Voldemort's Vengeance

Harry finally makes an appearance here, and so do Ron and Hermione! For those of you wondering why they didn't appear in these stories more often, it was because I didn't wan tto write the usual Snape's daughter meets Harry Potter and falls in love or whatever story. I wanted to keep this as original as possible, so I gave Arista her own friends, ect. Anyway, on with the story . . .

After Drake had declared his love for her and vice versa, Arista found all her days floated by in a rose-colored haze. Nothing ruffled her composure, not even the NEWT level workload she was taking, nor Marsh's snide comments about settling for secondhand goods or going out with Lockwood out of pity. What would have once made her boiling mad and itching to slap Brittany's smug face right off now only made her laugh and walk away. Because Arista knew that the other girl was jealous, for despite her glamorous looks and her wealth, Brittany Marsh would never have what she did, or ever be loved the way Arista was.

One day, after their Defense class, Brittany cornered her and sneered, "I have a question for you, Snape. How can you like hanging around a reject like Lockwood?"

Arista pursed her lips. "Because, Marsh, Drake gives me something you'll never have. Respect and dignity and love. I feel sorry for you, Brittany, because not all your money or your status as a pureblood will ever buy you what I have, a gift given freely, not stolen or coaxed unwillingly from some poor guy."

"What would you know about it, Snape?" Brittany snarled. "Hathaway loves me."

"Does he? Or does he love your money and what you can give him?" Arista queried shrewdly. "I think you already know the answer, Marsh, but you're too afraid to admit it."

Brittany stared at her, a red flush slowly creeping up her cheekbones, speechless for the moment with rage. "You're wrong, Snape! Money is power and you're a fool if you can't see that. Then again, why should you, raised in a bloody orphanage, with a father who makes barely enough to keep you in school robes?" she laughed mockingly.

"Money can't buy love, Brittany. You're a fool if you can't see that," Arista shot back. Then she pushed past the other girl, leaving Brittany gaping after her.

"I hate you, Snape!" Marsh shrieked, unable to come up with a verbal reply to equal Arista's brutal honesty.

"I know," she murmured, half to herself. "But I think you hate yourself even more, because you know it's true."

She continued on down the corridor, making her way towards the Transfiguration classroom. "Marsh giving you problems again, Arista?" asked Mel, popping up out of thin air to walk beside her.

Arista managed not to jump in surprise. Mel tended to use her phantom form quite a bit these days, claiming that the more she practiced, the longer she could remain in it. She was currently able to maintain it for about three hours.

"She's the one with the problem, Mel, not me," Arista said calmly.

"I should've known. She's always had a bug up her arse about something." Mel snorted. "Never could figure what Hathaway saw in her, the stuck-up brat."

"Neither could he, but I think he's beginning to wonder now. Not that it's any of my concern."

"Yeah, who gives about Marsh's little drama when you've got one of your own with Drake, right?" Mel teased, her blue eyes sparkling wickedly.

Arista blushed faintly. "With Drake, it's more of a symphony than a drama. The only problem I have now is when and how to tell my dad."

"You mean, you haven't told him yet?" Mel squeaked. "With all the rumors floating about?"

"He doesn't pay attention to rumors, Mel, you know that."

"Maybe not normally, but I'll bet you two Galleons he'll pay attention to this one, especially since it concerns you."

"Rumors about Drake and I have been circulating for months now and he hasn't once asked me about them."

"Maybe he wants you to tell him they aren't true first. That way it doesn't seem like he's accusing you of anything."

Her friend sighed. "I guess so. I know I've been avoiding the subject with him and that's not right, but I just haven't had the time to have a serious talk about it. I mean, I've been so busy with tests and homework I've barely got time to breathe, and so has he. We barely see each other anymore, except in Defense, and that's hardly the place to bring up my love life with Drake."

"I hear you, girlfriend, but let me tell you it'll be far better if you tell him yourself than if he overhears it from a blabbermouth like one of Marsh's friends and flips out." Mel cautioned.

"Trish said the same thing. It's not like I'm ashamed or anything either, because God knows I haven't done anything to be ashamed of. But it never seems to be the right time."

"You're procrastinating, Snape." Mel waved a chiding finger in her face. "That ain't like you, girl. That's Kit's line."

"He sure wasn't slow about asking you out, Mel."

"Big surprise there!" the ghostwalker laughed. "That's probably the one time in his life he hasn't waited till the last minute to do something. Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

"You're right. I should just tell Dad and get it over with. Before he hears one of the more wild stories, like the one that has me and Drake naked in the supply closet having wild sex among Filch's mops."

"Get out! I never heard that one!"

"That just started a day or so ago, when Hathaway spotted us kissing each other goodnight in front of the Slytherin portrait hole." Arista said irritably. "Next thing you know, it goes from one kiss to a dozen to naked in a closet together. Rumors spread quicker than the plague, I swear! And are just as deadly."

"Ouch," Mel winced. "If the professor ever heard that one . . .he'd really freak."

"Tell me about it. He'd probably ship me off to a convent. I'll tell him this weekend, before we go to Hogsmeade. He should be done grading his current batch of exams by then and he's always in a good mood when a Hogsmeade weekend comes up, 'cause then he can get some peace and quiet for a day or two."

"Good idea. I love the way he teaches Defense, Arista, but I kind of miss him teaching Potions. Slughorn's good and all, but he's not in the same class as your dad, know what I mean?"

"You mean he can't intimidate like him?"

"Nobody can intimidate like Professor Snape, that's for sure! But then again, nobody's had anything serious happen in his class either. I mean, just last week, a first year had to be rushed to St. Mungo's because he was fooling around and turned his Sleeping Draft into the Draught of Living Death by mistake and drank it all. That kind of thing would have never happened when Professor Snape was teaching, he always keeps an extra close watch on the younger students, and scares 'em silly so stuff like that doesn't happen. Sometimes a little healthy fear is good for the soul, as my mum used to say."

"Too true, Seton. Dad's much happier teaching Defense, but I miss his little Potions practicums too. He always pushed us to do it better, and while people hated him for it, you can't deny we're all better potion makers for it. Slughorn might be a master, but I get the feeling he's more concerned with a student's family background and popularity than he is with their potions expertise."

"Yeah, I heard he's starting up a new club—the Slug Club, I think it's called, and its members are by invitation only. I think Harry Potter might be one. Wonder if he'll ask one of us?"

Arista shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me one way or the other, Mel. I haven't got time for any extra curricular activities right now."

"Except kissing Drake," Mel added with a smirk.

"Shut up, Seton! Like you don't spend half the night smooching Kit behind the greenhouse."

Mel gaped at her. "How the bloody hell do you know that?"

"Kit bragged to Drake one day that he'd found the perfect spot to have a private moment, in case he was wondering," Arista snickered.

Mel rolled her eyes. "Merlin's toenails! He's worse than my grandmother and aunts. Tell him a secret and you tell the whole school."

"Don't be too hard on him, Mel. He can't help it if he's a Gryffindor and just blurts out the first thing that comes into his head. Lucky he told Drake, you don't need to worry about him blabbing, he knows how to be discreet, like most Slytherins."

"Lucky you," Mel said wryly. "Kit could use a few lessons."

Then they reached the door to the Transfiguration classroom and there was no more time to discuss wayward boyfriends or overprotective fathers.

* * * * * *
Unfortunately, Arista never did get to have her little discussion with Professor Snape, because that weekend Dumbledore sent him out on a secret assignment, to gather more up-to-date information on the strength and numbers of Voldemort's army, which was gathering somewhere in the Carpathian Mountains.

When she arrived at his suite of rooms, she found him packing to leave. "Dad, I need to talk to you about something," she began hesitantly, feeling butterflies beating madly in her stomach.

"Sorry, but it'll have to wait," he answered, shoving some papers inside a drawer and locking it. "I have to leave in half-an-hour."

"Leave? For where?"

"I can't tell you. You know why," he said shortly.

She gazed at him in dismay. "Yeah, but . . .why now, Dad?"

"Because now is the best time. Don't pester me for details, Arista, you know I can't give you them and what you don't know can't be gotten out of you."

"How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know. As long as it takes for me to find out what I need to know. I think maybe two to three days at most, so there'll be no need for a substitute to teach my class."

"Be careful," Arista said, then hugged him tightly.

"Always." He hugged her back. "Don't worry about me, I'll be back before you know it. Keep out of trouble now."

"Sure, Dad. I promise not to go hunting any dark wizards unless you're around," she shot back, grinning.

"Smartass," he scolded, then smiled at her. "Practice that multi-layered shield spell I taught you, because I'm going to quiz you on it when I get back, you hear?"

"Yes, sir. When you get back, I really need to talk to you."

"Okay, we'll talk as soon as I'm finished debriefing. Now, I really have to go, Arista."

"I love you."

"Love you too," he said, then kissed the top of her head. "Go on, get out of here, you don't want to miss your weekend at Hogsmeade, Miss Snape," he practically shoved her out the door.

She went, reluctantly. Of all the rotten luck! Why does Dumbledore have to pick now, of all days, to send him out on an assignment? she wondered irritably. This was the perfect time to tell him about Drake and me, blast it. And now it's all been ruined. Damn Voldemort to hell, him and all his bloody followers. I wish they'd all kill themselves in a fit of depression.

Saturday morning found Arista assisting Madam Pomfrey in the infirmary. Thus far, the cases were routine, the usual round of coughs, colds, and cases of exhaustion from staying up too late studying for exams and not eating properly on top of it. Of course, there were always one or two students who had miscast a spell and had to get disenchanted or mended. Madam Pomfrey was quite good at reversing unexpected spell results, and that was what Arista was studying with her this term.

She had just finished administering the infamous Decongestion Draft to poor Elise Martin, a first year who'd come down with a bad case of pneumonia after being dunked into the Black Lake as a prank by a group of second years. Said second years were now suffering detention under McGonagall.

Elise made a face at the terrible taste, quickly drinking the goblet of pumpkin juice Arista held out to her. "Can that stuff taste any worse?"

"No, thank God," Arista said sympathetically. "But it'll cure your pneumonia like that, trust me." She snapped her fingers. Sure enough, Elise was already drifting off to sleep.

Arista glanced at the plaque on the wall above the beds on the left side of the room. It read: Sleep is the Physician of Pain, an old Roman medicus saying. That was as true today as it had been two thousand years ago, she mused, disinfecting her hands quickly with a spell.

Then she turned to see what the commotion was at the infirmary entrance.

"Fell off his broom again? How many times are we going to have to go through this?" asked a girl's voice, sounding both concerned and slightly annoyed.

Just then a stretcher was floated into the room bearing upon it a familiar figure—Harry Potter in his Quidditch robes. He wasn't awake, but he was moaning a bit. Beside him were his two best friends, Ron and Hermione, as well as Kit, who'd been at the practice too and had saved Harry's life with his quick reflexes.

"It's Quidditch, Hermione, not basket weaving, what d'you expect?" Ron was saying exasperatedly, rolling his eyes at Kit, who was nodding in agreement with him.

"It's a stupid waste of time, if you ask me," Hermione huffed. "Men! So long as you've got plenty of action and blood, it's a great sport."

"You don't understand, Hermione," Kit began. "The danger makes it more intense, heightens the suspense, see? Without that it'd be boring."

"And I wouldn't have half so many patients in here," Madam Pomfrey stated. "Set him down in one of the empty beds, if you would, Mr. Ambrosius. Arista, I'll need you to run a diagnostic on him, please."

"Yes, ma'am." Arista said, coming over to examine her newest patient.

She laid her palm gently on Harry's forehead. Her healing sense automatically began cataloging injuries. She dictated them to the animated quill and parchment hovering over her shoulder. "Patient—Harry Potter. Quidditch related injuries. Cracked collarbone, slight concussion, broken tibia, torn shoulder ligament, contusion of the coccyx . . ." The quill scribbled rapidly.

Behind her Ron choked. "Contusion of the what?"

"Coccyx, Mr. Weasley," she replied impatiently. "Quit interrupting me."

"What the bloody hell's that? Does it mean he's like gonna die?"

"No, Ron," Hermione replied patiently, biting her lip. "It just means he's bruised his tailbone, that's all."

"Oh." Ron heaved a sigh of relief. "Then why didn't you just say so in the first place?"

"I did. Now hush!" Arista ordered, then continued with her diagnosis. "Vital signs, breathing normal, heart rate good, blood pressure, slightly elevated, temperature, slight fever—100.5 degrees, probably due to trauma. Diagnosis performed by Assisting Healer Snape."

Ron chewed his lower lip nervously. "It's bad, isn't it? Can you heal him, Arista?"

"I've seen worse come in through that door, Ron," Arista answered. "Don't worry, it sounds worse than it is." She rolled up the sleeves of her robe and laid her hands directly on Harry's chest. "Back away from me, please. I need to concentrate, and having you hovering isn't helping."

Hermione promptly dragged Ron backwards for about five feet, then the two settled down on an empty and eyed Arista curiously. Neither of them had ever seen a Healer like her at work before.

"She hasn't got a wand!" Ron exclaimed loudly.

Arista shot him an irritated look, reminiscent of her father. "That's because I don't need one to Heal. Now kindly shut up, Ron!"

"Sorry," Ron mumbled.

Arista returned to her patient, closing her eyes and releasing the shields on her healing power. White fire arced up through her hands, outlining them in a pulsing corona of white light. Head lowered in concentration, Arista sent the glowing light out and down, and suddenly both of them were surrounded by a brilliant white glow.

Hermione and Ron squinted, but they couldn't make out anything through the brilliant glow.

Arista carefully slipped pain blocks into place, so her patient would not feel it when she knitted bones and torn muscles back together, reducing the swelling and bruising where necessary, soothing the shock and pain Harry was feeling with her empathic touch. Safe, you're safe now. Sleep, that's right. Sleep and dream, she urged soundlessly, sending him comforting dreams.

There was an odd feel to his mind that nagged at her empathic senses, a tinge of something dark, a taint that reminded her of Wrackspur. Her brow wrinkled in puzzlement. A dark taint in Harry Potter, of all people? Surely she was imagining it? Harry was no dark wizard, even if he did speak Parseltongue. Don't be ridiculous, Snape! Harry's no more a dark wizard than you are. She eased herself from his mind, his body was mended from the fall, all he needed now was plenty of rest and water when he awoke, which wouldn't be until tomorrow morning, most likely.

She blinked, emerging from the healing trance always left her slightly disorientated for a minute or so. "There. You're all better, Harry," she announced, more for his friends' benefit than her patient's, who was sleeping like the dead. "But let's make you more comfortable, shall we?" She snapped her fingers and his muddy, bloodied Quidditch uniform vanished to be replaced by a clean set of hospital pajamas, white with green stripes.

"Much better," she said, then gently drew the blanket up around her patient, removing his glasses and placing them on the nightstand. Asleep, he looked curiously vulnerable, like a lonely child, though he was a year her senior.

"Wow! You healed him up pretty quick, Arista!" Hermione praised, looking at the auburn-haired girl with respect. "I'd of thought it would have taken you longer than half-an-hour to mend all that damage."

Arista shrugged and said modestly, "Fixing broken bones and torn ligaments isn't all that hard, Hermione. It's curing poison and reversing organ damage that's hard."

"Harry's gonna be okay, right?" Ron asked, clearly worried.

"He's going to be right as rain by tomorrow morning. All he needs now is a good night's sleep, since his body's worn out fighting the pain and trying to heal itself. What happened, anyway?"

"Well, we were practicing for the next game between us and Slytherin," Ron explained. "I was Keeper and Harry was Seeker, same as always. We were playing pretty well, nobody had scored on me yet, when all of a sudden a Bludger attacks Harry and it knocked him off his broom."

"Wait a minute. The Bludger attacked him?" Arista frowned.

"Well, kind of. You know how they home in on anything that's moving," Ron clarified. "Our Beater was supposed to keep it off Harry, but it slipped by and Harry didn't see it till it was too late."

"It all happened so fast, there was no time for anybody to react," Hermione continued. "One minute Harry was flying, the next thing I knew he was falling some thirty feet through the air. I went for my wand, but by the time I'd gotten it out, he was almost on the ground. If it hadn't been for Kit, I think Harry would have been in much worse shape." She flashed Kit a grateful smile.

Kit blushed. "Shoot, Hermione, it wasn't anything anybody else couldn't have done. All I did was cast a Cushioning Charm super quick."

"Hermione's right, Kit. Without that, Harry would have been hurt worse, maybe even killed," Arista said. "Your Cushioning Charm saved him a good deal of trauma."

Kit looked down at the ground, embarrassed. "Well, I'm glad I could help. I guess all those Lightning Draw sessions really paid off, Arista."

"Told you they would, Kit."

Ron was looking from one to the other, utterly bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

"Arista tutors us in self-defense and stuff in the afternoons sometimes," Kit explained. "One thing we practiced was how to react quickly in an emergency, by drawing our wands quick as lightning. Arista calls it the Lightning Draw."

"The quicker you get your wand out, the better chance you have of surprising your opponent," she elaborated. "Kit's good, he's the third fastest among us."

"Us?" Hermione asked.

"Me, Kit, Mel, Trish, and Drake," Arista told us.

"Who's the fastest among you?" Ron wanted to know.

"Drake. But I'm a close second."

"Real close. Sometimes she ties with Lockwood, the two of them move like bloody snakes striking." Kit said.

Ron whistled. "Really?"

"Want a demonstration?" Arista asked. "Ready, Kit? On the count of three."

Hermione started counting. On three both young wizards reached for their wands.

Arista's appeared in her hand before Ron even registered the fact that she was moving. Kit's was in his hand a second or two later. Ron and Hermione remained with their mouths open.

"Told you she was fast," Kit laughed.

"Fast as lightning," Ron whistled in admiration. "How'd you get so good, Arista?"

"Practice. Everyday for hours. But before I came here I used to do martial arts with my teacher, Colin Flynn. Nothing increases your reactions and speed like kung fu." She tucked her wand away inside her robe.

"I never heard of a wizard learning martial arts," Ron remarked.

"The Dark Hunters do, in America. It's mandatory for them, and I was a Hunter's apprentice for two years, so I learned it too. The AMA believes that a Hunter should be well rounded and master other disciplines besides magic. So they learn to fight in armed and unarmed combat, combining magic with martial arts skills. That's part of what makes a Hunter such a tough opponent. Even if you block his spells, he can still kick your ass with a roundhouse punch or a snap kick to the jaw."

"Could you do that, Arista?" Hermione wondered.

"Sure, if I had a reason to. I trained with one of the best combat masters on the force, Colin used to teach at the Academy before he returned to field status. He won Best Combat Master of the year three years in a row. He makes me look like a mild spring breeze."

"That's why you're so good at Defense," Ron said.

"Partly, but the other reason is that I practice with my dad during the summer. He taught me a lot about defensive and offensive spells that I never knew before. He's as good as any Academy master, according to Colin, and he doesn't say that about just anybody."

Hermione nodded. "I think this year is the best one we've had in Defense so far. I'm finally learning something useful."

"That's for sure," Ron agreed. "I love that Ricochet spell. I used it to block a hex Malfoy tried to cast on me the other day and it worked brilliantly. First time that's happened, me getting a spell right out of the classroom."

"Were you practicing on your own?"

"Uh . . .sort of. Actually, Professor Snape made me stay after and he had me casting it about a hundred times until I did it right." Ron admitted. "I think after that I could do it in my sleep."

"Practice makes perfect," Arista quoted, her eyes sparkling.

Ron groaned. "Please, Arista! Don't turn into your dad. One perfectionist is enough around here."

"Too late for that, mate," Kit chuckled. "You're looking at Miss Perfection Junior."

"Oh, stuff it, Ambrosius," Arista ordered, pretending to be angry. "I'm nowhere near the perfectionist my dad is. Now why don't you all go and take a nap or something? Harry's going to be out until tomorrow morning at least and we'll call you when he wakes up."

Ron rose to his feet. "Promise?"

"Yes. Now get, Weasley!" she shooed him away gently, rather like a collie with a recalcitrant lamb.

Hermione followed. Kit lingered a bit, but Arista waved a dismissive hand at him as well, and he grinned at her before departing. "See you at lunch, Snape. Oh, and by the way, congratulations."

She blushed a brilliant scarlet. "Thanks, Kit."

"You're welcome," he smirked, then ducked out of the door.

Arista quickly finished the rest of her morning rounds, then finished writing up Harry's chart, detailing what she had done to heal him. Then she left the ward to get some lunch with her friends, telling Madam Pomfrey she'd return for evening watch.

* * * * * *

Evening watch was usually the quietest and most boring shift in the infirmary, it began at ten o'clock at night and continued until five in the morning. Thus Pomfrey had no compunction giving it up to her Assisting Healer, and Arista was often given evening watch, usually two or three nights a week. Arista didn't really mind, she usually used the time to get caught up on studying or homework.

As Assisting Healer, Arista was given certain liberties, such as being allowed to stay up after curfew on those nights she worked evening watch. She could also dock House points like a prefect if students happened to enter the infirmary and were disruptive or obnoxious or too noisy and refused to leave when Arista asked them to. So far Arista had never actually taken House points, though she threatened to on more than one occasion. She found that the mere threat of taking House points, along with one of her famous Snape glares, was enough to keep impudent students in line.

Tonight, the infirmary was even more silent than usual, since the only patient in it overnight was Harry. Elise had been deemed fit to leave after waking up that afternoon by Madam Pomfrey. Arista checked him once more, he was sleeping soundly, before settling down in a recliner near the potions cabinet with a magazine. A small light illuminated the space above her head, casting a soft glow about the room. She quickly flipped through the magazine until she came to the article on Restorative Elixirs and began to read it.

Arista was an extremely fast reader, and had soon finished that article in about five minutes. She then picked up a copy of Healer's Digest, which she subscribed to at home, and perused it leisurely. But even that took only ten minutes. It was utterly still outside and in the ward the only sound was of Harry's hushed breathing

Stifling a yawn, she glanced at her watch. 11:05. Still a long way to go. She drew out a paperback book from her satchel. It was not the kind of thing a wizard usually read, being a mystery by Muggle author James Patterson called The Lake House. Arista had become addicted to Patterson when she lived with the Flynns, and had read everything he'd ever written.

She soon became engrossed in the story, reading for over an hour. Comfrey came into the infirmary and curled up on her lap, purring softly. Arista petted the cat and turned pages above the gray feline, happy to have company.

A low moan came from Harry and Arista froze in mid-sentence. She glanced up from her book just as Comfrey stiffened on her lap and swiveled an ear towards Harry's bed. The cat's eyes were narrowed and she hissed softly, tail lashing in warning.

Arista stroked the cat soothingly, but Comfrey was agitated and did not settle. Another groan came from Harry and Comfrey sprang to the ground, mewing in alarm. Something was plainly wrong, but Arista could not figure out what the cat was sensing. The only people in the infirmary were herself and Harry.

She rose and went over to peer at the young Gryffindor, who was now moaning loudly and thrashing about. His face was twisted as if in agony, but when she touched him, she could detect nothing physically wrong with him. "Must be a nightmare," she muttered, wincing as his hand lashed out, striking her hard on the arm.

She caught his hand, pinning it firmly to the mattress. "Harry! Wake up!"

His eyes opened, but they stared at her unseeing, still lost in whatever nightmare his mind had wandered into. "Don't!" he yelled, his breath coming in heaving gasps. "Don't hurt him! Don't!"

"Hurt who?"

But Harry was not aware of Arista, and he did not hear her question. He spasmed violently, as if in dreadful pain and screamed, his hands moving up to clutch his head, where his scar stood out a livid red against his pale skin. "No MORE! No . . .I don't want to see! Leave him alone . . .damn you, DAMN YOU!"

Arista gripped his hands tightly, trying to prevent him from hitting her or himself. "Harry! HARRY POTTER!" she yelled, shaking him fiercely. "It's only a dream. Now wake up!"

But whatever he was seeing held him fast, and he could not break free. Alarmed, Arista attempted to project feelings of peace and warmth, but as soon as she let down her shields, she was swept away into the maelstrom of sensation Harry was experiencing.

All at once she was standing in a darkened room, lit by only a single lamp. It was cold, frost gathered on the windowpane. She was standing next to a hunched figure in a black robe, bald with eyes resembling those of a serpent's, slit-pupiled and filled with a terrible malevolence.

Arista went cold to the marrow of her bones, for she had never felt such evil before, not even when she touched Wrackspur's mind. It made her shake uncontrollably, but she did not flee. She wondered for a fleeting instant who the figure was, but an instant later she knew—this was Voldemort, one of the greatest dark wizards of the era.

He was staring with undisguised hatred at something in front of him, and he lifted his wand, pointing it at something. "You will tell me all, right now!"

"Never."

The word was spoken softly, but the defiance in the tone was unmistakable.

"You dare defy me, thus? You DARE!" Voldemort screamed.

"Yes."

Again, there was no fear in the tone, only a quiet determination.

"Crucio!"

The figure on the floor writhed, groaning softly in agony, but was otherwise silent.

Arista shuddered, for she could feel Voldemort's satisfaction, cold and thoughtful, at this chance to wreak vengeance on one who had betrayed him. Then her gaze shifted, and she was at last able to get a clear look at the figure on the floor.

It was her father.

She howled, fear and fury intermingling in that single cry, and lashed out with her empathy, trying to hurt the grotesque monster standing before her.

But her empathic bolt went right through Voldemort, for he was not really there, he was only present in spirit, linked to Harry she now saw, by a twisted silken thread of blood. Pain slammed into her then, all of the pain Severus Snape was feeling at that moment, for he was bound by blood to her and she could not block it out.

"Dad!" she shrieked, fiery bursts of agony surging up and down her limbs.

For one instant, their eyes met, though she knew he could not see her. Voldemort's laughter echoed in her ears, cold and mocking. Her whole world became a red and black blur of pain, and she felt herself falling . . .

Only to find herself cradled in Drake's arms, as he had come in just in time to catch her before she hit the floor, drawn to her by the soulbond. "Arista, are you okay? What's wrong with you?"

She opened her eyes, her head throbbed ceaselessly. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes as she recalled the terrible pain she had felt just before the link had broken. "Voldemort . . .knows, Drake!" she gasped. "He knows!"

"Knows what?" Drake cried, holding her tighter.

"Knows about my father," she sobbed softly. "I saw him . . .Harry and I saw him . . .he knows the truth about my father, that he's Dumbledore's agent . . .!"

"My fault . . ." Harry whispered, sitting up now, his face pale and streaked with tears also. "Couldn't stop him . . .he's always there in the back of my mind . . . seeing what I see, knowing what I know . . .He's so angry, so very angry . . ." He shut his eyes, pressing his hands to his scar.

"You can feel Voldemort in your head?" Drake demanded, horrified.

Harry nodded guiltily. "Not supposed to . . .Dumbledore said learn Occlumency . . .Snape'll teach you . . .but I refused to listen to him . . .didn't trust him . . .He's a Slytherin and he hated my father and I thought he was a Death Eater . . .Dumbledore said no, trust Severus, he's always been Voldemort's enemy." Harry hung his head, not looking at them. "Only I didn't . . .I'm sorry, so very sorry . . ."

"Stupid boy!" Arista raged. "He'll kill him now! Can you still feel him, Harry?"

Harry was shivering now, his hands pressed to his forehead. "Yes . . .he wants vengeance . . .miserable traitor . . .ahh . . .!"

"Shut him out, dammit!" Arista growled.

"I don't know how!"

Arista's hand fastened on his wrist, her eyes burning with anger and terrible grief. "Like THIS!"

Then she was inside Harry's mind, following the thread of blood, the dark taint that bound him to Voldemort. She could feel Voldemort's anger at the betrayal of this, his most faithful servant, who had never been his servant at all. Snape would pay, pay in blood . . .Get out, monster! Get out and STAY out! Arista shouted, then she thrust her consciousness forward, slapping the Dark Lord with her own power, letting him feel her. Startled, Voldemort withdrew slightly, and she slammed up a shield, triple strength and impenetrable, just the way Severus had taught her. The connection between Harry and the Dark Lord went dead.

You see what I did? Do you understand now? She demanded sternly. Impenetrable defense, lighter than air, a mist that conceals and absorbs, revealing nothing. That's the first layer. Then the second, like a wall of glass reflecting endlessly . . .And last, a wall of nothing, blank, like a clean slate, leaving him nothing to hold onto . . .

Yes. I get it!

Good. Remember it. He's not all-powerful, you can fight him. Then she withdrew, coming back to herself with a gasp. "Can you feel him anymore?"

Harry shook his head. "No. And my scar . . .it doesn't hurt now. It always hurts when he's angry. What you did, Arista, will it keep him out of my mind forever?"

"No. But you can build shields of your own that he can't penetrate, mine is only temporary. The most effective shield is one you construct yourself. My dad taught me that."

Harry flinched at the mention of the professor. "Arista, I don't think he'll kill him, not yet . . ."

"No, he'll play with him first!" she snarled. Then her anger vanished and she buried her face in Drake's shoulder and began to cry.

Drake looked sick. "We've got to tell the Headmaster. Maybe he can go and find them, before . . ." he didn't finish that sentence, but they all knew how it ended.

"What on earth is going on here?" demanded a cross Madam Pomfrey, coming into the infirmary. "Mr. Potter, why were you shouting? And you, Mr. Lockwood, what are you doing out of bed?" Her jaw dropped as she took in the odd scene. Harry, sitting up in bed, looking like death warmed over, obviously upset over something, and Drake sitting opposite him, holding Arista, who was crying. "Arista, what happened?"

Drake looked up at the older Healer, making a snap decision. "Voldemort found out about Professor Snape. That he was working for Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix all along."

"No . . ." Pomfrey went pale. "Poor Severus! We must tell the Headmaster immediately! I'll go and call him."

Minutes later, all three of them were in Dumbledore's office via Floo powder.

* * * * *

"We have to go and find him!" Arista insisted, once Harry had explained everything.

"I wish that were possible, child," Dumbledore said sadly. "But I don't know where Severus went. He wouldn't reveal anything to me, saying it was safer that way. What you don't know, you can't reveal was his motto."

They gaped at him in dismay. "But, sir, surely you have some idea," Arista pressed. "You can't leave him there . . .with them! You can't!"

"I'm sorry, Arista. But I have no choice. Severus knew when he left here that this might happen . . ."

"So what? You owe it to him to find him, he risked his life for you, damn it!" she swore passionately. "And if you won't go, then I will!"

"No!" Dumbledore said swiftly. "We can't risk you falling into their hands, Arista. A Healer of your caliber . . .Severus made me swear no harm would come to you, I was to keep you safe at all costs."

"Damn it to hell! What good is my power if it can't save my father?" she yelled, glaring at the Headmaster furiously, not caring in the slightest that she was being disrespectful and utterly rude to the strongest wizard in Europe. Snape would have been horrified, she knew, but right then she was too angry to care.

"It may save him yet, Arista Snape," Dumbledore said quietly, meeting her eyes with his own.

"It can't if he's dead!"

"But he wasn't, according to you and Harry. And I believe that Harry is correct, Voldemort will not kill Severus. His revenge will not be satisfied that way . . ."

"So do something!" she cried, frustration lining her jaw. "Take Scout, let him track for you. He can find anyone, he can find my father, no matter where he's gone. Please, Professor!" she threw every bit of empathic persuasion she could into her voice.

Dumbledore nodded reluctantly. "I will try. Where is your magehound?"

"Asleep in my room. I'll get him for you." she turned to go, running hastily down the stairs.

"I must contact the others," Dumbledore said swiftly. He eyed Harry and Drake thoughtfully. "In the meantime, gentlemen, I suggest you two go back to bed. There is little you can do right now, so you might as well sleep. You in particular, Harry. Ask Poppy for a Sleeping Draft if you think you need it. Go on now." He waved them away.

They went, still stunned by this new turn of events.

"Sleep?" Drake muttered to Harry as they descended the staircase. "Is he nuts? How can we just go to sleep after this?"

Harry did not answer, for he had no idea either.

* * * * * *
Arista returned to the Headmaster's office with Scout and after receiving instructions on how to tell the magehound to search, Dumbledore told her to go to sleep as well. Arista did not argue, simply went back to her dormitory, though she knew she would not sleep a wink.

She lay on her bed, praying fervently that Scout could pick up the trail immediately, and that Dumbledore would find her father before it was too late. She fell asleep still murmuring prayers hopefully. Comfrey walked through the wall and snuggled next to Arista, her purr soothing the girl's agitated emotions enough so she could sleep peacefully.

As it turned out, however, Scout's tracking expertise proved unnecessary. For the next morning, Hagrid discovered the battered and bloody figure of Professor Snape, Master of Potions and Defense, lying on the cold ground in front of the castle.

Around the professor's neck was a wooden sign. Written in blood, it read: Thus is the fate of traitors and spies—Voldemort.

Do not stop here!! Severus is barely alive, NOT dead! Read on to see what happens....please!