Author's note: Thanks go to Metieth, only one of the great people I've met at VH. Now… Does nobody else read this anymore?

Chapter 25: No More be Grieved

No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are;

—Excerpt from William Shakespeare: Sonnet No. 35

Severus woke up. He had no idea why he did, until he heard a very small stifled sob. He turned his head to where Sariss was lying. She had turned her back to him and curled up in a small ball as though she wanted to disappear in her long silken nightgown.

"Sariss. What's up, love?" he asked softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her skin was awfully cold. Even if this hadn't been her usual state, the—at least in her standards—quite flimsy nightgown couldn't have protected her, as the fire had burnt down.

"Don't do this."

"Don't do what?"

"Try to soothe me. You can't, Severus. No one can. Not even you. I'll just wait until I fall asleep again," she replied. It was obvious that she tried to give her voice a tinge that made it more steady-sounding than it actually was.

"Sariss," he said. "Come here. You're cold."

"I always am," she said wearily.

He gently put his arms around her and rolled her over so that she faced him. She must have been crying for quite some time. Her face was so wet with tears; it looked like she had walked through a thunderstorm. The silvery moonlight that fell on her face made her skin look almost translucent; she looked like a porcelain doll with her puffy eyes closed, the long black lashes heavy and soaked with tears.

Severus gently ran his thumb over her cheek, wiping her tears away. The gesture was all too familiar by now. He couldn't remember how often he'd done that already.

"Severus…"

"Shh." He pulled her against him, drew the blankets up around her and hugged her tightly.

"I'm a mess. I've always been. I wonder why you even put up with me…"

"I could ask you the same," Severus replied softly. "But there's something else I'd like to know."

She raised her head and looked up at him; large tears rolling down her face and dropping to his chest like hot salty rain. It was a strange thing that, when her body was so very cold, her tears could be so hot…

"What?" she whispered.

"Tell me why you're crying, really. Answer me, an honest answer."

She gave a mirthless laugh. "How can I answer to questions when I don't know the answer myself… It must have something to do with… what I am. I can hardly remember when it was not so that I cried myself to sleep every other night."

Severus noted that there came no more fresh tears as she said this. "What did you do when there was no one there—?"

"You mean roundabout every other night before this one?" she interrupted him.

He nodded, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear and tenderly stroking her cheek.

She took a deep breath and sighed heavily. "I cried until I fell asleep and I slept until I woke up crying—or screaming," she said softly, a look in her eyes that was so full of sadness and utter loneliness that it almost broke his heart that he could never make it vanish completely.

She had been hiding a great part of her from him even now that they were… lovers, friends, soul mates… None of those words completely applied to them. He did not know a word to describe what exactly it was they were; only that they were close, closer than he had ever thought possible, physically as well as emotionally. So close that 'love' could only describe a fraction of what they had. And it didn't matter. They were both here; that was all that mattered.

No one would ever have thought that she felt like that when looking at her, as she rushed through the corridors, told off the students, attended meals in the Great Hall, smiling slightly when being spoken to… A very talented actress she'd make. How could he ever have thought that he knew her? Even after all those years he had taught her, he had not really known what it was that made her exactly what she was like. He of all people should have known better than to think he could ever have really known her when she had decided not to let him. She was good at hiding her feelings. As good as he was… But not any longer. That applied to both of them.

"I'm sorry, Sariss," he said softly.

"I thought we were through with apologizing for things that cannot be changed." She rested her head on his chest again, her forehead lightly touching his chin.

"Strange how sometimes my life seems to consist entirely of regrets, missed chances and wrong choices…" he whispered, chancing a look at the Dark Mark that was ghastly clear in the silvery moonlight. He suddenly longed for the darkness of his own chambers…

"At least you made your own choices—"

"I'm sorry, Sariss," he said again. "It's my fault. If not completely than at least partially—."

"Severus," she moaned, a quite exasperated touch to her voice. "Stop saying this. Stop speaking entirely if you can't. This conversation is totally useless except for the fact that it makes us both feel more miserable by every word that's spoken." She pressed her lips against his throat and snuggled into him. Her tears had subsided.

"I can never apologize enough—," he said after a while.

"Severus," she spoke quietly but sharply. "I have already told you that I forgive you for whatever it was exactly that you did for him. I don't even want to know. I hold nothing against you! Why can't you just let go of the past? I have. Why can't you?"

"No, you haven't. You couldn't, because it's constantly there. And I can't either. No matter, if I look at you or at myself in the mirror. It's there all the time like the Dark Mark—."

"Is that your weird way of telling me that you put up with me because you feel guilty?"

Not even waiting for his reply, she sat up, quickly grabbed one of the blankets, wrapped it around her body and was out of the room in a split second.

Severus could hear her sit down in the study, the soft rustling of the satin bedspread. In her haste, she hadn't grabbed one of the warmer ones…

The fireplace grumbled softly and flipped over. The scarcely burning fire would accompany her in the study.

He sighed heavily. It was a sigh born out of irritation, anger, perhaps even fury at the fact that this woman was so… so very unstable, moody, temperamental, complicated and who knew what other words could also be applied to her… Why did this woman always leap to conclusions? Why this sudden change of mood? But he knew the answer to at least the latter one of these questions all too well… And thus he once again felt the all too familiar tug of guilt and regrets that she didn't want to hear about anymore because it reminded her too much of her own constantly more or less present sorrow and misery…

Severus, too, grabbed and wrapped one of the remaining blankets around himself and followed her into the study.

The fire was burning again; the merrily flickering flames were throwing dancing shadows on the shelves, the desk, the sofa—and the figure wrapped in a white bedspread, sitting slumped in the armchair by the fireplace, knees drawn up, clutching her improvised garment as tightly as she had clutched the windowsill only three days ago. Was it merely three days? It felt longer. She was staring into the fire—unblinking, as though it held the answers to every question that could ever be asked. Like a ghost she looked. Almost no contrast between the colour of her skin and that of the bedspread. She did not look away from the fire when he entered.

"Sariss, love, talk to me. Scream at me. Throw something… But tell me what you think, what you—." He could bear anything, screams, accusations—anything… but not silence. He had only recently found out that this was exactly the one thing he could not bear when with her: Words hanging in the air between them like clouds of smoke; words left unspoken…

"Do you have any idea about how I feel? Do you even care?" she asked softly, yet not in a tone one would ask a question with. It was more like… he had no idea… less than a statement it was, but not remotely intoned like a question. As if she had been thinking those words, and he had heard them not spoken but thought. But he had heard them; and he had also perceived the sadness and weariness in them.

"No, I don't—I mean, yes—Yes and no. Yes, I care and no, I don't have any idea about how you feel most of the time, for the sole reason that you stubbornly refuse to tell me!" he said, his voice sounding louder to him than he had actually intended. His anger at her hadn't vanished completely, yet. "You don't want to be a burden. Fine, I got that! And you aren't. Yet. But if you don't want to trouble me, which I want you to—"

"I—"

"Let me finish. If you go on like this, you'll become a burden anyway—and a much heavier one at that. Allow yourself to be my burden now, if you want to use that term. Be my concern. Don't be the victim, be the volunteer. Be it willingly. Not because I want it, but because you do." He'd sat down in the other armchair, while he'd spoken.

"You actually care?" she said, tears in her voice yet not on her cheeks.

"Sariss…" he sighed. "I do care. Somehow I believe I've always cared… I just didn't know it. Why can't you believe me this? Talk to me. There's nothing you can't tell me. I'm here for you. You do trust me, don't you?"

"Alright." She sniffed. "Here it comes then, if you really want to hear it—even though I doubt you'll understand…"

Severus said nothing. He only nodded.

She cleared her throat and swallowed. "I'm constantly walking a fine line between reason and madness. I am almost constantly fighting back tears or the urge to release the power that's inside me to hurt or destroy things, people…" she whispered. "It's so bad that I've become used to it. Most of the time I don't even notice it because it's simply always there. It's like cancer… Rarely it happens that the people around me have enough positive feelings in them to make me feel good, too. And when I'm with you it's much worse than with anyone else—."

"Sariss—."

"I'm not finished!" she said harshly, jumping to her feet and starting to pace. "Severus," she continued much more quietly, "when I'm with you, it's heaven and hell at the same time. Sometimes you manage to take my mind off it all. On other occasions, it's coming back violently. I think I'm going insane. Sometimes I don't know the difference between your emotions and mine anymore. I can't tell them apart anymore. Sometimes I think I don't have any myself. Oh, gods, why haven't I fought against all of this more strongly…"

"Are you trying to tell me you want to… I don't know… sort of… break up with me? Does my presence—despite everything—bother you so much?" he asked incredulously. He had done everything in his power to make her… feel better, make her smile, make her feel warm, accepted, needed, loved…

"No, that's not it. I knew you'd get it wrong." She shook her head. The light of the fire played beautifully on her features and softened them. She stopped pacing, rested her head in her hands and started to massage her temples, taking deep calming breaths, rocking back and forth, with her back turned towards Severus. "When you're near me, I'm torn in two; I'm losing myself. I'm falling into you. When you're not near, it's… empty, nothing. I feel empty, hollow, like an echo of myself… Not really there. I never realized that before… Even though it hurts, too, it's sometimes easier to take. Pretend to not be there at all."

He said nothing. He only sat there—resisting the urge to get up, embrace her tightly and say that he also knew what being torn felt like—and watched her as she walked back towards the armchair and once again slumped into it, her hand covering her eyes.

After a while, Sariss looked up at him. "See? If I can't put it in words clearly enough to not be misunderstood, how could you, Severus, ever understand me?" She looked away again and continued to speak as though she were talking to herself. "How could anyone ever really know what it's like being what I am… being something that only exists once… something that…"

Severus approached her as she spoke and said, "Listen to yourself. You still regard yourself as something, not as someone. You are someone…" He slowly lowered himself to one knee so he was at the same level with her. "And if you were nothing to everyone else, to me you are the most important thing—being," he quickly corrected himself. Words could be so misleading sometimes, especially when with her, "that has ever walked the surface of this planet."

Because you made me break and then made me whole.

But he broke her. Can you make her whole? You know she isn't.

I'm trying. I'm doing all I can.

She was successfully fighting back tears and swallowed. Taking a deep breath, she regained her composure, and glancing at him with a look in her eyes that gave nothing away of what she must be feeling like, she began slowly and firmly, "Forgive me my outburst, Severus. I know what I'm doing to you when I'm acting like this… Believe me, I know. It hurts me, too. Just like it hurts you. It won't happen again. You won't see me like this anymore. I won't let you catch me in a situation like this again. I'll just leave the room instead. I promise, I'll compose myself. I—." Her initial firmness had all too soon dissolved into the shaking voice he knew quite well by now.

"Sariss, I… Please, don't hide from me." He took her hands and brought them to his lips. She let him, closing her eyes, not putting up any resistance at all—and he kissed the back of her hands, her knuckles, her palms, her wrists, her pulse.

"Severus, don't you realize that your eyes are deceiving you? I am not what you see. You simply can't want to be with an illusion. I am not what I seem to be. I've been—"

"I know what you are. And I like being with you," he said. "I want to be here. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world."

"No, you don't. You couldn't. You don't know me. I am—"

"I know what you are," he interrupted her. "You've got an unusually strong personality, which regards every avowal of needing something or asking for it as horrifying." He was surprised at himself for finding those words, even more so because he felt they were true.

Silence. She nodded. Then, "If only that were all," she said. She sounded exhausted.

"Come. I'm there for you. Please, be my most precious burden. Allow yourself to not be strong," he said and made to lift her up.

"I don't want to trouble you."

"Please do trouble me."

He could hardly believe what he was saying. Where did those words come from? Who was he that, all of a sudden, he found such gentle words, such compassionate terms? What made him act so different? How was it that he knew exactly what he had to say to quieten her troubled soul?

It was astounding how good it felt to be so… well, the way he was.

And she was the reason for everything. She managed to make him feel as if he were a good man.

He gathered her up and easily carried her back towards the bedroom.

"Severus?" she asked, her breath lingering on his throat. She was shivering a little as though she were cold, which she was in spite of the warmth in her chambers. And it was quite warm. Severus was not cold at all despite his naked chest.

"Hmm?" he replied, trying to hold her tighter without making the blankets he had wrapped around his waist slip or stumbling over the ones that were hanging down almost to the floor from the shivering form he held in his arms.

"I think I'd rather be with you in hell than without you in utter emptiness…"

"I'm glad that we established that. And I assure you, you're a much lighter burden when you're holding on as tightly as you are now," he said, sharply sucking air in between his teeth when her cold fingertips slithered to the nape of his neck leaving a trail of goose bumps behind.

Severus gently laid her onto the bed and climbed in after her, drawing up the blankets around the two of them, who were occupying no more space than a single person would need.

"Thank you, Severus. You can't even have a remotely accurate idea of how much all of this really means to me. Everything. You probably don't know this, but you saved me in every way one being can save another—and I haven't even properly thanked you for it," she whispered against his chest.

He was at a loss for words. Had she uttered the famous three words he wouldn't have been more stunned by her confessions. Her choice of words, her tone of voice, said everything.

Severus pressed his lips to her forehead and almost crushed her against his body, holding her as tightly as he could, as though by doing this he could pass through her like a ghost. "I had to choose between a world with you and one without you. In the nick of time, I've made my choice in favour of the first alternative. Was it the right choice, Sariss? Or did you mean what you said to me? Would you rather I had killed you? Tell me I made the right choice."

"Yes. Yes, I think it was the right choice. Thank you," she said, not complaining about the fact that he must be almost suffocating her, the way he held her. It was impossible to tell which one of them was clinging more to the other one.

"No. Thank you," he said as though he were talking to himself and covered her hand that was resting on his chest with his.

After a while, he heard her voice again. "Strange how you know almost everything there's to know about me when I know so little about…" she mumbled sleepily.

"Sariss, all you really need to know about me is that—," he began quietly. Then he looked at her, only to realize that she'd fallen asleep.

"Good night, my love," he whispered. "Don't wake up crying."

~*~*~

Sariss had excused herself for the whole afternoon to get some work done and prepare the lessons for when the students returned in a few days she wouldn't have much time for anything else but grading their essays and preparing her lessons. Thus, it was quite logical to finish a great part of what had to be done now. Severus had found this a very good idea also—even though he would have preferred to spend his time with her. He had suggested moving the papers to either one of their offices or studies but she had refused very politely, explaining that, if they were to be in one room for hours and hours they would most likely not do what they were paid for…

"…And thanks to you I have to grade twenty twenty-four inches long essays about Basilisks and Runespoors. As if half of that wouldn't have done. That way the students only write larger and in the case of some, very large indeed…" she said. "Admit it, you were moody that day."

"I was worried about you…"

"And you had nothing better to do than make my students miserable, too?"

"If you put it that way… Yes," he smirked. "But since it was my idea to let them work a bit more than usual—," Sariss raised her eyebrows at that, "—I might as well grade them, too."

"What? No, I am not going to let you do this."

"Why not?"

"Severus, has it ever occurred to you that you're just a tiny little bit… biased?"

"Of course I am. I must be. I am—."

"Oh please, the other Heads of Houses don't award points to their or take them from other houses because they feel like it. They do it when something has been very good or seriously wrong to do."

"And what are you implying with that?"

"Severus, love, you're favouring your Slytherins quite unmistakably, a bit too obviously if you ask me—when under certain other circumstances you can be so very subtle… You've always done that."

"They are good kids—at least some of them," he had to add.

"Malfoy?"

"Had potential. I already said that. And his father is still much respected. I can't just start giving him detention even though he deserves it. He'd be doing nothing else but serving detentions if I did."

"He needs a taste of reality. He can't live his whole life as his father's son, the shadow of his father lurking behind everyone who tries to teach this boy some morals. He has a very twisted sense about right and wrong—."

"As do all Death Eaters, you want to say?"

She winced. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking what I could be implying with this…"

"Don't apologize. You're right. In every respect."

"I needed to hear that from you, really." She smirked. "Lately you were right far too often for my taste—not that I'd complain, mind you, it just irks me a bit."

"You don't say."

She playfully wrinkled her nose at him. Cute. But then she grew serious again. "We should keep a close eye on the Slytherins, Death Eater offspring in particular. The tension in the air is almost tangible. Something is going to happen. I can almost reach out with my hands and grasp it…"

"You're not just imagining things? After all you went through it would be—"

"Understandable, logical, perhaps?" she finished for him.

He nodded.

"I'm not round the bend, Severus. I do not hear voices. I just sense the atmosphere and it doesn't feel like something to write home about. Not at all. With this prophecy looming all over the place… I understand perfectly well that the Dark side is getting nervous…"

"The prophecy. I'd completely forgotten about it…" Severus said thoughtfully. "Any idea what it means?"

"Why are you asking me that? You should ask Trelawney. In spite of everything, she's the expert—."

"But I am asking you."

She nodded, catching on. "You saw my copy of it, didn't you?" she said cautiously, turning away from him to look out of the window.

"Yes."

"And? What do you think?"

"No. No, that doesn't work with me. I asked you first and thus you'll answer me first before asking me something, got it?"

"Always the teacher, aren't you?" she asked lightly. However, there was an almost imperceptible edge to her voice that didn't escape Severus.

"Oh, stop it already! This is heading towards a nasty row again, and one without a purpose to serve at that."

"Indeed it is. And it will happen if you don't stop pressuring me."

"I was just asking. Nothing more, nothing less. So?"

She groaned—something she did a lot when Severus was around her, he noted. "Let's just say I have a feeling about what it might mean, alright?"

"Have you spoken to Dumbledore about it? He might be interested in learning—."

"No. And I don't think I will. Not now anyway. I'll let the experts handle this. Let them figure it out. Guesswork is not of any use here."

"Care to share your guesswork with me, then?" he asked curiously.

You definitely know more than you let on, dearest. Knowledge is power. Superior knowledge is control. Control is what you crave.

"I'd rather not. After all, I might be wrong…" she said a bit shakily.

"Or you might be right," he countered, stepping next to her and chancing a look at her profile.

"That's what I fear most…" she trailed off.

He opened his mouth to speak but shut it again when he saw her wrap her arms around herself and rub her upper arms for warmth (which was quite in vain) and reassurance perhaps. The small frown and the almost pleading look in her eyes that were, however, not looking at him, told him clearly not to inquire any further. He'd have to wait and see when she'd decide to let him in on her unpleasant suspicions.

Maybe she thinks it has something to do with her…

Maybe it does… Why else would she be so reluctant to tell anyone about her theories?

An outstretched hand, a deadly embrace…

She's not a vampire. Deadly embrace. Such nonsense.

"Will I see you at dinner then?" he asked after a few moments of silence.

"Hmm? Oh," she said, apparently caught off-guard by his sudden change of topic. But then she smiled, "Yes."

"I'm looking forward to seeing you there."

"Can't keep away from me for too long a time all of a sudden, can you?" she drawled, stepping closer to him and putting her arms around his waist.

"I don't know what might have given you this impression," he said with a smirk.

She tsked. "Alright, then not."

"Then what not?"

"I was intending to give you something to go, but if you treat me like that," she said, dropping her hands from his waist to her sides.

"Would you rather I treated you like this…" he said, pulling her near, cupping her face with his hand and stooping slightly until he was hardly an inch away from her.

"That's more like it," she breathed, "and as it happens to be that's the one thing that has been on my mind…"

And then she pulled his lips down to hers and kissed him, deeply, hotly, lingeringly, seductively… in essence: senseless. After a minute or so she pulled back, catching her breath.

"That's not fair," Severus said equally breathless. "How am I to concentrate now that you showed me what I can't have?"

"On the contrary. I showed you what you will have. That was a promise and not a demonstration of power."

"You think you have power over me?"

"No, I don't think I have. I know I have."

"I think not," he teased, knowing fully well that she was right. He realized that he'd do anything she asked him to do. There was nothing he wouldn't do for her. Nothing at all.

"Really? Then, perhaps, I should go get my senses tested. All of them…"

And with that said, a wink and a smile, she had swept out of the room, leaving a Severus Snape behind who was very much looking forward to dinner and—most importantly—dessert…

And now Severus was rummaging around in his office, doing an inventory of potions ingredients, controlling their quality and quantity, and then grading essays, sighing and groaning from time to time when he read something completely stupid and off-topic. He realized Sariss had been right when she'd said they needed to get some work done. Severus hadn't been very diligent the last few days when it came to his lessons and duties as a teacher. At first he'd been worried about her, then he'd been angry with her, after that he'd been worried again—and then he'd had better things to do than grading those cursed essays. For once in his life, he wished he hadn't given the students so much homework to do. Usually it served the purpose of occupying his mind with something else but—no, stop thinking about any of this, it's over, once and for all now!

However, now its only purpose seemed to be his separation from her. This annoying—yet lovely—wench that made the Severus Snape appear that he could have been had there not—. Don't go there again, Severus Snape! he reprimanded himself. No self-pity. It's in the past and can't be changed. You're through with all of this…

He chanced a look at the clock. Had he really been here for the whole afternoon? According to the clock, yes. According to the stack of already graded essays, yes. Impossible that time should have passed so quickly… Well, he had been busy after all… Tempus fugit. It's astounding how time is fleeting sometimes… Dinner would be ready soon… And as if on cue, he felt that he was hungry, too.

Quickly finishing the last essay, he laid it on the top of the stack and ran a hand through his hair. Finally.

And as he got up and headed towards the door, he heard a noise coming from the fireplace and a figure stepped out, coughing and waving away the smoke. "I hate Floo powder," Sariss muttered as she caught sight of the look on his face.

"And a good evening to you, too," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd come and get you. Wouldn't have wanted you to miss dinner."

"Afraid I forgot about your little promise?"

She crossed her arms in front of her. "I choose to ignore that question for now. I was just intending to accompany you. But if you don't want me to I might as well—." She turned back towards the fireplace, muttering, "Gods, I do hate Floo powder."

"I'd feel honoured if you'd accompany me," he said and extended his arm to her.

"Really? All of a sudden?" She took a few steps towards him.

"Definitely." Severus noticed that she looked a bit tired and strained.

"Alright," she replied, "if you're sure my presence—."

He silenced her by pulling her close and putting a finger to her lips. "If we don't go now, we won't have dinner at all. This desk looks more and more inviting by every passing second."

"It doesn't," she said with a smirk after having taken a look at it.

"You just said that to oppose me."

"Yes, I did. I discovered I just love opposing you, for the mere sake of it. Let's go nonetheless."

"If you insist…"

"I do."

Arm in arm they made their way up the staircase and into the Great Hall—there were no longer curious glances chanced at them—and took their respective seats, filling their plates with chicken and mashed potatoes.

"So?" Dumbledore asked after a while, his eyes twinkling. "Have you spent a nice afternoon?"

"I wish we had," Sariss answered, ignoring the implication one could read into the headmaster's words. "I had twenty twenty-four inches long essays to grade in addition to what I—."

"Rub it in, will you? I offered to grade them for you," Severus interrupted.

Sariss took a sip of pumpkin juice and then said, "And I said that my students are already miserable enough for writing them. They don't need another blow from you. Potions is enough."

"Sariss," he began, setting down his fork, ready to launch into another one of their verbal battles. He couldn't help it. She must be doing this deliberately, driving him up the wall the way she did. "I—." He caught his breath. Her hand was travelling up his knee…

"What is it?" she asked innocently.

"Nothing," he forced out through clenched teeth, breathing a sigh of relief when her hand stopped its journey before reaching a really dangerous area. "You're a little devil," he whispered into her ear. "Winning an argument by using such means… It's not fair."

"You as a Slytherin like me should know that we do not tend to play fair because life isn't fair either," she whispered back, her breath lingering on his ear, making the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Then she pulled back to drink from her goblet.

"You just wait until we're alone," he said, mimicking her earlier gesture. She choked on her pumpkin juice.

"You are impossible," she replied a bit shakily, but she managed to plaster an indifferent expression to her face, quite an achievement when one took into account that he let his hand travel slowly higher and higher.

She threw him a sideways glance that told him more than a thousand words. He only smirked. "Alright," she said, setting down her fork. "That's it. I'm finished. How about you?"

"I was only waiting for you."

Sariss had an expression on her face as though she couldn't decide whether she wanted to laugh or simply slap him. "If you'll excuse me, Professor Dumbledore. Good night, everyone." She stood up briskly.

"Retiring so early?" the headmaster asked, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles.

Sariss looked at him, then at Severus, back at the headmaster again and then she closed her eyes and shook her head, as though she wanted to say something like, 'Oh no, not you, too. I can't handle two people teasing me.'

Severus stood up and turned to leave. "Headmaster, Professors."

Sariss pushed back her chair and followed him wordlessly. As soon as the doors of the Great Hall had closed behind them, she grabbed hold of his sleeve. "You find all of this incredibly funny, don't you?"

"You were the one who started it."

"Started what?"

"Being naughty."

"Not as naughty as you were, and you all but asked for it…" she began. "Wait a minute! I thought you liked me being naughty."

"Not when in the Great Hall."

"Where then?" she asked with an upward glance. "Your oh so inviting desk?" she said, more than just a tinge of irony in her voice.

"Not when there are much more comfortable alternatives. Your chambers are on the second floor at this time of day, aren't they?"

"I think so, but your chambers are closer," she said.

"My chambers are colder, too. I shall have to try and get them a tad warmer before I take you there again."

"Not much use. You're the only one who can make me feel warm. But nonetheless… That's what I call thoughtful."

"Then we agree to use your chambers, even though they are so very far away?" he asked teasingly.

"I think so… The last one there is a Flobberworm." She had started running up the marble staircase as she said this, but Severus caught up with her in the first floor corridor and swept her up into his arms. "You didn't really think you had a chance, did you?" he asked proceeding along the corridor with long strides.

"Actually, I don't care. So we're both Flobberworms." Sariss giggled, her lips touching his earlobe as she did so.

"Not if I drop you," he drawled huskily.

"You wouldn't," she growled.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"I won't let you," she replied, putting her arms around his neck. "And after all if you did, I could just go back down to dinner and have my dessert there. Only pudding but nonetheless…"

"I see your point." He set her down again as they had reached the entrance to her chambers. After Sariss had opened the door, she walked in and pulled him in after her, replacing the locking spell with a snap of her fingers.

"Where were we?" she mused, approaching him. "About… here, perhaps?" She ran her hands up his chest and around his shoulders and pressed her lips to his throat, trailing kisses in small circles up to his mouth, only teasing him. The familiar tingling sensation raced through his body as she did so and he entwined his fingers in her hair, undoing it, letting it fall down like shining dark brown waves.

When she'd drawn back, a thoughtful look crossed her face. "That was not quite it, was it?" she smiled and bit her lip, giving him a very, very slow look. Incredibly alluring that was.

"No, I think we were here," he said hoarsely and took her face in his hands bringing her lips to his and not only kissing her, but tasting her, taking her breath away, making her knees buckle, so that he had to lower his hands to her waist to embrace her and press her against him. He lifted her a few inches off the ground and headed for the bedroom where the two of them fell onto the bed in a tangle of clothes and limbs.

Sariss was already busy with trying and getting his robes off while he trailed kisses along her jaw line, on her throat and a bit lower as soon as he had gotten rid of some of the offending material that separated them.

Suddenly he felt a twinge of pain and stiffened, gasping at the shock of realization.

"Sariss—," he forced out through clenched teeth, clumsily scrambling up into a sitting position and, clutching his arm, he turned away from her and set his feet firmly to the ground as though that way the pain would seep into the ground and thus leave him. It didn't. It never did.

"What is it—the Mark, isn't it?"

He nodded slightly, taking short gasping breaths, trying to force back the pain. "He's calling his minions," he groaned.

"What happens when you resist?" She sat up, crawling to where he was sitting, tentatively touching his shoulder.

"It'll hurt more." He pulled back the sleeve of his shirt. The Dark Mark was burning black. Taking another gasping breath, he pressed his hand on it, as though he could make it stop by doing so, and started rocking back and forth. "Usually I take some Pain Killing Potion—." He clenched his teeth together. "Not an option now," he forced out, fighting the urge to dig his fingernails deep into the livid Mark.

Sariss stroked his hair with tender hands and embraced him from behind, resting her head on his shoulder, whispering words of comfort that were not of any help at all. He winced and groaned once more as another stab of agony raced through his arm. Sariss winced, too. Of course; she sensed his pain, his fear, his helplessness, his inability to make it stop. Severus felt her tears on his cheek. Then she spoke into his ear, very softly, "Let me see. I want to try something."

"What—are—you—?" he began as she forced his hand away from where it covered the Dark Mark. Severus hadn't been aware of his clutching his forearm that tightly.

Slowly, she moved to lay her hand in the place where his had been only a few seconds ago. The contrast was breathtaking. He couldn't help crying out at the coldness of her touch against the burning fire that was the Dark Mark and flinched. Sariss, however, did not give an inch. She had him in a death grip.

After a while, the shock wore off and, strange as it was, the Mark was only tingling numbly when it should have been burning. It had never stopped that quickly… Sariss's hand was like a living ice pack, much more than that. Severus let his head fall back against her shoulder with a deep sigh of relief and closed his eyes while Sariss, noting that Severus wasn't resisting anymore released the grip she had on him, gently letting her hand rest on the still vividly burning Mark, that didn't hurt anymore, and tenderly stroked his hair with the other one.

"I'm sorry this had to happen now," he whispered after a while, turning to face her, her hand still resting on the ugly reminder of his equally ugly past.

"Whatever for? It's not your fault that he called at this untimely hour," she smiled sadly, tears once again covering her face. He had seen so many different kinds of tears on her already. Tears of sorrow, tears of pain, of misery, of fury, of desperation… He could continue this list endlessly if he wanted to…

She lifted her hand from the Mark to take a look at it and then she did the most unthinkable thing in the world… She bent and pressed her cool lips to it; her touch was electrifying; her tingling breath on the hypersensitive patch of skin made every single little hair on his body stand on end. "Sariss, what—!" he exclaimed, startled, and pulled his arm away—it was a reflex—and she drew back, equally startled, a slightly hurt look in her eyes.

"It's part of you," she stated simply as though it were the most obvious explanation in the world. "I want to know every part of you, everything about you… What you fear, what you want, your dreams and wishes… Everything. Even the bad things." She smoothed back his hair—it had started clinging to the sweat on his forehead when he had been in pain—and brushed her lips over his, very tentatively, hardly touching him, and rested her forehead against his.

"Unusual," he muttered. Yes, unusual that she was interested in his fears and dreams and wishes. Couldn't she tell that she was connected to each of them? She knew some of the worst things he'd ever done and yet… She still wanted to know more "only if you want to tell me, of course." "Quid pro quo?" "Would be only fair." Good things, bad things—when they spoke about those things, she patiently listened to both alike. It was like a therapy. They both had to cope with some things and had seemingly mutually agreed on getting started on it and doing that together. By now she knew even more evil little details about him than Dumbledore, and she still spoke to him, touched him, kissed him. Why? Why don't those things make me unworthy in your eyes? He sometimes wanted to ask her but didn't. Was he afraid of her answer? Was he afraid that she might confess that she regarded herself as undeserving of anything at all, that she regarded herself as more repulsive than all his deeds put together could ever be? She must be aware that there was still a great amount of Dark things Severus couldn't yet bring himself to only think about, let alone utter them. Of course, she was aware. Only because she didn't mention it, didn't mean that she didn't know. Quite the opposite, actually. He'd learnt that the less she spoke about something, the more she generally knew.

"So very unusual," he repeated, caressing her face.

"What do you mean?" she asked curiously, eyeing him a bit suspiciously.

"Unusual. Unconventional. Eccentric. I finally found the few words to describe you with. You're simply unusual."

"I hope so. 'Ordinary' would have been an insult and it would have been a lie, too. 'Unusual' sounds like a compliment, unlike oddball—and I've been called that, too."

"Oddball, huh?" She had managed to draw a smile onto his face by now. The throbbing in his arm was forgotten.

"Yes," she chuckled. "Aurora liked to call me that." Her face fell. "I still miss her. And Rick. And everyone else who ever spoke a single nice word to me and now is no more…" she trailed off, not even smiling anymore. "I seem to lose everyone I care about sooner or later, everyone who cares about me…" She placed her hand on his cheek.

Severus covered it with his for a few seconds.

"So the past has caught up with the two of us once more, hasn't it?"

"Looks like neither one of us can really escape the memories," she murmured, drawing her hand away and dropping her gaze to her hands that were now resting in her lap.

"Tell me about them. You know, the ones that must not be mentioned. You never really told me about them."

"But you know what happened…" she said, slightly puzzled at his request.

"I know the facts," Severus explained. "But I'd like to know how you remember it."

She shook her head and looked at him with those large eyes of hers. "But it's one and the same," she said.

"Really?"

"It's the same," she repeated, her voice having that familiar unsteadiness to it that he had gotten very used to by now. It was there every time she felt insecure, every time she wished that the earth would open up and swallow her so she didn't have to feel again.

"It never is."

"Why? Why make me relive it? I already relive it every night."

"It might help you. You see—this probably sounds very stupid now—if you share it with me, with anyone, you might get it out of your system," he faltered. "It can't really be compared to what I've been through, I know that, but I know it worked to some extent when I told you those things about me. For a few days I actually slept without any potion to ward off the dreams until—."

"Until he came and added new ones. I understand."

"So, you want to fill me in on a bit of it?"

"A bit it is, then," she nodded, a thoughtful look crossing her face, as she laid back onto the bed, her hair spread all over her and the pillow, and stared at the ceiling as she began to speak. "Where should I start?"

"The beginning is always a good start."

She nodded and thought for a moment.

"You know, from the first day that I can remember," she began slowly as though she were telling a child a fairy tale, "I had the idea that my father was a good man. My mother had never told me anything about him. There were no pictures of him either… Dark times, she said, you see?"

Severus nodded, although she wasn't looking at him and thus couldn't see him nod.

"She said he'd died before I was born—and come to think of it, it's the truth. She could never have loved something like what he was back then and is now again enough to bear his child…"

A single tear slithered out of the corner of her eye.

"All my life I harboured the illusion that he'd been a brave man, gentle, mild and virtuous—a bit like Dumbledore—caring and loving. I wanted him to be proud of me."

"Dumbledore or your father?"

She looked puzzled for a moment and blinked thoughtfully several times. "Both, I think…" she trailed off, staring unblinkingly and wide-eyed at the ceiling again.

Severus abandoned his sitting position and laid down next to her, his head propped up on his elbow so that he faced her. She didn't react. "Sariss?" he chanced, blinking away the image of his nightmares that started blending in with reality. "Sariss?"

"Huh? What?" She shook her head. "Sorry, I was somewhere else again."

"Where were you?" he asked tentatively.

"You know where," she replied, looking him in the eyes. And he knew. She had been with Voldemort, the Voldemort who was inside her head, who didn't let her sleep in peace, now even less than ever before.

How did she do it, this looking so very beautiful even when she was so very sad? It must be the large eyes, the rosy lips, the pallor of her skin… Or had it nothing to with what her body looked like? Was it her strength, her vulnerability, her stubbornness, her intellect, simply her personality? Severus still marvelled at the inconsistencies and contradictions in her character. She simply was a bit of everything, simply unusual. He figured it must be the combination that did it.

He prompted her to go on, which she did.

"As you know already, my world fell apart on my tenth birthday and I'm still mending the pieces of this world together, but some of them seem to be missing and to have been replaced by ones that do not fit, the ones he added… I saw him kill my mother, I saw my mother die because she didn't want him to get me. She must have known what he'd do—or must at least have had an idea of it… And then…" she trailed off and screwed her eyes shut for a moment before she had composed herself enough to continue.

"He advanced on me. He told me to not be afraid, that he'd come to give me a present, a birthday present, and he grabbed me around the throat then, pressing me into the wall that I thought I'd pass right through it if he continued doing this for much longer… Then he called for assistance and then it was the potion and the spell. I couldn't do anything to hold them back, I couldn't. They were holding me, forcing me to swallow this disgusting potion, like tar it tasted and it felt like liquid ice. I had no idea what it would do to me. I can still hear my screaming; I can still feel his hands on my throat; I can still feel the sensation that spread through my body. 'This must be death', I thought, as a hand made of ice clutched my heart and my stomach and squeezed the life out of me. But there was unicorn blood in it, I'm certain of this, and it kept me alive when the unnameable ingredients of the potion should have killed me. I know it. I don't know if Dumbledore ever suspected it. I don't even want to know. Some things should not be spoken about. Some questions are better left unasked sometimes… I drank the potion. I should have fought more strongly; I should have… done something. Anything at all. I still feel his hands on me. I still hear his laughter. Now more than ever… I can… I can feel his fingernail brush over my cheek, his spidery fingers force me to look up at him, his fiery red eyes burn into my skull… I can feel the knives and the whips and the clubs cutting and beating and ripping through my skin as though they wouldn't stop until they'd torn the flesh from my very bones, as blood and tears run down my face, my robes and my hair are stick to the agony that once was my skin, that once was me…" She spoke all of this in a very monotonous voice that implied none of the emotions she was talking about. But a constant flow of tears out of the corner of her eye and a slight shuddering of her body betrayed her emotional state all too clearly.

He closed his eyes at this all too lively image that presented itself to him. A painter could have drawn a picture of everything only by listening to her descriptions…

If Severus kept his eyes open and kept looking at her now, she'd transform before his eyes into the bloody mess he had placed onto the bed in the infirmary. That memory would never leave him. And he made a vow he'd never tell her that he had seen her like this, never tell her that the image of her lying there, undressed, covered in her own blood, torn into pieces, would haunt him forever.

He began to speak. "Have you noticed that you kind of combined the two events?" he asked unsteadily.

"They're not really two events. Not for me. To you, they may seem unconnected. To me, the time in-between was just a pause of eighteen years. To me it is as though he resumed where he had left off… on my tenth birthday." Her voice had become very distant by now and dropped to a harsh whisper that would have been inaudible to Severus if he hadn't been so close to her.

After a while, she hoisted herself up into a sitting position. "Was that what you wanted to hear? Is it enough for now? Because I can't seem to put order into those events… I'm sorry, but I can't. I'm in a terrible pain," she whispered and curled up into a foetal position. But she hadn't turned away as she had been doing before.

"Sariss, I… I don't know what to say." He was shaken by what she'd told him. He had never before pictured the events like that. He had thought—no, hoped—the little girl had maybe forgotten the greater deal of what had happened. But she hadn't. The glass of her evil memories had been quite full all the time ever since and then Voldemort came back and poured in even more of them—and the glass that was her mind couldn't hold them. It overflowed, just like her eyes had overflowed a few days ago and as they did now.

"You heard what I haven't even told Dumbledore. There were so many things I'd forgotten or didn't want to talk about. Everything surfaces now. I'll never speak about it again. Not like this—because it's tearing me in two to hear it from myself." She looked at him for a moment and added, "Everything's becoming clearer with every time I dream about it."

Severus swallowed. "If you think I feel honoured now… I'm… You… I seem to never be prepared for what you tell me or what you do. Perhaps you should tell me what to do, what to say now… I can't seem to be able to think about something clever to say, to soothe you. I can't even tell you that everything will be alright, because we both know it won't…"

"I know that. I've always known. He'll haunt me until the last day of my miserable life," she whispered hoarsely, staring into nothingness.

Don't say those things. Don't talk of the end, he thought, not daring to utter the words.

Instead, Severus drew her into a hug, rubbing her back, his head resting on her shoulder; cheek-to-cheek they were. She was still only half-dressed, her skin cold as ice, drawing the warmth from him like a sponge soaked up water, as she put her arms around him. However, she did not cry anymore, for which he was very grateful.

"Perhaps you should sleep a bit," he suggested after a while when she had said no more.

"I don't want to sleep. I'll dream as soon as the potion wears off, which means that I cannot sleep for too long a time unless I want to have another nightmare."

Lacking anything else to say, he only kissed and stroked her hair in response.

After another few minutes had passed, she began to speak hesitantly, very softly and in a very pleading voice, "Make love to me, Severus. Make me feel wanted, make me feel needed, make me feel…" Her hands travelled around his neck. "Make me feel alive."

There was so much desperation in her voice, so much pain. He moved to look at her, and saw them in her eyes, too, before she closed them, awaiting for him to kiss her, which he did, cupping her face in his hands first, then letting them wander down her shoulders and back, pushing her down into the pillows and beginning to trail kisses on her throat, along her collarbone, teasing this cold skin, making it slowly grow warmer, despite the fact that he removed the rest of her and his clothing while Sariss lay there, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, breasts heaving with her ragged breathing, her hands roaming over his chest, his arms, wrapping her body around him, giving herself to him, body and soul, holding him close…

Quite some time later, Sariss fell asleep in his arms, snuggling into him, and did not stir until the following morning.

Next chapter:

A game of chess, some stories of the past, Sirius, Remus, Mundungus Fletcher—a young Severus Snape, an even younger Harry—and Lily Potter.