A/N: This chapter contains smut, some of it on the graphic side. Also a dark angsty scene. You have been warned.

The summer came and went, and soon the forest turned a kaleidoscope of yellow, red and brown. At the start of September, there had been a note in the Prophet, announcing that Severus Snape was to be the new headmaster of Hogwarts. On the one hand, Samara had been immensely relieved, as it meant that Severus was no longer on the run with squadrons of Aurors on the look-out for him. On the other hand, it was an unmistakeable sign that the Ministry, her very employer, had fallen under the influence of You-Know-Who.

Samara had immediately disconnected Ravencroft from the Floo network, which meant she now had to forego the convenience of travelling straight from her lounge to her office. Instead, she had to walk into the forest every morning, until she was outside the boundaries of her Anti-Apparition charms and could Apparate to London. She had also purchased a book on advanced home security, and doubled the protection around Ravencroft with several new and more powerful spells. She was determined that no Death Eater would ever set foot on her land again. Well, Severus didn't really count, of course.

Severus... She missed him more than she could say. It was a constant ache in her heart, a desperate longing that only seemed to get worse with time. She never took her ring off her finger now, not even for a moment, and often stared into its blue depths, musing about the connection to him it provided her, while frustrated that it still got her nowhere closer to him. She had sent him an owl once, asking how he was, but never received a reply.

With all this heartache, she was secretly glad that there had been enough work at St. Mungos in which to immerse herself. It had been a busy few months. Everyone at the hospital was working overtime as they were seeing more and more cases of injury from Dark magic, more and more Cruciatus victims, and a never ending stream of emergency calls to cover up attacks on Muggles, and undo the damage inflicted by rampaging Death Eaters.

Then, in October, she had received a letter from the Ministry, signed by a certain Dolores Umbridge, requesting details of any Muggle-born staff, so that they could be registered. Samara had immediately understood what she had to do. The only member of staff in her department who was Muggle-born was her talented young Potions apprentice, Melissa. After what had happened to her mother years ago, Samara was in no doubt as to Umbridge's intentions. Melissa would have to go into hiding, and where safer to hide than at Ravencroft. She called her into her office the same day, and told her of her plan.

Melissa violently shook her head.

"I can't just disappear like that! I have a life... And what about my job here? Surely it can't be so bad, I mean – it's the Ministry we're talking about!"

Samara sighed; she could understand the young girl only too well.

"Melissa, my parents also thought that things couldn't be so bad, and now they are both dead. The Ministry may only be asking for your details now, but if I give them your name, you'll soon find yourself required to stand trial, a trial with only one possible outcome: You going to Azkaban."

Melissa looked at her in shock. After considering for a while, she nodded silently.

"It is very good of you to offer to take me in, Miss Ravenhood, but I cannot possibly impose on your hospitality for an unforeseeable time."

"I don't think you have a choice," Samara replied. "Besides, I will enjoy the company."

And so it had been that one of the empty bedrooms at Ravencroft was now occupied. Samara whole-heartedly enjoyed the fact that she was no longer on her own, feeling a lot less lonely with the cheerful aspiring Potions Mistress around.

Melissa could not stand being unoccupied, and had soon taken over the Ravencroft herb garden and greenhouse, which she was quickly turning into an amazing collection of herbs and medicinal plants of all sorts. Samara now looked forward to coming home in the evening, with a warm fire already burning in the sitting room, and the smell of Trixie's cooking greeting her from the kitchen. They would then sit at the big oak table in the dining hall to eat together, and Samara felt like she had a found a new family member.

Melissa had also immediately resumed research on the Cruciatus potion. She was working on her own during the day in the old cellars, where they had created a small lab for her, brewing up variations of formulas according to Samara's instructions, and Samara joined her when she returned from the hospital in the evening. Together, they had often worked until late at night, experimenting with different ingredients. Samara was grateful for what she had learned from Severus about the Cruciatus curse, and she now had first hand experience herself. Every week, Samara took a selection of vials back to St Mungo's to try on the distressed victims, but they never had any effect whatsoever.

As the days turned shorter and darker so, it seemed, was the fate of the wizarding world. Christmas was approaching rapidly, but neither Samara, nor anybody else at the hospital, really seemed in the mood this year, and the Christmas trees with shining baubles and colourful ribbons that had appeared everywhere on the wards and corridors did little to change that.

Then, one day, Samara received a note from Flourish and Blott's, the bookshop in Diagon Alley:

Dear Miss Ravenhood,

Unfortunately there has been a problem with your book order. Please could you drop by urgently, so that we can address the issue.

Always at your service

Flourish and Blott's

Samara wondered what this was about. She had indeed ordered a Potions book for Melissa's Christmas present, and decided she would go to sort out whatever problem there was after work.

Hours later, she strolled down Diagon Alley, which was trying even harder than St. Mungo's to spread some Christmas spirit. The various shops were trying to outdo each other with their seasonal displays, and with some success, as the street was teeming with Christmas shoppers. Samara had paused for a moment by a display of festive special offers outside Flourish and Blott's, browsing through books of Christmas-themed spells, when someone suddenly brushed roughly against her, while shoving something into her hand. She turned, opening her mouth to protest at such rudeness. When she saw the tall man striding away from her down the cobbled alley, black hair bouncing, and black cloak billowing behind him, her mouth fell open even further. It was Severus.

Samara's heart was pounding as she unfolded the little piece of parchment in her hand. 'Follow me,' it read in

Severus' edgy handwriting. She hurriedly stuffed the parchment into her pocket, and slowly walked after him, restraining herself not to run, and throw herself into his arms – it was obvious he wanted to be discrete. Severus had stopped outside the window of Madam Malkins, his back turned to her, pretending to look at the display, while waiting for her to catch up. When she was close, he walked on, and she followed, always staying several paces behind him.

Her heart sank, when he turned into Knockturn Alley. The memory of what had happened the last time she had ventured there was still fresh in her mind, and although she knew she would be safe with him around, it still made her feel slightly uneasy. She couldn't fight the urge to look behind her to check that no one was following them, and when she looked ahead again, Severus had disappeared. She slowly walked on a few steps, looking around to see where he could have gone, more and more afraid now that she was on her own. Suddenly, someone grabbed her hand, and pulled her through the door into a house. She yelped, but immediately relaxed when she saw it was him. He closed the door behind them, and uttered a spell to lock it. Samara threw herself at him, flinging her arms around his neck.

"Severus… you have no idea how much I have missed you!"

She buried her face in his chest and sighed. He allowed it for a moment, even putting one arm around her waist, but then he gently pushed her away and looked at her seriously.

"Samara, I didn't come here so you could use me as a pillow," he scolded. "I sent you that note because I need to speak to you in private."

"The note about the book order - it was from you?" Samara looked scandalised.

He lifted his wand, the hint of a sly smile playing around his lips, and cast a Muffliato spell around them, but Samara doubted that there was anybody there to overhear their conversation. They were standing inside the hallway of what appeared to be an abandoned wizarding property. In the semi-darkness, she could make out a wooden staircase leading up into the guts of the house. Cobwebs heavy with dust covered every corner of the ceiling, and on the yellowed wallpaper one could still make out the contours of portraits that had once hung there.

"Now listen carefully," Severus said calmly. "You and I, if we act with care and courage, have the opportunity to stop a horrible crime."

She looked at him wide-eyed, as he explained the details of his plan, and what he wanted her to do. When he finished, they were silent for a while. Samara was so stunned by what she had just been told, that she didn't know what to say. She was afraid, but knew she had to be strong.

"I wish you could be there tomorrow," she said.

"It would not be wise. The risk that I might be recognised is too great. You will be fine. As long as you play along, you have nothing to fear."

"I know, but I'm still scared," she sighed.

He put his hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "Now, I do not need to stress that you must not discuss this with anyone. If word came out that they survived, you and I would be in a very precarious situation indeed."

She nodded quietly.

"Severus," she asked, "Do you think we are safe here?"

"I believe so. I have put protection around the entrance. However, it would not be advisable to go upstairs." He pointed at the staircase. "It is likely that the owners took measures to deter intruders."

"Then let's stay here for while…" she whispered.

"I don't wish to start this again, you know I can't…" he said, shooting her a forbidding look.

"I'm not asking for any commitment from you, Severus. Right now, if it's all I can have, I would settle for one more time making love with you."

He seemed to jump a little at her bluntness, but immediately mastered his expression. "You will feel I just used you," he retorted, scowling at her.

"On second thought, you can use me as much as you like, Severus Snape," she insisted.

"No." He looked away, but she had already caught a glimpse of the yearning that simmered in his eyes.

"Why not? I don't know when or if I will see you again. And don't say this is for my own good – As a blood traitor, I'm in danger anyway. Please… Let's snatch this one moment from the clutches of death…"

She moved closer, and reached out to caress his cheek. His dark eyes looked at her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. She could tell he was teetering on the edge of temptation, and struggling to hold on to his resolve. Sliding her hand to the back of his head, she pulled him towards her to kiss him, and as she pressed her body against his, could feel the swelling evidence of his desire.

"Please, Severus, don't deny me. I know you crave this as much as I do," she breathed against his closed lips.

He hesitated, remaining stiff and immobile for an excruciatingly long moment, but when she finally felt him relax ever so slightly under her touch, she knew she had won. He opened his mouth, and as their tongues met, let out a deep groan, which she felt more than heard. She had broken through his resistance, and, from under the cool, controlled surface of the austere Potions Master, seething passion was about to erupt like hot lava from the crater of a sleeping volcano.

Suddenly, his hands were everywhere, sending spears of fire through her body wherever they touched, while his lips and tongue claimed her mouth with ardent fervour. Merlin, he could kiss! Samara wondered how it was that she was still standing.

"Just one more time, huh? We better make this memorable then," he growled in between kisses, and his deep voice melted her like a snowflake in his palm.

He pushed her back against the wall, gathered up the material of her skirt and robes, and pulled the garments up to her waist. The cold air bit her heated skin, but he wrapped his long black cloak around her, enfolding her with his warmth. She whimpered with pleasure and need, when those graceful hands ventured into more intimate territory with skilful touch. Her hands ran down his flat, taut abdomen, and started to finger at his belt to free him from the straining fabric. His breath caught at her feathery touch, while his black eyes pierced her with unconcealed lust.

His hands slipped under her thighs, raising her knees, and hoisting her up against his pelvis. He pinned her against the wall with his weight as he settled between her legs. After little readjustment of their position, he thrust into her with desperate need. She moaned at this sudden encroachment, and wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, slinging her arms around his shoulders for support. She closed her eyes, and focused on the feeling of him deep and hard inside her. His lips moved to her neck, and she cried out as he started to gently bite at the cords of muscle there. She dropped her head back in ecstasy, feeling his hot breath close to her ear, weaving her fingers through his long silky hair. The friction of his rigid shaft against her walls sent roaring waves of fire through her blood as he withdrew partly and surged forward again and again. He pushed her legs further apart, allowing him deeper penetration, making her moan as he hit her in places not reached before. She forgot where she was, lost in the devotion of their love-making, where nothing existed but the feel of his sensual lips on her skin, the heat of his body, and the pleasure evoked by his thrusts, while time seemed to stand still.

When a deep guttural sound escaped his throat, and a shudder went through his body, it was over way too quickly. She held him close, tightening her muscles around him, feeling the quiver and hot gush of his release. She took his head into her hands, and kissed him tenderly, unsure whether the salty taste on his lips was sweat or tears.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, "I couldn't hold it."

"Don't be, I enjoyed it very much."

He withdrew himself, and eased her down on her feet again. His smouldering black eyes held her captive as he looked at her, making her stomach flutter with the intensity of his gaze.

"Not enough," he murmured. An impish smile played around the corners of his mouth, and she wondered what he was up to. It was only a moment until she found out, when he crouched down, and buried his face in her lap. She gasped when his tongue slid over her swollen little pearl, and sent a shock wave of sensation through her body. Then he did it again, this time applying slightly more pressure and making her cry out.

"Stop, Severus, it's too much!" she panted. He ignored her, licking and sucking at the small knob with electrifying result. Samara writhed about, trying to break free, but his hands on her hips held her still with unexpected force, while his lips and tongue continued their onslaught. This sensation overload was reducing her mind to a tingling kaleidoscope of colour and sound, unable to form a coherent thought or sentence. And just as she thought her over-stimulated body could take no more, and she was about to faint, he stopped.

She panted for breath, her knees shaking. She was barely aware of him repositioning her, turning her away from him, lifting her to stand on the bottom tread of the staircase, bent forward, her hands either side on the railing. He snaked one strong arm around her waist for support, and she gasped with shock when entered her from behind, her slickness allowing him to glide in easily.

It was a very different experience; she felt more vulnerable, but also incredibly aroused, and she would have trusted him with her life. His free hand cupped around her womanhood, applying gentle pressure on the centre of her lust. She had been on the brink already, and it took only a few slow strokes to push her over the edge into an explosion of sensation and pleasure that shook her body and left her reeling, weightless, floating.

But Severus didn't stop, and instead picked up the pace. Now holding on to her hips with both hands, he pounded into her harder, pushing her sensitised body further without respite. She tensed around him, which intensified the sensation even more, driving him almost mad. He groaned, pulling her against him to meet his thrusts. She cried out in frenzied abandon as she came again, taking him with her, riding the powerful tidal wave of their release, and letting it wash them ashore, drowning everything but the overwhelming sense of their union.

For several long moments, she felt nothing but a tingling numbness. Completely wasted, her knees finally gave way, and his arms wrapped around to sustain her. He turned her to face him, holding her in his embrace. Feeling a warm trickle between her thighs, she looked at him glassy-eyed, while sensation slowly returned to her body.

"I hope I haven't fucked your brains out," he mocked affectionately, planting a kiss on her forehead. "I suspect you still need them."

She shook her head, searching for words in the dazed jumble that was her mind. "Amazing… best I ever had."

His dark eyes looked at her with tenderness and satisfaction.

"Good. Then you have something to remember me by."

"Don't say that, it sounds too much like good-bye," she whispered.

"It may well be," he replied, a trace of sadness in his voice.

"Severus, I -"

"Shht…don't," he stopped her. He pulled her closer, and kissed her once more, deeply and voraciously, his lips pressed hard against hers, while his tongue explored her mouth, and she responded with equal fervour. When they finally broke apart, they were breathless, and, for a small eternity, remained still in each other's arms, defying the cold that threatened to creep through from the outside. Samara rested her head against his shoulder, feeling his heart beat and breathing in his scent. He smelled of rosemary and leather, of books and burnt wood, and she tried to engrave the sensation in her brain, for she feared the memory might have to last her a lifetime.

* * *

They all stood in a circle, none of them daring to move. Some of them had their hoods drawn deep over their faces, as if hoping to hide in its shadow. In the centre of their circle, a tall, pale-skinned figure with snake-like features, hardly recognisable as a man, was scanning their ranks, his red eyes piercing each one of them in turn, menacingly twirling his wand of yew between his long, bony fingers. The smell of fear lingered over the room. Then he stopped, intently staring at one of the men, who seemed to shrink, as if he wanted to sink into the ground. His eyes, normally grey pits of ice, were pleading for mercy.

"Never disappoint the Dark Lord, never…" The voice was just as snake-like as its owner.

"Crucio!"

It came without warning, more a hiss than a word, almost as if spoken in Parseltongue. Severus closed his eyes. He did not want to see the man, who had collapsed, and lay convulsing on the floor, but he could do little to ignore his screams. Finally, the curse was lifted, and the Dark Lord moved on to the Death Eater standing next to the gap left by the prone figure lying panting and whimpering on the ground.

Severus face was stony like a death mask when he felt the Dark Lord's gaze resting upon him for several long seconds. He knew how to divide his mind into what he wanted him to see and what not. After years of practice, it was almost instinctive. Yet the sense of relief was immense when the red eyes finally moved on. This time, he seemed to have got away unscathed.

"Well, my faithful Death Eaters," the Dark Lord's silky voice finally cut through the tension in the room, "I hear we have a guest tonight. Why don't you introduce our friend."

His hand motioned towards two of the hooded men, who hurried outside. When they returned after a short moment, they were dragging a woman between them. She was wearing the bright green robes of a St. Mungo's Healer. Her dark, curly hair was stuck to her forehead with what looked like blood. Severus' heart stopped as he recognised her.

The brutal-faced Death Eater threw her to the ground in front of the Dark Lord. She struggled to her feet, and looked around like a hunted animal, her eyes wide and scared. When they discovered Severus, she looked at him beseechingly, but did not dare speak a word. His face did not betray any thought, nor did his eyes acknowledge that he had seen her. But behind the mask, he was desperately racking his brain for something to do, only what?

"So, what have we got here?" the Dark Lord mused, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"The aurors escaped, my Lord. Apparently this woman had something to do with it. She is the daughter of that blood traitor, Ravenhood," the brutal-faced Death Eater replied.

Lord Voldemort's lips formed a derisive smile.

"A small fish…"

He bent forward, and lifted her chin up with the tip of his wand. Samara stared at him, frozen with fear.

"But nonetheless a pretty little prize for one of my Death Eaters…"

Again, the Dark Lord's eyes were scanning the row of his followers.

"My Lord, please, let me have her," Severus spoke, concealing the upheaval he was in behind his blank tone.

"Why, Severus, I had no idea you had a taste for this sort of entertainment. You always appear such a bookworm."

"Please, my Lord, let me have her as a reward for eliminating Dumbledore."

A viperish smile played around the Dark Lord's mouth, and his red eyes flashed maliciously.

"You have the insolence to ask for a reward, Severus? Let me remind you that you were merely paying off your debt." And turning towards a large, broad-shouldered man he spoke, "Walden, you shall have her, I trust you to finish it off."

'Not Macnair,' Severus thought, the anguish in his heart drowning out all coherent thought.

Macnair roughly grabbed Samara by the arm, and shoved her towards the door. She turned, and gave Severus one last look over her shoulder. Her eyes were begging him to help her, but he could do nothing.

The hooded men stood silently, while Voldemort paced slowly up and down. Then Severus could hear her screaming from the room next door. Her voice cut through his heart like a knife. He could not bear it, he had to do something. Now the Dark Lord slowly walked towards him, fixing him with his cold red eyes.

"Severus, you seem a little stirred," he remarked casually, cruel irony tainting his voice.

Severus was desperate to get a grip on his emotions. The Dark Lord was looking him straight in the eyes, and he knew he had to blank out the torment, the desperation he was in. It was almost impossible when his mind wanted nothing but to think of some way to get her out of here. If he could somehow reach her he could Disapparate with her. What did it matter now, if he were to blow his cover - as long as she lived. They would have to run, hide, for as long as the Dark Lord existed, but they might have a chance.

"Look at your hands, they are shaking, Severus! You haven't gone soft, have you?"

Were they? Severus was mortified. Had he focused so much on concealing his thoughts that he had lost control over his body? He could hear her scream again, and the sound cut him to the quick. He felt nauseated.

"We shall have to toughen you up a little," Voldemort sneered. His skeleton-like fingers were twirling the wand again. "Crucio!"

The pain seared through him like fire, but it was nothing compared to her screams. When he finally managed to regain command over his body, he scrambled to his feet, and bolted out of the room, ripping open the door behind which Samara was being tortured. But now there was silence. He threw Macnair out of the way, and fell to his knees next to Samara's lifeless form on the floor. She looked at him, but the light had gone from her eyes.

"No!" A scream escaped his throat, his voice unrecognisable to himself. He cradled her broken, defiled body in his arms, holding her against his chest. She still felt warm, and her hair still exuded the familiar flowery perfume. He could not breathe. His insides were screaming in agony as if his heart had just been torn out. Then there were footsteps behind him, he looked around, through a veil of tears, into a flash of green light.

***

Severus woke up drenched in cold sweat, his pillow clenched against his chest, his heart racing. He sat up, and for several minutes was unable to shake off the anguish. Deeply shaken and nauseated, he scrambled out of bed and into his bathroom. He was going to be sick. Slumped over the toilet bowl, retching, he grimaced, still unable to rid his mind from the images of his dream. Finally, he pulled himself up, his knees shaking, and took a bottle from the bathroom cabinet. Looking at the Dreamless Sleep potion in his hand, he was tempted to obliviate himself back to sleep as usual, but something was holding him back.

What if the dream was a sign, a bad omen?

'Nonsense,' he tried to tell himself, 'You are starting to sound like that drunken hag Trelawney.' He had never held any regard for divination. Being a firm advocate of the exact sciences, he had always disregarded any form of dream interpretation as fluff. His mind had merely played a trick on him, substituting Samara for the nameless men and women of his usual nightmares. No doubt, this was a result of the intimacy they had shared the day before. Still, there was no way he could go back to sleep now.

The stone floor felt ice cold under his bare feet, and he shivered in the chill of the early morning as he went back to his bedroom and got dressed. Looking for something to busy himself with, he wandered down into his office. His predecessors were either sleeping in their portraits, or had left their frames. Dumbledore was snoring peacefully, and Severus shot him a resentful look. His eyes fell onto his desk, which was empty apart from a heavy leather-bound tome. He didn't even have any essays to mark these days, which had always been another good option to while away the night after awaking from one of his nightmares. Now he understood why Dumbledore had so much time for planning and scheming, he had nothing else to do. Well, he could try to read, but he doubted he would be able to concentrate sufficiently. Instead, he poured himself a large shot of Firewhisky, and downed it in one gulp. The strong burning sensation of the liquid running down his throat took his breath away for a moment, but at least it got rid of the awful taste in his mouth.

He paced up and down, restless, finally coming to stand by one of the leaded windows, and looked out into the courtyard. Fresh snow had fallen overnight, decorating every turret and pinnacle of the castle. The sight of snow-covered Hogwarts would have been enough to get anyone into a Christmas spirit, but Severus had no eyes for its beauty. He thought about the day ahead, and what he had asked Samara to do. It filled his heart with apprehension. What if there was something he had not foreseen? What if things didn't go to plan? He had to make sure everything would be all right, and he had at least a vague idea of how he might achieve that. He walked over to the glass cabinet in his office, and started to search through the dozens and dozens of bottles it contained. He finally found what he was looking for, pulling a dusty old bottle out from the back. It had been ages since he'd made it, it wasn't something he normally used. He unscrewed the top to smell the murky liquid. Satisfied that it was still fit for use, he closed the bottle again, and slipped it into his pocket.

To Severus' great relief, this year the students had all gone home over the Christmas vacation without exception, even the children of his fellow Death Eaters. This way there would be no incidents with the Carrows over the next couple of weeks, and he could dare to leave Hogwarts for a few hours. He Summoned his travelling cloak, and walked out of the door. As he strode down towards the gate in the darkness, the only sound the fresh snow crunching under his boots, his plan was taking shape in his head.