Author's note: Whoa! So many reviews! *jumps up and down like crazy* Thank you, shasjin-saber, Romm, Butterfly, Miriam, ShadyMerlin, Asrai, CassieXanthe and bazooki. Phew! Eight names! Woohoo!

Chapter 28: Echoes in my Head

Halfway through the night
I wake up in a dream
Echoes in my head
Make every whisper turn into a scream

In the middle of the night.

—Roxette: I Wish I Could Fly

"Let go of me! Let go of me! No!"

Severus woke up with a start. Sleepy and confused, it took him a few moments to remember where he actually was and what was going on.

Sariss. Her chambers. Her bed. And Sariss had a nightmare such as never before.

She threw her head from side to side, struggling as if something invisible were trying to get hold of her, screaming and crying, calling for help, telling someone to let go of her, to stop. Severus could very well imagine what—or rather whom—she was being haunted by tonight. Again.

Severus sat up, intending to wake her up, to free her from the grasp the Dark Lord had on her mind. He grabbed her by the shoulders to shake her awake, calling her name, telling her that she was dreaming, telling her to wake up. But she fought against him, slamming her fists at him, slapping him, fighting with everything she was worth, struggling so violently that at one point, Severus was thrown off the bed and against the wall.

For a moment, he lay on the floor, dazed, before Sariss's screams penetrated the haze in his mind again. He scrambled to his feet, noticing absent-mindedly, but nonetheless with the utmost relief, that he wasn't hurt, and all but jumped on the bed, on her, trying to grab hold of her again, trying to rip her out of the nightmare's tormenting grasp. He might as well be dreaming himself; it couldn't have felt any worse to him.

"Sariss!" he shouted, trying to get past her struggling hands. Never before had it been that difficult. Never before had she fought so strongly against him. Never before had the nightmare had her in a grasp as firm and unyielding as it did now. Almost every night they'd spent together, it had happened that she'd screamed or cried in her sleep. Severus didn't know for sure if that also happened when she slept alone. But he feared it to be just so. To him it seemed that it was getting harder and harder for her to be released from the nightmare's hold. How did she manage to wake up on her own when no one was there to help her? Did she dream it until the end? What was the end? Did she wake up only when, in her dreams, she… died?

"Wake up! You're dreaming again!"

"No! Stop it! Stop it! Stop!" she screamed in-between sobs. "No more!"

"Open your eyes. Look at me!" he pleaded, finally managing to grasp her wrists and pulling her up, shaking her. "Please, wake up."

Her eyes were open wide, but they were absolutely blank and unfocused. She was still asleep and thus didn't recognize him, didn't realize where she was.

And still she screamed for him to stop, to let go of her, to leave her alone, to make it end… And she fought, the muscles in her arms tense and strong. Had she been fully awake he'd never have been capable of restraining her that easily—with all his might, that is.

"Sariss!" Severus shouted again, cupping her face, holding it between his hands, firmly, almost as though he wanted to squeeze the haunting out of her brain. Her hands were hitting his shoulders; he didn't even feel the pain—although he could tell that his whole back would be black and blue the following day if she didn't stop soon. He only felt the straining muscles of her throat and jaw against his hands. "Sariss! Wake up, I'm telling you! He's not here!"

No success.

Thus, he did the only—the last—thing he could think of now.

"Forgive me," he muttered and slapped her. Right across the cheek. And fairly hard, too. "Wake! Up!"

"No…"She froze and gasped, her hands falling down. Her body was yielding and pliant again.

Severus cupped her face. In the pale light of first dawn, her cheek seemed livid where he'd struck her. Tenderly, he ran his thumb over the very pink spot on her cheek. He felt more sorry than he could ever have expressed with words.

I hurt her… I hurt you, love.

"Sariss?" he asked softly.

"Who are you?" she asked hesitantly, her voice very soft and very childlike, blinking several times, obviously just as confused as Severus had been when her screams had made him jerk awake. Slowly, her eyes focused on him.

"Hush, love. You were dreaming again." Severus dropped his hands to her shivering ivory arms. She looked so forlorn, so small and fragile, as she sat there, scanning her body, her arms, her hands, in confusion, stray curls of dark hair clinging to her tearstained cheeks and lips, with Severus kneeling above her. In her long silvery nightgown, she looked as if she wore liquid moonlight as her garment. It was hardly imaginable that this doll-like being, this nymph, this sprite, had just thrown him off and quite unceremoniously smashed him against the wall.

"Severus?" she asked and sniffed, raising her hand to her supposedly burning cheek. At least it looked like it did. It was as red as her lips. He could clearly see where he'd struck her; the imprint of his hand was distinctly visible.

"Yes. I'm here."

"What's happened?"

"You were having another nightmare. Don't you remember?"

"I don't know. One just blends in with the next. I guess it was the same as always…" she said, still very softly, her breath coming in heartbreaking whimpers and sobs. "My face hurts."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know what else to do. I was so afraid. It seemed as if he'd never let go of you."

"You… slapped me?" she asked, incredulous. Severus wasn't sure if it was an accusation or merely a question.

"Forgive me," he whispered, suddenly feeling very much ashamed of himself. Guilty. "Look what I've done; I've hurt you, and that when I promised I'd never hurt—."

"Thank you," she interrupted him, tears still running down her face. "And I promised not to make such scenes anymore. And now look at me. Instead of keeping my promise, I constantly break it. And every time it's breaking into more pieces. Just like I am." And through all of this, she kept on sobbing and crying. "I'm sorry."

"Don't do this."

"Don't do what?"

"Apologize. Don't. Please don't. Never apologize to me again."

She nodded, pressing her lips into a thin line, to suppress the sobs, maybe. "Severus, it's… it's…"

"It's getting worse, isn't it?" he ventured.

Stupid question, really.

She nodded again. "And it is utter madness. Utter madness, I'm telling you. I'm going mad. I'm going mad," she kept repeating, tearing on her hair as if that would tear the memories out of her brain. "I want to die. I wish I were dead. I'm going mad."

It didn't shock Severus as much as it should possibly have. He had become used to it, if that was possible. She always lost the grip on herself when she woke up from a nightmare. In the morning she would be fine, denying that she ever said those things, as though she had never woken up screaming, never cried. Ignoring them. That was her way of coping with it; pushing those things into the corner of her mind that was labelled 'Do NOT remember!'

But during nights like this one, she wasn't herself. She was no talented witch, no fully-fledged sorceress, no powerful magician; in nights like this, she was only a scared little girl. There was nothing of the seductive temptress that she sometimes could be, nothing of the sometimes reserved and hesitant, sometimes ardent and temperamental lover, nothing of what he called her 'evil' temper—although in fact he'd come to love it so much that it pained him even more to see her like this, to hear her talk like this when she could be so quick at repartee, so creative and eloquent. But even in those ramblings, there was a painful eloquence and cruel poetry.

He caught her hands, gently extricating her hair from between her fingers.

"Don't you hurt yourself," he said tenderly.

"I'm going mad," she sobbed again, as he embraced her. She was drenched in cold sweat, and shivering badly. "I'm going mad… Severus?"

"I'm here, love. I'm here," he whispered and kissed her hair, a gesture that had become quite as familiar to him as fairly a high number of others; wiping away her tears, smoothing her hair back, curling a stray strand around his fingers, running his thumb over her lip, cupping her face, tilting her head up so she'd look him in the eyes right before he bent to kiss her—although that wasn't necessary anymore—and so on and so on… He could continue this list endlessly if only he strained his mind hard enough.

"I don't want to sleep. Never again. I knew what I did when I had been released from the infirmary. I knew why I didn't sleep, why I stayed awake as long as possible at all. I knew that, as soon as the exhaustion would be gone, the exhaustion that'd let me sleep deep and sound, he'd be back with a vengeance," she rambled, her voice muffled against his chest. "Why doesn't the Potion work? Why must I dream those things over and over again?"

She clung to him as though he could save her from the memories.

"You have to. Otherwise, you'd really go insane. We all need to dream, as cruel as this may sound to you. Maybe that was the reason for the Potion to wear off all too soon and then cease to work altogether." Severus tried to sound calm, to be calm enough so she'd feel it, too. He felt he sounded more like a scholar commenting on his research project.

"I wish they had used a Memory Charm on me back then. I wish you'd use a Memory Charm now. Make them go away. Drown out my dreams," she pleaded despairingly. "Keep me from remembering."

"I can't," he said softly, wishing with all his might that he could do exactly that, make everything undone, so that she'd be sleeping safe and sound, in his arms, peaceful and warm. But he knew he couldn't. And thus, he said instead, "And even if I could, if not everything advised against doing it, even if that weren't utter madness, I wouldn't. You wouldn't understand why we keep you safe. You'd think we were holding you prisoner, accompanying you everywhere you go outside, watching your every move. You would be confused by everything you feel, because you wouldn't have an explanation—."

"I know," she whispered. "I only know too well. I only had to say it. Just this once. Oh, why must he claim my nights when I do my best to close my eyes to him by day? Why can't I dream of you? Why can't you invade my dreams as you invade my conscious when I'm awake? Why can't you touch my mind as you touch my body?" Her voice was muffled against his chest.

"Please, don't go on tormenting yourself. It's hard enough for both of us without asking those question aloud."

After that, she was quiet. Severus had almost begun thinking that she had fallen asleep as it often happened when they sat like this. She had stopped crying. She didn't shiver anymore. But was she asleep?

"Sariss?" he asked softly.

She pulled back a little and looked at him. Then she reached out and stroked his cheek, very tenderly, and said, "Sleep, Severus. There's no reason for you to be tired in the morning."

"It is almost morning, love."

"Oh. I didn't realize," she said sheepishly. "What time is it?"

"It's still well over an hour until sunrise."

"Severus, I told you. I don't want to—."

"And I told you, you must." He shifted his weight and pulled her with him. She put up absolutely no resistance, as he laid back down with her draped over him. They always lay like this after they'd made love. They fell asleep like this. Even though, as of yet, they'd only spent few nights together, it had become a ritual that they had mutely agreed to. It had just happened, and they both liked it that way. Severus, because he felt he had spent too many nights with only his nightmares to keep him company and somehow wanted to feel her breath on his chest or the weight of her head or the gentle stir of her hand when she unknowingly snuggled up to him in her sleep; Sariss, because that position allowed her to listen to his heartbeat and let herself be lulled into sleep by the regular rise and fall of his chest, while his arms were around her, holding her, letting her know he was there if, and most of all when, memories concerning the Dark Lord intruded her sleeping defenceless mind.

She liked to fall asleep like that; she'd told him that once during those moments before she drifted off.

"Severus—."

"Don't speak, love," he said, resting his hand against her still pink cheek, as she lay on his chest. "Sleep. When you wake up you'll feel like yourself again."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Usually, yes. But not now," he said. "Sleep. I'll wake you up when it's time—or not."

"Okay… Love…" And within a matter of moments, she was asleep.

Severus lay awake and held her, glad that she'd drifted off that easily, glad that she wasn't crying anymore, glad that her breaths came deeply and regularly, and wishing with all his might that, for the short remainder of the night, she'd make it without another visit of her worst nightmare and receive a bit of rest. She needed a normal and healthy slumber; no matter how much she preferred the sleep of exhaustion that would leave her without nightmares—simply because she hadn't the strength to dream.

Her nightmares were getting worse. There was no denying it. She could hardly be made to wake up. But why was that so? And how much worse could they get? How much more was needed for her to break? What could he do to keep her from really going insane, from surrendering to the madness that she so dreaded? From crossing the thin line that she'd been balancing on for far too long a time already? How was he to stabilize her? How to give her a hand?

Those thoughts drifted through Severus's mind as he dozed off, doing the only thing he could do to be of any assistance to her. He was there. He held her. It had to be enough, because it was the only thing he could do for her. Be there and love her not despite of who and what she was but because.

The sun was rising. The last day of the Easter holidays had begun. And it promised to be a lovely day, since later that morning, when the sun was already hanging high in the sky, shining brightly, Severus was awoken by Sariss's gentle caresses, by her skin on his, her lips on his throat, her hair slithering over his chest, falling down around him like a fiery, vanilla-scented, curtain against the light of the sun; he was awoken by her cold little hands that strayed boldly into places that were forbidden to anyone else but her. And, as always, there were no hints that pointed to the state she had been in only a few hours ago.

Indeed, she smiled when he shifted to let her lie beneath him, where he wanted her to be.

"Severus," she whispered. He thought he heard his name echo. Severus, Severus. The outside world was gone again. There was only she. Sariss, with her startling green eyes, her luscious lips that breathed her sweet words of Come Hither only for him to hear, as she wrapped her naked arms around his shoulders, her glowing ivory limbs around him. To Severus, she was the most desirable, the most precious and beautiful being in the world. Always. She had given herself to him, made herself his, and—if she knew it or not—she had made Severus hers. Completely.

If this was a dream, he'd never want to wake up again…

~*~*~

"It's good to be back. Isn't it?" Neville said Sunday afternoon—the holidays were over and the Hogwarts Express had brought the students back to school. He flopped down on his four-poster with a sigh. "How are things? Did I miss something?"

"How is it that my trunk's never at the foot of my bed where it belongs?" Seamus complained, as soon as he had entered the dormitory, pushing the trunk into its respective place. "Any news about Ravon?" he asked, rummaging around in his luggage.

"Yeah, what's up with Professor Ravon? Is she still here? I had one hell of a time explaining to my parents that Hogwarts is still the safest place they could send me," Dean said, "after everything they read in the Daily Prophet… I should never have told them they could subscribe to it. They said they had been short of coming and getting me—as if I were a six year old and couldn't tell someone who wants to kill me from someone who doesn't. So, is she here? Are we having DADA tomorrow?"

"Damn, I forgot my Remembrall—Hey! That's not funny."

Ron was sniggering too badly, holding his stomach. "Sorry," he gasped, trying to keep himself from cracking up completely. "Not just you… General laughing attack."

"Harry? Since you're the only one here who's getting enough air to explain what's so funny…" Neville said slowly. "Please?"

Harry looked up from Flying with the Cannons. He knew it by heart, forwards and backwards, but it was still a much more entertaining read than, say, Hideously Advanced Charms and Spells (which he should indeed learn by heart now that he thought of it…).

"Erm…" he began sheepishly. "I'm not sure. It might be funnier if you saw it yourself?"

"Why? Has Snape turned into a toad?"

"Stop insulting toads, Finnegan!" Neville called in mock-outrage.

"Out with it, Harry Potter," Dean said. "It's three on one. Ron doesn't count at the moment."

"I'm fine again," Ron said. "Two on three it is."

"Are we living in a democracy or what? Why letting us die of suspense?" Seamus said, whereas Dean's cough sounded suspiciously like 'Leg-locker curse.'

"Three words," Harry said. "Snape and Ravon."

Puzzled silence invaded the room.

"What?" Neville broke the silence after a few seconds. "What's up with them?"

"Snape. And. Ravon," Ron said slowly. "They're… I can't say it. Someone help me there."

"I believe the word you're looking for is 'shagging'," a singsong voice from the door said. "Can I come in without my hands over my eyes?"

"Virginia!"

"Sure, Gin, come in, and help your prude brother find the right words," Harry laughed. "But I think he was only avoiding to say 'in love', huh, Ron?"

"I can't believe I'm related to that dirty-mouthed scarlet woman."

"That's the first time you called me a woman. I should have started to use words like that in your presence much earlier," Ginny grinned, plopping down on Harry's four-poster. "If only to make my brother stop treating me like a baby girl. And scarlet I am. Every Weasley is."

"Well, you're my baby sister—."

"Are you serious about 'Ravon and Snape are in love—'." Dean.

"Or shagging—." Seamus.

"Or whatever." Neville.

"Yes, yes, and… well, I guess, yes," Harry said.

"Love Potion," they said as one.

"Don't think so," said Ginny. "They still argue about everything they talk about."

"So… she's alright again, or what?"

"I'd say she's out of her mind, but no one ever listens to what I say."

"The reason for which might be that you're mostly wrong, Weasley."

"One day I might be right, Weasley yourself," Ron said. "If only it weren't so disgusting, having to see them snog in the corridors all the time when you come along and think of nothing evil."

"Snape and…" Seamus began. "Snape? Of all people Snape? That ugly git?"

"You wouldn't believe what a hair wash and a smile can do…" Ginny said, very obviously trying to sound innocent. "Makes you kind of understand Ravon. And I've never before seen her smile that much. Snape and Ravon. Period."

"Well, now that everyone knows about Ravon or Riddle or whatever we're supposed to call her now, I'm inclined to say that Snape might perhaps not be that bad after all."

"Wait for the first Potions lesson. You'll see if anything's different."

"I've got to verify that, see it with my own eyes," Neville said. "And they really snog in the corridors for everyone to see? Yuck!"

"Ron's exaggerating as always," Ginny said. "They only kiss. Nothing remotely as disgusting as my dirty-minded brother likes to tell you. Always with his mind in the gutter, that one."

"Remind me again, who's in whose dormitory?"

"I warned you before I came in, didn't I?"

"Why are you here in the first place? You know I could take points off you for being in the boys' dorm."

"You sound almost like Percy." Ginny rolled her eyes. "I'm here because I wanted to see my boyfriend—and my Head Git brother—and walk them to dinner. And I wanted to look for a pair of socks."

"Socks? Are you implying that you… forgot your socks in here?"

"Not forgot. I want to borrow a pair of Harry's," she explained to Ron, throwing her arms around Harry. "My feet are cold at night and Mum simply keeps getting me those thin, lacy things—because she thinks they're cute. I need another one of yours."

"That's what you get for being the only girl."

Ginny jumped off the bed with flying robes and began rummaging around in Harry's trunk.

"That's stealing, Ginny," Ron said.

"According to Fred and George it's called 'borrowing'," she muttered. "Ooh! Those look cosy." She giggled and pulled out a pair of dark blue and red socks—if you could call them 'a pair'. One was blue, the other one red. A present of Dobby's.

"Those were a Christmas present. Treat them with due respect," Harry said, sniggering.

"I promise to wear them very respectfully," Ginny said, closing the trunk again. "Thank you… although I'd rather have you warm my feet. A pity that the holidays are over…" she whispered only for him to hear.

"Oh gods, this is so sappy," Dean said. "Looking at you two, I can hardly imagine Snape and Ravon being any worse."

"That might be because we already claimed that title," Ginny grinned especially broadly. "Worst couple Hogwarts has ever seen."

"Don't let yourself be disturbed by my presence and everyone else's. Go on embarrassing me and the rest of our family."

Ginny tsked and got up. "See you at dinner, guys. 'Love you, Harry." She bent to kiss him passionately, making Harry's glasses fog up quite… er… nicely.

"Hey, hey, hey! That's enough!" Ron exclaimed in horror. "I'm going to tell Mum that you—."

"Oh, yes. Please. Tell Mum. She'll be delighted—well, she would be if she hadn't known for centuries that I'm desperately in love with the great and famous Harry Potter, conqueror of evil and saviour of British virtue—," Harry blushed, but sniggered, admiring the fact that Ginny said all of this with a dead serious expression—only a Weasley could ever manage that, "—and that I've been doing things with him, you, Ron Weasley, have—at least to my vast knowledge—."

"No details, please!" Seamus said. "We all can imagine what those things are you're talking about. Harry talks in his sleep—."

"And so's Ron," Dean said and Ginny nodded eagerly.

"Am not," Harry said almost at the same time as Dean spoke.

"Are too," four voices said.

"Most certainly not."

"My sister has the dirtiest mouth in the world. I fear I failed as a brother. How else could she have become so shameless?"

"You have no idea how shameless," Harry and Ginny said in almost perfect unison.

This time it was Ron's turn to blush. "Out!" he almost laughed. "I know when I've lost a battle. Enjoy your elf-socks."

"Dinner," Ginny tentatively pointed out.

"Oh. Yes. Of course. Let's go. Then Hermione can drag us to the library again. I can hardly wait. Where have the holidays disappeared to? I can't remember ever having any. Even in my dreams I'm sitting in there and books keep raining down on me," Ron muttered and rolled off the bed. "And the large ones really hurt, I can tell you…"

~*~*~

"I wish the holidays would last forever," Sariss said, as she walked up the staircase from the dungeons, Severus's arm around her. "It's been so peaceful and quiet those two weeks and now listen. The walls are echoing with noise and so seems my head. All these vibrations again. I wish the holidays would last forever," she repeated.

"You've been working much more than strictly necessary, in my opinion," Severus said. "And now you're going to be even busier. Perhaps you should have used the time and rested. Merlin knows you could use it. You look tired."

"How you flatter me today…" she said sarcastically.

"If I didn't know you so well, I wouldn't see the signs, believe me. To everyone else you look perfect and radiant, as always."

"But not to you."

"You've been working way too much considering that you hardly sleep. And don't tell me that you sleep when I sleep. I know you don't."

"You never know what might prove to have been necessary to do. You know why I don't sleep unless it's inevitable. You also know that work takes my mind off things…"

"What were you working on all day long, every day? It can't have been only the N.E.W.Ts—."

"I think I made up for my long absences over the day at night, didn't I?" She looked up at him, winked and moved closer to him. The strawberry and vanilla fragrance of her hair invaded his senses, bringing memories of pleasant and passionate nights to his mind.

"Hmm…"

"What, hmm?"

"I'm trying to think of a way to claim your days, too…" Severus drawled into her ear. "I think I'm already growing jealous of the students who'll see you hour upon hour…"

"They'll never see me remotely in a way you'll see me later tonight…" she said suggestively. But then a look of terror crossed her face. "Oh, gods, the Great Hall will be full of students staring at me, at you, at us!"

Severus raised his eyebrows. "So what? What's the difference between a few students and the whole lot?"

She grew thoughtful. "They're… There… I guess, there isn't that much of a difference, is there? Apart from the number of eyes boring into me and the multitude of emotions confusing me—."

"I don't think that will be much of a problem. If it threatens to get too much," Severus said dryly, as they crossed the Entrance Hall; a few students walking past them, throwing them curious glances, "you tell me and I'll kiss you senseless instantly. That should cause at least ninety percent of the people in there to faint immediately. Problem solved."

"What would I do without you? I can't remember what I did when you weren't there to put me back together when I went to pieces—and I did that much more often than you could ever imagine. Thank you so much, Severus." She stood on tiptoes. "May I?" She bit her lip. "Here? Now?"

"It would be my profoundest pleasure," he mumbled before she kissed him. Right in the middle of the Entrance Hall, with students walking past them, gasping, blushing, staring—and sniggering and… high-fiving each other?

~*~*~

"See? I told you," Ginny almost squealed.

"He washed his hair. Again. I thought it was a one-timer. We can't call him 'slimy, greasy git' anymore…" Seamus said.

"Too bad," Dean joined in.

"Just switch to… I can't think of a proper insult. Someone help me out there," Ron said.

The one person who could certainly give Ron a hand with that walked past right on cue.

Malfoy. And Crabbe and Goyle in his wake, as usual.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Harry heard Malfoy mutter to Crabbe and Goyle. "All this lovey-dovey… Disgusting. The bloody traitor."

"There you have your insults," Harry said.

"Not quite what I had in mind. I'll pass."

"They go so well together," Hermione said approvingly. "What do you say, Ginny?"

"I agree. They seem to have waited for each other all their lives," she replied, chancing a look at Harry as though she wanted to say, 'The same as I've been admiring you from afar for years.' "Looks like all Snape needed all those years was a bit of loving." She grinned.

"Yuck! Girls," Ron said. "Women," he corrected himself quickly at the look the two girls—women, sorry—gave him.

"Are we going to hang around here forever? I'm hungry," Neville said. "And all this Snape here, Ravon there stuff is starting to get on my nerves… Parvati! Sorry, guys, got to go… Parvati, wait!"

"Hey, there's Lavender!" And Seamus, too, was off.

"What a sad life. Looks like I'm the only single in here. What am I doing wrong?" Dean said. "Even Snape manages to get himself a girl."

"I'd say she caught him. You'll just have to wait for a girl who does the same—."

"Ginny, never in my life do I want to quarrel that much with a girl, before the fates decide for me to finally get her. I'm cured already. I'll stay single. Yep. Settled." Suddenly he grinned. "Well, you never know what comes along…"

As the group of Gryffindors entered the Great Hall, it was almost a shock to them how buzzing with life the room was again. Harry had gotten used to the quietness. But now it was like a beehive again.

They took their places at the Gryffindor table. The golden plates and goblets were set up as usual.

Professor McGonagall demanded silence.

Dumbledore stood up. "It's good to see you're safely back. All of you," he said. "And I do hope you enjoyed your last holidays before the exams; I daresay you'll be quite busy from now on till they come up. Now chomp, chomp."

With that, food appeared on the plates.

"I can hardly look away from Snape and Ravon," Lavender said. "It's so strange. As if I had a really weird dream…"

"I know what you mean," Ron mumbled, stuffing mashed potatoes in his mouth. "And I've had to watch this for two weeks already—."

"And you have been complaining about horrible mental images for even longer than that, isn't it so?" Hermione said sternly, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"Say, Parvati, you didn't happen to have another vision during the holidays, did you?"

"Oh, please, Lavender. It's embarrassing enough that I had to have the one in Trelawney's class. At first, I thought it was cool. But then Professor Trelawney always looked at me like she wanted to prompt me to have another one. No one ever asked me if I wanted that."

"Don't worry, Parvi, maybe it was an accident and won't happen again," Neville said.

"I hope so. It felt so weird, as though my soul left my body for a moment—I don't really remember. But I don't want that to happen again."

"Look at it this way, Parvati, at least you predicted something we can look forward to," Ginny said, patting Parvati's shoulder.

"Yeah," Harry joined in. "As long as you make prophecies like that one…"

"Well, could've been worse, couldn't it?" Parvati said. "But I'll pass anyway—that is, if it were possible, I would."

"How's your grandmother, Neville? Is she better?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, she's quite alright again. It wasn't that bad after all. She just needed a few days of care, calm and rest and when I left for school again, she was up and about again—and will hopefully remember to send me my Remembrall…"

When they had finished their meals, Dumbledore stood up once more and said, "And now I wish you all a good night."

~*~*~

Severus was so violently ripped out of his for once dreamless slumber that he jerked awake and threw Sariss, who had been sleeping with her arm and leg over him and her head resting on his chest, off the bed. Thus, she too awoke.

He couldn't suppress a grunt of pain. Agonizing pain was shooting up his arm, the constant reminder of missed chances and wrong choices…

"Wha—?" she said sleepily, and scrambled to her feet, her toes catching in the long flowing skirt of her nightgown, as she stumbled back towards the bed.

"Arm. Dark. Mark," Severus forced out, reaching out for her, as her icy touch seemed to help against the pain.

And this time it helped too. As soon as her hand rested on Severus's left forearm where the Dark Mark was burning again, the pain seeped away, although he caught his breath at first contact. Wordlessly, she had put her cold palm on his blazing mark again and pulled him into her arms, his not completely suppressed groan muffled in her hair. She was gently and soothingly stroking his neck; even her scent was soothing. As always, there was a distinct aroma of strawberry and vanilla and perhaps roses around her.

"Thank you," Severus sighed with relief. "I'm… Well, looks like I… I'm sorry. I threw you right across the room."

"Don't mention it. So you're giving me back what I gave to you. A few bruises and a faintly aching elbow versus a livid burning skull-shaped scar… I think we have a winner," she said dryly. She hated being woken up in the middle of the night except perhaps for the occasions when Severus had special intentions that would then greatly appease her. Thus her sarcasm.

"Forgive me?" Severus chanced once more.

"Why now?" She drew out of his embrace, her brows furrowed in thought. "What are they up to? What's going on?"

"I don't know…"

~*~*~

"Welcome, my faithful and loyal servants," the Dark Lord's hissing voice penetrated the gloom of a grey stone room. Only a few torches on the walls threw a faint yellowish light on the assembled Death Eaters. They were many. At least ten dozens or more.

Voldemort was up to something really vicious, apparently.

"This is the night on which we'll finally execute my well-planned scheme that I've developed to show all those who try to deceive me that they had better not been foolish enough to think they would survive their treachery." A manic grin spread over the Dark Lord's ugly face. "Lucius, my faithful servant, hand out the Portkeys. We'll go hunt down the traitors tonight." He bent closer to Lucius Malfoy, who was not yet wearing his mask, and whispered, "They are among us already. And they aren't even aware of the fact that we know them. No doubt, there are others… But they too will make mistakes… And they too will be killed in due time when I shall decree it so."

Shivers ran over Harry's spine as he heard those words.

"Yes, my Master." Malfoy began to hand out Portkeys, setting them on the floor before the rows of Death Eaters who then assembled around them.

"Everything is in readiness, Master. We merely await your word."

At Voldemort's command, every single one of them touched one of the objects and vanished. The Dark Lord's laughter echoed around the chamber—.

And in the seventh-year boys' dormitory, Harry Potter woke up with a start, not remembering every detail, but only that once more he had dreamt of Voldemort. That, he only knew because of his stinging and prickling scar…

Harry shook his head and climbed out of the bed, reaching for his glasses and his watch. It had an illuminated display—similar to a Muggle watch—a nice and useful charm Hermione had cast on it when Harry had received the wristwatch for his sixteenth birthday. Ginny had given it to him. And there was something engraved, too. Harry knew it by heart. To Harry Potter, the best (boy-)friend a girl can find. All my love. Ginny.

Harry put on his glasses as well as the watch. It was 4:12 am.

He felt he couldn't sleep any more today. His scar was hurting badly, even throbbing a bit. Harry rubbed the back of his hand over it—that helped sometimes—but it didn't stop this time.

Putting on a dressing gown over his pyjamas, he stepped into a pair of slippers and crept out of the dorm and down the staircase.

In the common room, he slumped into an armchair by the fireplace and stared into the small and faintly bluish flames, while the scar twitched and stabbed violently for quite some more time. Harry didn't even register when it stopped since he dozed off in spite of himself.

He was awoken by Ginny when it was time to get ready for breakfast and lessons…

~*~*~

The following day, anxious voices greeted the four friends as they entered the Great Hall among a throng of other Gryffindor students.

"Look here."

"Isn't it awful?"

"Let me see…"

"What's it say?"

"The Daily Prophet reports that there's been another Death Eater attack…"

"Early morning hours…"

"Terrible."

"Some people were killed…"

"Death Eaters as well as those who fought 'em.

"What's this commotion all about?" Hermione asked, as they sat down at the Gryffindor table.

"Take a look at—."

"See, Potter?" Malfoy shouted. "That's what happens when you're on the wrong side."

~*~*~

"…happens when you're on the wrong side."

The wrong side…

Sariss heard Malfoy's loathsome drawl—every Malfoy, or so it seemed, had exactly the same tone of voice—as she entered the Great Hall through a secret passage that opened near her seat. Well, it wasn't that secret. She had seen Severus use it dozens of times already when she had still been a student—the reason for which might be that it led—among other destinations—down to the dungeons.

Some things never change.

Instead, they repeat themselves.

Let's hope the outcome is the same, too. You'll see to it, won't you?

~*~

The nights were getting longer; Hallowe'en was approaching fast. Hagrid had been growing quite impressive pumpkins all summer and had already started to hollow them out, so some stools could be put in them. Even though Voldemort was at the height of his power, Sariss felt safe at Hogwarts and enjoyed the anticipation-laden atmosphere as much as she could—until…

"So little Sariss doesn't have a mother anymore. Pity," Chloe drawled, approaching her.

Sariss had been sitting in a corner of the Slytherin common room absorbed in a book. Rick and Aurora had gone to the library to finish their History of Magic essays before the weekend began. Sariss had stayed behind. She had wanted to finish the book, which was about an evil Dark Lord who was to be overthrown by people who seemingly had no chance of ever defeating him—yet they'd won some battles already and Sariss hoped strongly they would be victorious in the War, too. The story greatly resembled that of the wizarding world as it was now. Sariss needed a happy ending—in both cases…

"All alone. Isn't it touching? Did her so-called friends desert scary Sariss?"

"I heard she doesn't even know who her father is," Susan picked up where Chloe had left off, throwing her reddish-blond tresses back over her shoulder in a movement full of arrogance and vanity—quite impressive for a hardly twelve-year-old. But then again, those two girls weren't exactly your typical twelve-year-olds.

Leaning towards her best friend, she continued as if Sariss wasn't even there, "She looks like a Mudblood, so she must be one. Dirty little Mudblood."

Sariss started trembling at the menace she felt coming from them.

"Ordinary face, ordinary hair, so ordinary that it almost hurts to look at so much average gathered in a single place."

"Whoever heard of a Mudblood in Slytherin?"

"It's beyond me what a pureblood witch could find on a dirty, ordinary Muggle to—."

"Shut up!" Sariss shouted. She looked up, strands of her hair that had escaped her braid falling into her face, and glared daggers particularly at Chloe. "Don't even dare to mention my mother and father! It is people like your parents who've made Voldemort powerful enough to kill whomever he wishes to kill…" Sariss's skin prickled with static energy. "My father certainly was a good man!"

The yellow-haired girl sighed exaggeratedly. "The Ravons once were a quite respected pureblood family, did you know that?" she sneered. "I say were, because they apparently have chosen the wrong side… Which means that you as the last one, if I understood correctly, won't be among us for much longer. I'd watch my back if I were you—not that it would be of much—."

She broke off suddenly, turning around quickly since a water pitcher on a nearby table had shattered, then an inkbottle trembled, too, and exploded right over Hugh Crane's DADA essay. "Ravon!" his annoyed yell pierced the room. "That was you, wasn't it?"

Sariss was balling her little fists, breathing hard, trembling from head to toe. If looks could kill…

Susan and Chloe stared at her with wide eyes, then turned and raced out of the common room, the damp stonewall closing behind them again.

Sariss could breathe properly again.

"Ravon!"

"Oh!" She bit her lip and reluctantly walked towards the boy who was looking at her, a very annoyed expression on his face. "I'm sorry… you know… they just made me so…" she stuttered apologetically.

"Yes, I heard what they said; they shouldn't have… But neither should you. Damn, now I have to write it all over again. I was almost finished!" he muttered, trying to save at least parts of what he had written already.

"I can't just ignore it. That's my problem. It's as though they were inside my head—." She had started pacing back and forth in front of the low table the boy was sitting at and sat down on the floor. The fire was very nice and warm…

"You are strange," he said but smiled suddenly as he said it.

"I know," she sighed and smiled back up at him—she couldn't help it. "Listen, I'm really sorry. You can borrow my essay if you want. I finished it yesterday already."

"Thanks." He was obviously highly surprised at her offer. Well, of course, he was. Who wouldn't be? They hadn't spoken five words to each other since school had started and now they had had a real conversation…

She jumped to her feet, quickly raced up to the dormitory, undid the Locking Spell she had put on her trunk (with roommates like the ones she had this was definitely a necessity), grabbed the parchment, re-cast the spell and was back in the common room within a matter of seconds.

"But promise you won't just copy it. At least switch a few words or paragraphs to make it less obvious, alright?" she said in a small voice, nervously shuffling her feet. "Binns might be old but he's not stupid."

"No problem."

"I'm over there so you can give it back to me once you're finished. I wouldn't want to leave it lying around here with Chloe and Susan only waiting to get one over me. Not to mention Malfoy…" she trailed off as she made her back into the corner where the tome of a book she had been reading was still sitting exactly like she had put it down.

"Hey Ravon!"

She looked up questioningly.

"You're not as bad as they say."

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "No one could ever be as bad as they say—and they don't even know me."

He laughed. "Thanks."

A few days later the news that the Dark Lord had fallen spread like wildfire—and certain Slytherin girls had to eat their own words. Meaning that their parents were arrested as Death Eaters. It was them who had chosen the wrong side…

~*~

"What's going on?" Sariss asked, having approached Dumbledore, who had a very serious expression on his face; the twinkling had disappeared from his eyes.

"Bad news, once again. Here, see for yourself." He handed her an issue of the Daily Prophet. She quickly skimmed through the article on the front page.

DEATH EATERS STRIKE AGAIN

Once again, like so many times before in the last few years, the Death Eaters, servants of the Dark Lord, also called You-Know-You or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, have struck the wizarding world right in its core…

There have been at least eleven casualties; ten of them unidentified as of yet. Many a wizard and witch have been injured severely or lightly. Some of the more severely wounded people are in critical condition and might add to the count… (Names not published because of safety precautions. We humbly apologize.)

The one casualty that has been identified, however, is a female Death Eater by the name of Chloe M. Lestrange, daughter of the infamous Lestrange couple who had spent almost fourteen years in Azkaban before the Dementors joined the Dark side and released their prisoners on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's command…

The Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, still tries to calm the wizarding population—not very successfully…

Despite your better judgement, dear readers…

In denial… Must not be re-elected if he keeps this up…

Your Daily Prophet reporter Vera Truz will keep you well informed concerning…

Another one of those articles. There had been so many lately, Sariss had hardly paid attention to them anymore.

So that's why the Dark Mark hurt so badly last night… Voldemort called his followers together…

Chloe Lestrange dead.

Not a great loss, she thought evilly. Bitch. Death Eater. Like father like daughter… She froze at this thought. No. That didn't always have to be so, did it?

Sariss's eyes were drawn to the picture below the article.

Several wizards were rushing through the black-and-white scene trying to save what was left of a pile of rubbish that must once have been a row of houses or so, restoring broken things, carrying away what could not be repaired even by magic anymore.

And above all the Dark Mark hung in the sky. Fading, but still clearly visible—

"Good morning."

—illuminating the devastation…

"Sariss?"

She jerked back to reality. "What? Severus."

"What's wrong?"

"Take a look at this," Sariss said softly.

He took the paper from her, his eyes darting from left to right several times. "So that's why he called," he muttered. Then he looked at her and Dumbledore. "Any news yet who the casualties are?"

"No. We don't know any more than the Daily Prophet reported," Dumbledore said gravely. "But I fear we'll learn it soon enough."

"Do you think…?" Severus began.

"I'm afraid, yes," Dumbledore replied.

"What?" Sariss asked. She felt as though everybody knew what the topic of conversation was, everybody but her. "Do you have an idea who might have been killed?"

"Yes," Dumbledore sighed.

"Well then, who?"

"You understand that I cannot tell you this before it has been confirmed?"

"Of course. Spies."

"I haven't been the only one," Severus said. "Fortunately. We would have been in a lot of trouble if I had been the only spy—although back then I did not know that. I really thought they were all loyal Death Eaters."

He had put his arms around her waist from behind while speaking, resting his chin on her shoulder. An open display of affection for everyone to see. She appreciated those more than she could ever have thought.

"It would have been my fault if you didn't get information anymore," Sariss said, leaning back a little. He was like a living, breathing blanket.

"Only Voldemort's fault it would have been, my dear," Dumbledore pointed out. "But it would have been worth it. Even if we hadn't needed you to set the past right."

"Yes, it definitely was worth it," Severus said, bringing her hand to his lips, thus magicking a small smile on Sariss's face. "And much more."

Dumbledore sighed. The twinkle returned to his ice-blue eyes. "Young love. A glimmer of light in those dark times."

They sat down and started on their breakfast, eating in silence, only exchanging glances when the flapping of wings could be heard, waiting for the arrival of the post owls, but none of them came to them and brought news about the article—yet. Sariss feared bad news would travel fast…

Which it would indeed. Later…

Next chapter:

A rather enjoyable Potions lesson, bad news for Pansy, Malfoy's an utter bastard and Sariss strikes back. Ginny writes home, Sariss still mourns her friends and Severus feels bad watching her like that. The last Quidditch game of the season—and Sariss answers a question Severus wishes he hadn't asked. And the students eagerly look forward to their N.E.W.Ts. Not.