combined in a beautiful body. Parseltongue, no need of a wand—you surely have discovered that you do quite well without a wand; that's why Dumbledore hired you, isn't it? To teach that Potter brat some more tricks? —But I digress. I even provided you with the ability to withstand the Killing Curse itself much better than I ever could! In your creation I've surpassed the great Salazar Slytherin himself, if I dare say so; a beautiful, deadly weapon, for the greatest part human, but for a very small, yet not unimportant part…" he paused for emphasis, "…a Dementor, capable of performing—" his voice that had increased in volume during his monologue now dropped to a soft whisper as he all but breathed the following words—"the Kiss…"

Now her legs wouldn't carry her anymore; her knees buckled, and the Dark Lord nodded—a silent command to his servants to release her—causing her to drop almost soundlessly to the cold, so very cold, marble-like floor. Angel potion, Angel potion… her pulse hammered in her temples. Dementor, Dementor, Dementor… The Kiss, the Kiss, the Kiss… She found herself incapable to close her eyes. Wide-eyed she stared into nothingness, past her hands touching the floor, past the floor itself, right past the centre of the Earth, nothingness…

"You do not have their weaknesses—too little of them inside you to give you away as the creature you are. Yet I gave you their strength—."

"Monster. Inhuman. Dead," Sariss muttered.

"And look how you've repaid me, denied me and betrayed me…" Voldemort lowered himself to one knee and bent down to her, tilting her face up, forcing her to look into his eyes. A tear slithered down her cheek like a little snake. "You know, I wouldn't be able to touch you if you weren't my daughter—if part of my soul wasn't in you. Your mother died protecting you just like Potter's mother, after all… But you are my flesh, blood and soul—and you are a lethal weapon!"

She was breathing heavily now, dry choking sobs escaping her quivering, parchment-dry lips. Yet, she did not speak up.

The Dark Lord continued, barely audible except by those closest to him which were Sariss and supposedly the two Death Eaters who'd had restrained her until only a minute or so ago.

"I thought it would be such an irony… having my enemies killed by my beautiful, oh so very beautiful daughter, my angel, sucking their souls out in a moment when they least expected danger…" he trailed off, getting up and striding towards his throne, turning his back on her.

"I'd rather die than serve you," she forced out, having gathered her wits enough to be able to form a coherent sentence that was, however, interrupted by shuddering breaths. She willed her body to cooperate and stood up. She was so furious suddenly, and—realizing that her hands were free and hoping that the spell had, with any luck, worn off already—she lifted her wand hand and tried to smash the Dark Lord into the ground, into the wall, anywhere… However, she couldn't… She couldn't do magic. The observing, distant, part of her mind analysed the situation and stated the obvious, declaring, The spell hasn't worn off, Sariss. The other part of her mind was silent, in shock that she was defenceless. If anything, she had always relied on her powers; they had made her as good as invulnerable—but not anymore, not now that she needed them most.

Defenceless.

But there was no longer time to ponder her hopeless situation since Voldemort, her father, shouted, "Crucio!"

And the curse hit her in the chest with full impact. She clenched her teeth together as the pain sliced through her body like a dozen white-hot knives; she'd never felt anything like this before. It was agony, pain, as if she was dying again and again only to come back and be killed over and over again. She hadn't even realized that she'd dropped to the floor, writhing and convulsing, biting down on her lip so hard that she drew blood, when all of a sudden the pain stopped as suddenly as it had come. Gasping for breath, she opened her eyes, only to find Voldemort standing over her, his hand extended towards her as though he wanted to be a gentleman and help her to her feet.

However, this was not so, since he said, "You just have to take my hand and it will stop forever. You don't have to die. I would rather see you alive—by my side." His voice was casual and quiet, dangerously quiet.

Sariss hated him at this moment—more than she had ever hated anyone before—not even him when she hadn't been aware of her heritage and her utter defencelessness as she was now.

"Get it over with. Do it. I'm already dead. This will only be a formality," she said, defiantly scrambling to her feet again. If she were to die, she'd die upright, looking into his eyes as he cast the curse that would kill her. It wouldn't be Avada Kedavra. He'd said she was able to withstand it. It would be something else… She had no idea what it would be—but it would certainly be one of the more painful curses, one of the curses that were not unforgivable, since they didn't just make the victim drop dead to the ground, but killed slowly instead. She wouldn't give him the pleasure to hear her plead for her life. He had taken her life already. Then he'd given her another one—this life he'd given back to her, a cursed life, a life she'd never wanted… And now he would take it—and everything else—away again.

"Your wish is my command," he hissed. "Either way I'll have what's mine. But let's proceed a bit more… slowly."

The tone of his voice chilled her to the bone but she tried not to show it, keeping her face as blank as possible, as the Dark Lord stepped towards her again and grabbed her around the throat. Sariss took hold of his wrist, then pulled and squeezed, willing him to let go of her, which he did—lucky for him; she would have broken his arms had he held on just a little longer—but not after he'd sneered at her, his face only inches away from hers, "You think you're not going to scream, don't you?" He gave a short laugh. "But you will. You will scream. You'll beg me to end it more quickly—but I won't heed to your wishes; I'll only listen to the music of your agony."

He stepped back, pointed his wand at her and shouted, "Flagello!"

She had no idea what the spell was supposed to do when he cast it. After a second, however, she knew it as soon as the first blow hit her. A whipping and beating curse.

She bit back a scream and swayed, trying to regain her balance, but finally as more blows stuck her, she couldn't keep upright anymore, no matter how hard she tried. So she dropped to her knees when another blow hit her, and another, and another…

Then it stopped. Exhaling the air she had held for much too long a time, she breathed something akin to a sigh of relief. She realized that she had instinctively curled up into a ball to give the curse as little surface as possible to strike. Her body was tingling all over—something between pain and numbness—it felt strange. But it didn't last for long, as Voldemort shouted, "Mordeo!" and invisible knives started cutting into her body, tearing her robes as they did so. Sariss felt something wet on her body, wet and somewhat warm—blood, she realized as she weakly lifted her hand to check what it was.

"Contundo!" she heard Voldemort yell. At that, invisible forces lifted her up and started beating her. That and the wounds that had already been inflicted upon her caused her such immense pain that she couldn't withstand the urge to scream any longer, as she was smashed to the ground, bruised, beaten, broken. She felt like dying. It couldn't get worse. It wasn't possible…

He kept hurling curse upon curse at her. Her body was purgatory. She felt like being ripped apart from the inside and outside at the same time.

Let me die. Please, let me die…

"Finite Incantatem," the Dark Lord sneered.

Sariss heard a scream break off quite suddenly, its aftermath echoing off the walls of the vast chamber for some long moments… It was her own scream although it sounded impossible to her ears. A human throat simply wasn't capable of making such a sound, was it? But then she remembered that this was just an empty phrase. No matter what she might look like, she was not human. She was less human than anything she could think off.

In a way, it was good that it would end now. She was almost thankful for it. If only she weren't so afraid…

"See? I told you you'd scream for me."

She swallowed as she saw the Dark Lord reaching for something inside his robes. The coppery taste of her own blood made her gag, and Sariss brought her shaking, aching hand to her face to wipe away the liquid that trickled down her cheeks and forehead to keep it from running into her eyes. A sharp pain raced up her arm when she brushed the back of her hand over her brows. She forced her eyes to open and to focus on her now wet hand to have a look at what the liquid was and why her hand hurt so much.

Blood and tears…

And her hand was so awfully swollen and bleeding too. Her whole body was in agony. That might be the reason why she hadn't felt her hands ache. Come to think of it, there were several parts of her body she didn't feel hurting.

Numb.

Sariss choked on her blood. It forced further tears to come. She hated the sounds she made. Those whimpers. Like a wounded dog. She hated herself for them.

Blood dripped out of her mouth when she coughed once more. She felt a stab in her chest.

A rib. Maybe more. Broken. Pierced through my lung… I think.

Don't move too much. Else, you're going to suffocate on your own blood…

Oh gods! Help me!

"As we all know, I can't kill you with Avada Kedavra—that would be much too simple anyway, even if I could," the Dark Lord mused in a horribly casual tone of voice. "And I won't kill you with another curse either," he added. "I rather am of the opinion that this calls for something just slightly more classical…" Voldemort had started pacing around her. Watching him out of her half closed eyelids made her feel dizzy; back and forth, back and forth…

Sariss saw something silvery glint in the Dark Lord's hands. He kind of played with the object. She forced her body to obey and managed to haul herself up a little—it made her choke—then she once more strained her eyes to see better—but a second later she almost wished she hadn't. He would kill her the old-fashioned way, the Muggle way. A simple dagger, so very simple, yet it struck terror into her heart such as she'd never known. She'd never thought she'd die like this, defenceless and all—she'd always thought she'd die in battle…

"Oh my god…" she whispered so softly that none of the people around her could possibly have heard her. She just hadn't enough strength to speak any louder or more. Her voice was hoarse from screaming; her lips dry except for the blood, that was trickling down her cheek and coming up when she couldn't withstand the urge to cough, staining her lips. She must be looking ghastly—like a vampire—as she half-lay, half-sat there, a heap of blood, flesh, bone, hair, cloth and pure unadulterated hatred.

"Now, who shall be the one to kill you? Myself perhaps…" Lord Voldemort mused in a voice as devoid of emotions as though he were commenting on the weather. "No, I don't think so, I would deny myself the pleasure of watching you being killed by one of my loyal servants. Now, who shall it be…" he trailed off, scanning the crowd of the about two dozen Death Eaters assembled in an almost perfect circle around them.

"No, this is no task for one of the others," he said turning to face the men who still stood near her. "Would you have the honour of serving me, Lucius?" He studied Lucius Malfoy's pale sneering face for a moment before turning away to face the other Death Eater she didn't recognize as he had neither lowered his hood nor turned his face towards her so that she could have seen it. "Or will it be you?"

"What do you want me to do, my Lord?" The voice sounded so eerily familiar… Was she hallucinating already?

A slow evil smile spread over Voldemort's face. "Ah yes!" he exclaimed. "What an irony… So very taken as you seemed to be with her… It should be you—," the Dark Lord shot Sariss a meaningful glace and a nasty smile, "lower your hood—Severus."

At the mention of this name, she forced herself up on her knees, forgetting about the stinging in her chest. A shocked expression started spreading over her face—she could feel it crawling there like dozens of little spiders—as the figure the Dark Lord had addressed with the very name she'd whispered lovingly dozens of times during the last few weeks, lowered his hood, apparently avoiding looking at her. Now she felt not just defenceless and dying—at the very moment he had revealed his face, she could add betrayed and used to the list of the emotions she was feeling. It hurt more than the Torturing Curses she'd gone through. For once in her life, she had tried to trust someone else but Dumbledore. Yes, in fact she'd come to trust Severus as much as Dumbledore himself apparently did. She hadn't cared that Severus had been a Death Eater once. If the headmaster trusted him, he must have returned to the Light side. She had actually begun to feel safe and protected when he was near. She had come to believe that, despite his past, he was a good man. Such she had thought…

"Yes, it is he," the Dark Lord said with a hint of amusement in his voice. "Isn't it ironic? You being betrayed by one of the few people that do not fear you, that do not visibly recoil from the coldness of your touch… someone you trusted… Perhaps you even loved him?" he hissed, dramatically overemphasizing the word 'loved'. "But I would not know, would I? And now I shall never know, because this is the day you die." He pronounced every syllable so sharply and clearly that his every word cut like a knife. "I will not give you the opportunity to spoil my plans."

Sariss tried to catch Severus's eye, silently pleading with him, denying the obvious. Despite everything she'd told herself—and him—over and over again, she'd have trusted Severus Snape with her life. As much as she trusted Dumbledore.

Dumbledore… He trusts him… He doesn't know…

The Dark Lord handed the dagger to Snape who took it with a slight bow. "Do with her as you please, Severus, and then dispose of her. Treason of this extent doesn't merit a clean death. This thing is not my daughter."

Do with her as you please…

Sariss struggled to get up when she saw Snape accept the weapon. She choked again. Her eyesight had become reddish and blurry by now; a thin crimson veil seemed to have settled over the world. Snape's usually pallid face was tinged crimson. Everything around her seemed to be drenched in crimson blood…

No, Severus, you can't… Not like this…

"Yes, my Lord."

No!

Voldemort had obviously become aware of her efforts since he called out, "Crucio!" and her body was wrecked with pain once more, her screams echoing in her own ears.

She slumped to the ground, not in a state to even consider defending herself an option any longer. Yet, she tried to scramble away, whimpering because of the stabs of pain she felt at every single motion, but just didn't have the strength to do so anymore.

He'd prevented her from transforming; he'd cast a spell to hinder her from performing any magic; he'd drained her very body so completely that all of the strength she had been so used to seemed to be gone.

He'd broken her.

He'd won.

All she wanted was to be left alone. Peace…

It won't take long, she tried to reassure herself. She felt herself passing into delirium. I'll all be over in an instant.

If she had meant something—not even very much, just a little—to him at all, Severus would make it quick—hopefully. It couldn't have been just an act; not all of it, could it? She would have known, wouldn't she? Her feverish mind still held onto life—frantically, it refused to shut down. It still fought against the inevitable.

Sariss's eyelids drooped. She fought to keep them open. Her eyes were to haunt him every time he closed his eyes.

Yes, suffer. You'll never spend another night sleeping peacefully. And if I have to come back as a ghost to haunt you…

Let it be over.

Delirium. She couldn't will her eyes to focus properly on the Potions master. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind. It seemed to overload.

She had known it would do no good to let herself fall in love. Everything in her had advised against it.

She should have listened to her first impulse…

Run…

She should have known…

That was what it came down to in the end…

She should never have come back to Hogwarts. She could be anywhere else. Far away from this war. Far away from Voldemort…

Far from knowing who her father was…

Far from knowing what had happened…

Far from knowing who she was, what she was…

Some things you're better off not knowing…

Far from knowing what the kiss of a man felt like…

Far from knowing what his breath on her skin felt like…

Far from knowing what his touch felt like—and she could vaguely remember one or two instants when she had longed for him to—

Oh, gods, not like this… No…

"Please," she whimpered chokingly.

Please, Severus, please…

She couldn't think of anything else to say. Empty was her mind. Finally. Completely blank—save for those two words…

Please, Severus…

Suddenly, the pain was gone… If this was what death felt like, she welcomed it. At least it would end. All of it. No more pain. No more tears…

The Dark Lord's high-pitched laughter sounded strangely muffled to her ears. Yet Snape's footsteps seemed so loud that she could almost feel the earth shake at every single step he took towards her…

The last thing she saw before she blacked out, as though she were looking through a dirty stained-glass window—the blood loss, pain, injuries and shock taking their toll—was the black-robed figure of the Potions master advancing on her, the dagger raised, ready to plunge it into her heart, his other hand reaching into the folds of his robes.

"Severus," she heard herself say as though from far away. "Please…"

Then there was darkness.

Next chapter:

Snape's POV on things. Harry has a nightmare, Dumbledore learns about it, and Severus gets emotional. Awww…