Author's note: A short one, this time. *cries* Only a short author's note! A much too short author's note! *wants more people to thank for reviews*
Are the rats leaving the sinking ship or what? Hello?!
Anyway… Thanks go to Butterfly and Miriam. Prepare yourself to get a bit confused during the course of this chapter.
Chapter 21: Can't Face the Shame
And I'll
hide from the world behind a broken frame,
And I'll run forever.
I can't face the shame.
—Muse: Sunburn
Tuesday morning during breakfast, a horde of owls swept into and across the Great Hall, almost all of them soaring directly towards Dumbledore and showering him in a cascade of parchments.
Harry knew perfectly well, what this was about, whom this was about and how all those people had learnt about all of this. News travelled fast in the wizarding world… Especially when there were rich and—strange enough—popular pureblood families involved. To put it in a nutshell: Death Eaters. Exactly the people who worshipped Voldemort—who was after all what those very people would call a 'Mudblood' were the circumstances any different; exactly the people who would have served Professor Ravon, too, if she had joined the Dark Lord.
Harry had a good idea of what was written in those letters. They must be much worse than the ones Hermione had received during their fourth year when Rita Skeeter—a reporter for the Daily Prophet—had been literally buzzing all over the school looking for scandals that were in fact none at all. Harry dreaded what that woman could do to a real disaster…
And sure enough, there came a large barn owl soaring towards Hermione, carrying her issue of said paper.
She all but ripped the rolled pieces of thin parchment from the owl's leg. It took off with an angry hoot, flapping its wings unnecessarily briskly, so that a few downy feathers gently tumbled down onto the table.
Three pairs of eyes rested on her hands—which, contrary to their usual accuracy, moved rather clumsily—as she unfolded the parchment, very slowly.
Her eyes scanned the front page quickly, looked at the people who were watching and nodding at her to prompt her to read aloud.
Hermione swallowed and began to read the article to them, slowly and softly.
DUMBLEDORE AND THE DEMENTOR DISASTER
Your trustworthy Daily Prophet reporter Rita Skeeter, dear readers, has received knowledge of something that will not let you sleep at night if you should happen to have your children attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of said school, already known for his taking things into his own hands and making rather unconventional decisions has entrusted a woman with the education of your children who is in my opinion as well as yours, I believe, exactly the kind of person or rather thing that should never be allowed to even fleetingly look at those students.
Sariss Electra Ravon, already known for her ruthlessness concerning her missions as an Auror that she was until a short time ago when she had killed Seth Malfoy, a member of the well-known and appreciated Malfoy family, in self-defence—if you want to believe that… In the author's opinion, it came just in the right time for her that the Aurors had been given certain privileges, e.g. rather to kill than let a Death Eater escape. However, Lucius Malfoy, very renowned wizard and cousin of the late Seth Malfoy sees it entirely different. 'She's never gone on well with him. Since school times she loathed him for no apparent reason. I bet that she had been waiting for that perfect opportunity all her life,' he says. 'Using Avada Kedavra and getting out of it unscathed simply because they happened to get the license to kill. How thick do you have to be to make that connection?'
A very good question, Mr Malfoy, indeed. A question we should ask ourselves, dear readers. A murderer teaching your children?
But there's even more to come. This woman, Sariss Ravon, is in fact not Sariss Ravon at all. She is none other than Sariss Riddle, the Dark Lord's daughter!
'She's scaring us,' says a student at Hogwarts who would rather be not mentioned by name for fear his (presumably soon to be Ex-) DADA mistress would punish him for telling you and me what he knows. 'Things keep exploding when she gets angry and it happens a lot. Many of us have been injured already. The younger students are frightened! How can Dumbledore let this go on?' the boy says, looking constantly over his shoulder for fear she'd stand there, breathing down his neck.
And there's reason to fear this woman—I almost choke on that word, since she's in fact less or more than just a mere woman. That being, looking so innocent and almost pretty with those large eyes of hers and that white skin, is in fact one of the Darkest creatures in existence: a Dementor.
Now before you rush to conclusions about this, let me explain to you that her beloved father presented her with the characteristics of the very beings that everyone in the wizarding world fears almost as much as the Dark Lord himself. He made her powerful enough to kill with a single glance! She is a weapon and he's going to use it. The thing will join its master like its brothers have already done when You-Know-Who came back to power—or so Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and a few other people, among them none other than Albus Dumbledore and Sirius Black, godfather of Mr Potter and ex-convict of Azkaban, still claim—much to the dismay of Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, who seems to be of the opinion that this is the work of someone else but the Dark Lord.
The Ministry refused to comment on that when your reporter wanted an appointment with some Heads of Departments to discuss this serious matter. Cornelius Fudge, however, sent your reporter a note that said basically, 'We, the Ministry of Magic, deny any involvement with what's currently happening at Hogwarts. We haven't approved of Albus Dumbledore's way of handling the recent and current situations for quite some time. However, it is neither the Ministry's nor my choice to relieve Headmaster Dumbledore of his position. As long as he has supporters, it won't be possible to act against him. The Ministry forces are busy enough dealing with Death Eater raids and unaccounted sightings of the Dark Lord himself. Ridiculous, how one can make up those scary stories when there are enough other Dark forces who have joined against us…'
Thus are the Minister's words. He won't act. If he doesn't want to, you must.
Do you want this thing at Hogwarts where it can effortlessly turn the lives of your children into a nightmare with Dumbledore merely watching the events but not acting to prevent them, with Dumbledore even protecting this thing as he had done all those years ago when he had brought her to Hogwarts as a child?
Judge for yourselves, dear readers, but remember: Your child could be the first, or the next, or the last… This is Rita Skeeter, always looking for information to keep you well informed.
Silence had fallen heavily on the four friends as a by now trembling Hermione finished reading.
"I should have let her rot when I had caught her in that jar…" she muttered. "She makes poor Professor Ravon seem like… like… like she wanted to kill us all. This Skeeter cow! I thought she'd learnt her lesson. How come she does this to exactly the people who have nothing to do with the Dark Side? Dumbledore and Hagrid, Sirius and Professor Lupin. You, Harry. Me…" She had to stop to take a breath. "And now it's Professor Ravon, too! I should have let her rot inside that jar. I should have stepped on her, squashed her, when I had the chance."
Even Ron had to admit that, "Skeeter's got a slight tendency towards exaggeration, doesn't she?" he muttered sarcastically.
"Which is the understatement of the millennium," Ginny added, shaking her head. "I bet the oh so very fearful Hogwarts student she's interviewed is a Slytherin. Any suggestions other than Malfoy?"
"Not really," Harry muttered, taking the paper. "Definitely not. Most of the others don't have the brains or the connections to do that."
"Connections?"
Hermione took over. "Lucius Malfoy is in Voldemort's inner circle, one of his most trusted and loyal servants. And who better to join in on his accusations towards Dumbledore and Ravon than his son?"
There was a picture of Professor Ravon. It must be a few years old, because she seemed very much younger on it. Well, even now she looked younger than she actually was. She looked as if she'd rather be anywhere else but in that picture, but the frame wouldn't even let her hide. It was merciless. She looked as though she'd start crying any second; her eyes darted from left to right, looking for a way to escape her onlookers' scrutinizing gazes. Looking so innocent and almost pretty, Skeeter had written. It was almost true. Everything except the 'almost', since the black-and-white photograph hid Ravon's pallor and made her look more… real? Was 'real' the word to describe that effect with?
Harry glanced at the high table where Dumbledore had just arranged the load of letters into neat stacks and started on reading them. He, too, had received an issue of the Daily Prophet, which he was scanning now, his eyes darting from left to right several times. Then, with a look of the utmost disgust on his face—Harry had never seen that expression on Dumbledore before—he threw it onto the table as though it burnt his hands. His eyes met Harry's for a second, their usual twinkle had disappeared. Dumbledore once again looked as old as he was. If there was one thing that Harry had realized over the past months, it was that the headmaster and Professor Ravon were quite close. Of course, they would be, after all that had happened. As Harry understood it, Dumbledore was roundabout the closest thing to a family that Professor Ravon had left…
Harry involuntarily wondered whether Professor Ravon, too, had received a copy of that day's Daily Prophet, and shuddered to think about how she'd take it.
Rita Skeeter had gone too far once more. She should spend some time locked up in a jar again… But then again, it had apparently not made a lasting impression on her. Maybe someone should simply step on her when she was in her Animagus form.
"I'm not hungry anymore," said Ginny. She had taken an exceptionally strong liking to Professor Ravon ever since she had attended her first DADA lesson. "Dumbledore will have no choice but to sack her. And I was already hoping that she'd stay for another year. She's almost like Professor 'The real one' Moody was—only without the Magical Eye and the 'CONSTANT VIGILANCE!' thingy."
"Yeah," Harry said, lacking anything better to say.
Another owl swept towards them—or rather tumbled down to land quite unceremoniously in Ginny's bowl of porridge. Errol had fainted as soon as he'd reached his destination; the corner of the letter he bore was slightly soaked.
Ginny gently took away the letter and placed the unconscious owl onto her napkin pouring a bit of water into his slightly open beak. Errol gave a feeble but grateful hoot.
"Go on, Ginny, open it. Mum must have read the Daily Prophet too. Let's see what she thinks."
"Okay," Ginny said, opening the envelope and pulling out the piece of parchment. "I just hope Mum remembers that Rita Skeeter is not to be trusted."
"She quotes Malfoy. That should get Mum to put a little less trust in the press."
"Let's have a look… She writes she panicked a bit at first, but then read the name Skeeter and thought about consulting other people first this time… Charlie said that Ravon couldn't mean any harm to us. He was attending Hogwarts during her time here. (I didn't know that.) Bill remembers her too, she says. He was in his seventh year when she was Sorted, says she was really small and kind of cute, the Sorting Hat falling down over her whole head… Mum digressed, she always does that," Ginny said apologetically. "She'd like to know what's really going on before leaping to any conclusions this time," she threw Hermione a glance.
"Wait a moment," Ron threw in. "Bill and Charlie couldn't have sent letters that quickly. They're supposed to be back in Egypt and Romania… And none of us has the money to rent one of those speed owls—and even if we did, those birds may be really fast but not that fast."
"Maybe they used the fireplace?" Harry suggested. "Or they Apparated?"
"Maybe. But that would have required Mum to call them first, since I don't believe the Daily Prophet travels that fast. She must have started on that letter as soon as she'd read the article. It wouldn't be here already otherwise. Errol isn't quite as fast as he once used to be—according to Bill."
"So you wager that they're still in Britain?" Ginny asked, although it wasn't a really a question. She was merely thinking aloud. "But they said good-bye and everything last summer when we went to King's Cross…"
"Something is going on."
"It's remarkable how quickly you catch on, Ron. They don't want us to know that they're still here. I have a feeling that they're participating in the conspiracy against You-Know-Who. They don't trust us."
"You sound like Fred and George—"
"Oh! We're going to be late for classes if we don't hurry. Come on, guys, let's go. Have a nice day, Ginny."
"Thanks, 'Mione. You too, guys. Oh, dear, it's really late. I've got to hurry, too. Love you, Harry."
"Love you, too," Harry replied and he meant it. He always did.
~*~*~
"Another one," Dumbledore sighed at lunch and shook his head, when Severus joined him at the high table. Roundabout every staff member seemed sad or uncomfortable at best. None of the usual chitchat. Hagrid in particular was staring glumly into his gigantic goblet of pumpkin juice; a large bar of Honeydukes' chocolate was sitting in front of him, a gigantic lilac bow around it.
Severus had to grant the half-giant that, if nothing else, he had always managed to magick a genuine smile on Sariss's face when she had been a little girl. Not many people could grace themselves with having achieved that task… Until a very short time ago, he still had been able to do that. Well, not anymore.
"It seems I'd be very busy replying to those letters in the next few days, if I knew who sent them," the headmaster said. "Fortunately there weren't any Howlers."
"Has Sariss seen one of those?" Severus asked, snatching a few letters off the stack that was already sitting in front of Dumbledore.
Send her back to where she came from…
We don't need that thing teaching our children…
"Not the ones I received. I haven't spoken to her since Monday."
"She certainly received mail. I can't think of a reason why there shouldn't be people who write directly to her instead of you."
Another one of your mistakes, Dumbledore. Haven't you failed enough already? What's next? Vampires? You Know Who himself?
"You're right, Severus. Let's just hope she doesn't take them too seriously."
"They are serious. How could something like that not be taken seriously?" Severus held up an especially horrid piece of writing. He suddenly felt not hungry anymore.
If you know what's good for you, you send the monster to Azkaban where it belongs…
Severus threw the parchment back onto the table, not even attempting to conceal his disgust and anger. Back where she came from. Easy to say when that 'where' didn't even exist, when she had no 'where' to go but Hogwarts. 'Thing', they wrote. 'Monster', they called her. 'To Azkaban with her', they demanded.
"Anonymous, of course, those bloody—," Severus spat.
"Of course," Dumbledore said softly.
"Hypocrites. I bet everything I ever owned that the people who sent the more creative ones among those letters would have kissed the hem of her robes if she had joined Voldemort."
"Possible," Dumbledore muttered.
"How is Sariss?" asked Severus, his anger being replaced by something much more persistent.
"Frankly, Severus, I don't know how she is at the moment. Poppy said that physically she's quite all right again. Fortunately, there won't be any scars left—nothing to remind her of that dark day. According to Poppy, she's sleeping quite a lot."
"Is she allowed to receive visitors yet?"
"If she wants to."
"I'm going to see her."
"I'm not sure if that's a good idea."
"Why not?"
"As of yet, she doesn't seem to want to see anyone. Not me. Not Hagrid. Look at him. He's heartbroken."
"She might just want to see me."
"It's worth a try. But are you prepared to suffer a disappointment?"
"No," Severus said, getting to his feet. "But I'll do it anyway."
~*~*~
A week after he'd once more turned his back on the Dark Lord, Severus Snape was in the Potions dungeon. Lessons were—thankfully—over for today. However, unfortunate for Severus, he had not managed to give a single student detention… So he had to clean up the dungeon all by himself. No one had caused a mess that would have justified detention.
Strange. Sariss's sense for justice and a certain amount of fairness must have rubbed off on him…
Sariss. She was still in the hospital wing. She wouldn't see him when he had wanted to visit her—thrice. She hadn't asked for him later on either.
Silence. Nothing. As though she weren't even there. As though she had never been there.
Utter silence.
He missed her. He missed her voice, her touch, her very presence. As much as she annoyed him sometimes, he missed her.
Curious how only the absence of something that had been there for quite long a time made you realize what it actually meant to you… as if Severus needed reminding…
Having finished tidying the room, he set to work on some Dreamless Sleep Potion, once again. Lately he felt as though this was the only potion he was brewing—if only to get at least an hour or two of sleep—for himself. For her… If she found herself needing some, it would be waiting for her. Just as Severus waited.
Sariss…
She occupied Severus's thoughts even when he was asleep, insistently refusing to leave his mind. Severus had started having nightmares. Bad ones. Terrifying ones that the potion seemingly couldn't ward off any longer. And what was worst: He remembered them very clearly when he woke up, his feverish mind refusing to forget the images…
But even worse than that was the fact that he knew that they were not just imaginations, images thrown together to turn a dream into a haunting. No, there was too much truth in them. He wouldn't think about them now. He wouldn't think about her, lying there, bloodstained… Unmoving… So close to death that he could almost see an indistinct shape reaching for her with its spidery fingers—.
In his dreams, that was usually the moment when he woke up, screaming her name…
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in," he muttered, surprised. Who ever would knock on the door to a classroom when lessons were over for the day?
The door opened with a slight creaking noise.
"Se—P-Professor Snape…" a very soft voice said, stuttering a bit as though she were forcing herself to speak, a very familiar voice.
Severus whirled around.
She was there. She had come to him. She looked even paler than usual, if that was at all possible, almost bluish, especially around her eyes, tired and sunken; even her usually cherry-coloured lips were almost white. Her eyes were focused on her visibly trembling hands that she was wringing furiously as though she were trying to rub them warm.
She must have been released from the hospital wing, the analytic part of his mind registered.
"Sariss—," he croaked, at a loss for words, unable to will himself to say more or move towards her even though he wanted to.
"I…" Sariss's voice was barely above a whisper, a quavering, forced, whisper as she raised her eyes a bit. She swallowed, shook her head and then breathed, "I can't…"
And she was gone as though she had never stood in the doorway. She hadn't looked up at him. She had stood there as if she were to be led to the gallows. As though it had taken her all the strength she had to face him—which she had not, since she hadn't looked into his face, not really. She hadn't looked at him at all. If anything, she had looked through him, her eyes darting around wildly, not sure where to rest on, like the eyes of a hunted animal…
What are you waiting for?
After a short moment of hesitation, he threw the Dragonhide gloves back onto the table and quickly crossed the room and rushed through the doorway to hold her back. After a few yards, he stopped running. He'd just seen her black cloak disappear, its distinct rustling that he could by now have told from everyone else's robes, the sound of her steps, fading until there was only the sound of his anxious breathing. He would never catch up with her; he wouldn't even be able to follow her if she continued at this pace or not. He cursed silently at the fact that Hogwarts was such a maze, a maze Sariss only knew too well. If she wanted to, she could disappear in a way that made him think that she could walk right into the walls—or simply change into her Animagus form.
With a deep sigh, Severus returned to his most certainly ruined potion. It was not important. He didn't care about such trivialities anymore. And it didn't work very well anymore anyway. If he added a bit more nightshade, it would work again—but too well. Increase the dose only slightly and it would let you sleep forever. It would make you drift off imperceptibly… And then you'd be dead… Without even realizing when death came for you…
No more potions then. More nightmares instead of more nightshade. Nightmares, starring Sariss. Sariss who had just left—or had he only been imagining things?
Perhaps he should have run after her, even though it was a task destined to fail, trying to catch up on her when she literally knew how to disappear into walls. Secret passages. There were too many…
However, had he followed her he would have found her just around a corner, slumped into a sitting position against the wall, her knees drawn up, her head bent, shivering, but not crying. No, he would have found her face still as a statue, staring into nothingness…
Severus Snape felt a twinge in his heart. He had been hoping so much that she would ask for him. Dumbledore had informed him that he had spoken to her. He had told him what she had said… How calm she had been… It had been six days since Dumbledore had spoken to her. Sariss had not called for anyone at all. She hadn't spoken more than a dozen words to Poppy either… Poppy had said all Sariss had done was lying in bed, sleeping (sometimes rather fitfully) or staring at the ceiling…
Oh, how he wanted to make everything undone! How he wanted to take all of this away… She had seemed so happy when they had last spoken to each other in Hogsmeade, over a Butterbeer… When she had responded to his kiss, brushed his hand with hers, smiling at him, said his name…
The thought alone made his soul ache. Severus had only recently become aware of the fact that, despite everything that he had done, he still had a soul. He had thought he had been losing it more and more each day for a very long time. But now that it hurt, he knew that it existed, that it was still there—or perhaps it had come back again when he had thought he had lost it forever…
She had revived it. Severus knew it. Her sheer presence seemed to breathe life into him. Every passing second he could sense it more and more clearly.
She was not the Dementor Voldemort had wanted her to become. She was still Severus's Sariss. She'd always be…
It was then that he realized it. She had called him 'Professor Snape.' Why had she done that, now? She hadn't called him 'Professor Snape' when they were alone since Valentine's Day… Had it only been a slip of the tongue or had it been a deliberate choice of words?
He feared the latter, knowing that Sariss paid very much attention to such small details. However, now that she had been released from the hospital wing he'd see her more often—hopefully. She would take up her lessons again soon… She would be in the Great Hall at mealtimes—hopefully…
Severus still held onto this thought when he went to sleep.
~*~*~
Severus Snape was brewing a potion, preparing it for the lesson that was scheduled for the next day. He peered intently into the swirling whitish-blue liquid that simmered gently in a small pewter cauldron. It would take a few more steps and a few more minutes until it was finished; it was a very demanding potion. One mistake and it would be ruined… So he carefully stirred it after he had added a bit of bicorn horn powder—when the one person in the world he was constantly thinking of and waiting for came to him…
The door creaked lightly, then fell shut. Light satin-slippered footsteps, the unmistakable rustling of her robes, then the equally unmistakable scent of her perfume, enveloping him like a cloud smelling of cassis, vanilla and roses, and most importantly strawberry, a cacophony of scents, that dreaded to cloud his thoughts…
Severus smiled, but didn't turn around, stirring the contents of the cauldron as though he were alone, adding a bit of aconite and fluxweed. The very fluxweed he had dropped so clumsily on a very special day…
She was very close to him now. Her scent hung around him like mist; he felt he could almost touch it if he wanted to. If he turned around now, he'd be face to face with her. His smile widened. I could have you moan my name already, listen to your sighs when I press you against the wall, your arms and legs around me, your hands running through my hair, your lips on mine, your whole body responding to my touch, my every movement…
The thought alone made him shiver with anticipation.
He'd wait for her to make the first move this time, let himself be seduced by her—after, perhaps, a bit of light-hearted bickering first. That always made her smile. He loved her smile. She smiled often, but rarely it happened that her eyes sparkled when she did so… A little verbal duel sometimes managed to do that. A snide remark here and there, a snide remark in return. Like playing ping-pong. He'd see who of the two of them would prove to be the more patient one this time.
Another soft rustle indicated that she had moved even closer now. Her hands snaked around his waist. He could feel her stand on tiptoe and brush his hair aside to press her lips to the skin of his neck. Feather-light kisses she trailed up to his ear. It made shivers run through him, very familiar and very pleasant ones. He tried hard not to let her notice how it affected him, although he knew that she knew he was extremely affected by what she was doing. However, he didn't betray himself; instead of sweeping her up into his arms, drowning her in deep hot kisses, that would make her melt against him, he continued to stir his potion, seemingly unaffected by her attentions. It was hard work to pretend being unaffected. Really hard work.
"It's late, Severus. Come, let's go to sleep?" she asked softly, her breath lingering on his earlobe, while her hands roamed about his chest pressing his back against her.
"I've got to finish this first," he said, very conscious of the curves of her body against his back, the way her breasts were pressed against him.
Keep her waiting a bit. Play with her the way she likes to play with you. Make her wait.
"Oh, don't let yourself be distracted by my presence. Just ignore me," she said in a very low and husky voice, her lips caressing him unutterably tenderly, "if you can." For emphasis, she let one of her hands wander a bit lower and he had to take hold of it before she reached a dangerous area. Meanwhile, his other hand—shaking slightly—threw another one of the ingredients into the cauldron, then continued stirring the bubbling, now syrupy and dark wine-red potion. It looked disturbingly like blood… Was it supposed to look like that?
He shook the thought off. It looked just like it was supposed to, didn't it?
He drew up her hand and blew a kiss on her knuckles, inhaling the fresh, soapy scent that mingled with the fragrance that was so completely part of her that Severus didn't even ponder whether it was really there and other people also smelt it or whether only he perceived it.
"I'll be with you in a couple of minutes," he said, releasing her little hand.
She merely continued to trail kisses over the small part of skin that was accessible to her, drawing small circles with the tip of her tongue, her hot breath making the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, sending more and more difficult-to-suppress shudders through his system. Her hands slid inside his shirt, which she had miraculously managed to pull open without him even noticing.
"Sariss," he tried to sound threatening—quite in vain.
"That's my name." Her breath lingered.
"If you don't stop this now, I am most certainly going to ruin this potion and will have to start again from the beginning. And then it will take another couple of hours till I can join you in bed. Do you want that?"
"I can't believe how damn sensible you manage to be when I do my best to draw you away from this stupid stuff," she said, pouting. "And I can't believe that you choose a cauldron over me."
"Give me another ten minutes and I'll show you whom I choose over what," he replied, gesturing towards a nearby desk. "Now sit down and don't you dare come so close again until I tell you I'm finished."
She groaned in indignation but let go of him anyway—the sudden absence of her softness was startling—and made her way towards the desk he had indicated, but smiled and bit her lip as she threw him a wicked glance over her shoulder; a very slow look it was that she gave him, a very seducing look. And then she undid her hair, letting the silky tresses fall down past her hips, like a very dark brown waterfall. She shook her head to jerk it out of her face—reflexes of ruby and burgundy rippled through her hair when it settled down again—and raised her eyebrows suggestively, as she ran her hands over the contours of her body…
So alluring, the little wench…
"And don't you dare do something over there that could draw me away from this potion," he said quickly, when she made herself comfortable on the desk instead of only sitting down; her head propped up on her elbow, one leg dangling over the edge, the white gown she wore having slipped up to reveal her naked thigh. "Especially something that involves this nightgown of yours slipping any higher—or lower," he added equally quickly, when she let it slip over her shoulder, exposing another patch of smooth white skin… And the way a few wavy strands of her hair sneaked over it… They must be tickling her slightly… So seductive…
Enticing… Enthralling…
Severus took a deep breath. "Patience is a virtue."
"Oh, right now it's only annoying. You'll see where it gets you," she drawled. Severus smiled, his face hidden by his hair.
A dash of leech juice, half a dozen of ashwinder eggs and a few minutes—that he had spent waiting, watching Sariss lounge about the desk out of the corners of his eyes—later, the potion was finally finished. Those minutes must have been the longest ones in his entire life. Minutes that could have been spent doing much more pleasant and riveting and absorbing things. Things that weren't so much an intellectual challenge, yet requiring as much skill as playing an instrument… Things that involved tangled limbs, flushed skin, and moans and sighs…
He poured the liquid into a bottle and then, deliberately slowly, he moved to put every ingredient, every ladle, every single thing he had used back into the place on the shelves where it belonged, watching Sariss, who was now lying flat on her stomach, impatiently drum her fingers onto the surface of the desk, making faint clicking noises when her fingernails made contact with the polished wood.
She didn't look up when he bustled around, tidying up a bit. In fact, after a while, she didn't move at all. He couldn't even see her breathe.
Once he could think of nothing else to do, he soundlessly walked towards her, brushed that rich hair of hers aside and lavished a couple of wet hot kisses onto the soft, cold patch of skin on her shoulder and neck that had been exposed to the coldness in this dungeon for far too long a time, considering the fact that it could already be burning with desire and passion.
She still didn't react. Not even a sigh. She should turn around, wrap her arms and legs around him, devouring him in a long and deep kiss, as her hands busied themselves with getting his robes off of him…
"Why so quiet all of a sudden? I remember you being quite vocal usually, although not very coherent," he teased, his lips lightly touching her ear.
Silence.
This was strange. She had never been able to ignore him the way she did now. There had always been a reaction to his attentions. She might be good at hiding her feelings, but she could resist the sensations of his skin against hers no more than Severus himself could. Sparks should have been flying already…
"Have I kept you waiting for too long a time? You see, I intend to show you that patience can be very rewarding sometimes," he said huskily.
No reaction whatsoever.
"Oh, come on. Don't play hard to get now. If that potion hadn't been so demanding, I would have ravished you on the floor already… As if I'd ever choose anything over you," he mumbled against her ear, inhaling the scent that was so unmistakably her as the colour of the sky on a sunny day was blue. "I was only teasing you a bit."
Still no answer. Not even a sharp intake of breath…
He started getting frustrated. "Sariss, please, say something. At least shout at me for having you deliberately made wait so long…"
He moved to lift her up.
Her hand slipped off the desk and dangled limply.
"Sariss?" Severus grew worried. This was not funny. "Sariss!"
He rolled her over. She was staring at him lifelessly, her eyes dull and empty. Severus's mind hadn't yet processed what it saw there. Only when deep crimson blood began seeping through her clothes, livid against the white colour of her clothing, soaking her hair that was clinging to her already, sticky and wet, and spread over the surface of the desk, dripping to the floor where a small puddle appeared quickly, he realized what this meant. Only when gashes ripped open on her cheeks, her bare arms and shoulders, when blood trickled out of the corner of her mouth, he realized that she was…
You've waited too long.
"Sariss, my god, Sariss!" he croaked. "You can't be dead! You mustn't! You can't leave me!" Roughly, he pulled her limp body up, grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, screaming her name over and over again as though he could make her wake up again—which wasn't possible.
Her head was lolling from one side to the other with every desperate shake he gave her. It was useless.
He was at a loss. He didn't know what to do. There was no way to help her… No way to make it undone…
I've waited too long…
The perfect opportunity had passed without him even noticing when exactly it had been, that it had been there at all…
So he did the only thing he could think of. He simply pulled the dead body, that had minutes ago been so full of life, into his arms, not caring that her blood must be all over him, soaking his robes, staining his hands and his face as he buried it in her wet and tangled hair that was dripping with blood, the same colour the potion had been. He couldn't even remember what kind of potion it had been at all…
"It's your fault," a soft, yet harsh, voice said into his ear.
In horror, he pushed the corpse of the woman he once had so desperately wanted away.
The once so very rosy lips moved, yet there was no life in them. "It's your fault," the thing that had once been his beloved Sariss hissed once more.
"Sariss," he mouthed, his eyes wide open, staring right into the face he had kissed so many times. It stared back at him, the eyes having by now lost their pleasant calming green-golden shimmer completely, only to be replaced by dull colourless orbs that gave nothing away of what she had been to him. "Please, Sariss, I never wanted this to happen. I am sorry. Forgive me. Please, forgive me. I never—."
Her hands clasped themselves around his throat and squeezed. He struggled half-heartedly, knowing that he had no chance against her—she was too strong, the strength of a Dementor—knowing suddenly that he deserved what he got, yet not quite able to tell for what it was or why or whatever. He could feel his very life seep out of him as she squeezed more and more tightly, her dead, pale, lifeless, empty eyes locked with his… In her unblinking eyes, he could see the reflection of his own panic-stricken face looking back at him.
"No," he croaked, desperately trying to push her away now, his lungs aching for air, trying to keep his eyes open as if that would save him from suffocating.
A high-pitched laughter escaped her mouth then, and before his very eyes, she transformed into Voldemort; the eyes no longer large, pale green and brown orbs or lifeless mirrors, but red, gleaming, narrow slits.
The voice was no longer hers when the thing spoke up, "You didn't really think you'd ever have her, did you?" Voldemort laughed again. It echoed off the walls, multiplied a thousand fold. "You didn't really think she could ever love you? You of all people! You, who would have raped and killed her—a so very beautiful and so very defenceless woman—without a second thought had I commanded you to do so hardly twenty years ago?"
"Please…" The thing's grasp became even stronger; it's fingernails digging deep into the skin of his throat and neck.
"And to think that you claim to love her when you didn't even have the guts to die with her. No, you had to watch her suffer more pain than anyone before has ever suffered—and then you acted—not because you couldn't bear it any longer but because fate offered you a way to make it stop. You don't even deserve to be looked upon the way she did. She won't ever do so again; you know that, don't you?" It laughed its insane laughter again. "No look, no word, no touch, no kiss, no love—only hate and disgust."
"Sariss…" he forced over his lips. His last breath would carry her name into the void that was suddenly around him, the dungeon having vanished into darkness already…
Everything went black—.
"Sariss! No!"
Severus Snape's eyes snapped open and he jerked awake, breathing hard, gasping for air like a drowning man, sweating, the Dark Lord's laughter still echoing in his ears…
He found himself lying in his bed, in his chambers, empty except for him, the sheets tangled around his body as he sat up, looking around in confusion. No dungeon, no potion. No Sariss…
The memory came back as though a light had been switched on. The memory of his nightmare as well as the memory of reality.
In a sudden panic, Severus reached for his wand that was lying in its usual place on the bedside table and muttered a spell that illuminated his rooms in a gentle light, so he could take a look at his hands, see if they were stained with blood, see if his shirt clung to him because he was sweating so badly or because it was her blood…
No blood.
A dream. It had been only a dream. A dream too lively, too real, too unbearable…
Only a dream. Not reality…
"She's alive. She's alive," Severus kept repeating for several minutes, resting his head on his knees, which he had drawn up, pressing his hands to his temples—as though he could squeeze the memory out of his brain by doing so—until his breathing and heartbeat had slowed down to a reasonably normal pace.
Then he fell back into the pillows and stared at the ceiling, wide-eyed, intending never to sleep again.
The dream he once had, had turned into a nightmare. Just when he had been getting comfortable, something had happened that had spoilt everything. The parallels with his life were clearly identifiable.
The Dreamless Sleep Potion had finally ceased working on him any longer. It didn't work at all. No way to ward off the nightmares. They were getting worse and worse. The last one had been terrifying. This one made him want to drown himself in the lake or brew one of those slowly working poisons that would make him suffer the way he deserved to before it would kill him.
There was too much truth in it; his subconscious had unearthed memories he had thought he had buried, gotten rid off, memories he had thought he had finally managed to forget, to replace with beautiful moments, memories of tender and gentle but also passionate and fiery kisses, memories of her hands running over his shoulders and back, clasping themselves to him as though they'd never release him from their embrace…
"Damn you, Severus Snape, damn you," he whispered hoarsely. "Damn you…"
~*~*~
Dumbledore knocked at his Potions master's office door. There was no answer, but he knew that Severus was in there. Where else would he be? The man didn't spend much time in his quarters as long as he could avoid it. And as he hadn't been at dinner…
Thus, Dumbledore made to open the door.
It was not locked.
"Severus?"
Snape was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace. The fire was burning exceptionally high. The flames were almost licking at the mantelpiece.
Severus didn't answer. He was completely silent and didn't look up. His gaze was fixed on a large black piece of clothing, which he clenched in his hands. And then he threw it into the fire, almost smothering it as he did so.
"Severus, what are you doing?" Dumbledore asked, although it was plain to him what Snape was doing, and stepped closer.
"Cleaning the house," Severus said hoarsely. "Or rather my life. If only I could burn past events just as easily as those cursed mask. I want to erase it all." The Death Eater mask, too, met its fate. It followed the robe into the fire.
"Severus, you did all that was in your power. You saved her. There was nothing more. You have done everything you could. You saved her life; and you also saved your own. What more is there to ask of you?"
"Did I? Did I do those things? Have I saved her?" Severus asked. "I don't know. It doesn't feel like it. To me it seems that I failed."
"She refused to see you, didn't she?"
Severus nodded. "Madam Pomfrey said that Sariss was asleep, but I didn't really believe her. I still don't. I'm going to the hospital wing later—as soon as I've gotten rid of what's left. If only I could cut the Dark Mark out just as easily as those robes turn to ashes."
A pair of gloves followed. The fire ate them hungrily.
"I loathe myself. Sariss was right all along. She said it from the very beginning: I am angry with others because I'm angry with myself. And now look at me! Look at where it's got me!"
Dumbledore didn't answer, knowing that comforting words wouldn't change anything. He knew it because, on a certain level, Severus was right.
"She might not be dying any longer, but she might as well be," Snape whispered bitterly, his voice unusually thick and unsteady. "It doesn't make a difference. Looks like the kiss became a scar after all… Every single one."
Another piece of Severus's Death Eater paraphernalia became food for the flames.
Severus still stared into the fire long after Dumbledore had left…
It would take a while for the evidence of his ugly past to dissolve into innocent-looking ashes. However, it might not rise from the ashes again, but it was still there. A mind doesn't forget blood and death because it fears they'd return if it did so; a soul may be cleaned of the stains on it, but guilt is a persistent inhabitant. It would dwell there for a very long time. Severus would most likely take it with him into the grave.
All he could seek to reach in his life now was equilibrium. Sariss had become the key ingredient in the potion that was the Potions master's soul. What would happen if she refused to add to it?
Next chapter:
Death Eater raids. Harry feels like a bad person. Severus still feels sad and guilty. Sariss insists on teaching her lessons but avoids Snape as much as possible at all. And Ginny drives all horrible images from Harry's mind.
Author's note: The first half of the nightmare was strongly inspired by 'I'll stand alone' by Crystaviel. It took a while for the pages to download and save to my HD and somehow I peeked into exactly that chapter… I believe I'll never get enough time on my hands to actually read the whole thing… I haven't even started yet… So please don't sue me, Crystaviel. It was just so inspiring and fitted so perfectly in with that other dream…