Author's note: Extremely big thanks go to Blaise! Thanks also go to Miriam who apparently tried to review (but ff.net somehow…) Where is everybody else?
Oh and please do me a favour and read Blaise A. Snape's new story. It's called Fallen Angels and it's bloody good! (I should know, as I'm her beta *grins*)
Chapter 22: I Want to Scream
More than angry
words I hate this silence
It's getting so loud
Well, I want to scream
But bitterness has silenced these emotions
—Savage Garden: Hold me
Harry had the impression of some sort of fireworks display taking place as he approached a village he didn't know. He had no idea where he was—again. A strong indicator that this was going to be another one of those real dreams.
The many-coloured flicker of numerous fires silhouetted the houses that weren't burning already against the night sky. One of them went up in flames as another one collapsed like a house of cards; particles of dust and ashes hovered in the air.
There was another flash of red light, quickly followed by one that was almost pleasantly green, its somewhat gentle colour betraying the fact that it was the Killing Curse that was being cast repeatedly, that every time it lit up, a life was being wiped out.
Harry kept walking towards it. There was the sign that bore the village's name. His breath caught in his throat. He didn't remember it, but he had been here before.
Godric's Hollow.
He walked on, wide-eyed, staring at the people who died before his very eyes, the people that left their houses screaming their beloved ones' names in their panic. A light-haired young woman stumbled near Harry and he instinctively reached out to catch her before she fell—but it was as if he weren't there. She fell; Harry jumped back in a reflex, as his feet would have been right where her torso now lay. It was as if Harry were a ghost. He was doomed to watch. He could do nothing as the familiar flash of green light went right through him and struck the woman—who had apparently scrambled to her feet again—right in the stomach. She didn't move anymore.
Death Eaters. The place was swarming with those hooded figures and frightened people, a large number of them obviously Muggles as they looked around in utter confusion and begged for their very lives—in vain.
Harry felt he had to get out of there. Blindly, he ran on, paying no notice to the fact that he was running through Death Eaters and Muggles alike. He went around a corner.
The sound of the attack was muffled now; the lights weren't visible anymore. Only the light of the moon provided a means of orientation now—and it illuminated someone Harry knew.
"Professor?" he asked breathlessly. Was he imagining things? She was supposed to be at Hogwarts, wasn't she?
Professor Ravon sat slumped in a corner, her arms around her knees, curled up in a ball, and was rocking back and forth, glittering tears rolling down her pale bloodless face.
Harry wouldn't have noticed her if it hadn't been for the light colour of her clothing. She stood out sharply against the darkness—that was, however, now illuminated by an acid-green glow, as the Dark Mark, huge and ominous, had been fired into the sky.
"Professor?" he repeated, slowly walking towards her. Then he lowered himself down on one knee, cautiously reaching out for her, fully expecting for his hand to pass right through her arm and knee. It didn't. She seemed to be the only solid being apart from himself. Was she having this dream, too?
What if Voldemort, too, entered it? He'd done it before. Harry was strangely aware of his other dreams when he was having another one like them.
"Come on, you don't want to stay here. Let's go," Harry said, pulling her up like a mother would prompt her child to go back to sleep after having run into their parents' room because of a nightmare that had them wake up.
In that moment, she wasn't Professor Ravon. In that moment, she was an abused child hiding from her father.
Harry gently steered the silently sobbing woman out of the alley.
The Death Eaters seemed to have left. Everywhere were dead bodies and smouldering remnants of houses. And right in the middle of the worst devastation, a single wall was left standing. It bore three words written in foot-high letters, YOU DID THIS.
A stifled sob came from Professor Ravon as she dropped to her knees at the sight of it.
It was a message for her. Harry was sure of this. Voldemort wanted her to know that she'd bought her life with the lives of dozens of innocent people…
And wham!
The location suddenly changed as if someone had changed the channel on a TV set.
This was a place Harry knew. After all, he'd been living there constantly for ten years and the greater part of his summer holidays. Little Whinging, Surrey.
Harry pulled Professor Ravon to her feet again. "Come on. Walk."
There was Mrs Figg's house. It was a smouldering pile of burnt wood and splintered glass.
"No!" Professor Ravon croaked.
"This way," Harry said. "Let's get away from here…"
He didn't know why, but somehow he automatically went in the direction of the Dursleys' house.
"Go back inside," Arabella Figg's voice shouted. Harry would know that voice anywhere.
"Bella…" Professor Ravon whispered.
"You're one of them!" Aunt Petunia screeched in horror.
"Go back into the house. You'll be safe there," Mrs Figg shouted desperately as the Death Eaters came closer and closer and kept firing curses.
"We won't be trapped inside our own house!" boomed Uncle Vernon.
"You don't understand. The magic is there for your protec—." Mrs Figgs broke off as she dodged a curse. The elderly woman was surprisingly agile for her age all of a sudden.
"Mum, Dad, what's all this?" Dudley asked, looking around wildly.
Mrs Figg dodged another curse, fired a duelling hex herself and then Disapparated just in time before several green flashes zoomed across the spot where she had been seconds ago.
The Dursleys refused to go back inside a house that was protected by magic. They paid for it with their lives.
Harry felt nothing when he saw the Killing Curse hit them; when their lifeless bodies fell to the ground, their eyes having that dull look to them that a pair of eyes could never fully attain in life.
And there was another wall. There was another message, just like the first, Harry had seen.
ANOTHER FAMILY. WHICH NEXT?
And the Dark Mark was fired into the sky before everything grew eerily quiet.
Again, the location changed. Again, people died. Again, a message was left behind.
Harry hardly noticed any changes anymore. His head was hurting.
AND AGAIN, YOU WEREN'T THERE TO SAVE THEM…
Professor Ravon was sobbing and buried her face in her hands, whispering something incoherent, as Harry pulled her with him. He couldn't just leave her; he couldn't let her sit down somewhere. He couldn't simply abandon the only person in this nightmare that he could do something about.
REFRESH YOUR MEMORY.
The lifeless body of a woman fell down at Harry's and Professor Ravon's feet.
Dead eyes stared up into nothingness, and the Professor stared right back. "No, no, please, no. Please stop," she kept whispering desperately, taking no notice of Harry's presence, taking no notice of the fact that she would have dropped to the ground if Harry hadn't held her up.
The location changed again. And again. And again. There was always the same happening. And no matter how desperately Harry tried to get them both out of the place they had landed in, it seemed that he couldn't get away from the devastation.
At some point, Harry had simply hugged Professor Ravon and turned her face into his shoulder so she didn't have to see any more. She couldn't bear seeing more or hearing more or anything at all.
"Wake up, Professor. Wake up," Harry kept muttering.
There was another Dark Mark looming in the sky.
"Wake up!"
His voice sounded so loud all of a sudden. It was ringing in his ears…
"WAKE UP!"
Harry woke up because of someone's screaming. It was his own.
Four sleepy and concerned faces came into view as soon as he removed his hands from before his eyes. His scar felt as if it were about to split open any second. His whole head felt as if it were about to explode.
Four anxious voices were asking him if he was alright, if he wanted a glass of water…
"Just leave me alone, all right?" Harry said, his voice not reliable at all, as he crawled back under the covers. He was terribly cold but the scar was burning like fire.
~*~*~
The Daily Prophet arrived even before all of the students had taken their seats at their respective tables. The happy chatter died as soon as the parchments were unfolded.
A large picture of—for lack of any actually fitting description for it—devastation, chaos and death occupied almost half of the first page. The huge headline above the image read
THREE HUNDRED PEOPLE DIE IN VARIOUS DEATH EATER ATTACKS ALL OVER BRITAIN
Over three hundred people—Muggle and wizard alike—have been killed in various small battles all over Britain. Without any doubt, all those attacks were led by Death Eaters.
It is suspected that all those attacks happened to divert the Ministry's attention from an attempt at taking over Gringotts. Fortunately, they have not succeeded. As the wizarding world's financial power is gathered there, it would have stopped trade and industry from functioning. The effects of that can be very well imagined.
However, what they wanted to accomplish by destroying relatively unobtrusive and harmless villages remains to be seen. It seems so pointless as they could have struck at places where it would really have hurt the Ministry… As of yet, the reasons for those brutal and meaningless killings lie completely in the dark, as does the meaning of the words that have been left behind for those to read who'd come to see if there was anything or anyone left to be saved and questioned.
What do those messages mean? What do they mean by 'Again, you weren't there to save them…'? What does 'Refresh your memory' mean? Who knows it? Who is asked to refresh his or her memory, and what is it about? Who wasn't there to save whom? Those questions might never be answered, dear readers. Yet, if they are, your reporter Vera Truz will gladly share the answers with you…
The article continued in that manner for another page, listing more of those messages. They fell into place like pieces of a puzzle, although it wasn't complete.
"It's a message for her," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "This article doesn't come as a surprise to me as I'm sure you already guessed. Arabella called in early in the morning to let me know that she's all right. So did several others. They were of great help in analysing these attacks. But Mr Potter's family weren't so lucky. Their house was completely protected—but they ran out of it when they noticed that it was magic that was protecting them. Stupid, stupid, people. Arabella tried to get them to get back in before she had to get out of there herself. No use."
"Are they dead?"
"Yes. As of four o'clock this morning, Harry Potter doesn't have any blood relatives any longer. We'll have to find new protection spells for wherever he decides to live after this school year has ended, spells that do not require a blood relative…"
~*~*~
An owl swept towards Harry and dropped the letter he'd been expecting already.
It came not as a surprise at all.
Harry felt strangely numb as he read,
Dear Mr Potter,
We must inform you that Petunia, Vernon and Dudley Dursley, former residents of Number Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, died in a Death Eater attack…
Then came a few paragraphs about how sorry they were and so on and so on…
Somehow, now that he read it, it became more real than when he'd been dreaming it.
"I'm going for a walk," Harry said and got up.
"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry," said Ginny. "Do you… Can I…"
"Yes, Gin, come with me, please."
He held her hand tightly when they walked out into the sunshine. It looked as if even the weather mocked the wizarding world by being sunny and sufficiently mild for an early-spring day.
Neither of them spoke until they'd sat down near the lake. Everything looked so peaceful.
"I'm sorry," said Ginny.
"Don't be," said Harry. "I knew it before the letter came. I had a dream last night. Several ones to be exact. I know what's in the Daily Prophet. I know more than that."
"My brother seems to keep his mouth shut rather well, sometimes."
"I haven't told him what the dream was about. They all asked me when I woke up with my head almost exploding."
Ginny hugged him.
"You know, Professor Ravon was also in it," Harry said.
He remembered them rather clearly. The Daily Prophet had refreshed his memory of them. 'Refresh your memory.' 'You weren't there.' What did that mean? It meant nothing to Harry. Did it mean something to her? In the nightmare, she'd looked shaken, as she'd perceived the seemingly bleeding letters on those walls. Harry didn't remember all of those messages. He actually remembered very few details, but he remembered some. "She saw it, too. She was more shocked than I could ever have been. The Daily Prophet doesn't know it, but I know that those messages are for her. They—."
"I can follow your train of thought quite well, Harry. I'm not that naïve."
"I wasn't—."
"I know, Harry."
"The point is, I didn't feel a thing when I saw them die. I mean, I felt for them like for everyone else. But don't you think there should have been more than that—I don't know what to call it—it wasn't indifference. It's just that I stopped caring about them so long ago…" Harry trailed off. "I mean does that make me a bad person? They were after all my family."
"It doesn't make you a bad person, because you're the kindest person in the world, Harry."
"Then why doesn't it hurt?"
"Maybe it does. You watched so many people you never knew die, didn't you? You felt for them, you just said it. And you felt for your Muggle family, too, because they also were innocent people."
"What's your point?"
"Just because you don't mourn them specifically doesn't mean that you are indifferent to their deaths."
"I don't want to be at their funerals."
"Why?" she asked calmly. She didn't sound scandalised or something. He had actually expected her to say something along the lines, 'Harry, they are still your family.' She continued, "I understand that they were horrible people."
"I'd be a hypocrite if I attended, you know? Most of the—who am I kidding?—none of the people there would know who I am or be glad to see me. That's my family," Harry said bitterly.
Ginny nodded and gently stroked his cheek.
"Ginny, they… I think I hated them…" Harry said. "I really think I hated them. I'm not the kindest person in the world. I can hate. I do hate. And people die because I am hated. You know, I'm afraid that one of those messages was for me. 'Another family' it said. 'Which next?'"
"But you don't have any—."
Harry took her face in his hands and pressed his lips to her forehead for a moment. "You are my family, Ginny. You're all I have. I'm so tired of him taking everything away from me. I promise I won't let him take you or Ron or Hermione…"
"Don't talk like that," Ginny whispered, placing her hand over his mouth. "I don't want to hear that. It scares me."
"I love you, Gin. And I'm so afraid."
~*~*~
"He's systematically destroying her by taking his fury out on innocent people—."
"She, too, is innocent," Snape interrupted the headmaster.
"That's not what I meant."
"I know," Severus sighed.
"Those bastards… She'll blame herself for this. The poor little thing," said McGonagall who had just taken her seat and threw another issue of the Daily Prophet on the table. "Anything new?"
"I'm afraid not. I mean, according to Poppy she's healing very fast—she wouldn't have let her leave the infirmary if it weren't so. But she's been having an extremely bad nightmare last night—perhaps triggered by the Dark Lord, who can tell? Fact is, however, that Mr Potter, too, had a bad dream—although he, as he does frequently, did not entrust me with it."
"How do you know all those things?" asked Severus.
"Let's just say that a bird sang it to me…" Dumbledore said enigmatically. "However, I'm not sure if one has something to do with the other. It might be coincidence or not. In Sariss's case, I can imagine that every slightly bluish spot on her body brings it all up again and doesn't let her rest properly…" Dumbledore trailed off.
"How is she?" the Potions master asked.
"Why do you ask? Has she not received you? Hasn't she spoken to you? It's been a week…"
Severus shook his head. "No," he whispered; an overwhelming sadness returned as he recalled Madam Pomfrey shake her head and say solemnly, "I'm sorry. She doesn't want any company at all."
And the way Sariss had looked when she'd come to the Potions dungeon. She had seemed so… helpless. So afraid.
"It's just not fair," he muttered, not really knowing what exactly he was referring to by that. None of the things that had happened recently had been fair. It hadn't been fair of fate to let her be abducted; it hadn't been fair for her to be tortured and severely hurt; it hadn't been fair for her to learn all those evil things at once and in such a cruel way. It wasn't fair that the Dark Lord's evil should still reach her via the Daily Prophet. It wasn't fair that she hadn't wanted to see Severus either…
Well, who wouldn't refuse to see you when you can't even bear your own reflection?
And it hadn't been fair that she'd left the dungeons after merely three whispered words…
Who wouldn't turn and run away from you after all this?
"If you'll excuse me, Severus, Minerva," Dumbledore said, "there are some things that have to be taken care of. I am not to be disturbed unless there's an emergency. This whole affair is just… It's a catastrophe…"
~*~*~
At breakfast on Monday, more than a week after Professor Ravon had been kidnapped and tortured by Voldemort, Dumbledore had announced that she had informed him that she would be resuming her lessons.
"Ron, remember what we agreed to as soon as Ravon was back teaching?" Harry asked.
"Yeah…" Ron sounded uncomfortable.
"No 'Don't get near me, Dementor!' to Professor Ravon," Hermione said. "Heaven knows this is worse than Professor Lupin's being a werewolf and I can recall your reaction towards him vividly."
Now Ron looked guilty. He didn't speak a word when they made their way to the DADA classroom, where they found Professor Ravon ready to continue their education.
Later that day, Harry wished she hadn't resumed so early. It wasn't that she didn't provide information. The content of the lesson would most likely have been the very same under normal circumstances. She might even have used the same words…
But somehow—maybe it was the atmosphere; maybe it was the complete absence of her usual enthusiasm, the utter absence of a smile or even a smirk or anything at all on her face—it was as though they were being taught by a living statue.
Harry perceived that she seemed not to suffer from any visible wounds anymore; Madam Pomfrey had fixed her up expertly. There were no visible scars on her hands. Again, her face gave nothing away. But her eyes did. One could see her fight back any emotion that threatened to get the better of her. She seemed to want to cry whenever Harry caught a glimpse of her face. (It was obscured by her hair, which was hanging down as lifelessly as she was.) She might not wear her scars openly, but she had them. Only they went deeper than a superficial one, even deeper than Harry's lightning bolt. She seemed to consist only of scars concealed by healed, but very white, skin. In fact, she was so pale, that her complexion had a faint bluish tinge to it. When she'd walked a few steps, she swayed visibly. Professor Ravon looked as if she were about to faint any moment.
She shouldn't have taken up lessons yet. It was only a few more days until the Easter holidays started anyway. She would have had more than two additional weeks to find her old self again—if it was still there at all. Or maybe she wanted to distract herself? But how could she be distracted from herself when everyone around her felt unsure as to if they could look at her without making it worse? A good deal more than half of the assembled students looked shaken, even more than Harry who'd already had a presentiment about the state she might be in. After all, Harry had had the dream. But there had been so many things to pay attention to that he'd hardly looked at her.
She had even stopped heating the room up to its usual fairly high temperature. She didn't seem to care anymore. She didn't care about the looks some of the Slytherins threw at her—or she pretended not to. At those moments, it was clear who of them belonged to the Dark Side already, as some Slytherin faces still displayed something that could be interpreted as uneasiness or even apprehension. Not so Malfoy. He was enjoying seeing her like this. So apparent did he show his relish, that Harry felt the urge to present him with a collection of well-aimed duelling hexes. Bastard, he thought. Death Eater scum.
But Professor Ravon ignored all that. She seemed not to care about the embarrassed and slightly uncomfortable faces of the other students when she wrote something on the blackboard with shaking hands. She didn't seek conversation; didn't encourage them to discuss what she was telling them; didn't give them homework that would require them to critically ponder the pros and contras of one thing or the other.
And even though the topic of their lesson—What happens if two or more different curses hit you simultaneously?—would have provided good starting lines for a dry comment or joke, she didn't use the opportunity. Harry hadn't realized before, how important a certain sense of humour had been in her lessons; how much fun or excitement they had been.
Compared to the DADA mistress, Nearly Headless Nick was a paragon of liveliness—and he had been dead for more than four hundred years by now.
Her defences were down. Something was missing.
She was simply not entirely there.
"This was so strange," said Harry, when the lesson was over.
"It was, wasn't it?" Neville said softly, catching up on the three friends. "I heard she went through quite something, didn't she? No wonder her hands were shaking the way they did. I thought she'd run out of the room any second."
"Yes," replied Hermione, sounding equally subdued. "I couldn't say anything against what she taught us—but how she taught us. It's as though she were running on auto-pilot."
"Auto-what?" Ron and Neville asked as one.
"It's as though she were doing it all so… mechanically… like reading from a book. It seems as though she weren't really there, only her body, not her spirit." Hermione had summed up all of Harry's thoughts in a single sentence.
"I've seen the look in her eyes before," Harry said. "Sirius had the same look in his eyes way back when we first met him, when the Dementors came for him, when they nearly got us all—and sometimes it returns. The Azkaban look. She's far from well. Couldn't be worse." And she also looked like that when I dreamt of the attacks…
"It's the torture," Neville said sombrely. He should know, as both his parents had gone through that ordeal and lost their minds over it. "At least I think so. As far as I dare to imagine… No, I rather wouldn't."
"Which is a good thing. Don't even try," Harry murmured. "Trust me, don't—hang on, guys—." Harry noticed that his bag was too light. He opened it and saw that he'd forgotten his Duelling Hexes book. Had his mind been so preoccupied to leave it behind? "I must have left my book. I'll catch up with you."
He hurried back into the classroom, grabbed the book that was still innocently lying on Harry's usual desk and was on his way back when the hair on his scalp suddenly stood on end. He was just walking past Professor Ravon's office. The door hadn't properly closed.
Harry's curiosity got the better of him and he cautiously peered through the gap. Pieces of parchment were flying through the air, bursting into flames at random or shredding themselves or each other (it was not quite determinable which was the case) to pieces. Had she received some spiteful mail just like Dumbledore had? Of course, she would. Harry didn't want to imagine what someone would write in a situation like this, especially when they'd never met her face to face, when they probably thought she was proud of everything she'd learnt.
The room was full of magic. It looked like the sort of event one could repeatedly see in Muggle horror movies. Like a poltergeist as Muggles imagined it.
After a few seconds, however, that eerie sight disappeared—and Harry realized with shock that Professor Ravon might very well have sensed his presence.
Harry cautiously knocked at the door, asking, "Professor Ravon? Are you in there?" A stupid question really. But that way he could pretend that he'd merely seen the door ajar and wanted to inform her about it. She wouldn't want anyone inside her office, rummaging around in her private things now, would she?
He slowly pushed the door open.
"What is it?" her soft voice answered.
"The door… It was open… I… um…" Harry felt awkward. "You sure you're fine?" he couldn't stop himself from asking as he saw her sitting behind her desk, her eyes (which hadn't been properly looking at a student or any other living being for days) red-rimmed and sunken, the rest of her face very white. Had she been wearing make-up before all this mess had happened? She hadn't been that pale before now, had she?
She looks like she belongs in a coffin. Like a vampire. Bloodless. Lifeless.
She looks like she'd been to Azkaban…
She looks as if she were in Azkaban this very moment.
Harry felt his stomach clench. Never before had it occurred to him that Voldemort could actually go after somebody else but him. Not like that. There was a difference between a mere Death Eater attack and being abducted by the Dark Lord in person; being forced to decide between joining him or die; looking into the red slits that were his eyes.
In addition to that, she'd found out that the worst nightmare the wizarding world had seen for decades was her father. Perhaps that was the reason why Harry thought that she looked familiar? Was there more of a resemblance to the memory of Tom Riddle than Harry actually noticed there was? He wasn't sure. After all, he had no idea what her mother had looked like.
You have your mother's eyes, Voldemort had said to her. Harry remembered it clearly. How often had someone said this to him? 'You look like your father but you have your mother's eyes.'
And shouldn't Harry be at least slightly frightened of her? He had learnt everything first-hand, after all. Why was he not scared? If there was so much of a Dementor in her that she ought to be able to perform the Dementor's Kiss, how could it be that he didn't hear his mother scream, didn't hear his father telling her that she should run? Why didn't Harry faint? And why was the Professor herself shaken by the experience of coming face to face with a Dementor, even though it was only the Boggart-version of it?
Shouldn't Harry be frightened of her as she was the embodiment of his greatest fear? Fear. Fear that had been made live flesh. Fear with an actually thinking mind. Another thing he couldn't tell.
Well, at the moment, she didn't look remotely frightening. On the contrary.
There was not that much difference between her face now and the expression on it back then when they'd been having that real nightmare…
Oh, hell! She was a teacher, for heaven's sake. Teachers were supposed to be the strong ones, the ones that protected the school along with Dumbledore. Teachers shouldn't go to pieces like that. No one should be made to go to pieces like she had been made. She didn't even look like a teacher as she sat there, the armchair looking much too big for her. Sitting in it, she looked… lost. Forlorn.
As though she were waiting for death to come.
Harry's heart went out to her. Ginny would say she needed a hug if she saw their Professor like this.
"Professor—?" he chanced when she hadn't answered.
"Yes," she said. "I'm fine." It was exactly the sort of 'I'm fine' Harry always answered with when somebody asked him if he was fine and he clearly wasn't. She was even less convincing than Harry usually was when he lied about things like that, not wanting anyone to unnecessarily worry about him.
In her case, however, worrying was definitely in order if not mandatory. "Well, if you're sure…" Harry said, fidgeting. He was very uncomfortable, not knowing what to say or do. "You sure you don't need—?"
"I am fine," she repeated, not moving an inch, not even blinking. "Anything else?"
"No… Erm… Just… The door, remember?" Harry awkwardly retreated. "Bye," he said. And the door clicked shut after him.
That had been more than disturbing, Harry thought, turning to go. Why did they let her teach at all? Didn't they see that she belonged in hospital? When even Harry could see that why did no one else?
Through the closed door, he heard an agonizing sighing sob, which was stifled very quickly.
~*~*~
Sariss still didn't attend meals. She hadn't been in the Great Hall ever since the day the Death Eaters had caught her in Hogsmeade. Severus hadn't spoken to her since she had been released from the hospital wing—if one could call that 'speaking' at all…
Every time he'd caught a glimpse of her in the hallways and corridors, she had slipped around a corner and disappeared. Even a total fool would have realized that she was avoiding confrontation, not only—but especially—with him, it seemed.
He'd had enough of this. After all, there had been something between them, hadn't there? He hadn't imagined all of this; he couldn't even have done so if he had wanted to. For a very long time, Severus Snape had had no illusions or dreams that would have consisted of a pair of tender hands gently stroking his face or the lips of a so very beautiful woman pressing against his. His nights had been consisting only of nightmares—until she had come into his life… And now his dreams had turned back into nightmares, and she was there, too. He still shuddered at the one he had had a few nights ago…
Would they stop if he spoke to her? If he asked for forgiveness? Forgiveness for not having told her the whole truth when she had asked him a direct question? For every single wrong choice he had made in his life that had seemed so little and unimportant to him but had had a far greater effect on her life? For every single thing or word he had ever hurt her with, directly and indirectly, by doing or not doing?
What if she didn't forgive him? What if she told him to go to hell?—A place Severus would surely see once he was dead, if it existed…
Thinking about those dark things, he went looking for her every time he could spare some minutes; before lessons started, during the short breaks between the lessons, at lunchtime—denying himself the food as she obviously denied it herself—before the afternoon lessons started… And he caught not a single glimpse of her!
She had apparently perfected her avoiding him…
He had almost given up, thinking he'd never get to see her unless he walked in on one of her lessons and dragged her out of the room by force, when she ran into him right at the corner they had already collided at once.
She looked a bit startled at first, catching her breath; then the blank mask that had been her face recently slammed into place and she brushed past him, resolutely heading in direction of the DADA classroom where she was supposed to be in a little less than five minutes.
"Sariss! Wait!" he shouted through the otherwise deserted corridor as soon as his mind had given his legs the command to finally start to move. However, she did not even slow her pace. He caught up with her nonetheless.
"How are you?" he asked softly, adjusting his pace to hers.
Very creative start for a conversation.
Shut it. I don't need you to feel miserable. I can manage that very well on my own.
"I'm alright," Sariss answered, not even looking at him, not even stopping walking.
This was irritating. "Sariss! This running and hiding doesn't make anything undone," he said, getting in her way.
"And a good day to you, too," she said and tried to get past him. But he blocked her way. This was ridiculous. She was acting totally irrational.
"What is this all about? Why are you avoiding everyone? Why are you avoiding me? Really."
"I'm not."
"Yes, you are. You don't even appear at mealtimes and you apparently hold your lessons as though you were a talking book. Binns is more alive than you are!" He was getting angry. Why was this woman so… stubborn, when all he wanted to do was talk to her? Tell her he was sorry, that he wanted to help her, tell her he…
He settled for, "Why do you behave like this? Why do you push everyone away who wants to help you?"
"You never said anything about it… this act of yours. You even had the nerve to lie to me. If I had known… You've torn me apart." She had the nerve to state this in a tone of voice that sounded as though she were commenting on the weather or reading from a book, completely devoid of the emotion the words would have implied if she'd just written them down for him to read. But the way she said them, they were hollow and empty—just like her eyes looked now. She looked right past him with those sparkleless, dull eyes, dark circles under them. The image of her in his nightmare sprang to mind. Severus shook it off, forced it back into the dark corner of his mind where his dark past and nightmares usually dwelt.
She hasn't slept very much lately…
And if you ask me, she hasn't eaten very well either. I sound like my great-grandmother…
Now that you mention it… Her cheekbones are a bit more visible than usual… only a bit, barely noticeable… If I didn't know her face so well…
It's only been a few days. Imagine her in a few more days or—.
Don't.
Other than that Sariss looked perfect again, just like she always had, alabaster skin, pink lips, shiny dark hair—although not as shiny as it had been wont to look. To put it concisely, she looked too immaculate for the state she must be in, traumatised and still in shock as she must be.
"Sariss!" he exclaimed, trying to grab her by the shoulders but she took a step back. "How can you say that? I saved you—."
"Did you, Snape? Or didn't you just save yourself?" she said coldly.
The scowl he usually wore on his face slammed into its respective place. He was more shocked and hurt than he could possibly let show. She was right—in one respect at least. How could she know that the thought had indeed crossed his mind? The thought that saving her would provide the perfect opportunity to end his acting career—even if, by doing so, he wrote his name on top of the Dark Lord's 'To eliminate as soon as possible'–list, right after the names 'Harry Potter' and 'Sariss Ravon', no, in the Dark Lord's opinion she was not Sariss Ravon; to him she was Sariss Riddle, wasn't she? Had the opportunity not been so perfect, he would have stood by and let her die… He would have; there was no denying that—or was there?
And there was the unmistakable fact that she'd just called him 'Snape.' Not even 'Professor Snape' as she'd been so adamant on calling him a few weeks ago (and as she had called him a few days ago when she had entered the dungeons and he hadn't even been able to exchange a word with her since she'd been gone within the blink of an eye). He had always been the 'Professor' until they had kissed for real—for the first time—and she'd called him 'Severus'—also for the first time. No one else had ever uttered his name like this… not to his knowledge… at least he couldn't remember it.
And now they were back at 'Snape' even without the 'Professor.' He might be an insufferable bastard at times—he unmistakably was, he knew this as well as anybody else—yet he was sensitive enough to tell that—to put it mildly—all of this wasn't a good sign (which was the understatement of the century). Although he had never told her so—nor anyone else—he knew now he was in love with her. No, more than that. In love wasn't enough. He was not simply 'in love' with her; he loved her. Deeply. Madly… And something had told him that she'd come to feel more than indifference towards him, too, the way she'd blushed and shivered when he'd looked at her and touched her; the way her hands had slid around his neck and into his hair… the way she had responded to his kisses, so hungry for his touch… Until—.
"Sariss, listen to me. You can't keep it locked up inside of you. It is going to destroy you. If you would just look at yourself. Have you slept at all? When was the last time you ate something?"
She ignored what he'd just said. Instead, she asked, "What exactly is it you hold yourself responsible for? The potion?" It was not a question. I sounded too quiet for that, almost resigned. She had put the pieces of the puzzle together as only she could. Dumbledore had told him what he'd said to her. He should have known that those few subtle hints would lead her right to the centre of what he had been implying…
"Please, Sariss. I'm so—."
"That's it, isn't it?" Her eyes now bored into his, a fierce fire burning in them. Her voice, however, sounded as though she weren't speaking to him at all. It was calm, a bit hoarse at best, but in essence, it sounded as though he weren't even there to talk to. He had expected her to scream at him, slap him perhaps…
"What have you done?" she asked then, completely devoid of any emotion. Thus, the double meaning of her question was even more unmistakable than it would have been otherwise. She might as well have slapped him. It felt like she had.
"I never wanted this to happen. I had no idea that a little bit of research on a new potion would prove the basis for something as awful as what he did," Severus weakly, half-heartedly, tried to defend himself. "If I hadn't done it, someone else would surely have—," he broke off, knowing as soon as he'd uttered the words that he'd provided the perfect line for one of the most classical of answers. And sure enough, there it came.
"You keep telling yourself that. You might just believe it one day." Another statement. Still as devoid of emotion as it could ever be possible.
"Let me explain, Sariss. I want you to know the whole story. Let me tell you. Let's talk this over…" he implored, reaching for her hands. She drew them away.
"Don't touch me," she whispered hoarsely.
Severus dropped his hands.
"Talk to me," he pleaded. Yes, she had managed to get him to plead. Not many people could claim that they had achieved this. Severus Snape did not plead. He did not cry. He did not smile. He did not love. A Snape did not do such things. Those were in essence what the world thought of him—and it had no idea how wrong it was about that, in more than one respect, if not in every single one of them.
She had ceased to look at him.
Severus closed his eyes for a second. "Please…" he tried again to get her to speak to him—not to say something but to really speak to him, react to what he was saying not only by saying appropriate answers but also showing appropriate emotions.
He almost thought he'd managed it when she opened her mouth to speak. But then she swallowed and just said, "I'm going to be late for classes," and turned to go—but couldn't since Severus grabbed her wrist. Tightly. Her long sleeves prevented their skins from touching. "Sariss…"
"Let go of me," she said, pronouncing every single syllable dangerously clearly, her voice an equally dangerous whisper. The torches on the walls were suddenly flickering; the telltale static crackle invaded the air. He could almost see her in her Auror robes, so unresponsive to his excuses was she, so merciless.
Severus ignored it even though the nearest torches burst and died. He knew that what he was trying to do could prove to be a risk. Well, if that was what it took…
"I will. As soon as you've heard me out," he whispered harshly.
"Let me—!"
"Tell me you don't love me." It was cruel to demand that. He knew it perfectly well.
"I…" Her mouth opened, then closed again. He could distinctly see the throbbing of a blue vein in her throat.
"Say it," he hissed.
"I… I don't…" Was she fighting to make her vocal chords obey? "I never…"
"Say it," he demanded, not even noticing that he was tightening the grasp he had on her wrist.
"I… You're hurting me," Sariss said, a tinge of panic in her voice as well as in her eyes.
Severus let go of her arm as though it burnt him, as he saw a tear slither down her cheek. "Sariss, I…" he broke off, since she had turned and continued walking towards the classroom as quickly as she could without breaking into a run, briskly wiping the back of her hand over her cheek, wiping away the tear—the tear that had betrayed her.
The Potions master dashed after her and grabbed her arm once more, turning her around in mid-stride.
"You can't keep running away forever," he stated matter-of-factly, his voice a bit shaky, "no matter how hard you try."
She forcefully wrenched her wrist out his grasp. Severus winced. If he had held onto her a bit stronger, she could easily have broken his wrist, he realized with a start, as she quickly regained her composure, straightened herself and said perfectly calm, once more in a voice that gave absolutely nothing away, "I'm not running. I'm walking." And off she went, her robes rustling and billowing behind her as she rushed along the corridor with long strides and into the classroom, slamming the door with a bang that echoed off the walls.
Snape was too stunned to follow her, too furious, disappointed, hurt, angry, sad—all at once. On the one hand, he would have dearly liked to put his hands around her throat and squeeze, just to get a proper reaction from her, something not quite as meaningless… On the other hand, he wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms, tell her he was sorry, lavish every kind of care and attention on her, caress her face with kisses—and also be on the receiving end of a bit of attention from her side again. Oh, if only she'd let him.
But she couldn't say it. What was he to make of that? What did it mean? Perhaps it wasn't really the end… Or was it? Somehow, he couldn't convince himself that not everything was lying in ruins…
So he had torn her apart? She had torn him apart, too! In this respect, they were equals; they were even.
"Alright," he muttered to himself, rubbing his throbbing wrist. "Fine. Then have it your way."
And Severus headed towards the dungeons. The class he'd teach now deserved to be pitied. He'd never been in such a foul mood before—not even during the first lesson after he had taken Sariss to the infirmary. Draco Malfoy had sneered at him then, in a way that had made perfectly clear that, should he ever come across Lucius Malfoy or anyone associated with him in one way or another in a dark alleyway, there'd be nothing good to be expected from them…
~*~*~
Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, shoving the food listlessly from one side of the plate to the other and then back again.
"Harry, come on, you must eat something," Ginny said, sounding very concerned.
"I know. It just seems my stomach's on strike."
"Is this because of Professor Ravon?"
"You probably think I'm overreacting… It's just… I don't know… I feel as though I were about to lose an old friend," Harry said, shaking his head. "I don't know why and I can't explain it any better. It might as well be Hagrid, or Dumbledore, or—."
"You don't have to. I hate to see her like this, too. Must be the contrast. Before all of this happened, she was always so very controlled, emitting that aura of power that at one point could scare you away and at another make you feel safe and protected."
"Uh-huh," he muttered, desperately wanting to change the subject. "I just wonder where Ron and Hermione are…"
"Probably snogging in a broom cupboard somewhere—but who are we to judge them?" Ginny said. "It still amazes me how anyone could want to do that with my brother—with any of my brothers."
"You know what? Me too." Harry gave a wry smile. "Ah, finally, there they are. That would have been the first and the last time that Hermione would have been late for a lesson."
"And they were snogging. Just look at Ron's hair."
"Looks a bit like mine actually…."
"Yours always looks like that. I can hardly mess it up properly."
"Too bad, isn't it?"
"Hi, guys. I see you've started without us," Hermione chanced a look at Harry's plate, "or not started, that is."
"I already had that conversation with Ginny. I don't feel like eating today."
"Well, more for me then," said Ron.
"So greedy! Just ignore my brother; he's always been like that—but you should know by now—."
"Whoa! Look at that!" Ron called out, gesturing towards the doors. "Are we in a hurry or what?"
Snape had just dashed through the doorway in the manner that was so unmistakably his as the sneer on his face—at least usually, as today it wasn't there. It hadn't been there for days now. He rushed towards the high table, taking a free seat next to Dumbledore. Snape usually never sat there. Something must be wrong.
"Look at Dumbledore," Ginny said. "Snape must have brought bad news."
"Snape usually is bad news," Ron said.
"Shut up, Ron," said Hermione and nudged him in the ribs. "Look at them. Doesn't look too good if you ask me."
"Bloody right. Snape doesn't look good. You've always been a mistress of the obvious, 'Mione."
"Do you think something's happened to Professor Ravon?" Ginny asked. "Last lesson she looked as though she belonged in the hospital wing. She could hardly write legibly on the blackboard, shaking as she was."
"Yes. I think it's only a matter of time until she breaks down. No one can suffer what she went through and then recover on their own. Is there something similar to a psychologist or psychiatrist in the wizarding world?" Hermione enquired.
"Well, there's St. Mungo's. They deal with everything."
"To me St. Mungo's seems as though it were the final destination. The name only brings the Longbottoms to my mind," Harry muttered. "It sounds like an asylum or something like that."
"Perhaps it's her way of dealing with things. Alone. In silence. Without help. Looks like she's used to that," Ginny said.
"But that doesn't make it alright," Hermione said.
"I didn't say that."
"But she was a good teacher."
"Don't talk in the past tense, Ronald Arthur Weasley," Ginny scolded him. "She's not dead."
"Not yet."
~*~*~
"So she's still in shock…" Dumbledore muttered.
"Have you taken a look at her lately? Spoken to her? Even the students realize that something is wrong—apart from the obvious that is."
"She sent me a note that she'd resume teaching, but I haven't seen her since the day after. I wanted to, but she wouldn't see me. I don't want to pressure her. Her mind is frail enough already as it is. I don't want to break her. I'm very concerned, Severus."
Severus nodded glumly.
"She wouldn't see me either. When I intercepted her earlier today, she wouldn't even look at me at first. She wouldn't be touched. She wouldn't be spoken to. You are aware of the fact that she didn't even ask for me when she was in the hospital wing?" he said softly. "After everything that's happened, I really thought she'd—."
"The way I understood Poppy, Sariss allowed no one to visit her, never," Dumbledore interrupted him. "She wouldn't even see Hagrid—and he, too, tried several times. You know she's always been especially fond of Hagrid's company. He seems to have a way with some people…"
"Not this time, I take it."
"She wouldn't be touched by me either. But she'd already told me not to touch her when I had spoken to her as soon as she had awoken."
"At least it's not personal," Severus muttered cynically. "But I had so hoped she'd ask for me, let me see her," he added very softly. "Why doesn't she want to be touched?"
"She feels monstrous, I think."
"There's no reason to. Only a small part of her has been affected by what the Dark Lord did. Perhaps it has even made her more human than human. More humane."
"Apparently, or so it seems, her thoughts don't go along those lines. She doesn't want to be touched by her fellow human beings, because she doesn't regard herself as one anymore. Maybe she sees herself just the way the people who wrote me—and her, I'm sure—those letters see her."
"Then why do you think has she informed you that she'd resume teaching? Why didn't she just inform you that she'd leave?" Severus asked, but then answered his questions himself. "It's because she's trying to ignore everything, pretending that nothing's happened, isn't it?"
"Yes, that's exactly what I've been thinking, too. From a certain point in her life on, she'd rather prefer to ignore things—and from what you've been telling me so far, she seems quite selective about it, too. Above all, she ignores what Voldemort said and did—at least on the outside. When you know what to look for in her face, it's very easy to read her. It has always been that way. But when we talked things over, I wasn't so sure anymore. She should have been crying, or furious—anything. I never thought I'd say that, but she should have blown the hospital wing to smithereens… I don't know what else she should have been or should have said or done."
"I know what you mean. I was that close—," Severus indicated about a quarter of an inch between his thumb and forefinger, "—to getting a reaction from her earlier. But I couldn't… I simply couldn't… You see, I took hold of her arm to keep her from running away and she said I was hurting her, in a voice that…" Severus shook his head, not being able to find the right words to describe her tone of voice with. "And she was looking at me in a way that tore at me… Indescribable. As though she were afraid of me. Frightened."
"I understand very well that you're upset. It must hurt her as much as it hurts you. Especially now that the two of you had finally—how am I supposed to state this?—come to an agreement," Dumbledore said. "And there we have another thing she's trying to ignore: The fact that she ever threw a loving glance at you—because you know everything better than anyone else by now. She's torn, Severus, and too afraid to admit this to anyone, not even me. She doesn't know how to cope with the fact that she still feels something for you when you feel so guilty because all of this. She senses it and then the emotional part of her reads much more into it than the analytical part."
"How would you know that she still does?"
"Has she told you to never get near her again? Has she told you that she hates you?"
Severus shook his head.
"There's your proof. She's insecure. She wants you to throw her away because she can't bring herself to do it."
"I don't want to. Why would she want me to?"
"It's the easiest way. She thinks she's a monster. She thinks that's the best of all reasons to throw her away. She thinks she deserves it."
"This is nonsense."
"You know that. I know that. She doesn't. She's in shock, she only sees the facts and not what lies behind them, that there's more to all of this than just the surface—and that when her mind usually penetrates everything until she reaches the core of it, so to speak."
"Then tell her that. Does she listen to your advice?"
"Sometimes grudgingly, but yes, in general, she does."
"Then talk to her again."
"I cannot tell her anything more than I already told her, Severus. She doesn't have to be told twice by the same person," Dumbledore said slowly. "Perhaps you should try and talk to her again. Tell her what you told me."
"She won't listen. She already refused to, once. She wouldn't hear my apologies," Severus replied. "She wouldn't even let me start properly—and unfortunately she had a very good excuse not to: being late for classes." He rolled his eyes.
"Then corner her when that excuse doesn't work," Dumbledore said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world—which, in a way, it was.
"I was lucky to catch her this time. I tried to talk to her for days. Has she spoken to anyone at all? She must have come across McGonagall or Sprout or Flitwick—."
"She only held her lessons. No personal word to anyone. No exceptions."
"She's avoiding everyone then? Why?"
"As soon as she approaches someone who knows all about it, she can't ignore it any longer. That's why she's hiding."
"She can't keep this up forever."
"Yes, Severus," Dumbledore sighed. "She can't. Not forever."
"How long do you think she'll keep this up then?"
"I don't know. In her case, I'm almost tempted to say 'till kingdom come.' But as you said already, she can't keep it up forever. Sooner or later it's going to destroy her. The house-elves reported upon my request to do so that she has neither slept nor eaten for days. So I sent one of them to her. She threw him out."
A horrible realisation struck Severus. "She wants to die," he said hollowly.
"She never wanted to live like this, Severus," Dumbledore said softly. "That this had to happen when there had finally appeared a faint glimmer of hope…" He sighed again. "She wasn't ready for this. I knew this, and that's why I didn't tell her about Voldemort being her father. But now I'm fairly sure she could have taken this one revelation with a bit of comfort—but not when a second one was fired at her after the first. And Voldemort wasn't very helpful either if I may put it that way…"
"Too much to take, I know. I was there."
"She needs you, Severus, she needs you now, although she doesn't want to admit this; she might not even be aware of it… If anyone can get through to her, bring her back out of her self-chosen reclusion, her inner tomb, it is you."
"I don't think I'm up to it. When she looks at me… It makes me wonder if…" Severus shook his head. "She accuses me and when she looks at me I don't seem to be able to defend myself—as though I could ever justify my deeds…"
"The two of you are so very much alike sometimes. Every time you talk to me the conversation turns towards the past. Sometimes you even use the same expressions. But it's always the past, always evil memories."
"That might be because there doesn't seem to be a future. For neither one of us."
"A future is something that must be fought for. She's obviously not in a state to do so at the moment. It's up to you to fight for her and yourself. Then, if you think there's no future for either one you… Perhaps there is one for the two of you together."
"Doesn't seem very likely to me. If you had seen—."
"You must talk to her, Severus. She is too important to lose—."
"You already said that."
"Does she still mean something to you?"
"Do you really need an answer to that question?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "Then bring her back. You're the only person in the world except myself who loves her more than as a friend. I failed. There are no words left unspoken or things left undone between her and me. The questions were asked; the answers were given. I'm not you."
"Want to trade?"
"Frankly… If I were a hundred or so years younger and a girl—woman, I mean—like her looked at me the way she looked at you…"
"You're right to use the past tense."
"You could be one of the few people, perhaps the one person still alive, who can make her catch a glimpse of what it's like to feel alive. You had already started when—."
"She'll run away from me or throw me out or—."
"Then be as insistent as you're now. If necessary insult her, annoy her, get her to lose it. You're good at that. She'll damage a few things that can be repaired; the important thing is that it might break the chains around her mind, too."
"I'm not sure if I'm up to it…" Severus sighed once more, remembering their encounter in the DADA corridor. "But I'll try. It can't get worse anyway. I'll try to catch her as soon as lessons are over for the day. However, it could take a while until I'm successful. She simply knows too many secret passages in here. An advantage of the summer holidays you let her spend here…"
Snape got up to leave without even touching the food. He couldn't have forced a single bite down. He felt it wouldn't stay there for very long a time even if he succeeded. His stomach seemed to clench itself together out of its own accord, completely refusing to work properly.
"Take your time, Severus, but don't take too long…"
~*~*~
Harry saw Dumbledore heave a sigh as he occupied himself with the contents of his plate again. It was as though he mimicked Snape's and Harry's actions now. Snape must have told him something that was not in particular cheerful—to speak mildly.
"Whatever happened—I'm not sure if I want to know or rather revel in blessed ignorance," Harry muttered. "I actually know more about all of this than I would have liked to, had anybody asked me before."
"You sound as if you'd had one of those Muggle poetry thingies for dinner last night," Ron said.
"Ginny likes Shakespeare. A lot of deceit, granted, but very much romance and fighting, too. The style just had to rub off one day."
"And a good thing too," Ginny said. "If he talked about Quidditch with you all day long, the only words he'd be capable of uttering would soon be Quidditch, Bludger, Quaffle and Snitch—."
"Hey!"
"—not that Hermione didn't try her best to get you to read some books, right 'Mione? Ron?"
"And behold my success," Hermione said with a wry grin.
Ron glared at her. "Girlfriends," he muttered.
"Sisters," Harry provided.
"Women," Ron said. "Can't live with 'em—."
"—can't live without them… Not that I'd ever want that. Right, Gin?"
"Isn't he just the cutest, Herm? And to think you chose my brother when Harry's such a good kisser, too…" Ginny moved to plant a kiss on Harry's cheek, but Harry used the opportunity to capture her lips with his instead…
Mmm. So soft. My Ginny…
She made those cruel and pitiless images flee his mind, for the sole reason that she was there and that she was the complete opposite.
"Stop snogging my sister in front of everybody!"
"Must you spoil the mood?" Harry groaned in mock-indignation.
"How would you like me saying that next time you and Hermione get going?" Ginny mumbled against Harry's lips.
"If you don't want us to snog 'in front of everybody' we could very well move this to another location… How about a certain broom cupboard?" Harry added, drawing back a little and raising an eyebrow.
"Alright, that's enough, you two. Control your hormones," Hermione spoke up, looking mildly scandalized.
"You're one to talk…" Ginny muttered, but Hermione hadn't finished talking yet.
"Back to the subject at hand. It's obvious what this is all about. Snape is worried about Professor Ravon, that's all," she continued.
"Why would he be?" Ron said.
"Yes, why? Apart from the obvious that is," Harry added.
"Oh, honestly, don't you two have eyes in your heads? There has been something going on between the two of them—," Hermione said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"You've given me a horrible mental image, Hermione…" Ron whined.
"Stop it already. It must have started around Valentine's Day. You remember, they were dancing—."
"How is it you know the exact date?" Ginny frowned thoughtfully at Hermione who was very busy drawing patterns in the marmalade on her piece of toast, that lay on her plate yet untouched, with a spoon.
"And why haven't you told us before?"
"I… with all this prophecy stuff and that Patronus thing happening… I might have… forgotten about it," she began, apologetic. "Well, you see, it was that I…" she trailed off, blushing.
"Yes?" Ginny asked eagerly.
"Well, I was walking down the staircase from the Arithmancy classroom and along the second floor corridor to meet the two of you for Hagrid's lesson—you know, the day when we were late because I had to ask Professor Vector some questions… Anyway, I was running along the corridor and… It wasn't deliberate, I swear! I kind of caught them—."
"Don't say it! I'll never be able to rid my mind off this all too lively image…" Ron groaned, burying his face in his hands.
"You, Ron Weasley, have a dirty mind—not that I would mind were the circumstances any different at the moment…"
"Yes, yes, alright. Stop this," Harry interrupted. "You caught them…"
"What? Right. I caught them in—let's put it this way—a somewhat tender moment."
"How tender exactly?" Ginny asked with a raised eyebrow and a wicked grin, her voice already implying the answer she expected.
"Ginny!" Ron exclaimed. Ginny rolled her eyes at him and groaned exaggeratedly. Harry sniggered at the two of them. It was always the same with those two.
One word: Siblings…
"They must have been—," Hermione coughed and Ron paled slightly, "—kissing the moment before I caught sight of them. He was—oh gods, I can't say it, you guys only make fun of it—actually stroking her cheek… And when they noticed I was there, they pretended they had collided with each other and he was only checking if she was hurt… Of course, I didn't buy that. It was so obvious."
Ginny sighed. "How romantic…"
Ron made a noise of disgust.
"Alright, Ron, what's the disgusting part of this in your opinion? The thought of greasy Snape—who hasn't been that greasy lately, now that I think of it—actually having something akin to a love life and Ravon being part of it or the thought of creepy Ravon having a love life and Snape being part of it?" Hermione asked.
"I haven't been thinking of her as 'creepy' for quite a few days now, and I have done some quite serious thinking." Ron said in defence of himself. "A Dementor, or half-Dementor or whatever." He shuddered for emphasis. "But then I came to the conclusion that I should rather feel sorry for her, you see. She's… strange… but now that I know why and all… it's kind of cruel to think of her as 'creepy', don't you think? Must be hard for her… not knowing all those things and then all of a sudden having everything come crashing down on her…" he trailed off. "You-Know-Who really hit home this time."
After a few seconds of silence, he spoke again, making a face. "But she and Snape? No way! Not after all this Christmas mess…"
"I'll take that bet."
"Hermione, you never take bets on anything." Ron was surprised.
"Sometimes I do. But only when I'm sure I am going to win. You take it?"
"Er… how much?"
"Ron, if I were you I wouldn't bet money I don't have. Remember what happened to Ludo Bagman?"
"Ginny, please! Hermione's no goblin." He threw a sideways glance at her. "You aren't, are you?"
"I would think there are a few slight differences between me and a goblin."
"For example?"
"They are smaller—and, unlike me, they won't get any money from you in the near future, which I, however, most certainly will." Hermione grinned. "So, how much do you want to bet that there's something between Snape and Ravon?"
"Er… Let me think… Hmm. I could use a Galleon or so."
"You should rather think about if you can afford to lose one, Ron. Betting against Hermione is dangerous…" Ginny said. "And even more so since Snape did save Ravon and he's in serious distress because of the state she's in. Honestly, are all of you boys so blind or is it just you?"
"How would you know?—Wait a second. Did you bet on something against Hermione?"
Ginny blushed slightly. "It was a long time ago," she stuttered.
"How long ago exactly? And what was it about?" Ron asked suspiciously.
She chewed on her lip. "Beginning of my fourth year," she mumbled.
"And?" Harry asked, suddenly very interested, as Hermione had buried her face in her hands and shook with silent laughter.
"It…" she began.
"Yes?"
"Itwasaboutwhetheryouwouldevernoticemeandifyouwouldthenwhenyouwould," Ginny muttered swiftly.
"I beg your pardon?" Ron said.
"It. Was. About. Whether. You. (That is Harry.) Would. Ever. Notice. Me. And. If. You. (Harry) Would. Then. When. You. Would," she repeated very slowly. "I hate it when people need it spelt out for them." She glared at Ron.
Hermione giggled quite audibly now while Ron almost doubled over in laughter at the look his sister gave him. "You… didn't…" he gasped.
Harry grinned at Ginny. "I take it you lost the bet."
She nodded, looking at him a bit sheepishly. "The only bet I ever lost—and I'm glad I did."
"I'm glad I made you lose it, then," he answered, smiling. Ginny smiled back.
"I lost it by miles, you know. Hermione was settling for some time even before 1996, while I settled for… well… roundabout never. I thought I'd win the bet. A timeframe of four months against never…"
"Never is a very long time."
"I noticed that."
"How much did you lose?"
"Nothing compared to what I gained."
"Seriously."
"Twelve sickles. I was a bit short on money," she added apologetically.
"And Ron's going to lose a bit more than you," Hermione said, now that she had regained her composure. "So?" She held out her hand for him to take. "One Galleon?"
"One Galleon," Ron repeated, as he took her hand and shook it.
"Deal."
"Alright! What about you, Harry?"
"Don't get me wrong now," Harry began, the smile disappearing from his face, "but I don't want to bet on something like that under the current circumstances. Usually I'd find this very funny and would be the first to join in but… well… I don't feel like it. Unlike the three of you, who only know all this stuff from hearsay, I've seen too much to find anything about Professor Ravon funny anymore…"
Ron's and Hermione's smiles faded quickly, too, as Harry uttered those words. They exchanged guilty glances and became very interested in their lunch.
Ginny squeezed his hand comfortingly. "Harry…"
"Sorry," Harry said, "I…"
"No. You're right. It could be funnier—otherwise…" Hermione added.
The overall mood had changed considerably; none of them was smiling anymore. As strange as this might seem—they were actually worried about a teacher…
Harry felt obliged to lighten the mood again. "You know, it's not just that, it's also that, Ron, with regard for you I decided not to take that bet. I wouldn't want to contribute to your being broke."
"So you, too, believe this nonsense?" Ron asked incredulously.
"I might. They'd make a nice couple," Harry said in a very naïve and innocent sounding voice, and raised his eyebrows suggestively, grinning wryly. It achieved what he had wanted to. Ron shuddered, whereas Hermione snorted into her pumpkin juice. If that was because of Harry's remark or Ron's reaction to it, Harry did not know. However, he suspected the latter.
And even Ginny sniggered softly to herself, apparently unable to talk.
~*~*~
A few days later, when Harry, Hermione and the two Weasleys came down into the Entrance Hall they saw a crowd of people in front of the blackboard. Curiously inching closer, they soon figured out that very many students signed up to return home for the holidays. Sure, there had been occasions when students returned home even for the Easter holidays—but that many?
The list for the Slytherins was already full. So Malfoy and his gang of Slytherin Death Eaters wouldn't be at Hogwarts. Fine. No Slytherins at all. Good. No trouble. No sneers. No insults. Life could be good. But if they weren't here, then what were they up to? Something fishy must be going on… Yet Harry had had no dreams as to what Voldemort was intending. Apparently, it was nothing. Strange…
The other lists, too, were almost full. Only a few empty lines were left. Exodus. Everyone apparently wanted to be with their parents. Was the situation worsening? Or was all of this because of Professor Ravon? Were the parents scared that she would—? But she would never hurt anyone at Hogwarts. She was not on the Dark Lord's side. If that was the reason for everyone to return home she'd end up like Professor Lupin, packing her trunks and making her getaway by the end of the year, perhaps sooner. Harry could imagine very well that she'd be quite lonely then, when not even Dumbledore was there, the one person she seemed to trust and who trusted her. She'd be outlawed as the Heiress of Slytherin, daughter of the Dark Lord, a Dark creature…
Harry could very well sympathize with her. He, too, had been shunned by most people when everyone had thought that he was the Heir of Slytherin. But he had had Ron and Hermione…
Professor Ravon had no one but Dumbledore and perhaps some of the staff… Hagrid had been quite sad lately. Harry and his friends had been down at his hut for tea the other day and had left much sooner than usual because Hagrid hadn't been remotely as cheerful as he usually was—and Hagrid could take a lot until he got depressed. And Snape… well… he was a completely different matter. He simply wasn't Snape anymore, not the sneering, obnoxious, greasy, Slytherins-favouring git-Snape. No, he had recently kind of been the 'Too worried to be nasty'-Snape.
Perhaps Hermione was right.
Harry felt a distinct twinge of pity as he thought about how Ravon must be feeling now. The image of her lying on the ground, whimpering and bleeding, was burnt into his memory like the Dark Mark on the arm of a Death Eater.
He forced those unpleasant thoughts from his mind. There was nothing to be done about the current situation. He was the last person in the world who could do anything. Not even asking Sirius for advice was an option. Harry didn't feel like writing it all down. There was nothing that could be done.
Harry turned his attention to the conversation his three friends had started when they had seen the return home lists.
"If we wait a few more minutes we could exactly determine the moment when we'll know that we'll have Hogwarts completely to ourselves," Ginny muttered.
"Well, at least there are no Slytherins. Makes for a good holiday," Ron said.
"Why aren't you returning home?" Hermione asked.
"Never thought of it. We never go home for the Easter holidays—and we can't leave Harry alone now, can we?"
Harry smiled slightly. It was good to have real friends.
"Thanks, guys. Would really be a bit lonely here. I'd be thinking too much about—."
"Don't. Not good. Not a nice topic for conversation," Ginny quickly interrupted him, lacing her fingers with his. "Let's have some breakfast," she said and pulled him after her. Harry didn't protest; he was quite hungry today. Finally, his stomach had decided to serve its purpose again.
"It would have been easier by far to set up lists for those who want to stay," Dean Thomas said, when they reached the Gryffindor table. "If you ask me it's clear that everyone wants their children at home where they are safe."
"My grandmother wants me at home because she's been a bit ill for quite some time now. The mediwizards say that it might be something serious…" Neville trailed off sadly. "I wouldn't mind staying here otherwise. Ravon has always been quite nice to me and all."
"And I'm going home because staying here when you're not is… not nice," Parvati threw in. "Holidays without my boyfriend, not exactly what was on my mind. So if I can't have you with me I'd rather go home and see my family than stay here and study all the time because there's nothing better to do. I could come to your place and meet your granny, too."
"And besides, the atmosphere in here hasn't been particularly cheerful during the last few days either. Would surely make for a lovely fortnight," Seamus said. "Right, Lavender?"
"I don't know." She sighed. "The thing is, with You-Know-Who out there we can hardly be sure that we'll see our parents again. So I think I'll sign up for going home, too. Just to not have to regret anything should You-Know-Who—."
"Don't say something like that. Your parents are not going to die. None of our parents are going to die, you get that?" Ginny screeched. "They'll all be perfectly well and… and… Right, Harry? Ron? They'll be fine, won't they?"
"Ginny, of course they'll be alright," Ron said, brotherly putting an arm around his sister. He rarely displayed how attached he actually was to his brothers and sister, but now he did.
"Yeah, no Dark wizard will ever get his hands on a Weasley," Harry said reassuringly, feeling quite awkward as he stood there, his hands in his pockets while Ginny was comforted by her brother instead of Harry. He had to admit that he felt a bit jealous; Harry had never had a real family like Ron and Ginny had, a family that was there for him, listening to him when he needed to talk to someone, soothing him when he needed comfort… Well, actually, he had had a family, but he couldn't remember. After all, he had been only a baby when Voldemort had killed his parents.
But he was almost a part of this family now and feared for the Weasleys as much as Ginny and Ron themselves did. They had become Harry's closest equivalent to a father and mother and a lot of red-haired, freckly brothers that he had ever had. And his very lovely girlfriend was part of this family, too.
'Another family. Which next?' Not this one, Tom Riddle, not this one. Not a chance.
"They'll be fine, Ginny," Harry muttered, patting her back, "Just wait and you'll see that there hasn't been anything to worry about, they'll be fine."
Ginny sniffed and nodded.
"Let's have something to eat, shall we?" Hermione suggested, trying to lighten the mood. "So… has anyone of you recently touched a book to prepare for their N.E.W.Ts?"
"Not exactly…" Ron muttered.
"Honestly, if laziness hurt you'd be screaming in agony."
Next chapter:
Severus does a lot of thinking, a lot of pacing and a lot of talking before he gets… something.