Author's note: Thanks go to milee, DittoGirl, Miriam and Hatusu.
Chapter 30: The Dark Side
Sweet boy, come in
I am the dark side of you
Die for my sins
Oh, bare grace misery
Just a child without a fairytale am I
Dark but so lovely
—Nightwish: Bare Grace Misery
"My dear," Dumbledore approached Sariss, took her hand and led her to an armchair, "you look pale."
"I assure you, I'm fine," she said, sitting down.
Dumbledore too sat down. "You also look tired. Severus tells me you don't sleep very much."
"That's quite right."
"Sariss… He's… well… he's very concerned about you."
"So I've been told—several times to be exact, although not in as many words."
"You're working very much."
"Yes."
"What are you doing?"
"I know what I'm doing." She squirmed visibly.
"Do you?"
"Yes."
"What are you doing?" he asked again putting more emphasis into his question.
"Getting ready," she said determinedly, but a faintly frightened look had begun to creep over her face. It was hardly noticeable. But Dumbledore knew her too well.
"For what?"
"For what's coming to me."
"What is it that you think is coming to you?" Dumbledore was curious. He knew very well that she'd never believed in Divination or the like. She'd never trusted her feelings either. Everything she did with logic—or she had done so.
"I'm not quite certain. I only know that something's coming; I've known it all year long. The feeling was very elusive at first but then I began to listen to it; it has grown more and more distinct during the last weeks. Something's coming. I can hear it whispering in the air all around me; I can feel it in my blood, in every heartbeat," she whispered. "I'm getting ready."
"How?"
"I'm preparing myself. That's all you—and Severus—need to know. He's faintly suspecting something, too. Somehow, he knows I intend to kill Voldemort, although I do not know when that will be. However, I know how. But I'm not going to let him nor you in. After all, this feeling that something's going to happen very soon… it might be only imaginations of my feverish, close-to-going-mad, mind." Her voice was slightly shaking when she said, "And mad, that might just be what I am. Psychotic and schizophrenic." She gave a small false laugh. "Maybe you should drug me and put me into St. Mungo's."
"I'm worried, Sariss. I'm worried about what you might do," Dumbledore said. "Don't go after him. Don't try to search and destroy as soon as you have the time on your hands."
"I will do what I must. But I promise not to go looking for him, alright? I'll wait for him to come to me and if I have to wait for another seventeen years. I will not leave here. This is my home." This, she said very firmly. "This is where I want to be. With you and Severus. You've become my family. I'm glad that you asked me to come back here, no matter what your motives might have been at first."
"Sariss, my child, you know that I love you, don't you?" Dumbledore pulled her into a fatherly hug. She looked like she could use many hugs, lately, although Dumbledore knew fairly well that she got quite a lot too. But of some things, you couldn't have enough. Among those things were smiles, hugs and comforting words.
"I know. And it still amazes me how much you care about me; how so many people all of a sudden seem to care and notice the smallest things about me."
"I've always known you were important, even before you stood in my office, grown-up and mentally scarred by what life would have in store for the little girl celebrating her first Hogwarts Hallowe'en."
"All my life I've been drawing my strength from you, you know. I always wanted you to be proud of me. I never wanted to disappoint you. I still don't," she murmured into his shoulder.
"You never disappointed me. You did well. You made small mistakes like everyone else, but none that couldn't be repaired. You never disappointed me."
"One day you might feel disappointed…" She drew back.
"Even then, I'm sure you'll have your reasons. You make your choices on your own, may they prove right or wrong. After all, it's all a matter of opinion."
"I understand. Excuse me. I promised Hagrid I'd see him." She stood up to leave. When she had reached the door, Dumbledore spoke once more.
"Sariss, I know what you're waiting for. I know what you intend to do. It's all too clear to me even though Severus seems not to want to think that far—or maybe you use your powers to not let him come to the conclusions I've come to draw, I don't know that. I know what you want to do."
"Then why were you pretending you didn't?"
"I wanted to know if you trust me," he challenged her.
"I trust you. If not you then no one else. I didn't want to worry you," she said in a small voice, her back turned to him.
"Should I have kept the prophecy from you?"
"No. It is a good thing that you gave it to me. It encourages me when I falter."
"Now that it's come that far, now that you decided to take your life in your own hands and perhaps lose it in the process, I don't want you to fulfil what's your destiny. I've finally come to understand…" he muttered. "You might not remember the hand-reading we had Phytia Relyaion do when you were a child."
"I remember." She turned back to him. "Now that you mention it, I remember. But I never really understood what she meant. The hand-reading isn't important to me. It never was."
"What if I asked you to forsake your revenge on him? What if I told you to forget about the prophecy and let someone else take your place and fulfil it?"
"You know that's not possible." She shook her head. "I know it, too."
"Sariss, I'll never forgive myself."
"It's not your fault. It's not your choice. It was his choice. He made it on 5th September 1980. He made it when he killed my mother. He made it when he fed me the potion. He made it when he cast the spell. He made it when he tortured me." Her voice was rising with every sentence she spoke and then dropped to a whisper, full of hate and resolve. "He made it when he stopped torturing me to let me die and commanded Severus to rape and kill me. It was his choice and his alone. Not mine. But now I'll make a choice as soon the opportunity presents itself. Severus taught me something about opportunities, although he doesn't know that. He mustn't."
"Sariss, please—."
"You will not stop me." Her voice sounded so calm. "No one will. I'm a ghost of myself. Unfinished. I never became what he wanted me to become. The transformation was not finished—."
"Has he said this to you?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"When he created me."
"You never told me that."
"Really? I must have forgotten." She looked stunned. "I must have forgotten," she repeated, clutching her head. "It must be the dreams. I seem to remember every detail now. The minor details as well as the more significant ones. It seems I could build a perfect replica of the scene. I could quote every single word that had been spoken back then, every breath someone took. Everything." Her eyes flowed over, although the rest of her body seemingly refused to give in to crying. "Would it have made a difference if I had remembered that small fact earlier?" she asked softly. There was despair in her voice. If Dumbledore replied 'yes', she'd break down. "Could it have been reversed if this stupid unreliable brain of mine had remembered?"
Fact was that he had no idea. But Dumbledore was nonetheless shaken once again. Sometimes he had the feeling that no one could do that to him better than she—and that when she so obviously never wanted to. "I don't know, child, I don't know," he said truthfully. "What if I asked you to forget what your father—"
"He was never my father!" she whispered hoarsely.
"What if I asked you to banish him from your mind, to let us deal with him?"
"That wouldn't matter. Stop pressuring me. You should be glad that someone's willing to attempt the unthinkable." She was visibly trying to sound angry, although she clearly was only sad that she was causing him pain. It was quite obvious that she had never wanted to lose a single word about all of this. "I wanted to kill him all my life. When I was hardly five feet tall, I was already imagining the feel of his blood on my hands. I've always yearned for that. And now that I know how to carry out my revenge on him, I will know the feel of his blood when it seeps out of his body as it seeped out of mine."
She wanted to shock him by that revelation. It was clear to him. And she did—almost. If it weren't so understandable for her to harbour those thoughts, Dumbledore would have been more than shocked.
"Sariss. Child—," he began.
She interrupted him briskly, looking at him imploringly, a feverish but terribly sad gleam in her large green eyes. She was close to being frantic. "Don't ever tell Severus about anything I told you today. Not a single one of those words should have passed over my lips. They should never have been uttered. Promise me. Promise me not to tell him that you heard it from me. Lie to him. Tell him you had a faint idea, should he ever ask you—and he will as soon as I—as soon as I'm not here to distract him any longer. He must never know. You have no idea how I feel when I keep him from asking me directly, how my blood turns to ice when he only asks me what I've been doing all day. I'm lying to him, Professor Dumbledore, although not in words, but by not letting him finish his questions, by not even letting him start. I'm lying. I'm lying to him because I love him too much to let him only think about those things. They only lead to pain for both of us. I'm lying," she repeated. "And you know how—."
"Yes. I know how much you despise lies."
She nodded. "And I'm more sorry than I can say. It looks like there's more of a Slytherin in me than the Sorting Hat and myself ever thought."
"Sariss…" Dumbledore sighed. "You might be living that lie for a very long time."
Again, she nodded. "I don't know how long it'll take for the opportunity to come, but the longer it takes, the more I feel I'll falter in my resolve. Every time I look at Severus, every time he looks at me the way only he does, I falter. I don't want to falter. Sometimes I feel the longer it takes, the less persuading I'll need to run and hide from Voldemort. I'm torn in two, you know that?"
"I've noticed. On the one hand, you want Voldemort. On the other hand, you want Severus. I know as well as you do that the day will come for you to choose between them," Dumbledore said. "I fear I know whom and what you'll choose."
"You might be right."
"Sariss, are you aware that with Voldemort dead you'd be the last descendant of Salazar Slytherin?"
"Yes."
"Are you also aware of the fact that you're the last living descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw?"
"So that's why he chose my mother to bear his child? To unite two houses against the others?"
Dumbledore didn't answer.
"He wanted to unite the power of two of the Founders in his child," she whispered. "The Founders. They should have killed Slytherin when they had the chance…"
"So you realize that if you sacrifice yourself to the cause of ridding this world of Voldemort by your rules, you'll take with you the last living drop of blood that Rowena and Salazar have left as their legacy?"
"That only proves that I shouldn't exist. Everyone knows that Rowena loved Godric. She didn't love Slytherin. My mother apparently did."
"What difference does it make? You, too, love a Slytherin. When deep down in your heart you are a Ravenclaw, you not only chose to be a Slytherin, you chose to be with a Slytherin and love him desperately. And don't give me that look. It's so obviously written in your face, in your very eyes, that there's no denying."
"But that doesn't change my decision. It is carved in stone already. For all eternity if I have to wait that long," she said hoarsely, staring right through Dumbledore, staring into nothingness as she so often did.
"And Severus?" Dumbledore asked softly.
Her eyes focused on him.
"There are some things even love can't change."
~*~*~
Care of Magical Creatures had been rather easy. The written exam as well as the practical one had been exactly what Harry had expected. The whole thing had gone quite relaxed and hadn't been too demanding—although it had been a much more serious matter than Harry was used to. After all this was Hagrid. And in his standards, it had been a hard test—although not in everyone else's. Someone must have given him a hand. Harry was fairly sure about that.
After a quite relaxed lunch, Ron and Harry went to North Tower to take their Divination exams. They both knew they'd passed it when they met afterwards and spoke about it. They simply had to make the most horrid predictions they could think of—but not too realistic, since Professor Trelawney seemed not to like predictions that could come true. The more absurd and bizarre they were (at least to Harry), the better for her (and Harry's grades).
Harry wasn't quite sure if the show he'd put on had been satisfying, but he didn't actually care. It was Divination! Divination! The weirdest and roundabout most useless subject he'd ever started. But it was by far easier than Hermione's Arithmancy exam. That is, for Hermione it was challenging but not too difficult.
The remaining time of the day, all of them spent revising their Transfiguration notes, since it was their first exam the following day.
Harry and Ginny had once again only spoken a few words that day at dinner because the two of them were quite anxious concerning the following day. Ginny had her Transfiguration test in the afternoon. And roundabout everyone was worried about the following day. They went to bed early, after having stuffed their heads with the last bits of information that would fit into their brains without making them explode.
McGonagall had them turn snails into snakes. Snakes! Whatever had given her the idea to do that? It wasn't only most difficult to perform inter-species switches—and keep the poor animal alive and kicking (or in that case slithering)—it was also a not very pleasant thing because especially the girls found it a horrid idea to have snakes slither around the room, as if snails hadn't been enough.
They had no idea how hard it was for Harry since, as soon as his snail had lost its shell and developed bones and skin, in essence: only begun to look remotely like a snake, it kept giving him instructions about how it wanted to be just slightly longer and, above all, thinner ('There are no fat sssnakesss!'), and would like to have a bluish-green tinge to its scales and not a greenish-blue one. It even told him how to do it! (If anyone else here knew how much a snail can learn by skulking around the grounds and listening to students… Harry thought.) Indeed, all the snakes in the room were hissing similar things to their masters who (un)fortunately couldn't understand. The hissing was so unnerving that Harry mixed up two spells and had one hell of a time to make their effects undone again. When McGonagall said that their time was up ("Please finish your current spells and then put away your wands and sit back so I may have a look at the results. I demand silence."), Harry had just started to put the finishing touch on his talkative companion. Nice long eyeteeth. It hissed its approval and Harry—who had all the time wanted nothing more than to tell it to shut the hell up—hissed a very soft 'Thanksss,' as most people were scared by the sound of Parseltongue.
"Apparently you were one of the few who didn't mind the task I set you. Not afraid of snakes, are you? Did you have a nice conversation with your project, Mr Potter?" McGonagall asked when she carefully examined the snake, turning it this way and that and nodding approvingly.
'Hey! That ticklesss!'
"I'd call it a monologue," Harry said, but couldn't help smiling. "It seems I've created a particularly ticklish specimen I'm afraid."
"Ticklish?"
'Very ticklisssh.'
"It just said so."
A smile tugged at the corners of McGonagall's mouth. "A ticklish snake… Hmm. The scales have a nice texture I must say…" She took a few notes after having run her fingertips over the snake's skin.
'That'sss nice…' the snake hissed dreamily.
Harry snorted.
"What is it, Mr Potter?" McGonagall raised her eyebrows.
"Um, nothing. It just seems to like that."
"Then you may want to sell it to the Magical Menagerie as a pet snake instead of having it changed back?"
"I'd pity whoever would buy that terribly vain thing," Harry muttered, and McGonagall moved on, telling him to put it in one of the cages that were sitting in a corner. She'd change the animals back later—or not.
After wolfing down some lunch and listening to the chatter of his fellow students about how the snake was still too slimy or its skin still resembling a shell and something like that, they walked to the greenhouses in utter silence. It seemed that everyone was going over his or her notes in their minds. Harry too. And it was a good thing, since Professor Sprout had them tend to a series of plants and taking notes on what was to be paid heed to when, for example, the Venomous Tentacula was in a vindictive mood and thus kept snapping at you, or how to determine if the mushroom they had been given would make them smaller or bigger if they ate it. Of course, they didn't have to eat it. They just had to do an exact analysis of it and come to the exact conclusion.
On Wednesday, it was History of Magic and surprise, surprise! The goblin rebellions were on! Harry had never scribbled so furiously—although at one point he was sure he had mixed up a few dates. But no matter how he strained his brain, it wouldn't provide any other dates. So he simply left it that way and continued with what he knew, always thinking about the fact that—after this test—half of the horror would be over, and that this very afternoon, neither he nor Ron nor Ginny had any tests—until midnight when they'd be taking Astronomy—and could perhaps steal an hour or two to have some fun or at least talk to each other once again—about anything but the exams. Harry really had to calm down at the prospect of Astronomy. That was the most difficult subject for him. How could you remember the names of all those stars at all?
Be that as it may, meanwhile, Hermione would be taking Ancient Runes. She was much more busy than everyone else, since the day after that, those who had Muggle Studies were taking their N.E.W.Ts whereas the large rest of the students could sleep in or revise a bit.
Unfortunately, Ginny had also chosen Muggle Studies in her third year and had to retire a bit earlier than Harry found strictly necessary, since it was very nice to revise for the Charms exam when every time he looked up he could see Ginny poring over her notes, and as soon as she noticed that he was watching she'd smile at him or blow him a kiss. As there weren't very many students in Muggle Studies, they were to take their tests together. The sixth and seventh years would be first. The fourth and fifth years in the afternoon, when the seventh years would meanwhile be taking their Charms N.E.W.Ts.
Professor Flitwick had them do several spells ranging from rather basic ones to really advanced ones, such as determining where a Portkey they had been given at random would take them if they touched it. That one consisted of so many spells that Harry mixed up two of them and even forgot one.
Then came Friday, the last day, the day after which Harry had vowed to never even touch a book again, never so much as look at a library again. In the morning, it would be Potions and in the afternoon DADA.
Snape had them do a Photograph Developing Potion, but not the simple one that was used for black-and-white photographs. No, he had them brew the advanced version, where they had to add a series of additional ingredients to the gently simmering liquid so the Potion would create perfectly lifelike photographs. It was a terrible recipe. Simply too many different ingredients were necessary. Harry strained his tortured brain and hoped that it provided him with the right information. Apparently, he had done something good, since after a soft puffing noise the liquid was perfectly clear, save for a slight violet tinge that was however only visible when he carefully poured a few drops of it on a plate.
Suddenly Harry could breathe properly again. He hadn't even realized he had been holding his breath for long intervals.
He glanced at his watch. There were still ten minutes to go. He had made it perfectly in time.
Even Snape couldn't find anything wrong with his potion now, could he? Then Harry reminded himself that this wasn't Loathing-famous-Harry-Potter-with-a-passion-Snape anymore and finally allowed himself a small smile.
You just passed your Potions exam, partner! With flying colours, I think.
Not quite yet.
Now what to do with a finished Photo Potion? Ah, yes! He remembered. It didn't need any special treatment as soon as it was finished and could be allowed to cool down. Thus, Harry could extinguish the fire that was still flickering merrily below the cauldron. He did so and then quietly put his remaining ingredients back into his Potion-making kit.
All the time, Snape had been creeping around the classroom, peering into cauldrons, watching somebody skin and cut Shrivelfigs and powder beetles, and always with his notebook in his left hand and a quill in his right, taking notes on how they progressed.
When the bell rang, he told them to stop whatever it was that they were doing and to put out the fires. "Then you may leave."
"One hell of a potion," Ron said when they had left the dungeon. "If I hadn't had Hermione sitting at a perfect angle to watch what she was doing, I wouldn't have made it. Snape didn't even seem to notice when I glanced over."
"Ron! That's cheating!" Hermione whispered. "It's not fair."
"Why not? I watched what you were doing and Neville watched what I did. After all, I didn't need that much help from you. I wasn't quite sure when to add the Shrivelfigs and how many but you helped me greatly there. Thank you, 'Mione, you're the best."
That was something to which even Hermione couldn't object. "Alright, if you didn't need too much illegal advice…"
"Hey! Not everyone is as perfect as you and the famous Harry Potter here," Ron slapped Harry on the shoulder. "I threw a glance at your potion. It looked marvellous. How'd you manage that?"
"I hate to rid you so violently of the illusions you might have concerning me, but I too had to guess at a point or two," Harry said sheepishly. "By the way, Hermione, it was a good guess of yours that Snape would choose a potion from the end of the book—."
"Thanks so much, Ron." Neville caught up with them. "It was awful. That potion must have been on the last page of the book. I'd hardly got so far if I hadn't—."
"Second to last page," Lavender said. "I think I added too much fluxweed… Well, can't be helped now anyway."
"We had hardly ninety minutes for it," Seamus complained loudly.
Immediately after Potions, they hurriedly made their way to the DADA classroom.
Harry was rather looking forward to the DADA exam. The last exam. The last lesson at Hogwarts he'd be attending. It was almost a bit sad, now that he thought about it. At Hogwarts, he'd spent the happiest moments of his life despite Voldemort's lurking somewhere in a dark cave and plotting.
Professor Ravon had already pushed the desks apart and labelled them. As soon as everyone had sat down where they were supposed to be—Harry noticed that the arrangement had been made quite cleverly; there was always a Slytherin next to a Gryffindor and vice versa (no Gryffindor would ever let a Slytherin copy their notes, and no Slytherin would ever let a Gryffindor copy either)—she handed out the parchments.
She, as almost every other teacher, covered a wide range of subjects. The questions ranged from Avada Kedavra to Vampires and Werewolves. Knowledge about both theory and practical matters she required of them…
"Time's up," she said finally. "If you'd be so kind as to place your parchments on my desk when you leave? Then you can pick up a copy of the schedule I've made." She indicated another stack of parchment. "I want you to enjoy your lunch now and not to think about what your practical test might be. Relax. There's nothing for you to fear. After you've done that, I expect to see you separately, as scheduled. You might have to wait for a few minutes if the practical test should take longer than expected. But I don't think that will be a problem. The same things apply to those of you who'll go see Professor McGonagall. You're dismissed for now."
Harry's practical test was scheduled for half past three. Thus, he had plenty of time. Ron, however, was to be first. Harry wondered if that was for a reason. His face very white, freckles clearly distinguishable, he went up the marble staircase as though he were being led to the gallows.
Harry and Ginny headed for Gryffindor Tower. As Hermione was scheduled to see Professor Ravon after Lavender who had followed Ron after a few minutes, she decided not to join them. Harry had hardly ever seen her so nervous.
A little while later, the portrait hole opened and Ron scrambled through, looking very relieved.
"How was it?" Harry asked. And immediately, all other present seventh-years joined in. But they were severely disappointed, since Ron replied, "Sorry. We're not allowed to tell. She said she'd sense it if anyone spilt the beans. She said, Gryffindors feel guilty very easily and she'd sense it."
That thought terrified some of his housemates, although Harry didn't know why at first. Then it came to him that perhaps, most of them didn't really know which powers Professor Ravon possessed.
But soon Lavender and Hermione, too, came back, smiling and not willing to lose a single word about what had happened behind closed doors. When it was three fifteen, Harry finally headed for the DADA classroom himself. Except for himself, only Dean and Parvati were left.
Harry tried to empty his mind of all thoughts that didn't belong there at the moment. And then he waited, for—he scanned the parchment—Neville to come out. He waited and waited. The watch was reading ten to four when the door finally opened and a very much relieved-looking Neville was being ushered out by a smiling Professor Ravon. Neville's face broke into a huge smile. He gave Harry the thumbs-up and then broke into a run towards Gryffindor Tower.
"Please, come in, Mr Potter," she said. "I'm sorry you had to wait so long. But finally, it's your turn. Take a seat."
Harry sat down in the chair she'd indicated, while she sat down on the opposite side of her desk.
"So…" Harry began.
"Yes?" She fixed her large green eyes on his.
"What… What would you have me do?" he asked, struggling not to squirm under her gaze or simply blurt out something along the lines of, 'Say, are you wearing green contact-lenses?'
"For a start, I'd like you to… yes, I'd like you to Summon that book over there." She pointed towards a copy of Hideously Advanced Charms and Spells. That book seemed to be stalking Harry that year.
"Wandlessly," she added, as if Harry hadn't understood that that was what she meant.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, reaching out with his right hand. He suddenly felt like Luke Skywalker. He could almost hear Alec Guinness's voice say, "Use the force, Luke—I mean, Harry."
Harry tried to concentrate on the book, on how it would soar towards him. He pictured it. But it didn't seem to work. It had worked during the lessons, sometimes almost too effortlessly. Why didn't it work now? Harry was growing desperate. All the time he had this picture of that pair of green eyes that was boring into him before his eyes.
"Mr Potter?" he heard her voice and opened his eyes again. "Is something wrong?"
"I… No, I'm fine. It just doesn't work," he said helplessly.
"Don't give me that," she said briskly. "If you'd concentrate the way you always have during the lessons you'd have a stack of objects in your lap by now. What's on your mind? Tell me. Nothing that is spoken in this room will leave it, no matter how embarrassing. After all, we're both grown ups, aren't we? Come on," she prompted once more. "Once it's out of your mouth, it'll be out of your mind."
"Um…" Harry struggled to find words that wouldn't make him sound childish. "What's… I noticed that, well… The others don't seem to have noticed that but… What happened to your eyes? They're much greener than they were when you came here—Sorry. I'm probably just being paranoid—."
"No, no, no. It's alright, really. You're not the first one who had to get a more personal question out of his or her mind first—although not that one; yours is quite original—and your question was by far not the most embarrassing," she said dryly, "for neither one of us. But as I said, no word of you or me will leave this room. I won't tell anybody your question; you won't tell anybody my answer. At least not directly. I know how hard it is for teenagers to keep secrets. I guess you'd like an answer now, don't you?"
"Well…"
"I went on a mission for Dumbledore. It was unpleasant business, extremely dangerous and very, very, secret. I was hurt while I was at it—though not severely. The result is what you see. One of the souvenirs I was given," she explained. "Am I looking so scary with them to you?"
"Erm… no," Harry said quickly. "This may sound really stupid now, or maybe it's just my personal impression, but somehow they look right on you." He had no idea how she managed to get him to voice his thoughts—but the air was alive with magic again. He could feel it again.
She smiled. All of a sudden, she reminded him very much of Dumbledore.
"I don't like repeating myself," she continued, more serious again, "but I'd really like you to Summon me that book now."
"I'll try."
"Don't try. Do it." Was it just Harry's impression or was it the perfect Yoda/Luke dialogue?
He concentrated again and the sensation that his mind was floating around the room returned. Harry opened his eyes and smiled as he saw the tome tremble, and pictured it rising into the air and soaring towards him. It almost slammed into his chest.
"Perfect!" Professor Ravon exclaimed. "Any spell you'd like to show off with? The Patronus perhaps?"
"You've already seen me do that one."
"Right. Anything else? A favourite or one just for fun?"
Harry thought for a moment.
"Could you lend me a piece of parchment and a quill?"
"Of course," she rummaged around in a drawer of her desk. "There you are."
He took them, dipped the quill into the ink that she'd provided and wrote 'My name is Harry Potter'. Then he concentrated and slowly waved his hand over the parchment. The writing disappeared. After a few moments, he moved his hand in the other direction and the writing came back.
Professor Ravon nodded and smiled. "Mr Weasley showed the same trick. I think I should have kept a closer eye on your parchments when you wrote the exams."
"We didn't cheat," Harry felt obliged to say.
"I'd know if you had," she answered. "Guilty conscience. Nothing's easier to detect than that."
"Oh. Right. I forgot." Harry chanced a look at his watch. This had only taken ten minutes! It had felt much longer than that.
"Very well done, Mr Potter. You've passed your test."
"What? That was all?" Harry asked.
"I've got to catch up on time a bit. Or would you like to shower yourself in some more objects? You're welcome to do that, although it won't change your result."
Harry shook his head, smiling.
"And as I've told everyone before you: No giving away of what this is all about. I'd sense it and I'd find the culprit—not that a Gryffindor would ever break a promise."
"I promise," Harry said. "Professor?" he began. Now was the time to ask her something else. If not now then never. But how was he supposed to put it in words? "Erm… I've been… Did you have any nightmares this year?"
She froze. "Why do you ask?"
"Because you were in three of mine. And two of them were very real. They were happening as I dreamt them. The one my relatives were killed in…"
"My condolences, Mr Potter, I—."
"You were with me. You were the only person in the whole world whom I knew, whom I could touch, the only person who could hear me. Do you remember it?"
Her smile had disappeared quite some time ago.
"Yes," she said. She sounded somewhat stunned. "Yes, I do remember. And I thank you for waking me up. I wasn't sure if you were real or that you remembered those dreams, too."
"One of them is very faint. But I don't think it was important anyway. Well, not anymore," he said. "I'm sorry, Professor, I know it's not something I should be—."
"It's okay. It's good to know that some things that seem to be real are indeed real."
Harry managed a small smile. The Professor returned it for a moment.
Then, back to business, she ushered him out the same way she'd done with Neville.
Dean and Parvati were already waiting.
"Mr Thomas? Come in. I'm sorry you had to wait. It won't take long, Miss Patil, I promise I'll hurry up a bit." The door closed with a click.
"What was it like?" Parvati asked. "No one's saying a word."
"Neither am I, Parvati," Harry said. "But it's alright. She won't rip your head off, either. Don't be nervous. Good luck."
"Thanks," she said in a small voice, and Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower, asking himself what that mission could have been that Dumbledore had sent her on so shortly after she'd been kidnapped by Voldemort.
~*~*~
"Exams are over!" Sariss shouted as soon as she'd closed the door to Severus's rooms, and threw herself into his arms. It was as if she were one of the students and not their teacher. "Finally."
"Took you long enough. What were you putting your poor Gryffindors and Slytherins through?"
"Well, I admit, the test on wandless magic took longer than I expected, but I didn't want to rush the Gryffindors. After all, it's a matter of concentration."
"And the Slytherins?"
"I asked Professor McGonagall to do a bit of Duelling with them. She'll give me their grades."
"Why that difference?"
"I couldn't very well have McGonagall do wandless magic. That's my speciality. Thus, I couldn't duel," she explained. "And I'm telling you, some of those students have magic! They did so well, without exception…"
It was as if she'd never had a sleepless night, never met the Dark Lord, never suffered anything, so relaxed did she seem. It was refreshing and eased the by now almost constant twinge in his heart.
Dumbledore had spoken to her a few days ago, because Severus had asked him to do so. But apparently, he'd learnt nothing new. She hadn't told Dumbledore any more than Severus. That she would see the Dark Lord dead one day; that she'd do it herself if given the chance; that she was thinking that she were going insane, going mad, probably was mad already. Psychotic. Schizophrenic. That had been the words Dumbledore had used, quoting her—or at least he'd said so. How she had avoided saying the word 'suffering' was beyond either of them. It was one of the words that came first to Severus when he saw her. It was an intruder among much more charming and pleasant expressions.
But today it was as if nothing had ever happened, as if her soul had never been scarred.
She was in high spirits, lovely and simply seductive—in a way, to Severus, she always was lovely and/or seductive. Even at her worst, she had that loveliness to her. And when she was like she was now, temperamental, spontaneously throwing herself into his arms, she was seduction made flesh.
"…everyone in his or her own way. The written exams will make the difference as soon as I've started on grading them."
"Which will keep you away from me again, won't it?" he said, half-joking, half-serious.
"It won't take that long. After all, it's Friday." She stood on tiptoes and blew a kiss to the corner of his mouth, before drawing back again. "I'm most certainly not going to start grading just yet."
"You do know what that means, don't you?" Severus seized her around the waist and pulled her roughly against his body.
"I'm sure you'll enlighten me," she purred, moving slightly against him, her hands resting lightly against his chest.
"No reason to get up tomorrow, at least not in the morning." He traced her spine with his fingertips. It made her shudder despite the fact that layers of clothing were between his fingers and her skin. Maybe she recalled a few occasions when he'd done that. Certainly.
"Uh-huh. I see your point." She bit her lip and gave him one of those slow looks. She must be practising that. It never missed its effect on him.
Familiarity has not yet bred contempt, has it?
"And I see you."
He blew a kiss on her lips, delighting in the fact that she tried to capture his mouth with hers when he pulled back. "Severus, don't you dare tease me like that," she growled.
"And I want to see more of you," he continued, beginning to blow kisses down her throat, as he undid her robes, his lips never more than merely brushing over her skin, but nonetheless leaving the familiar trail of goose bumps in their wake.
"But you know what I look like, better than anyone else, I daresay." She produced one of those delicious little giggling sighs.
"It seems that I have to refresh the memory," he mumbled against her skin. "I'm getting old and forgetful."
"I'm not going to sleep with an old man, so get off, you," she teased, playfully shoving him away, but gladly letting herself be seized again.
"Then I'm only getting forgetful… But, come to think of it," he said, as her dress found its way to the floor and Severus busied himself with unwrapping her from the lace and satin that were her underwear, "how could I ever forget how beautiful you are…"
He blew another set of kisses down the valley between her breasts, thus eliminating any intelligible answer, she might have thought of, in the beginning. He kissed her and stroked her, beginning another one of his sensual assaults on her. His mouth travelled over her as if it had a will of its own, kissing its way down her stomach, inflicting the sweetest of all tortures on her until her knees went weak and she had to hold on to him for balance.
Then he lifted her up; she automatically wrapped her arms around him, greedily running her hands over his back and shoulders, and finally managed to draw him into a kiss, mumbling a breathless "Got you" against his lips, before she prevented him from answering by use of her tongue, lips, and her hips, which she pressed against him.
Severus found the spot on her throat again, the spot that always managed to drive her crazy and utter those interesting noises that he so loved.
"I just grew aware of the fact that my desk looks painfully underused," he whispered hoarsely into her ear.
"Poor desk," she gasped, as he moved for said location, and, as soon as her hands were no longer needed to hold on to him, began to busy herself with quickly removing—all but tearing off, that is—his clothing, all the time showering him with kisses of any kind—which was quite an achievement considering the fact that it took her hardly a minute to disrobe him very thoroughly. She was very skilled in that area by now. The little touches and brushes of her small hands excited him even more than he was already. In fact, he felt that he had to have her right this instant.
"Come to think of it, so is the settee, the carpet—Oh!" she interrupted herself, as Severus entered her in a fluid motion, causing his moan to mingle with hers when he covered her mouth with his again. Her fingernails were scraping over his back and shoulders as she arched her back, sending those little rippling and prickling sensations through his system. Her breasts were pressed to his chest—craving teases, touches and kisses. He was cruel; he kissed his way down to them and only let his breath tease them. It caused her to sigh his name, wrap her legs tighter around his hips and strain against him, wordlessly urging him on.
Instead, he pulled her up and made his way into the bedroom with Sariss all around him, her lips all but feeding on his. Passionately and uninhibitedly, she moaned into his mouth. Her body, her hair, her scent, enveloped him. He laid her down into the pillows as gently as though she were a very rare and very much breakable object and then continued where he'd left off, prolonging it as much as possible, teasing her stomach and breasts and throat with lips, tongue and teeth.
Beneath him, that was where he wanted her to be. At least physically. Perhaps it had to do with domination and control—or the illusion of it. If she didn't like it, nothing would be easier for her than to push him on his back and play the game by her rules. She had already done so several times and Severus had to admit he hadn't objected in the least. On the contrary.
Slow and deep were his movements; passionate touches and ardent kisses were his reward, as he made love to her, telling her in hoarse whispers and gentle caresses that she was most beautiful, lovely and exquisite, that he needed her with his entire being, listening to her answer breathlessly that he must never stop touching her, never stop showing her that he wanted her, that she was his completely—and he didn't stop enjoying her until much later.
He showered some more kisses on her breasts and up her throat until he reached her glowing lips.
"Why are you with me?" Severus said, brushing some strands of damp hair from her beautifully flushed face and throat.
"Maybe it's because you're looking at me the way you do now," she answered, pulling his mouth down on hers for another set of deep and desperate kisses.
Severus didn't care that they missed dinner that day, and neither seemed Sariss. In fact, Severus didn't waste a thought to anything but the feel of her body all around him, the sensation of her fingernails scraping over and digging into his shoulders and back, sometimes inflicting a small sharp stab of pleasant pain on him, her breath on his skin, and the scent of her hair all over him. His pillow would smell of vanilla and strawberry for hours when she'd already have left, not that he'd let her leave all too soon. He'd make sure that she didn't even have a moment to only think about leaving his bedroom, his bed, his arms.
And she didn't.
~*~*~
The End Of Term Feast was scheduled to take place the following day. Roundabout two-hundred-and-fifty smiling students and teachers were assembled in the Great Hall celebrating that another year—that is to say, the exams that year—had passed.
The Hall was decked out in the Gryffindor colours, scarlet and gold, for the seventh year in a row. Dumbledore beamed.
Everyone was relieved that the exams were over. The fear that they had perhaps failed hadn't yet gripped their hearts, not yet commenced to clutch their stomachs and twist them into the proverbial knot.
Hermione was a bit depressed; actually, she had had those moments all year, as Ron pointed out. She wasn't very fond of the thought that school would be over forever and for weeks she'd been pondering what she'd do after she'd finished her Hogwarts time—until Ron told her that with her marks she probably didn't have to look for anything to do afterwards, as the Ministry would be showering her with owl post, giving her the opportunity to choose freely in which department she'd like to work (Hermione had always been fascinated by the prospect of becoming an Auror—ever since Professor Moody/Barty Crouch had said she'd make a good one. She had no problems with the fact that a criminal had told her that. She regarded it as a compliment.)
Ron was simply glad that the exams were over, just like Harry who was a bit tired since he and Ginny had sneaked out of Gryffindor Tower the previous night (using the Invisibility Cloak) and had been heading for the Astronomy Tower. After all, it was summer and the nights were fairly warm. On their way there, they had almost collided with Professor Ravon who had been prowling the castle on her own. If Harry hadn't had the Marauder's Map with him, they'd have run smack into her. Instead, they'd sneaked into a secret passage. But even so, Harry was pretty sure that she'd known that they had been there. Perhaps she suffered from insomnia? That would explain why she always looked tired…
The rest of the weekend they spent playing Quidditch just for fun and lounging at the lakeshore watching the giant squid perform some tricks and rippling the glittering surface of the lake as it moved, thus reflecting the sunlight beautifully.
It was an extremely lazy day…
And it was good that way.
~*~*~
Monday, however, the sky was thick with rain clouds, a constant light rain was falling and nobody wanted to go outside. Either way, since they had plenty of things they could do when inside, it was as enjoyable as the day before.
But only until after dinner, when Professor McGonagall clumsily clambered through the portrait hole. Looking quite agitated, she asked for all the students to gather in the common room. After a bit of commotion, the students poured down into the common room from the two staircases.
McGonagall scanned the room and then informed the assembled students, "This is an emergency situation. Prefects, please take the roll call and then, everyone, follow me to the Great Hall."
"What's going on?" and similar questions were being asked from all around the room, until McGonagall demanded silence and told them gravely, "Hogwarts is under attack. Everyone is to assemble in the Great Hall from where you will be led to a secret part of the castle. You'll be safe there, no matter what happens."
Stunned silence. One could hardly hear someone breathe as the Prefects took the roll call. The name was being said; the hand of the respective person went up, accompanied by a very small "Yes" or "Here."
The roll call went smoothly—until they reached the letter W.
"Weasley, Virginia!"
No answer.
Harry looked around. Wasn't she supposed to be in here, too? Well, she had been… "Where's Ginny?"
Hermione slapped her forehead. "I forgot. She went to see the unicorns some time ago when you were playing chess with Ron."
"What if she's still out there?"
"McGonagall surely thought of that…"
"She can't think about everything, not with Hogwarts under attack," Harry said, as the Prefects finished the list and presumably began to discuss the matter with the Professor.
Harry fought his way through the throng of students.
"She might be in the library…"
"So shortly after her end of year test? No way."
"Then perhaps…"
"Professor!" Harry interrupted them. "Ginny's not inside the castle. She went to the unicorn enclosure…"
"Oh my goodness. I haven't thought about that. In this weather…" she said, concerned. "I only hope Hagrid—Mr Potter, where do you think you're…?"
Harry had dashed through the portrait hole before she had even finished her answer, without so much as thinking that he was most likely endangering himself by going looking for Ginny. He sneaked into secret passageways and hurried through the corridors, almost flying down the staircases, to reach Hagrid's hut with the unicorn enclosure.
As he rushed along the third floor corridor and ran around a corner, he found someone casually leaning against the wall, pointing his wand at Harry, thus blocking his way, and additionally throwing him an evil grin.
Harry came to a sudden halt.
"Malfoy," he said.
Next chapter:
Someone doesn't like to be kept waiting, Harry's in deep trouble, a cameo by Moaning Myrtle and an encounter with the Dark Side.