Author's note: Thank you very much for your kind reviews.

Butterfly: I can always count on you
Miriam: There it is, the chapter you more or less requested in that message… A day early… And I was right when I said that the last chapter was the second longest. This one ranges around my average chapter length…
Madalina/Madi: Not many reviews are longer than yours… Thank you.

A little warning: A bit heartbreaking… A bit steamy… But I liked writing it very much *smiles*

And I've also updated my other story and started posting a third one… Oh god…

Chapter 23: Seal Upon Thine Heart

Set me as a seal upon thine heart,
As a seal upon thine arm,
For love is strong as death

—HIM: Dark Secret Love

Severus Snape paced in his office. Once again Sariss had not attended dinner, once again it had felt as though her empty seat mocked him, accused him. It could not go on like this.

Wherever he walked in the castle, whatever students' paths he crossed, everywhere could be heard hushed conversations about her. The rumours spread wildly. From the students' discussions Severus got the impression that Sariss was now even farther from "All right," as she'd claimed to be when she had been when Severus had tried to talk to her six days ago. And it wasn't as though he hadn't caught glimpses of her. It was just that she quickly slipped around the corner or turned and took another way when she noticed his presence. She was definitely not well. After all, Severus was neither deaf nor blind. He could clearly see that she appeared less alive than the ghosts haunting the castle.

And as worried as he was, he was also mad at her for still avoiding him so obviously. It could not go on like this, he thought once again. This had gone on long enough. Severus had had enough of all of this.

Scream at me, Sariss. Accuse me openly of everything you can think of I ever did wrong. Tell me you hate me. Tell me you love me. Tell me you forgive me. Tell me to never get near you again, but tell me something—anything.

He sighed.

I only wish I didn't feel for you anymore… Things would have been considerably easier if I had never fallen so badly for you…

But he had fallen for her. Despite everything that should have kept them apart. Both so stubborn, both unforgiving, both seeming so obviously detached on the outside, both of them being haunted by the demons of their pasts.

He sat down heavily in his chair and exhaled slowly, steepling his fingers beneath his nose.

After all he had learnt about her, he should have turned his back on her as she had apparently turned his back on him already. He should despise her as she obviously despised him. He should feel disgusted at who and what she was, disgusted that he'd ever touched her, that she had ever touched him, shouldn't he? Yet he wasn't. Not at all. None of the emotions and thoughts one would expect from him crossed his mind. As strange as it was, he felt not disgusted at her but only at himself for being the one who—in a way—triggered all those events, for not thinking about the consequences when all he would have had to do would have been to say a simple 'no' to Lucius Malfoy when he had tried and succeeded in recruiting the young—and still innocent—Severus Snape. Such a simple word to say it was.

"Join us—."

"No!"

Severus knew how easy it was to say. He used it fairly often when he awoke from his nightmares. How many things could have been changed for the better if he had wasted a single, bloody thought to the consequences of his actions?

"Join us or die."

The consequences he would have to live with? The consequences that might just turn out to be ones that affected himself, too? He had not wasted a thought to all of this. He'd merely wanted to live…

"My Lord."

He couldn't even remember what he had been thinking back then, if he had been thinking at all. He hadn't cared about anything. Not the wizarding world. Not—.

Only later had he come to his senses and realized that he didn't want to be what he'd become. When he had already lost for good what had been important to him. He'd realized that he should have preferred death to life among the Dark Lord's followers, death instead of the offer of life and power beyond all things imaginable…

The only thing Severus had had left was his life. The only one who had power was the Dark Lord himself. And he did not share. He'd only made promises, promises of power and wealth and influence…

Severus had only felt a glimpse of this power when he'd cast the Killing Curse. But afterwards he'd felt empty, emptier and emptier every time he'd cast it—until Severus felt as if he'd never even smile anymore…

And after that, he had thrown away his dignity and begged Dumbledore to welcome him to Hogwarts despite everything he'd been and done. And Dumbledore—bless him—had done it. The man had saved Severus's soul by doing so. Did he have any idea about what it had actually meant to Severus? Supposedly he did.

And then it happened that Severus couldn't even prevent what had been one of the most important things, beings, in his life from dying. He had not only lost her to someone else. She had died. And he couldn't save her…

Not this time. This time he wouldn't give up. This time he wouldn't fail. Severus was quite sure that he wouldn't lose Sariss to someone else, especially not now—but that was no comfort. On the contrary. Severus had an impression of what she must be feeling like, unwanted, unloved, unneeded—at least not really needed—only tolerated instead of being accepted… It was a mere impression of it. It must feel much worse to her.

No, what was looming over Severus was not James Potter or Lord Voldemort—it was the bogy called Despair that was already reaching for her with its spidery fingers to take her away from him… Severus would lose her to that—another old and familiar enemy of his—and it would snatch her from him and break her. The beginnings were already all too evident…

And this was a thought even more unbearable than that of history repeating itself…

He simply had to try again and again—if only to know that he had not just stood by and watched, waiting once again for the so-called perfect opportunity that would, this time, most likely, never come…

And either way, he'd pay the price…

He decided to get into action as Dumbledore had advised him to and slowly got up, fighting the urge to merely sit there and wallow in regrets and self-pity.

Severus walked towards the fireplace and took some glittery powder out of a jar that was sitting on the mantelpiece. He threw it into the flames, which turned green as soon as the Floo powder made contact. Now, where would she be? Her office? Her chambers?

He shook his head. Not her office. Avoiding people wasn't that easy when you were in a place that was very much open to everyone who wanted a word. Hiding successfully was a task that was much more easily accomplished by locking yourself up in your private chambers…

It would be an intrusion. She'd have nowhere to run if he invaded her sanctuary… Good. She'd have to throw him out. And to do that properly, she wouldn't use her magic for it; she wouldn't even think about using it if she was in the state that Dumbledore and Severus himself suspected. If she wanted to throw him out, she would have to get physical, she'd have to touch him—and if she didn't want to be touched, there was no way to get rid of Severus before he was done with his explanations. He wouldn't give up until she had—figuratively, but nonetheless—stepped onto his heart and crushed it.

Yes, that's the spirit. Be insistent. Make it end. And if you're lucky, the end could be a new beginning.

Why so optimistic all of a sudden? Usually you're the one to criticize everything I'm up to.

You wouldn't listen anyway. You seem to turn mysteriously deaf when I give you advice you don't want to hear—especially when it concerns her.

So, for once in our life, you're trying to be really helpful?

You say that as though I were a nuisance?

Sometimes you are.

Just like her, huh?

So, you too, like her?

No. I don't like her.

What?!

I adore her. I can't believe you'd let her walk out on you! I'd tell her she's my life, my everything. You can't even tell her that. I would write it in the sky—although she is annoying.

I'm supposed to be the emotional part.

You're definitely not the romantic part. That's turned out to be my area of expertise.

I might not need you any longer after this day has ended.

Then you had better not mess everything up. You were so unbearable until she came.

I didn't notice.

You did. And you were unbearable on purpose. It wasn't just an act—and now go get the girl. I shudder to think what's certainly going to happen if you don't.

Taking a deep breath and clearing his throat, he stepped into the fire and said, "Professor Ravon's study."

Grates started whirling past him and after a few seconds he stepped out of the fireplace—into Sariss Ravon's study.

Sariss was sitting behind her desk, reading a book, which she slammed shut at Severus's intrusion. "Get out!" she said coldly, jumping to her feet, enraged (finally an appropriate reaction…), her hair fanning out around her as she walked towards him, clearly intending to throw him out.

"We need to talk," he said very calmly.

"I don't see why," she hissed, coming to a sudden halt when he started walking towards her, her face once again the inanimate mask that he so dreaded.

"Don't you understand? I only want to help you… I'm—."

"I don't need your pity!" she said, her voice a harsh whisper.

"The last thing I have to offer is pity," he said quietly, in a voice he hoped she perhaps found soothing. "Nothing has changed. You are the same person you were when you walked through the doorway into the Great Hall on September the first; the same person who started to see more in me than just the despicable, greasy-haired, foul-tempered bastard that I am. Please, Sariss, talk to me. Don't shut yourself out from the world."

"I've heard that one before," she stated coldly.

He fought the urge to grab her, shake her, slap her—hard. If she would just show a reaction, an appropriate reaction of any kind. She should be raving, furious, crying in misery, scream… Emotional women had never been his special area of expertise; but now he would have given anything to get her to be an emotional woman—if only to see some feelings flicker about her face, that inanimate mask she'd worn for days… She had been too calm—in comparison to how she usually reacted—when he'd tried to speak to her the last time. She should have been screaming, slamming her fists into the walls, into his face… Instead it was as though a part of her—the temper he had come to love so much—had been severed from her personality, put into an emotional coffin and buried so very deep, as if she hoped it would never be found again…

Well, he wouldn't be Severus Snape if he made it that easy for her to shut him out. She had finally let him into her life and he was not the man to be thrown out of it again as easily as that. If she'd do this for a good reason, if she didn't want him anymore because of a good reason and tell him that this was indeed the reason why, fine! He wanted to hear her say it. He wanted to hear her say, 'Go to hell!'—or 'Stay.' If she told him to go to hell, he'd go. That he could take. Or not.

But of one thing he was sure, he wouldn't just give up on her, not because of this! Not because of the Dark Lord's failed plans! He'd wanted a ruthless killer, he'd created a sweet and easily hurt flower instead, indeed an angel—deadly, maybe, yes, but not of its own accord.

"Sariss, speak to me! Do you want me to beg you to look at me and utter more than five words in a row?"

She didn't answer; she pressed her lips tightly together, avoided his searching eyes and swallowed.

"Sariss, please. Please, forgive me. I never wanted this to happen. I didn't know what to do until it was almost too late…" he whispered, slowly approaching her to… yes what? Take her hands? Pull her into his arms? He wanted to hold her, soothe her—but how could he do this when she didn't give him a chance to do so?

She slapped his hands away from her and took a step back. "Don't touch me."

"Why not?" Yes, why not? Well, he wasn't so sure if she experienced the same he did when their skins touched, but could it be that she feared she wouldn't be able to push him back as soon as the tingle raced through her system? "What are you so scared of that you won't accept anything of what I have to offer?"

"You don't understand anything."

"Then tell me!" He begged her with his voice as well as with his eyes. If she'd only look at him to see it… He could only hope that his desperation could be sensed clearly enough for her to reach her…

She was silent for several long moments. Then she swallowed, hard, and started to speak: "I'm… not even human," she began hesitantly, her voice slightly unsteady. She sounded so small, so sad, so helpless. "I'm unnatural… a monster, a beast. I shouldn't have survived any of this! You should have killed me back then. You should… I should hate you, I really should… Gods, forgive me, but I still… There should never have happened anything between us. Everything would have been so much easier… I don't know who I am anymore." She took a deep breath and went on, "I could have killed you a dozen of times, do you know that? Every time a group of Aurors was sent… You could have been there—and I could have killed you… Just as I killed Malfoy… not necessarily as clean as with Avada Kedavra, but much more painfully if I had realized who you were and how you had presumably betrayed everyone and everything I fought for…"

She was rambling on and on. Now that she'd started speaking, telling him everything that had been on her mind for the last few weeks, it seemed she was unable to stop. Her train of thought was a bit confusing when one didn't know what she'd gone through, what she'd learnt, what had happened—but Severus knew all this and that's why those fragments made sense to him. Perfect sense.

She was ashamed, and scared of herself, scared of what she was capable of; fearing that she was exactly what Voldemort had wanted her to be—a ruthless killer.

Suddenly it came to him: This was not about him being involved in the potion making at all! If I hadn't done it, someone else would surely have… he had said and despite her answer she, as was now apparent, had pondered his words and found them true. Not everything is about you, Severus Snape… he thought, inwardly shaking his head at the fact that he had overvalued the importance of his actions towards her to such a great extent.

This was not about him, only about what had happened when the Dark Lord had captured her. What he had told her. Not about what Dumbledore or Severus had told her… That he had captured her at all!

She's blaming herself for what happened! She's blaming herself for letting herself get caught! Typical. People tended to blame themselves for things that were not in their power to change. Victims started blaming themselves for what happened to them even if there hadn't been any way to prevent it from happening, even though it had not been in their powers to do anything against it. She hated to feel powerless, weak. She'd always had to be strong—or at least she'd told herself that she must… Always be prepared… She hated this helplessness, this inability to do anything about it. And there could not be done anything about the truth. The truth hurt, Severus knew this from bitter experience himself.

She was breathing very hard now as though she had run all the way up to the Astronomy Tower and back to her rooms without even stopping once to catch her breath. "I wish you had killed me. I don't want to live like that. It has always been hard for me to live this life, but now that I know why it's been so hard, I don't want to fight anymore. Make it end. All of it. I can't take it anymore…" Her voice had dropped to a rough whisper as she'd said the last few words. "You should have killed me," she breathed, almost too softly for him to hear. Almost.

"Sariss… Sariss!" He grabbed her firmly by the shoulders and pushed her against the desk that was behind her now, preventing her from stepping back. She flinched but still didn't meet his gaze.

So we're back at where we were a long time ago…

Her whole body was tense; she stood stock-still as though she were a statue of the finest white marble… He was trying to get her to look into his face, trying to make her tilt up her face so she couldn't avoid it any longer. She flinched at his touch again and screwed her eyes shut.

Now, this is getting ridiculous…

"Don't ever say things like that again!" Severus shouted at her. She flinched again and pressed her lips into a thin line. At that, he released his grasp a bit and continued much more quietly and slowly, "You are Sariss Ravon. Nobody can take that away from you, not even Voldemort. Please, let me help you, Sariss…"

"I don't want your help," she forced out, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I don't need it. I need no one—."

He dropped his hands knowing that he needed to approach her differently… "Oh, Sariss," he sighed.

She slipped away from him towards the window, yet she didn't look out but kept her eyes firmly on her hands that were clutching the windowsill so tightly that her knuckles turned white. He took a few steps sideways so he could see her profile, obscured by a few rebellious strands of her beautiful, soft hair—illuminated by the firelight. He could see the tenseness of the muscles in her face, too, the way she clenched her teeth together… Despite everything, he had to admire her composure.

What should he tell her? How was he to get through to her?

"Nothing of what you just said really matters. It isn't important who you are, what you are. It only matters that you are at all, that you're here, making a difference—no one judges you for things beyond your control."

No reaction at all. He might as well speak to the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

Dumbledore…

"Dumbledore saw all this a long time ago. He knew why he mustn't tell you who you are when he discovered you and took you to Hogwarts so you would be taught properly how to control the immense power in you. Then, it didn't matter to him, that you were the Dark Lord's daughter—even at his height of power—and he wanted to protect you from the Dark side. And now it doesn't matter to him what you are either…" Severus trailed off, then began anew. "All Dumbledore wanted was for you to be protected, not to be exposed to the dangers that threaten your sanity, your soul, when you descend into Darkness. Had he not done so, you might have been taken by the Dark Lord and shaped after his image. Had Dumbledore not made sure that you could spend all of your childhood in the safety and protection of Hogwarts and instead sent you to an orphanage after the Dark Lord's fall, you might have become like him. Many people think that a great deal of the hatred Voldemort feels towards Muggles and their magical offspring, has its foundations in the way he was treated by them, his Muggle father in particular. He has always been driven by the thirst for revenge, even if he isn't aware of it. So have I. And so have you. This is the character trait all of us have in common—for different reasons, mind you, but we do." He paused for effect.

Then he continued, "Yet unlike what Voldemort had intended, you were led to a life of creation and preservation, not death and destruction. In creating what he wanted to be his greatest asset for destruction and death, he's instead created his greatest liability; once he couldn't reach you anymore he couldn't start to exert control over you. When nobody else had believed that you were in danger, Dumbledore realized that it had been a matter of life and death—for you as well as for the wizarding world as we know it. He taught you. He protected you. He loved you—and still does—as if you were his daughter, not Tom Riddle's. Only for one reason he kept this from you: It would have destroyed your childhood if you'd learnt it then…"

He took a deep breath and sighed. "Look at you. Even now—when you're much stronger—it almost breaks you… It would have killed you had you been told all those years ago. Don't let it destroy you now. Don't let it turn you cold and cruel towards yourself." If he reached out now he could touch her. And how he wanted to. But he knew she wouldn't allow it. "Don't be ashamed. Don't hide from me," he whispered. "Please, don't do this to me."

No reaction. The image of his dream dreaded to overwhelm him. He shook it off, defiantly.

"Why does shame and self-loathing become cruelty?" he muttered, quoting her. "How is that so often the case?"

He said no more. He was reticent now. So was she.

He turned to leave—having said all he'd wanted to say—and more—had mentally exhausted him. He couldn't say anything in addition to what he'd just said. He couldn't tell her again that he was sorry about all of this. She wouldn't listen. And he couldn't tell her how much he loved her either, in the state she was in. It would not have been fair, neither towards her nor to himself. As if he could get the words out.

Throwing one last glance over his shoulder, he headed for the door. He felt defeated as though he'd just lost one of the most important battles in his life—when suddenly a barely audible whisper disturbed the silence that had seemed so loud after he'd stopped talking, just as the thought had crossed his mind that maybe he shouldn't have come…

"Why?" He froze in his tracks when he heard her voice, very softly. He had to try hard to catch every whispered word of hers. "Why did you save me?" she mouthed. "Why didn't you… kill me? In all honesty…"

He paused, thinking about what to tell her. 'Because I love you,' would have been a cliché, too easy to say in a situation like this, too meaningless. Severus Snape was no man who used clichés simply because they were the truth, at least partly, since he hadn't saved her because he loved her. He had saved her because he loved her and he had been provided with the perfect opportunity to save her. And if he'd judged her correctly, she wouldn't have reacted to it at all or she would have asked, 'How can you love anyone remotely like me?' That would have been typical for her. He knew her well enough to make predictions like that. He didn't have to be a seer to know it. No, he had to be much more convincing, say so much less than that, yet implying so much more.

He looked at her, the way she stood there, her head bent, yet upright. Like the heroine of a Greek tragedy, awaiting—no, longing for—the death blow, which he wouldn't give her…

"Because the alternative was—and still is, I might add," he said softly and stepped close to her, so close he could already smell the sweet fragrance of her hair, "—unthinkable."

Something akin to a sigh could be heard, a quickly muffled sob perhaps? Her shoulders slumped, tremors starting to rock her body. She started shaking. And as several glasses on the shelves including the window she was standing in front of shattered, a choking sob escaped her lips.

Severus muttered a quick "Reparo!" to restore the window so as not to let the chilly and wet night air invade her rooms. After all, it was the last day of March and there was still snow in the air, although it had just started raining… No, it was rather hailing; thunder rolled in the distance… There would be a thunderstorm. Unusual but not unheard of at this time of the year.

He cautiously touched her shoulder, her hair. She slumped even more, shuddering more and more violently.

As soon as he'd turned her around to take a look at her face—she put up no resistance—to check if she'd been hurt by the exploding window (she hadn't, fortunately; Severus couldn't bear the mere thought of blood on her face…), his heart melted at the sight of her tearstained cheeks, her trembling lips, the silent sobs he could tell she still tried to suppress. He could tell she was fighting.

"Sariss," he whispered, kissing her forehead, her hair. Suddenly he was very much aware that when he said her name it sounded as though he said, 'My love.' She seemed much smaller than she actually was, all of a sudden; more vulnerable than she'd ever seemed before.

A bolt of lightning zigzagged over the dark-grey evening sky, quickly followed by a crash of thunder, as Severus moved to draw her into his arms, gently, wanting to hold her, soothe her, tell her that everything would be alright, whisper sweet little nothings to her, even lie to her if only it made her smile.

However, as he tried to pull her close, she tried to push him away, the tears that had been unshed for far too long a time running freely now. "Don't…" she forced out shakily, clearly not trusting her voice any longer. "You can't…" But he kept his grip on her, willing it to be firm but gentle despite her, in her standards, weak resistance. He could tell it was a half-hearted struggle; she didn't have the mental strength to will her body into a real attempt at pushing anyone away from her anymore—not when she needed everything she had to keep up the pretence that she wasn't in a state as abysmal as she actually was. She couldn't will herself to fight him any longer. Lack of food, lack of sleep, a constant lack of happiness and joy… All of these had taken their toll.

Severus insisted on pulling her into his arms, trying not to get angry at the whole situation—although he wasn't angry with her at all—but at the same time trying to keep his thoughts from heading into the direction of his past and the Dark Lord, of his dreams, and of the fact that she might not be there at all. He wasn't quite as successful as he'd wanted to be. The by now familiar pain in his heart was back, the pain that always came when the thought crossed his mind that he could easily have lost her entirely.

Sariss's weak defence faded away until it was hardly there any longer. Finally, she'd exhausted herself and broke down. Her knees buckled (He caught her). Her body grew limp in his grasp, no resistance anymore as he lowered them both to the floor and gathered her into his arms, enveloping her completely as she clutched at his robes, burying her face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. Her body shook violently as more and more tears soaked his robes and moistened his skin. He rocked her back and forth, stroking her hair, her back, muttering words of comfort that felt odd to his ears. It wasn't like him to even think about uttering something remotely comforting. Severus Snape didn't do things like that. It was simply not in his character, although it must have been there at some point or other in his life, didn't it?

Well, whatever the case, it wasn't like the image of himself he had grown accustomed to, to fall in love either, and somehow he had.

Oh, Merlin, she still smelt like strawberry and vanilla. That scent had been haunting him even in his sleep to such an extent that he'd almost thought he'd only imagined it. Indeed, he almost thought he'd imagined every touch, every look, every word she'd spoken before it had happened.

She cried silently as if she tried to regain the all too firm grip she usually had on herself.

Her considerable efforts were quite in vain as her tears were soon accompanied by shuddering sobs wracking her body; he'd had no idea that any human being could cry like that… It hurt to listen to the sounds she made; it hurt to listen to the gasping breaths she took as though she were drowning in her own tears. It hurt to feel her violent shudders when she kept on choking, "I can't go on like this… I can't…"

He held her tightly, trying to warm her, to drive away the sadness that inhabited her heart and soul, and burying his face in her hair he whispered, "I'm sorry, Sariss, I'm so sorry." He repeated it over and over again, as he kept stroking her hair. "This is all my fault. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let you go." Tears started running over his cheeks, too, as her sobs came even more violently. He closed his eyes.

Drowning in a sea of tears.

The thought sprang to his mind all of a sudden. He had no idea where he had heard or perhaps read this expression… However, now he knew what it meant…

The way she cried now, it reminded him of the way he had seen her cry when Dumbledore had first brought her to Hogwarts, a small, frail, scared, little girl, so scared that she had constantly jumped when someone said her name or asked her something. But then she had been crying silently, suppressing the sobs; Dumbledore had already taught her a bit about control back then; it would have been quite dangerous if he hadn't. She had clung frantically to Dumbledore's hand, trembling with fear, afraid to be left alone somewhere lest he would come to get her. And in her nightmares, he had done so. Severus had constantly been brewing Dreamless Sleep Potion back then—and that for a little girl. At that age, no one ought to have a potion that strong to ward off nightmares a little girl wasn't supposed to have either.

Only later, when she had learnt to control herself better, this had stopped—or at least decreased to a certain level that left her to sleep without the potion… Perhaps she had only stopped taking the potion, not wanting to bother anyone with it, not wanting anyone to worry about her if she brewed it herself…

Thunder was rolling outside; hailstones hammered against the windowpanes as if they demanded entry. Severus could see the bolts of lightning through his closed eyelids. White-blue and furious, as they flashed past the high windows.

It felt as though hours had passed when the shudders and the sobs finally subsided and her breathing returned to a somewhat normal pace. That was when he tilted her head up to face him and bent to kiss away the tears from her wet cheeks. She hiccoughed and turned her face away from him. "I can't… You cannot possibly still…" She was interrupted by her own shuddering intakes of breath, on the verge of tears again.

He had a distinct presentiment of what she'd wanted to say. 'You cannot possibly still want me, now that you know what I am.' He knew it because somewhere in the back of his mind his own trains of thought had gone somewhat along the same lines, when he'd seen her face when she'd thought he was a Death Eater, a loyal servant of the Dark Lord.

Running his fingertips over her tearstained cheek, gently turning her head to face him again and wiping the tears away, he whispered, "Don't you love me, just a bit?"

She looked up, slightly startled, as startled as he was about the fact that he had uttered his thoughts so freely without even thinking before they'd slipped over his lips.

Her eyes locked with his. It was as though he could take a look into the very core of her soul, so undisguised and openly shown were the feelings battling for dominance on her features.

She swallowed hard once more. A large tear was running down the side of her nose and into the corner of her slightly open mouth, her lower lip quivering. Severus couldn't resist any longer. He cupped her face in his hands, as he had done every time he'd kissed her, and lavished kisses on her eyes, her forehead, her cheeks that were salty and wet with dried and fresh tears, and finally her lips that were equally salty and moist and so very soft.

Still holding on to his robes, yet not clutching them as tightly as before, she relaxed with a small sigh and melted into the kiss. He was gentle as though it were her first kiss, as if she would break if he kissed her harder, more urgently or passionately… It only lasted for a few precious seconds.

Her eyes were closed; her cheeks flushed, as he ran his fingertips along her jaw line and entwined his fingers in her hair. Tears glittered beneath her long eyelashes and started flowing over when he rested his forehead against hers for a moment. He drew her close again, as close as possible, just holding her as tightly as he could; thus silently telling her everything he couldn't put in words. It seemed he had used them up; he had simply run out of words. Thus, he merely held her, rubbing her back to make her feel safe and warm.

A sigh of relief shuddered through her as he did so. Strange how easily he could tell her that he accepted her not in spite of who and what she was but because she simply existed on the face of this planet, on the face of this world both of them were part of—yet being completely unable to tell her that he wanted her to love him as desperately as he loved her, which he seemingly couldn't tell her either—not straight out at least. Why was it so hard to express himself openly and above all clearly, when she looked at him?

He rested his chin on top of her head, gently stroking her hair.

After another few minutes, he realized that she'd stopped crying entirely; her body limp and soft and yielding; her skin a bit warmer than was usual for her. Her breathing was even and regular…

She'd fallen asleep.

Severus got up—not an easy task when you had Sleeping Beauty in your lap and didn't want to wake her at any cost—but he finally made it. He smiled as she gave a small sigh in her sleep, a sleep she had denied herself for far too long a time. Slowly and carefully, he headed towards the adjacent room—her bedroom should be there, at least under normal circumstances. He wanted to place her on the bed and then leave discreetly; he felt like an intruder already although he had no intentions to do anything indecent—at least not now. This was really not a moment for thoughts like this.

However, she was clutching his robes so tightly in her sleep that he wouldn't be able to extricate them from her grasp without waking her—and who could tell if she'd fall asleep again as soon as he was gone? So he decided he might as well stay, (it might even be better when she woke up and wasn't alone again) and lowered himself and her onto the bed, smiling when he realized she was actually snuggling into him in her sleep. Like a kitten. What would she say if he told her that? Would she bite her lip, blushing? Would she deny it in a manner such as 'You can't prove it, so it never happened'?

Oh, yes, she is annoying, she's complicated, she's a challenge, she's unique, she's here by my side, in my arms…

Severus Snape fell asleep with his arms around her; his fingers playing with her hair, a small, relieved, almost happy, smile on his lips, as the thunders subsided. A gentle rain had begun to fall.

~*~*~

Severus jerked awake. Something had moved next to him. A quite heavy weight was lying on his chest. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he suddenly remembered where he was, who and what the weight on his chest was, whom the arm and the leg that were draped over him belonged to… And he also remembered what had happened—he checked the clock on the bedside table: 4:30 am—last night.

Sariss was still sleeping soundly. No wonder. She couldn't have slept very much the last dozen of days or so. She stirred slightly, a movement that made her hair tickle his chin and throat not quite unpleasantly.

He decided to get up and smooth the wrinkles out of his robes, waiting for her to wake up, too. He'd make sure she attended breakfast today.

Moving very slowly, and cautiously extricating himself from her body, he finally managed to get out of bed. She nestled into the mattress where he had been lying; the space he'd been occupying had to be still warm from his body heat.

Severus silently made to creep back into her study. The fire had burnt down, but a simple swish with his wand and a whispered "Incendio" made it flare brightly and warmly again, throwing dancing shadows on the walls and the sleeping figure on the bed. Then he proceeded into the study. The faint firelight drenched the shelves lining the room on two sides in a reddish, shadowy light. He lit a few candles that were sitting in some silver and brass candelabras so he could look around a bit—just to occupy himself with something to kill the time.

He hadn't really had the opportunity to do so before; after all, there had been other things on his mind then.

You could learn a lot about people by finding out about what they liked to read, what they preferred to have around them. That was perhaps the reason for Severus not to have many personal things lying around openly in his rooms. He never had. His rooms were occupied by the Severus Snape that worked at Hogwarts, no more no less. Sariss's rooms, however, were somewhat of her life. Despite that they seemed to be organized in some way or other, there were distinct signs that they were being lived in. A cloak carelessly thrown over the armchair. A book lying face down on the sofa. A pair of shoes thrown into the corner near the exit. Little things, but they made these rooms her home. Even more than that. These rooms contained everything that was her, everything she was fond of, her past and her present.

He read the titles of some books that were stacked onto the shelf behind her desk. Many of them were about the Dark Arts. They were well worn. Of course they were. She taught Defence Against the Dark Arts, after all. She should have read them several times. Some of the books Severus recognized; he had read them, too, others he did not. Congratulations! So you've decided to fight Evil; An Attempt at Explaining the Psychological Aspects of a Magical Person's Descent into the Dark Arts; An Insight into the Psyche of a Dark Wizard—all of them written by Aurora D. Shade, a name not unknown to him. She had been one of his students, one of Sariss's best friends. It hadn't surprised him that her death was hard to cope with for Sariss. He wondered…

Yes, sure enough, there was a small glass box on one of the shelves, containing two long slender sticks—wands. Not her own. The names of their previous owners had been engraved in silver lettering: Rick E. Allen—Aurora D. Shade. Her two best friends… Killed by Seth Malfoy and a few other Death Eaters, Lucius Malfoy's cousin whom she had killed in return… She must have requested to be given their wands…

Small pieces of parchment were pinned to the dark green velvet the wands were resting on, reading: 'Unicorn Hair, cedar, 10 ½ inches' and 'Unicorn Hair, mahogany, 8 inches' in an even and fluent script…

What's her wand made of? he wondered. Ah, yes, Dumbledore had told him once; he clearly remembered now…

"A very interesting combination, Severus," he'd said. "Dear old Ollivander was quite surprised, as astounded as I was myself. I had expected—and feared—her to get a certain other wand. Since it is the wand that chooses its owner it would have been only logical if…" he'd trailed off.

"Which one, then?" Severus had asked, confused.

"Ah, well, it doesn't matter now. Phoenix feather, Redwood, 8 ¾ inches—a very powerful combination… Did you know that in Norse mythology the Yggdrasil, as redwood is referred to by the people living far north, is the tree that holds the earth in its boughs and binds the land and the heavens? Fascinating, isn't it? Combined with the Phoenix feather it makes this wand a powerful instrument of goodness… Curious that it chose her… very curious. And a good omen, I daresay."

Later on, Severus had asked him on more than one occasion what exactly he'd meant by that, what had been so curious. Now he knew; and strangely, to him it made perfect sense. Created by and for Evil, yet fighting against it. It had been her destiny—not that Severus Snape believed in Divination or the like…

There it lay. On her desk. Next to her inkstand and quill. The wand that had chosen her…

And there were many books lying open or face down on her desk, too. She had been busy… Obviously she had been trying to deal with her situation as the titles on the spines indicated quite clearly. What Doesn't Kill You Only Makes You Stronger by Perpetua Fite (Severus knew this one very well, too…); Playing God—The Creatures of Salazar Slytherin by Polyphemus G. Mendel; Dark Creatures and their Origins by Charles D. Winn; A Compendium of the Wizarding World's Creatures and their Abilities by Brooke Clopedia Howse. The last one was closed, as it was a large tome of a book, but it had a piece of parchment in it. Severus opened the book on the page it pointed to although he had a suspicion what he would find there—and sure enough, there it was: Dementors. Everything about them. How no one really knew how they had come into existence—only that Salazar Slytherin had presumably had something to do with it. What they could do, how they affected the people around them; the Dementor's Kiss, how it worked, what it did to its victim, described in gruesome, horrible detail. Then the parchment caught his eye. The prophecy about the second—and presumably final—fall of the Dark Lord. He read it once again. An outstretched hand; a deadly embrace… The Dark Lord shall fall… He assumed it had been Sariss who had underlined these lines… It didn't make sense—or did it?

He slammed the book shut. No wonder that she was so upset. Reading what was written in this book made even Severus shiver… Although it was all true to a Dementor, none of all of this applied to her… save the Kiss, perhaps… But how could Voldemort—or anyone else—be sure she'd be able to perform it at all?

It was as simple as that. He couldn't. Not really. Not unless he put her to the test, which he hadn't been able to. Dumbledore had taken her to Hogwarts so he couldn't get his filthy hands on her, and a bit more than a year afterwards the Dark Lord had been vanquished… It would have been unexpected had there not been Sybill Trelawney's first true prophecy that had stated that the Dark Lord would fall simply because he couldn't kill the one he'd intended to be his victim… It had been unbelievable that Voldemort, at the height of his power, should fall because he couldn't kill a baby… Yet he had.

And there were quite a lot of crumpled, torn and even singed pieces of parchment in her wastepaper basket. Severus grabbed one off the top, one that wasn't damaged too much, smoothed it out a bit and scanned its content. A few seconds later, he wished he hadn't. He had seen and read many things in his life. Thus, he could tell without much difficulty that this was probably the most horrendous piece of wasted ink and parchment that he had ever laid eyes on.

Muttering curses and damnations against the person who had found those words for her, he shredded the parchment into pieces and Banished them instead of only throwing the remains of the letter back into the basket where its companions still lay, looking so innocent yet bearing a message so clear that Sariss didn't even have to sense their writers' emotions. Iniquity and hate.

So she had indeed received some spiteful mail, just as he had feared or rather had not even dared to fear. Not to this extent. Towards Dumbledore, most of the letters' writers had still displayed a certain amount of decency and respect—which was obviously lacking completely in the ones that had been sent to Sariss directly.

Severus paced for a moment, fuming with anger, and all of a sudden realized that he mustn't be angry when he was near her. And alone with her, too. When that thought had occurred to his mind, he stopped dead in his tracks and went towards the window, surveying the Quidditch pitch that lay in clear view of all her windows, the moon illuminating the outside in a gentle silvery light. The moon looked just like the pendant she always wore, a silver crescent, a waning moon. The world out there looked so peaceful. It always did after it had been cleansed by severe rain or thunderstorms. The sight calmed his mind…

Severus turned around, having heard a noise.

Sariss was standing in the doorway, sleepily leaning against the doorframe and rubbing her eyes. Her hair was quite tousled, her robes dishevelled, her eyes red and puffy from crying—that much was clearly visible even though the light in the room wasn't very bright—but to him she looked magnificent in the flickering twilight. Unreal, like a fairy, the pallor of her skin sharply contrasting with the dark colour of her hair and her black robes. She said nothing; she only looked at him with those large, red-rimmed eyes, now thankfully no longer shedding tears.

"It's still early. You should go back to sleep," Severus said calmly. "You need to catch up on some."

But she didn't return to her bedroom; she walked towards the sofa and sat down there instead. "I've been somewhat of a mess recently, haven't I?" She spoke softly, cautiously, as if she didn't want to accidentally stir awake the demons that had been haunting her.

"You were… quite a nuisance—not that I would really blame you for it," he replied quietly. "But running away and hiding is no solution; it never was and never will be. We can't just run away from what we are—and we can't run away from what we were. It took me quite some time myself to figure that one out."

"Philosopher," she commented dryly. He almost thought he saw a wry smile tugging somewhere at the corners of her lips.

"I had good teachers in the matter of philosophy," he countered equally dryly.

"Like whom?" She sounded still tired.

"Dumbledore, for example—well, mostly. But also Moody—the impostor as well as the real one—the only DADA teacher in a decade to last more than a year in a row without ending up with the remains of a Dark wizard on the back of his head, that is," he said sarcastically, throwing her a meaningful glance and a lopsided smile. She returned it, if only faintly. "And as much as I hate to admit it—," he winced for emphasis, "—I confess even through Lupin and Black, former schoolmates of mine—I never liked them—I've come to conclusions about myself—not very pleasant ones, mind you." She had to smile at that statement. A smile that lit up her face. It was a start. "And there's you, of course," he added.

"What? Why me?" She met his gaze, a surprised expression on her face. He had almost forgotten what she looked like when she let her emotions—other than sadness and misery—show. And now he was literally showered in the multitude of different expressions that appeared on her face.

"You showed me I could feel something apart from fear of being discovered, hate towards Voldemort for what he made me do, sometimes even towards Dumbledore who asked me to join the Dark Lord once again even if only for spying purposes. I almost lost myself in Darkness once more. Self-loathing is what I feel most of the time, I think—and you know it—perhaps even some self-pity, which is the lowest of all feelings—feeling sorry for yourself gets you nowhere," he said bitterly. It felt strange to him to put his emotions into words and utter them to another person. But it was easier when he was with her, since he only confirmed what she sensed already. "And watching you fight against yourself every single moment I saw you—well, as soon as I'd opened my eyes and really saw you—taught me that there are after all things worth to be fighting for, of which not the least is life itself. A quite important lesson that was. I just learnt the main part of it recently, when it was almost too late, too late for your life."

"You know exactly what you're talking about."

He sat down next to her. "Oh yes, I definitely do…"

~*~*~

He looked sad now—an expression hardly ever crossing Severus Snape's face—at least not when he was aware that he was being watched.

It was as if their roles were switched. Sariss suddenly felt the urge to comfort him instead of asking for comfort herself. "Then neither of us will have to be sad on their own," she said softly and pulled him into her arms; a gesture that seemed to startle him a bit, as it was quite unexpected an action coming from her in a moment like this. "I forgive you," she whispered, hardly trusting her voice, stroking his hair, as he had done with her earlier that night. "Severus."

In a way, it felt important to say his name again. For some strange reason that Sariss couldn't seem to figure out, it had always meant so much in their relationship to say each other's first name. It was something of a sign that they were all right with each other. They might as well have used a thousand words and they wouldn't have expressed so much as they could with that single word that was 'Severus' or 'Sariss'. Those two words could mean anything from 'So we're alone…' to 'Thank you for being there.'

Thus, it gave an even deeper meaning to those simple three words that were 'I forgive you.' It emphasized them to an extent that was so unimaginable that Sariss only grew aware of it when the words had already been said.

"And I trust you," she added, tears lingering in her voice as well as stinging in her eyes again. And that just when she'd thought there wouldn't be any more tears left.

He did not reply. He only sighed deeply, put his arms around her and brushed his lips over her skin for a second. They were dry as parchment but at the same time, they were so soft and so hot whereas hers were always so cold. Well, almost always. Only then, she realized how much she had missed this. His warmth, the familiarity of his scent, the light-headedness that overcame her when he was so close, as though the outside world were of no importance at all…

For several minutes, they said nothing. It was completely silent save for the crackling noises of the fire burning in the fireplace and the sound of his breathing. She could feel his warm breath on her neck. It made shivers run down her spine. She had almost forgotten…

When Sariss swallowed a sigh or sob or whatever it would have become, had she allowed it to escape, Severus lifted his head from her shoulder and looked at her. His eyes were… different. So open. So… full of emotions and unshed tears. She had never looked as deep into his soul as she did now. This was Severus Snape as hardly a handful of people had ever seen him, as he allowed only a handful of people to see him. She was shaken by what she saw. She hadn't been prepared for anything quite like this—and she had already had an idea of the chains that were around his innermost self, binding it to pain and Darkness. It was heartbreakingly similar to her own, like a reflection of herself.

Sariss tried to blink back another tear. It escaped despite her efforts, snaking its way downwards, leaving a moist and salty trail behind.

"You…" he began, but trailed off again, brushing her cheek with his knuckles. Obviously, he was at a loss for words now.

"Yes," she whispered softly, resting her hand against his cheek, gently running her thumb over his cheekbone, her eyes not leaving his for the fraction of a second as she did so. He covered her hand with his, leaning into her palm, pressing his lips to her wrist, the spot where the pulse is.

Running her other hand through his hair and resting it on the nape of his neck (he looked up), she drew him near, brought her lips to his and kissed him, gently, savouring his taste, his scent, the feel of his mouth that sometimes looked so hard yet was so very soft when she kissed him. Still tentatively brushing her lips over his, she started to melt against him again, when he kissed her back, in exactly the way he brewed his potions. Carefully, meticulously, painstakingly slowly. It was as though the world started spinning around her. She couldn't think of anything else but the feeling of his lips covering hers; her body so very close to his once again; his arms around her, embracing her, holding her tightly; his fingers running through her hair, gathering it up and entwining themselves in it as if of a will of their own.

He slowly deepened the kiss, taking her breath away. His hands seemed to leave searingly hot traces on her neck, her shoulders, her back, making a warmth spread through her body such as she'd never felt before. Pulling her head back so he had better access to her throat and neck, he left her mouth and trailed kisses along her jaw line and towards her throat. His kisses, light but so very warm as they were, caused her to shiver again. She slid her other hand around his neck, too, her fingers into his hair, which felt so incredibly soft, softer than she would ever have thought it could feel…

She had almost forgotten…

All her senses seemed to be heightened; that must be the reason why she felt as though she were floating… This felt so… amazing… so special, sinful, wicked, wonderful…

~*~*~

A sigh escaped Sariss's lips as Severus found a particularly sensitive spot and—due to the reaction he'd caused—paid some more attention to it; sinking his teeth into her soft, once again flawless, milk-white flesh. Slowly and as gently as possible, he drew it between his teeth, savouring the taste of her now slowly warmer getting skin, sucking lightly, thus extricating a series of little noises from her that she had never before uttered. They sounded so beguiling, so luscious, but at the same moment so innocently surprised and astounded… as though she herself hadn't known that she was capable of making those sweet, husky, noises.

Her hands were entangled in his hair and roaming over his back.

"Severus…" she whispered, and he moved to kiss her mouth again. She captured him in a kiss that was so incredible, so deep, hot and seducing… she had never kissed him remotely like that before. It was as if she wanted to make up for lost time. He kissed her back fervently, matching her ardour completely.

As her hands left his neck and shoulders and crawled into his robes, he forced himself to pull away from her, catching his breath, trying to gather his wits enough to be able to speak, which he did. "Sariss…" he said quite unsteadily. "I think we both know where this is going to end if we don't stop this right now."

She was flushed, her cheeks rosy, her lips red and swollen from their passionate kissing. Resting her hands against his chest, she answered breathlessly, "What if I don't want to stop?"

He wanted her, too. He wanted to hold her, make love to her and kiss her as though the world were to end the following day. But she was so vulnerable now, so easily hurt, so easy to influence… As much as he wanted her… And, oh gods, how much he wanted her! Ever since their first real kiss, no even before that, he had wanted her… But it was still too early, too soon after what she had gone through, wasn't it? So he settled for a hesitant, "I wouldn't want to take advantage of you. You might regret it if we—."

She put her finger to his lips, thus silencing him. "I won't if you won't," she whispered, grabbing him by the collar and drawing him with her as she laid down on the sofa, pressing her lips against his again, opening her mouth under his, hungrily sliding her little lukewarm hands back into his shirt and around his neck, pulling him towards her. All conscious thoughts left his mind then; there were no more doubts, no more fears, no past, no future, nothing but her.

No regrets.

His lips followed the path they had taken earlier; along her jaw line, then further down, eliciting a series of shuddering breaths and little gasps from her again as he found the very spot he had discovered only a minute ago. He dwelt on it until he felt her whole body go all weak and she sighed his name again.

It was then that he picked her up—she seemed almost weightless at this moment; light as a feather, as if she weren't really there at all—and carried her back into the bedroom, breaking their eye-contact not for the fraction of a second; delighting in the desire and need he could see burning in her eyes. Eyes that had been cold and empty a not so very long time ago. Now they were full of life again, a bit older, more grown-up, perhaps, but full of the life that had dreaded to leave them forever—.

"You're alive," he said. "You're here."

"I'm yours," she breathed and kissed him again, in a way that threatened to make him stumble and fall.

As soon as he'd put her down again she started to fumble with the clasps of his robes, not very successfully since her hands, along with the rest of her body, were shivering with anticipation. He assisted her, also trembling; pulling off his robe and, while they were at it, her robe, too. She wore a dress underneath, a close-fitting, black dress made of some incredibly soft and flowing material similar to velvet, but it wasn't even getting close to the sensation he felt when he touched her skin. The dress was of classic shape, simple, decent—yet revealing more than it should possibly have—although, he had to admit, perhaps this was only so because he was so close to her and so absorbed in the sight and feel of her, so conscious of the curves of her breasts, her narrow waist, the gentle curves of her hips and thighs… a perfect hourglass figure. He found himself inwardly cursing those wizard's robes. They had almost always hidden this image of seduction… (But—on the other hand—that might have been a good thing…) She was the very embodiment of sin, as she lay there, still completely dressed, yet absolutely breathtakingly seductive and beautiful in the silvery light of the moon that seeped in through the windows, bathing the two of them.

He ran his hand over her body deliciously slowly, her thigh, her hip, her stomach, her breasts, then he pulled her up against him so it was easier for him to free her of her dress. As soft as the material was, he suddenly found it highly offending, only because it was between them. Her thoughts seemed to follow the same path since she was already unbuttoning his shirt; her fingers slithering over his naked chest, leaving a burning trail behind where they touched him.

More and more of their clothing found its way to the floor, as he teased and kissed every square inch of her skin he exposed, skin that had been mistreated and injured just a fortnight or so ago but was now perfectly whole and healthy, soft and smooth, again, making goose bumps erupt all over her as he caressed and stroked and kissed the delicate white flesh of her breasts and moving systematically lower.

She was positively burning now. Her hands warm on his arms and shoulders and back, against his chest and in his hair… Her breath was coming in little gasps and sighs, little noises that sounded as though he were playing an instrument.

Retracing his path upwards, he could hear a small moan of frustration from her that he quickly silenced with a long and hungry kiss.

"Severus," she breathed softly, against his lips. "You should know… I haven't ever done anything like this before…"

Although she had never made a comment about that, he had actually suspected it; everything about her had indicated it. The way no one had ever really approached her but her closest friends. Most people were at least a bit afraid of the aura of power that surrounded her—and most of those who weren't she pushed away—for obvious reasons… The way she'd blushed or tried to pull away, to keep a certain distance, when somebody was being close to her like when they had been dancing… The way she'd kissed him for the first time… Scared of losing control over something she couldn't even name… Thus, he wasn't really surprised, and he said so.

"I know," he whispered, pushing a strand of her hair away that had somehow crawled its way over her forehead and down the right side of her face. "I won't hurt you, I promise. I'll never let you get hurt again for as long as blood runs through these veins of mine." He made to reach for his wand. Certain precautions were definitely in order. But she caught his hand before it reached the wrinkled heap of his robes.

She shook her head no and ran her left hand, her wand hand, over his cheek, brushing the tip of her forefinger over his tingling lips; then she pressed the palm of her hand on her stomach, mouthing a spell. He couldn't quite understand which one it was, but he knew what it was for as the glowing spell seeped into her. She indeed lived true to her dictum: Always be prepared.

And then she pulled him down on her, wrapping her body around him, devouring his mouth in a deep, hot, desperate kiss that bordered on being suffocating. By now she must have realized how much he wanted her, he was sure of this. Pulling his mouth away from hers, yet hovering above her so that their breaths mingled, he asked her one last time, "Are you sure about this?"

"I've never been surer about anything," she answered, smiling up at him in a way that… there were no words to describe this smile with. It was a small smile, hardly there at all, but it reached her eyes, making them sparkle—he wanted to drown in her eyes. Those watery-green pools that could look at him so coldly and grimly, so lovingly and seductively…

She was not in the least afraid.

Locking his gaze with hers, he started to ease himself inside her. She was more than ready for him, deliciously tight, and as he felt something give way, she gasped, gave a small whimper of pain and arched up against him, painfully digging her fingernails into the skin of his shoulders, burying her face in the crook of his neck, her hot breath coming in little gasps. He held her, unmoving, letting her grow accustomed to this sensation that was so new to her. She moaned softly, but held onto him, tremors racing through her, the muscles in her body seemingly protesting against his intrusion—which caused him to draw in a sharp breath between his teeth. Not yet. Too soon. Take your time.

After a few moments, when the tremors had subsided, he laid her back into the pillows, and leisurely running his hands up the sides of her stomach and over her breasts, he pulled her arms over her head and laced his fingers with hers; then, very slowly, he began moving, and after a few moments she responded, matching the rhythm he'd set perfectly, as though she'd never done anything else in her life but made love to him.

Her whole body tensed and relaxed in quick succession, arching up against him over and over again, her breathing fast, her voice low and husky as she whispered his name in the very way he wanted and needed to hear it.

Shudders of passion raced through her body—he could feel them as clearly as his own—as he slowly increased his pace. She was writhing beneath him, around him, giving him more pleasure than he could ever have asked of her. He hadn't expected it to be like this, not when this was her first time. Was she reading his emotions? That would be an easy enough task for her, now that Severus could think of nothing else but her, for once in his life thinking solely about her and nothing else, not the Dark Lord, not the danger they both were in, not the past.

It was a frightening experience to be with her. She was so different from any other woman he had ever known. She was so strong. Maybe that was the reason why she always seemed so cold and detached. But now she chose not to be strong any longer. In his arms, she was weak, fragile, and pliant, and she was all that because she wanted to. She had the strength to expose herself to him in every way he could think of. It scared him to the bone—but strangely, that only added to the ecstasy.

Severus lavished kisses on the tender flesh of her breasts, hot kisses, wicked kisses, drawing her rosy, painfully hard and sensitive nipples between his teeth, sucking the taste of her skin into him. Bittersweet and intoxicating. And Sariss responded by arching her back and uttering his name in hoarse, barely audible whispers and sighs.

After a while, her breathing became shallow and even frantic. Amazing that she could suddenly be as scared as he had been only moments ago. Scared of giving in? Of losing control?

"Let go. I'll catch you when you fall," he reassuringly whispered against her lips, releasing her hands so they were free to roam over his body, which they did. Sariss pressed the palms of her hands firmly against him, his chest, his shoulders, his back, as though she wanted to imprint her hands on him, memorize every sinew and muscle in his body. All this time she had had her eyes closed, her throat exposed to his sensual assault as she arched her body against him like a living crossbow. Now she opened them again and started to speak—or rather breathe, "Severus, I…" She was interrupted by a series of moans, which he managed to elicit from her. "Please…" He slowed down his pace—it must be maddeningly slow for her—and covered her mouth with his again; those delicious little gasps and sighs she gave echoing in his mouth as her hands ran down his back, urging him on.

Then, as he pushed her over the edge, she uttered a small scream, arching up against him once again, and collapsed, her body trembling, her breathing heavy. At the very moment this happened, the air prickled again and the walls crackled in protest of the impact of the magic that clearly came from her. And all the candles that were usually illuminating the room but hadn't been set alight for obvious reasons—Sariss and Severus had been otherwise occupied—seemed to literally explode; but merely for a second until only a few merrily flickering flames remained, throwing a gentle light on the scene.

Sariss's hands were leaving searing trails all over him; her fingers dug into his skin as if she wanted to make sure that he was really there—and her nails were a bit sharpish. Even the pain sent surprisingly interesting sensations through him. Her usually so very cold body was emitting a heat that seemed to make her glow from the inside. It was strangely satisfying that Severus knew that what he was doing caused her to be like that.

He was not finished assaulting her senses yet. It was a devastating experience; completely impossible that they were making love so decadently as if there was nothing but the two of them in the world. Maybe that was the reason why it felt so exceptionally good to be with her. Mmm… And the things she kept saying… She was so obviously not aware that she was saying such things. She wasn't thinking. She was only feeling. He liked what he heard, her incoherent Come Hithers, her sighs, her small screams.

It was better than any dream about her that he'd ever had.

She shuddered violently once more.

And Severus, too, felt tremors rush through his body, before he found himself collapsed on top of her, her hands travelling upwards and into his hair, running through it, stroking him tenderly, holding him close.

He could hear her heart beating.

After a few moments of savouring the myriads of sensations that were flowing through his body, he lifted his head and looked at her face. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed, her slightly parted lips so very invitingly red and rosy, her forehead covered in a thin layer of sweat.

So beautiful. Like a marble angel… But so soft… And alive.

He brushed a kiss over those almost bruised lips before he rolled off her, pulling her with him so he could hold her in his arms. There was not the slightest hint of resistance in her. Softness incarnate. Her body was so warm now; she was still wrapped around him in a way that made it seem to him that there was not a single spot on either one of their bodies that wasn't touching.

He drew some of the blankets up around her shoulders, to keep the warmth there for a little while longer, and put his arms around her, pressing her against his body.

So conscious of the feeling of her hand resting on his chest he was, so conscious of the sensation of her breath on his damp skin, of the structure of her hair that seemed to have crawled its way simply everywhere, the softness and temperature of her skin that was cooling all too rapidly as she lay there, snuggling into him, sighing contentedly… There was no need for words now. The afterglow was just too delicious to spoil it by saying something stupid. There were so many clichés that could be said now, completely spoiling the mood. Things from 'And? How was it for you?' to 'You were great.' They would make it sound like some sort of contest. Who's the better lover? Who's best?

But he could say something else, something that was also a cliché. Perhaps even more of a cliché than the others. He could say, 'I love you.' When spoken in moments like this one, however, it seldom had as much meaning as it had when you said it because you looked at the one you loved and were violently reminded how much you loved them. Severus had loved very few people in his life. And even fewer people had loved him. Sariss might be one of the people who added to both. What if he told her he loved her right this instant? What would she answer?

He chose not to speak at all.

"Sariss?" he whispered after a while, suddenly aware that there was a wetness where her face was that didn't really belong there.

"Hmm?" she answered, her breath lingering at the base of his throat.

"Are you… crying?" he asked, somewhat alarmed.

"Yes." He could hardly hear her.

"I… I didn't hurt you, did I?" he enquired cautiously, an unpleasant feeling starting to arise in his stomach.

"No, not really," she whispered softly.

Severus breathed a sigh of relief although this had been another one of her infamous, indistinct answers.

"Then why are you crying?" he asked, gently stroking her hair and her hand that was still resting on his chest.

"It's just… I don't know it myself," Sariss replied and hoisted herself up so that he could see her face. "Pay no attention. It will pass. I'm sure of it." Tears were glistening on her cheeks, like large, transparent pearls, but a smile was on her lips as she brushed his damp hair out of his face and kissed him again, a deep and lingering kiss; the lusciously sweet taste of her mouth mingling with the salty taste of the sweat and the tears covering her face.

He rolled her onto her back again and began everything anew. She must have bewitched him. A single long, sweet kiss had sufficed to make him painfully aware that once had not been enough. Not even remotely. He realized that most likely he would never get enough of her, and he had to admit that he didn't ever want it to be enough, as she, no longer shy and reserved, pushed him onto his back again, straddling him with her legs, and started exploring his body as he had explored hers, her hands and mouth curiously roaming everywhere, discovering and capturing, touching him in a way that was so—he couldn't think of any words to describe the sensations he felt with.

There was no pleasure, no rapture, no exquisite sin greater…

Next chapter:

Sariss recalls the most recent events, attends breakfast, gets almost suffocated and actually manages a smile or two—and Ron loses a bet.