Author's note: Thanks go to Jenna (I'm sorry if I caused you a nervous breakdown) and Miriam, the Gryffindor who begged and pleaded with me, a Slytherin.
Chapter 19: I Can't Change
I've been cheated
I've been wronged, and you
You don't know me, yeah, well, I can't change
I won't do anything at all…
--Matchbox 20: Push
Severus Snape stood there, watching silently what happened, trying to plaster a mask of calmness and indifference, perhaps even glee, upon his face, so as not to give away his inner uproar.
He wondered if she knew that the Dark Lord had just rendered her defenceless. Although he had never even heard of the spell Voldemort had used he knew enough Latin to know what it must have done. Why else would the Dark Lord have commanded them to free her from the bonds around her wrists that had kept her hands tied up so she couldn't use magic? Who would have thought that he feared her so much that he'd devised a spell to render her defenceless?
And the Dark Lord continued speaking, taunting her, playing with her…
His daughter?! Severus's mind raced. Oh my god…
And she had had no idea of it. All her life she had been so deeply scared of her own father, a father who had hurt her, a father who had killed his own father because he had never given him the crucial love only a parent could give his child…
Sariss, oh, Sariss.
Severus involuntarily tightened his grip on her arm.
But the Dark Lord still spoke, now about what had happened seventeen years ago, explaining to her why he had done what he had done. How the whole procedure had worked, what it had done to her, how he had given her power…
Voldemort told her many things… but not everything. What he did explain, however, made some pieces of an intricate puzzle fall into place. Severus's mind was still racing, jumping here and there, trying to put the remaining pieces into their respective places…
The potion…
Voldemort had not told her that Severus had assisted in creating it. Severus had learnt a lot about potions then…
But why should he tell her about this at all? All Severus had done was finding out how to extract the magical abilities from a person's body and develop a potion that would transfer them to the person the potion was administered to—a small contribution, not important enough to be worth mentioning perhaps? But to Severus it was of much greater importance now than he would ever have thought it could ever be, even only a few months ago. He had never known that by researching this, he had provided the Dark Lord with the basis knowledge to do with it… THIS! And naming it 'Angel potion' as though it served the purpose of creating a heavenly being when he'd wanted to create a demon…
Never had the thought even crossed his mind that Voldemort would use the knowledge quite the way he had done it. Severus had suspected that the Dark Lord would try using it on Muggle-born wizards or the ones who fought him…
The Dark Lord had been intent on being shown how it basically worked and had then continued working on it in secret. Alone. No one had been told about what Voldemort had been up to… No one.
Severus had been young then, barely out of school… And, goodness, had he ever been as naïve as that? Now that he could analyse the events in retrospect, it showed all too clearly that Severus had not cared about the suffering he'd create by serving the Dark Lord.
He felt guilty. He hated himself. Another one of the small mistakes that had destroyed a life… He might as well have brewed the potion himself and forced it down the little girl's throat! It wouldn't have made any difference…
For a very small, yet not unimportant part—a Dementor…
The Dark Lord nodded and Severus released Sariss's arm. She dropped to the ground.
If he could have dared to do this, he would have slapped his forehead. He should have noticed the signs, shouldn't he? Now that he knew what had been wrong with her all the time, he suddenly found himself incredibly blind and stupid. The signs had been there all the time, hadn't they? Yet, it had only been a very small part of the Dementor… and Dumbledore hadn't noticed it either! Everyone knew that Dumbledore despised Dementors with a passion… But she was not a Dementor; Severus repeated it in his mind over and over again. She might have a part of one inside of her, yet she could not have been any more different from these Dark creatures…
At least partly, this is all my fault…
Only the tension in his hand betrayed his emotions. His fingernails were digging into the skin of his palm, drawing blood, as he—out of the corner of his eyes—watched Sariss being tortured, beaten, whipped, smashed to the ground. Torches kept exploding and dying as if they wanted to share her pain. Every scream of hers sent shudders through the flickering flames. The particular lighting that was caused by this, made the scene look unreal and frightening.
Severus felt sick watching it all and averted his gaze as much as he could—and it wasn't that much at all since the Dark Lord mustn't notice that he couldn't bear it.
So he had to watch, if he wanted to or not, and listen to her inhuman screams, unable to do something to make them stop. But they'd only stop when—.
He's her father! How can a father do this to his own flesh and blood? How can he do this to anyone?
This was madness, complete utter madness.
If Severus had thought that the torture of Igor Karkaroff more than two years ago had been cruel, it was nothing compared to this! Karkaroff hadn't been put through half of what she went through—or maybe this was just Severus's impression. After all, this was Sariss.
My Sariss… Strangely, how after learning all of this she's still my Sariss…
Finally, after much too long a time, the Dark Lord yelled, "Finite Incantatem!"
Severus almost breathed a sigh of relief that her screams had stopped, but they had been replaced by very small whimpers as she lay there, gasping for air and panting heavily. How much he wanted to gather her into his arms, hold her, tell her that everything that had happened during the last seventeen and a half years had only been a nightmare and she'd wake up any moment now, ten years old and carefree and safe…
The Dark Lord spoke, pondering who should be the one to kill her. Severus found this incredibly pathetic. Hadn't he struck enough fear into her heart already? The way she sat there, bleeding, her robes torn and tattered, her hair falling down to the ground all around her in complete disarray, hiding her face, sticking to the blood on it, mingling with it…
It took all of the self-control Severus had ever learnt to acquire to keep his feet firmly where they were; he wouldn't move, he wouldn't speak up, he wouldn't even let his heart beat faster. What good would it do if the two of them died tonight? If there was a way to save her at all, he would have to stay calm and wait for the right moment.
If it never came… If he didn't have the chance…
She was too important to lose, and not only to him. Dumbledore had said this once, a long time ago. He must have known of her relation to the Dark Lord—there was no other explanation.
How was he going to justify this as soon as he had to face Dumbledore? What would he do if Sariss died now? What consequences would that have?
Severus snapped out of his thoughts as the Dark Lord stepped closer to him and Malfoy.
"Would you have the honour of serving me, Lucius?" He studied the other man's face for a moment before turning away to face Severus who had neither lowered his hood nor turned his face towards Sariss so she could have recognized him. He hadn't even chanced a look at her when she had been standing right next to him either…
"Or will it be you?"
"What do you want me to do, my Lord?" Severus said. If he played his cards correctly now, there might just be a way…
The Dark Lord hesitated. Had Severus sounded too eager?
"Ah yes!" he suddenly exclaimed. "What an irony… So very taken as you seemed to be with her…" At that, Severus would have loved to rip the Dark Lord's tongue out. "It should be you—." Voldemort shot Sariss a meaningful glance and sneered. "Lower your hood—Severus."
Severus closed his eyes for a moment.
Oh, no. Please, no. I can't face her. I can't bear this.
You didn't honestly think you could go through with it without her noticing that it's you?
He was glad that the hood hid his face in the shadows so that Voldemort couldn't see his expression at this moment. It would have betrayed his emotions all too clearly.
Reaching up to lower the hood, Severus instantly applied the infamous sneer to his face—a sneer he'd worn so often it was all too easy to plaster it into its respective place.
He chanced a look at Sariss. She'd scrambled to her knees, steadied herself with her hands, barely able to hold the balance even in her kneeling position, and had raised her head, a look of shock and disbelief spreading over her bloodstained face as she looked at him. She choked; blood trickled out of her mouth…
Oh, no…
The deep crimson of her blood on her deathly pale skin, her face seemingly frozen with the expression she wore…
Only her eyes moved. They were wide and wet with tears and blood. He couldn't bear the look in her eyes, accusing him of the most heinous crimes it was possible to commit. Disappointment he could see there, sadness; too trusting she had been, finding it in her heart to feel something for Severus—at least he'd hoped so—and then being so utterly cheated, when it had cost her so much courage to let her feelings show. Severus could tell she must be thinking this and scolding herself for it—if he had been in her place he would have.
She thinks I betrayed her. Not only her, but Dumbledore, too.
Perhaps you should have told her everything. You had the chance. You had the perfect chance. She asked you a direct question.
I never lied.
You told her a half-truth. What's worse? A lie told straight out or a lie embedded in truth?
"Yes, it is he," the Dark Lord said. He sounded as though he found the whole situation incredibly funny. "Isn't it ironic? You being betrayed by one of the few people that do not fear you, that do not recoil from the coldness of your touch… someone you trusted, didn't you? Perhaps you even loved him?" he hissed. Severus would have dearly liked to rip him to pieces with his bare hands. His fingernails dug deeper and deeper into his flesh, a feeble attempt to keep himself from giving himself—everything!—away.
"But I would not know, would I?" said Voldemort airily. "And now I shall never know, because this is the day you die."
Severus saw Sariss trying to catch his eye, silently pleading with him, denying the obvious. And she coughed again. It looked and sounded as though her soul were to come out any second…
Don't look at me like this, Sariss. I can't do anything.
Yet.
I can't save you.
Yet, again.
If I move only a quarter of an inch without his explicit permission, we'll both be dead.
Dying together wouldn't make anything better. Severus had never been one for thoughts as romantic as this one; and, as much as it pained him, this was not Romeo and Juliet.
He couldn't throw away everything what Dumbledore and he himself had been working so hard for, could he? He had established himself in the Dark Lord's inner circle—the perfect position to gather information. He couldn't just sacrifice himself for the sole reason of not having to feel guilty that she'd died with him standing by—no matter how much she meant to him—watching, not doing anything to prevent this from happening, could he?
He knew he'd hate himself for the rest of his miserable life. Just as he'd started to think his life was worth living after all, the Dark Lord had interfered.
Life was cruel… Love was even more…
Voldemort stopped in front of Severus, his red eyes boring into Severus's, who didn't move a muscle, only stared back into those horrible glinting eyes. The Dark Lord proffered a dagger. So simple an object. Severus was confused. What was this all about?
Then, as though Voldemort had read his thoughts, he said, "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."
Severus took the weapon with a slight bow and whispered obediently, "Yes, my Lord." The answer had come automatically, without a thought. Only when he felt the handle of the dagger in his hand he realized to what he had just agreed, the metal as cold as ice—colder than Sariss's hands…
Sariss…
Severus closed his eyes for a moment. The handle was so very cold, it seemed to burn his skin—and, suddenly, he realized the full extent of what had just happened. He stared at the weapon. This could be the chance he hadn't even dared to hope for… He could get near her… And then—.
"Crucio!" the Dark Lord yelled, and Sariss screamed with pain once more before slumping to the ground.
She must have tried to get away. A last futile effort…
Her scream still echoed inside his head as a plan began to form in his mind—a perfect plan—as he advanced on her, very slowly.
She tried to scramble away, her feet slipping on her own blood. Her boots were gone, he noticed. Sliced off her by the curses…
Frantic whimpers escaped her, chokes wrecked her body, tears mingled with the blood on her cheeks; her lips quivering, her eyes wide open, a deadly scared expression was carved on her face. Like a mask.
Severus would never have thought this face was capable of showing something remotely like what it displayed this instant. It pained him not to be able to wipe or kiss it away, to reassure her that he was on her side, no matter what it looked like on the outside.
Step…
"Please," she sobbed, barely able to force that single word out. She'd screamed herself hoarse. Blood trickled out of the corner of her mouth as she coughed, strained and weak. Ghastly…
I should never have let her leave my side.
The world seemed to exist only of three colours:
White. Her skin was so very white it seemed to glow in the dark.
I should have clasped her hand in mine and never let go.
Red. Her blood, deep crimson, almost burgundy because of the sharp contrast to her skin…
I should have put my arm around her to protect her from the cold, from the storm, from all this!
Black. Her dark-brown hair that looked as black as her robes, soaked with blood…
I could have spared her all of this if only I had been there.
Another step…
I must be there now.
He gripped the dagger tighter; this charade had to be held up for only a few more moments—the longest moments in his entire life…
Sod this spying business, he thought. I'm not going to lose her. This is my chance.
The chance to back out of this, you mean, a little voice in the back of his mind scolded him. How selfish…
If I can save her in the process of being selfish, so be it! Severus countered.
He was fully aware of his utter selfishness. Oh yes. There was no denying it.
This was not about fighting the Dark Lord, not about serving Dumbledore. This was about not being capable to bear being—if only seemingly—a Death Eater anymore… It wasn't even about saving a life. Any other life he would have forsaken at this moment. It was about saving her so he could try and make it undone.
It was about not wasting a perfect opportunity to back out of all of this. Oh, but he'd have the best of all excuses, since it was also about redemption—now more than ever before—earning forgiveness from her, holding her in his arms again, feeling the sensation of her lips on his once more… Unutterably selfish.
Impossible to think about kissing in a situation like this, when the very object of his affections was trying to scramble away from him, afraid that he was not only going to kill her—no, knowing that he would be the one to end her life in an instant, but only after… only after he had taken from her by force what she might have given willingly one day… He had fantasized about what it would be like, the first time with her. There was no denying—but not like this. His fantasies had something to do with candles in a darkened room and a bed, and rose petals catching in her rippling brown hair—a bit old fashioned and not very creative perhaps, but a classic fantasy; very fitting it seemed to picture her like this. And, above all, his fantasies were ruled by her soft and tender, not injured and bleeding, skin, bathed in the warm golden light of the candles or the cool silvery light of the moon. No fearful eyes. No blood and tears. No screams of agony. No pain. Only soft sighs of pleasure…
He took a deep breath, banishing those thoughts from his mind.
Desperate situations—desperate measures.
Only a few more steps…
~*~*~
Harry knew he was dreaming. Yet, he could not will himself to wake up. He was shocked at the revelations he'd heard as well as Voldemort's cruelty and Snape's indifference to any of it.
Professor Ravon finally screamed as her body was once again wrecked with curses Harry had never heard of before. Harry had never known that a human being was even capable of such a kind of scream; it tore at his soul to listen to it. Even when he covered his ears he could still hear it. And he had to look at it, too. He couldn't screw his eyes shut, no matter how hard he tried, and he could not look away…
She was sitting there, drenched in her own blood, choking and crying. She looked so young all of a sudden, so lost, as though she'd given up. To Harry she seemed like a candle that had been blown out, still there, but not providing any light. And although Harry had never seen someone die in a way like that, slowly and painfully, she looked as though she were already dying…
"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," Voldemort said and Snape took a dagger from him. "Yes, my Lord."
Voldemort turned and shouted "Crucio!" and Professor Ravon who had tried to scramble to her feet, slumped to the ground again, twitching and convulsing, screaming with pain, drawing in some painful breaths that sounded as though she weren't breathing the air in but instead swallowing it. Even the sound of it made Harry want to punch everyone in that place. But most of all Voldemort—and Snape.
Harry knew what it felt like—being cursed by Voldemort, that is.
Snape advanced on her, holding the dagger in his hand, ready to strike, a look of indifference, perhaps even glee, on his face. His other hand reaching into his robes…
Harry suddenly found his voice and shouted, "No! You can't do this!" But Snape did not listen. He did not react at all. That was the moment when Harry realized that this was a dream.
Then everything got blurry. He heard a voice. "Come on, Harry, damn it, bloody wake up, Potter!"
He opened his eyes and found himself being shaken violently by Ron who, as he caught sight of his eyes being open now, breathed a sigh of relief and said, "I thought I'd never get you to wake up…"
"I… I just had a nightmare…"
"And what a nightmare that must have been."
"Voldemort. He…"
Ron flinched. "Don't say that name." Harry almost smiled at this reaction of Ron's. He'd always flinched at the mentioning of the Dark Lord's name.
Harry opened his mouth to continue. Ron interrupted him.
"Listen, Harry. I don't even want to know what it was you dreamt about. I need my beauty sleep. But whatever it was—You-Know-Who being in it can't be a good thing." He gulped. "I think you should go tell Dumbledore immediately."
"But…"
"Do it. If there's one thing I know about your dreams it is that you had better report them in detail to Dumbledore as quickly as possible." He suddenly grinned. "Trelawney would have a field day with you if she knew about your 'visions'." Harry couldn't suppress a wry grin at this statement. Ron would always find something funny about a situation, no matter how grave it actually was.
He fumbled for his glasses, pushed them onto his nose and fought his way out of the covers he had entangled himself in. Throwing back a glance towards Ron who had crawled back into his bed and now nodded encouragingly, Harry left the dormitory to do as Ron had suggested.
Once Harry was on his way, he finally realized the importance and graveness of the situation. Thus he increased his pace as he rushed down the stairs, along the corridors, another set of stairs, jumping the trick steps without even thinking about it—and ran smack into a green-clad someone.
"Mr. Potter! I do hope you have a good explanation for sneaking around the school after hours. Ten points from—"
"Please, Professor McGonagall. I must see Professor Dumbledore immediately. I had another dream, a vision—or whatever… It's about Professors Snape and Ravon…" Harry explained hastily, scrambling to his feet.
McGonagall's expression softened. She had stopped flicking imaginary dust particles from her robe as soon as he'd mentioned the headmaster's name.
And as soon as Harry had brought up Snape and Ravon, McGonagall interrupted him, "I'll take you to his office. You probably don't know the current password. We wouldn't want you to wake up the whole school by screaming the names of sweets at the gargoyle now, would we?"
They passed the gargoyle ("Canary Creams!") and got up the spiral staircase to Dumbledore's office.
As soon as they'd entered the office, Harry rushed towards the Headmaster's desk while Professor McGonagall took a seat near the fireplace after having greeted Dumbledore with a short, "Albus." He nodded and focused his attention on Harry who was doing his best to describe what he had seen—things beyond description.
"Professor Ravon… Professor Snape… He's going to… to kill her… He told him to—"
Dumbledore held up his hand. "Hang on, Harry. I think you'd better start at the beginning."
And so Harry told the Headmaster everything he'd seen and heard in his dream—leaving out the more disturbing details as best as he could. He didn't want to think about these things. But he kept true to the actual events nonetheless. "And then he handed Snape a dagger… and he took it… and he approached her—she was kneeling on the ground, trying to scramble up, but couldn't… Then he bent down, reaching into his robes—" Harry paused, catching his breath. "And that's when I woke up, actually, when Ron woke me up. I remember hearing myself screaming…"
Dumbledore had a look of shock on his face, but it was quickly replaced by a sad and thoughtful expression.
"Thank you, Harry. This information will prove very useful. However, I must ask you not to talk about what you've learnt," he said quietly. "At least not until we have sorted this out a bit."
"But…" Harry tried to object.
"You may tell Miss Granger and Mr. and Miss Weasley if you feel inclined to do so. I understand that you need to share your knowledge. I have noticed that you've been doing quite a bit of research already. The parts of the puzzle fit now, don't they?"
"You mean you knew it all along?" Harry asked, a bit confused about that; but then again: What did Dumbledore not know? '
"'Knew' would be a bit too strong a word for the whole affair. I only knew about her relation to Voldemort of which she—you must believe me this—had no idea at all. She'll be quite upset when she returns." Dumbledore sighed.
"But Snape is going to kill her. He's going to… He might have done it already!" Harry shouted.
"He wouldn't; and he won't. But to answer your previous question: Let's just say that I suspected that there was something in her that wasn't quite right. But I paid no attention to it." Dumbledore paused, looking thoughtful once more. After a few moments he spoke again, "It wasn't important and still isn't—or is it, Harry? Has the knowledge about who and what she is changed your opinion of her?"
Harry thought for a few seconds. "I… I guess… Not really. She can't do anything about it, can she?"
"This is correct. She can't help being who she is. She's not that different from you. You know, Harry? You also never had a choice. You are the Boy Who Lived; you never asked for that scar on your forehead, did you? And she has been forced into a life much more difficult than yours actually—because she can't hide from her powers—and now she can't even hide from herself anymore… She must control those powers—always. If she loses control… You saw what happened to Mr. Malfoy."
Harry nodded.
"And that was only a very small incident. I'm surprised the room can still be used at all. Mr. Malfoy had struck more of a nerve than both of them were aware of. I am sure that parts of what he insinuated were just to annoy her…" Dumbledore trailed off, tilting his head to the side as though he'd heard a sound and wanted to listen.
"Professor Dumbledore? What's wrong?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore smiled at Harry, his eyes twinkling as usual. Harry's automatic reaction to this was a feeling of being in good hands and of safety spreading through his body. He suddenly felt how tired he actually was and yawned.
"You'd better get back up to Gryffindor Tower. You have lessons tomorrow, after all. Don't worry. All is being taken care of," Dumbledore said. "Minerva, if you would like to accompany Mr. Potter on his way to his dormitory? I'll be heading to the hospital wing where—I'm sure—I'll soon be asked quite a lot of questions…"
"Of course, Albus. And, Mr. Potter, do not even think about sneaking out of your Common Room. The last thing that is needed now is a bunch of nosy students. For once behave like the almost-adults that you are."
"All right," Harry said, stifling a yawn. Then he added sleepily, "G'Night, Professor Dumbledore." The adrenaline rush had subsided; he suddenly felt how tired he actually was, and trailing McGonagall he made his way back up to his dormitory where Ron stirred immediately and—obviously overcome by his curiosity—asked him what had happened.
"Promise me that you won't tell anyone. Dumbledore made me promise not to tell anyone but you, Ginny and Hermione. He must have figured that you'd get it out of me no matter what." Ron nodded, and Harry told him what he had told the headmaster. It was now much easier than the first time he'd reported the events.
Ron's eyes grew wider and wider, and his mouth hung open. He resembled Dobby the House-elf by a great deal now that he had learnt that Professor Ravon was in fact Voldemort's daughter, the Heiress of Slytherin, so to speak. Ron for his part was obviously speechless…
Then, "A Dementor?!"
"Shh! You want to wake up the others or what?" Harry hissed.
"But… A Dementor? As if it wasn't enough already that she's his daughter, for heaven's sake! And she's taught us all year… She could have killed us. She could have killed you! His daughter, and a Dementor!"
"She's not really a Dementor, Ron. She only has some abilities—."
"What, like sucking your soul out?"
"Er…"
"That's a yes, isn't it?" Ron ran a hand through his hair. "Merlin's beard, this is gross. Do you think Dumbledore'll let her stay here, continue teaching us?" He gulped.
"I don't know what he's going to do. I don't even know if she's going to be alright. If you'd… I saw…" Harry trailed off. The images had started to flash before his eyes again.
Ron seemed to have noticed this. "Then… Then you think she's not… I don't know… dangerous to you, to us?"
Harry shook his head. "I think the only one who should be afraid of her is Voldemort—."
"Don't say the name."
"Come on, Ron. This is getting ridiculous. Everyone still fears his name more than the man himself. Do you all think that he'll materialize out of thin air as soon as you utter his name, like Beetlejuice or the Candyman or what?"
"Who are those guys now?"
"Ask Hermione when you're staying at the Grangers' one time. She'll get those movies and then you can watch them."
"Movies, huh?"
"You know what movies are, Ron. Moving pictures. In the cinema, remember?"
"Yeah, that was really strange."
"That's what I thought when I first saw a wizarding photograph. Weird that was."
"Speaking of weird, let's get back to the subject. What's up with her?"
"I don't know. McGonagall explicitly told me to stay here and not try and sneak into the infirmary. I assume that she's alive. But, Ron, even if she's survived all of this, Ravon won't be teaching for the next few days or even weeks, I can tell as much from what I've seen. It was awful. It was the most horrible thing I've ever seen. Those curses, her screams, his laughter, the blood…" Harry screwed his eyes shut.
"She's his daughter!"
"Not if you ask her. To her he's the devil himself. That's why she thinks the Boggart would have turned into him, I'm sure—"
"I would have had a heart-attack if that had happened."
"Like everyone else."
"Do you think she could have driven the Boggart-He Who—This is too long—Boggart-You Know Who—"
"Say Voldemort, will you?"
Ron rolled his eyes. "Vol-de-mort." He pronounced the name very carefully and very softly. "Do you think she could have driven it away?"
"I don't think there's anything funny about anything that only looks like Voldemort, not even if he were wearing Neville's granny's hat and dress…" Harry trailed off.
"We're being taught by a Dementor-like creature… The next best thing to You Know Who himself…" Ron kept muttering.
"Come off it, Ron. Has anybody ever told you that you tend to take things like these much too seriously? Remember when everybody thought I was the Heir of Slytherin?"
"Yeah," Ron said slowly, "but you weren't. She is!"
"But she means you no more harm than I!"
"That's something that has yet to be seen."
"I have seen enough. If we had a Pensieve I'd show you what I saw. But I don't think you'd want to see it—or do you? I could ask Dumbledore if he'd lend me his…" Harry offered. "After all that I told you, do you want to see it? Do you want a couple of sleepless nights? If only to have proof that we have nothing to fear from her even though she is—"
Harry had no idea why he was defending her so much. He still had this distinct feeling that he knew her, that he had seen her, perhaps even met her, a very long time ago. It was like a memory that could not be grasped fully. A word he wanted to say but couldn't, although it was already sitting on the tip of his tongue ready to be uttered. He knew her. He did. But how? And from where?
This was nonsense, wasn't it? If he had met her, he'd remember her. Sure he would. She wasn't the type to walk unnoticed, after all… But whence came this particular feeling that he had had when she had first looked into his eyes—like meeting an old friend? Not possible. Not possible at all…
"No, I don't think I have to see it to believe it." Ron's voice was very small and thoughtful now. "It's enough to hear it from you. And when you tell something like this, I can be sure that in fact it was about twice or three times as bad. You've never been one to exaggerate, Harry… Let me just sleep it over, ok? This is quite a lot for a single day," Ron muttered and crept back into his bed. "G'Night, Harry. I hope I don't dream…"
"So do I, Ron," Harry murmured, suddenly very exhausted, as he took off his glasses and set them on the bedside table. "So do I."
"Our last year at Hogwarts and we never had a single normal DADA teacher—must be a record…" Ron mumbled into his pillow.
Harry smiled slightly, despite himself. Trust Ron to find something funny in a situation no matter how grave. He always tried to cheer Harry up. If only that would last longer than a few seconds.
Soon, Ron's light snores could be heard.
Harry did not sleep any more that night.
~*~*~
A few more steps…
Her eyes were a haunting. Burning like fire they were. Too bright, as though nothing else were alive in her. Unreal. Flickering like two small flames that would be extinguished.
Put out the light…
He could only stare back at her, desperately willing the muscles in his face to obey and not twitch. She was slowly dying.
If only he could move faster without arousing suspicion…
"Severus… Please." Her voice sounded so soft and melodic; she might as well have sung those two words. And although they were only two words, they might as well have filled a book, a whole encyclopaedia. So much lay in them. So much pain and fear. Despair and capitulation… And love and hate…
And hope?
Yes, hope that it would be over soon. Not hope that a hero would come and save her. She might even be hoping that death would claim her before Severus the Death Eater could finish his awful task—which he wouldn't even commence, which he wouldn't even consider commencing, let alone finish.
Her words echoed in Severus's mind despite their softness. Not even her screams could have pierced his ears like that.
How he wanted to tell her that this was not the end. How he wanted to tell her that she'd be safe in a couple of moments. He couldn't tell her the words. He couldn't tell her by his emotions. It was clear that she could hardly sense anything, now that she was on the verge of death…
Hold on to life, Sariss. Don't let it seep out of you with your blood. Don't go. There are so many things I haven't told you yet. They mustn't be left unspoken. So many things left undone.
He reached into the folds of his robes; his hand found and clasped a small object wrapped in a handkerchief-sized piece of velvety cloth. The Portkey Dumbledore had given him a long time ago, in case of an emergency, if the Dark Lord discovered where Severus's loyalties really lay. It had been used to travel from Hogwarts to some place elsewhere already. Thus, it would be possible to use it for entering Hogwarts again—which wasn't possible under other circumstances…
Sariss had blacked out—he was almost grateful for this. Her breathing was ragged. It sounded as though her body was screaming for air.
The effort of trying to get away from you has drained her; the pain, the blood loss, the shock, the analytic part of his mind noticed.
Trying to get away from me…
In a swift motion, he drew the small package from inside his robes, revealed the orb-like object that had been wrapped in a piece of black velvet, knelt down, dropping the dagger as he took hold of Sariss, and touched the Portkey to her and himself.
I don't want to pretend anymore. I don't want to have to live a lie any longer.
All of this happened within less than a second. Fortunately, neither the Dark Lord nor the Death Eaters had noticed anything in time. Severus could hardly believe his luck.
"Traitor!" he could hear the Dark Lord yell furiously, as he felt the familiar tug of the Portkey in his stomach, whirling him and his precious burden through space. The green light of Avada Kedavra merely hit empty space and vanished harmlessly. It would claim no victim that night.
Oh, yes. Guilty as charged… Severus thought, as the world became a blur. And for once in my life, this word is not an insult; coming from you, I regard it as a compliment…
He had blown his cover irreversibly. There was no turning back now. He had made his choice. If it had been the right thing to do, he did not know. Alas, it had seemed to him as one of his better ideas at the moment he'd jumped into action. Actually, the best he'd ever had…
Severus slammed into the ground with a dull thud, Sariss, who moaned and stirred slightly at the force of the impact, cradled in his arms. The Portkey had taken them straight to the infirmary.
Sariss gagged once more. That a human being could lose so much blood and still be alive…
"Madam Pomfrey!" Severus called and pressed two fingers to Sariss's bloody and injured throat to check her pulse. It was so painfully slow or maybe it only seemed so to him; like a drum her heart beat, distinct and seemingly strong but so very slow. It felt as though it were reaching a last height before stopping completely… "Madam Pomfrey!" he yelled, not even aware that his voice was full of panic. "We need help here! Help! Madam—."
"What is it that you have to scream blue murder in here, Prof—?" Madam Pomfrey rushed into the infirmary, looking quite dishevelled and sleepy, her words catching in her throat at the sight she beheld.
But she was completely awake and back into business-mode after the fraction of a second. "Place her onto the bed over there, would you?" she ordered quietly.
He did so. Careful as he was, a very weak choking whimper disturbed the silence and Sariss's eyelids fluttered; yet, weakened as she was, she didn't open her eyes.
"What happened?" Poppy asked then, and all Severus could reply was, "Isn't that obvious? Hasn't the headmaster informed you that she was—?"
"Taken by the Dark Lord," she said, and took a look at Sariss's face, pulling her eyelids up to have a look at her eyes. "Unconscious. Thankfully," she muttered and conjured up a bowl of water and a piece of cloth. Then she took a small bottle from a nearby shelf and poured a small amount of its content into the water.
Severus wrung his hands and started pacing back and forth. "What can I do?" he asked finally.
"Severus, you have done so much already," Madam Pomfrey said calmly.
"Give me an occupation, Madam Pomfrey, or I shall run mad."
"Well then… help me get her out of these tatters. She's losing much blood as it is already. Better to find out quickly where it mainly comes from. And then," she conjured up another piece of cloth, "apply this liquid all over her. It will stop the bleeding and start restoring her until I can fix her up properly."
Severus must have blushed since she added, "Oh, please, Severus. You don't honestly think anything can be kept a secret in Hogwarts, do you? The way you two tend to argue…" She drew a small phial out of her pocket and poured its contents into the mouth of her patient. Sariss hardly managed to force air into her lungs. She had no choice but to swallow. "There. This will heal her inner injuries quite nicely… She's breathing much easier already…" she muttered to herself.
It must have been the look the Potions master gave her, because an embarrassed expression appeared on her face and she quickly added, "I'm sorry, I had no idea that you haven't… You're not… Um…" she broke off, equally blushing, but regained her composure quickly. Back in business-mode she threw a look at Sariss and then back at Severus, a determined—and a bit fearful—expression on her face, took a deep breath and said, "Well, I could use your help nonetheless. Really."
He nodded, hesitantly starting to pull away stripes of Sariss's clothing that clung to her, the dried blood gluing it to her skin. It was a sickening sound when the cloth and skin parted, a ripping noise, as though someone pulled off an adhesive plaster that had been sticking to the skin for a very long time. Severus tried not to think about what he was doing, what he heard, what he saw, that it was Sariss's body lying there, devastated, damaged and broken, the blood again starting to seep through the wounds on her body as soon as he touched her with shaking hands, no matter how gently and carefully he worked.
Gently, he applied the liquid to her throat, careful not to break the delicate silver chain she always wore. It apparently meant very much to her. He had never asked her what exactly it was standing for, if she only wore it because it was beautiful or for a specific, more idealistic, reason…
On treating her face, Severus perceived that it was hardly injured. A blessing. The blood that had been there had been mostly smeared there by Sariss herself. Why of course. She had shielded it with her hands. They had caught the full force of the curses…
Oh gods, her hands…
Severus flinched involuntarily.
Her once so slender, perfectly manicured, soft, alabaster-like hands were so very injured, swollen, the long nails having dug deep into the sensitive skin of the palm, the skin ripped to pieces, dried blood and shreds of her own skin and flesh sticking under her nails… Severus screwed his eyes shut as he tended to her hands when he thought he could see her bones. It was unbearable. He swallowed and tried to think about anything else but those hands.
Hands that had touched his face, smoothed back his hair, laced their fingers with his when nobody had been watching…
Hands he had held, stroked, caressed, kissed—and all that such a short time ago and much too rarely and always for much too short a time…
"Those hands can do magic…" he murmured hoarsely.
He almost breathed a sigh of relief when he was done bathing her hands in the Potion. And they didn't look that dead any longer either. Madam Pomfrey must have brought a very strong Asclepius Potion, perhaps even some Phoenix tears to achieve a visible result as quickly as Sariss's body was starting to heal.
Another piece of the tatters that had once been her clothing. Another patch of injured skin.
The Potions master tried very hard not to blush when he touched the towel to what had once been the certainly immaculate and very soft white skin of her breasts and her stomach. He tried not to think about the fact that he had so hoped and dreamt he would one day touch her soft, milk-white skin and cover every inch of it with kisses, the sensation of her cool skin against his…
Another soft but pained moan came from her, like an accusation that he still dared think of her in a way he had kind of grown used to during the previous weeks.
Indeed. How profane. At the moment, the mere thought seemed sacrilege.
A small noise from her was enough to rip Severus out of his fantasies and make him conscious of what he was doing, when it had so obviously been so much easier to do what he did when his mind was somewhere else, somewhere in a hypothetic and thus perfect world where none of what had happened in this world had happened.
But no.
It was unbearable. Even for him.
Indeed, Severus Snape fought to keep up his composure. He had seen many things in his life, too many, too awful to name, so horrendous that they would drive anybody else insane (save, perhaps, a few other people—some of them too cold and evil to care—among whom Severus had counted himself a long time ago—and others—like Madam Pomfrey—doing their job because they were strong at heart; and Poppy was good at what she did). But he had never seen something like this, not even nearly, not at such close range. The bleeding and suffering thing in this bed was alive! A horrifying thought that one could still be alive like that.
Her blood stained his hands; the wet cloth that had once been white soon didn't lose any of its crimson colour anymore when he dipped it into the Healing Potion, didn't clean her skin anymore when he pressed the cloth against it as tenderly as he could, trembling as he was.
He closed his eyes for a moment, willing the image that presented itself to him to change—but when he opened his eyes again nothing had changed. Severus felt as though he couldn't have moved a muscle even if his life depended on it.
All he was capable of was staring at her unconscious form in horror, unblinking, until his eyes started to burn and water. That she had been able to will herself to scramble to her knees, trying to get away, in the state her body was in, bleeding as she was, her whole body covered with dried and fresh blood…
His mind went completely blank at that moment—it couldn't process what it was beholding and thus he finally screwed his eyes shut to not have to see anything any longer. But it was of no use—the image of her seemed to burn its way through his closed eyelids…
And it was in exactly this moment that Severus Snape felt something inside of him break…
Madam Pomfrey pulled a bedspread over Sariss that was stained with watery blood almost instantly, and shoved Severus away from the bed. "Thank you. Now, Severus, let me handle the rest of this alone."
"How is she?" he whispered almost inaudibly, although he didn't need an answer. But he was lacking anything else to say. He'd never been so shocked and afraid in his whole life, afraid that he had nonetheless killed her—if only indirectly…
"Better." She gave him another small push. "But she'll be much better as soon as I can attend to her properly. And now move out of the way. You help her best by letting me do this." She sighed. "Just look at you. You're not well. You should go to sleep…"
When Severus didn't move, Madam Pomfrey shook her head and pushed him into a nearby armchair. "Then sit down at least."
He collapsed into it. As soon as he was sitting, he realized how exhausted he was even though he hadn't done anything that could be held responsible for this, had he?
Severus stared at the unmoving figure that was Sariss. If it hadn't been for the slight rising and falling of her chest, the almost imperceptible shivering of her body, she would have looked dead. He buried his face in his hands and sighed deeply.
If only he could cry. He felt like crying. But he couldn't. It seemed he had forgotten how.
This shouldn't have happened. None of this should have happened!
Severus turned around, startled, as he heard the sound of a door being opened. "Headmaster," he whispered.
"Severus. It is good to see you are well. Mr Potter has already informed me about the relevant parts of this. He was there after all…"
"I beg your pardon?"
"He had another dream; or rather a nightmare I should say. That's why I was able to come here as quickly as I did."
"What has he told you?"
"Everything save what happened after you reached into your robes. But that is something that most likely needn't be explained. You used the Portkey, I presume?"
"Yes." Severus spoke softly, his voice monotonous, turning his attention back towards the bed again.
"How is Sariss?" Dumbledore asked, genuinely concerned. It surprised Severus not only slightly that he'd reacted so calmly to the revelations about her—especially the Dementor part of it. But was it that important? To Severus it wasn't. He did not know why it didn't matter at all; he only knew that there were so many things that mattered more.
"This is my fault," Severus said, indicating Sariss who was lying in the bed, now covered by white sheets that made a sharp contrast to her reddish-purplish bruised skin.
Madam Pomfrey pulled the customary curtains around Sariss's bed so she could start healing her wounds, restoring the missing chunks of flesh, and tending to the haematomas without being watched by a Potions master who flinched visibly every time she tapped her wand to her patient, without Severus's eyes boring into her skull. However, she wouldn't be able to cure the bruises on her psyche just as easily…
"It is not your fault, Severus. You saved her."
"I only did this because the opportunity was there. If Voldemort hadn't provided a good starting line for me to pick up on and if he hadn't handed the dagger to me—I think I would not—could not—have moved a finger to save her. If he'd commanded Malfoy to… kill her, I think I would have stood and watched…" He shook his head. "I am more of a monster than she could ever be."
"She is no monster, Severus, and neither are you."
"I didn't say she was. I am—and I say it again: I would have stood by and watched her being…" He couldn't say it. There had been a time when he could name what his brain thought now, yet his vocal cords refused to cooperate. "Watched her die," he said instead. "I know I would have. And that is not all there is. You surely remember the conversation we had a long time ago? The one we had shortly after I had asked for refuge?"
"I remember," the old man said softly.
"Then you must remember that I told you about developing a potion for the Dark Lord, the one that—."
"Yes. I remember," Dumbledore confirmed.
"You realize that this—." Severus pointed towards where Sariss was. In the backlighting, he could see Madam Pomfrey's silhouette and Sariss's profile clearly. "This is not the Dark Lord's creation alone. I had a hand in this. I provided the basis for this…" He swallowed, then he continued much more softly, "The moment Voldemort said it, I suddenly understood the connections between all those previously seemingly unrelated things… And he named it 'Angel potion', as though through it he'd create something pure and completely—."
"It was not your fault," Dumbledore interrupted.
"Stop saying this! I know it was—is—my fault. Everything about her is my fault!" Severus yelled, jumping to his feet.
"If the gentlemen would be a tad more quiet or be so kind as to leave the infirmary to continue their yelling contest?" Madam Pomfrey hissed, having stuck her head around the wall of screens that shielded Sariss's bed from view.
"My sincerest apologies, Poppy," the headmaster said. "I'm sure Severus will be able to control his temper…"
"Of course." And she was gone again, only the soft murmur of her voice and some rustling noises could be heard now.
"I'm not sure if you should tell her about this," Dumbledore said.
"She must be told. Otherwise I would be living a lie every time I laid eyes on her…" Severus ran a hand through his hair and started pacing. "I must find a way to explain everything to her…"
"You are aware that she most certainly won't take this lightly?"
"She'll probably hate me for this," he said, taking a deep breath. "She will."
"But you did save her life."
"I saved this life—but I had a hand in taking away her other life, her—."
"You couldn't have known. No one knew."
"I should have known," Severus snarled, angry at himself. "But I didn't waste a thought on the consequences of my actions. I did not care what happened, what he'd do with the knowledge that would enable him to transfer the magical abilities of one… creature… to another. I did not care about anything!"
"Yet you care now, don't you?"
Severus stopped pacing. Yet, he did not answer. This was no subject to be discussed now. It was too personal to even be discussed with Dumbledore. Once had been enough.
After a few moments, he began to speak once more trying to explain what had happened, why he hadn't known anything about the Dark Lord's plans, perhaps trying to justify himself for being too careless, for not being prepared, "The Dark Lord; the Death Eaters. I had no idea what they were up to. I had not been informed. I almost feared I had been discovered—which won't pose much of a problem anymore… I'm sorry. I won't be of much use as a spy anymore. This time, there's no way to worm my way out of being killed when I come across the Dark Lord. There's no turning back."
He slumped back down into the armchair and sighed, running a hand over his tired, bloodshot eyes.
Dumbledore seemed to understand, since he didn't comment on Severus's sudden change of topic. Instead, he replied, "They might have feared you'd arouse suspicions if you lured her out of the castle, not to mention that you'd certainly have aroused Sariss's suspicion. It was much easier for them to simply wait for her. Surely young Mr. Malfoy informed his father about the dates of the Hogsmeade weekends. So they only had to wait. Watch and wait for the perfect opportunity. And it came as it later came to you. The snowstorm offered it to them. It was perfect. Not many people out there and the few who were unable to see anything clearly. Then you wouldn't be suspected of betraying 'that old fool Albus Dumbledore' and they could just Apparate to Hogsmeade and Disapparate again as soon as they'd caught her."
"You're not surprised that Voldemort wanted her to join him? You're not shocked by the revelations about who—and what—she is? Not at all?" Severus glanced at the headmaster whose eyes had this knowing twinkle in them. "You've known it all along," he stated.
"I must admit, Severus, that I've known part of it all along, yes, but not everything. Actually, the one thing I've known for sure is that the girl is a riddle. And I told you so, if I remember correctly…" Dumbledore nodded at Madam Pomfrey who had just emerged from behind the curtains and had nodded at him, too.
"You've been dropping hints? Headmaster, some of your… er… little intrigues prove almost worthy of a Slytherin. A riddle?" Severus Snape shook his head, almost laughing at himself. It would have been a mirthless laughter if he had. "A riddle with a capital R, to be more exact. That's what you meant, isn't it?"
Dumbledore smiled sadly as he turned back towards Severus, sighed and shook his head yes. He had been looking to where Sariss was for a long moment. "Severus, I'm not sure if you should be the first person she sees when she wakes up. Perhaps it would be better if she approached you of her own incentives," he suggested. "This is not going to be easy for her, you understand?"
"Yes," the Potions master replied.
Dumbledore sadly shook his head and sighed. After a while, he said, "It is a pity this had to happen now. Just when she had started to blossom. Being in love really does become her—."
"Not for much longer, I'm afraid."
"Yes, and I'm afraid that she'll turn her back on you when you clearly are the one person in the world she really needs."
"That title belongs to you, headmaster. It always has."
"Not during the last weeks. You were keeping your relationship hidden very well. If I didn't know the two of you so well I would have missed the signs of your coming together completely."
"How did you—?" Severus began. "It was supposed to be a secret for reasons that—."
"You may fool Lord Voldemort, Severus, but you cannot fool me. I've known you and Sariss for much too long a time to be fooled by either one of you," Dumbledore chuckled slightly for a second or so. "And don't you look as though I had insulted you. The fact that the two of you tend to come to me and ask for advice in matters not only professional…"
"So you knew."
"Oh, even if I didn't know the two of you so well, I couldn't have missed out on your…er… affair. I just had to read the signs."
"That might have been?"
"Funny you should have to ask me that. You certainly saw the change in her. She seems much more relaxed when she has a shoulder to lean on—no matter how much she may deny it. As to you, you actually managed a smile or two."
"Apparently, she had that effect on me—when she wasn't driving me up the wall for a change."
"Already speaking in the past tense, Severus?"
"Tell me one good reason not to."
"There's always hope."
"Hope is a concept I've ceased to believe in a long time ago, and when I had almost started to believe that even for me something like love would be achievable, Voldemort came and took it from me. He seems to have taken a liking to steal everything I have—or for that matter, all that I ever wanted…"
Severus stood up wearily, ran a hand through his hair and walked towards the curtains that separated the bed Sariss had been placed onto from the rest of the room. He walked around them until she was in his view.
Severus took a close look at her—she looked so terribly frail, such as she had never looked like before, white as the sheets, unmoving like marble. He gently smoothed her hair back from her face, traced her jaw line lightly with his fingertips so as not to accidentally hurt her. The trembling still hadn't left his hands…
All of a sudden, he realized that his hands were still covered in her blood. It had completely escaped his mind. There must be some of it on his face, too… And his robes. His Death Eater robes…
How appropriate.
Her blood is on my hands…
He quickly took the cloth that was lying in the bowl—Madam Pomfrey hadn't put it away just yet—and ran it over the stains on her face and then his face and after that his hands without even looking at them. He only looked at Sariss's face.
There were still light blemishes on her cheeks and forehead. He could see the bruises and wounds on her bare arms, too. Although, thanks to Madam Pomfrey, the gashes were closed and had already started healing quite fast, the shadows were still visible, some of them rather livid.
So pale, her eyelids were faintly bluish, her lips not even remotely as rosy as they were supposed to be. Instead, they were of a faint pink. Too faint. Almost light purple. She seemed to have been drained not only of her blood but also of her very colour. She looked like a memory of herself. The only thing about her that seemed real was her dark hair. Someone should take care of it, clean it, brush it, so it could frame her beautiful face and fall down all around her body…
Well, that someone's not going to be me, is it?
A painful sigh escaped him as he gently brushed his fingertips over her bare upper arm, hardly touching her. He so wanted to draw her up against him and cradle her in his arms and hold her.
That was the only thing he could think of. He wanted to hold her. And, strangely, he wanted to be held. Whenever had he wanted to be held that desperately? Why did he suddenly feel like a completely different person? Why was it that everything seemed so different to him all of a sudden? If only he could grasp a clear thought.
But that wasn't possible as long as he couldn't get rid of the image of her…
He shuddered involuntarily as the thought about the state her body had been in only a few minutes ago crawled back into his mind. He didn't really want to think about it. He didn't even want to know!
But, he knew it. Even if he hadn't seen the bruises and gashes that had been covering her whole body until Madam Pomfrey had started healing them. He had been there, he had watched her being beaten and whipped and smashed into the ground as though she were a rag-doll… He'd heard her screams; he'd seen her lying on the floor, unconscious, when he'd approached her—dagger ready to plunge it into her heart. Her crumpled form on the ground… like a frail bird whose wings had been broken… That wasn't so far from the truth since she hadn't been able to fly away… literally.
Severus only hoped she was strong enough to accept who she was—what she was. And there was still hope that she'd forgive him… Hope. Was there any hope for Severus? Had there ever been hope?
Hope is a concept I've ceased to believe in a long time ago…
Perhaps Dumbledore would tell her, explain it to her?
Well, if he didn't, Severus would have to do it himself—and he'd look her straight in the eyes as he did so, awaiting and accepting his punishment, which, for once in his life, he deserved. He would accept every word and every punch of hers. It would be interesting to find out which would hurt more…
However, one thing was as good as carved in stone. She would turn her back on him. He was sure about this. And he wouldn't even blame her for it… Yet, he found that he hoped…
Severus bent over Sariss and pressed his warm parchment-dry lips first to her cold forehead and then brushed them over her almost agonizingly soft lips, stealing a touch and a kiss that could very well be his last. But this could not, must not, be the last time he kissed her. He suddenly felt more protective towards her than he'd ever felt to anyone before, not even—.
"I love you," he whispered almost inaudibly, afraid his voice would break. It was so easy to say when the one you wanted to tell it to didn't look at you, didn't prompt you to continue when you stuttered or trailed off because you'd lost your nerve. Everything was easier to say or do when no one listened or watched.
But right now, he would have given anything to have her look at him, smile at him, even yell at him or slap him… to hear her answer…
What would she have answered had you told her that a mere twenty-four hours ago?
Any answer… It didn't even have to be in words if only she'd react at all…
Severus tore himself away from her, turned and swept out of the room without a backward glance. Had he walked a bit more slowly, he would have heard Dumbledore whisper equally softly, "I always knew you had a heart, Severus."
Next chapter:
Snape teaches DADA—and is not completely happy with that arrangement. Malfoy gloats, Snape is sad, Sariss wakes up and Dumbledore answers several unpleasant questions.