Seventh Year, Part 2

Severus barely heard Mulciber. Voices belonging to Tobias and the marauders filled his head:

Wuss.

Greasy git.

Slime-ball.

Severus wasn't blind. Mulciber had proportionate features – unlike Severus's nose – that many found appealing, especially his eyes (nearly as green as Lily's) and white-pearl teeth. He was muscular thanks to Quidditch and had a flirty, charismatic personality. Not to mention, his family was filthy rich. Skyrah loved Severus, yes, but was love enough to make her stay, or would she realize choosing Mulciber was better than staying with a penniless half-blood? Mulciber's deal had been offered from a logical point of view and logic was a language a Horned Serpent like Skyrah spoke.

Suddenly, a feeling of profound shame washed over Severus. His jealousy of Mulciber's affluence, blood status, and looks made little sense. Time after time, she'd shown Severus that money and blood purity didn't dictate how she felt about someone. If anything, she'd been worried when she realized he'd purchased a jewel for her. She often called Severus handsome, especially when he was naked and vulnerable before her, with no glamours to conceal his scars or thin body. She meant it every single time. Her eyes didn't lie, nor did her hands. He trusted her. He'd always done so. Mulciber's proposal wouldn't change that. It'll be okay. She'll handle him, Severus told himself.

And handle Mulciber, she did, when she asked him, "If I became your wife, would you love me?"

"Don't you know? I already have feelings for you, Riddle."

"He's kissing her hand," whispered Avery, astonished. "He'll get his ass hexed at this rate."

Severus and Rosier shushed him and pushed him against them to hide him better.

Mulciber continued, "I'm aware you don't feel the same for me. I'd be happy with you by my side, even if you never grew to love me as I do. You're my choice."

"You aren't mine."

Rosier was making a face of pity, thinking Skyrah to have been too harsh (not that it'd surprised him). Avery was muttering to himself that Riddle was being a fool for letting such an opportunity go to waste, for Mulciber was right. In the end, she was a 'pure-blood' witch, and she was expected to become a wife and mother. Who better than Mulciber, who would pander to her every whim? Severus had to occlude due to his contradictory emotions: satisfied Skyrah had made it clear she wanted nothing with Mulciber and sorry Mulciber must have got his heart broken. Out of the Slytherin boys he talked to the most, only Mulciber had been worried about Severus's well-being after recently losing his father. That mattered to Severus.

From that moment on, Mulciber did two things he'd never done before, at least, in front of his group of friends: plead and stammer.

"I won't change my mind," Skyrah interrupted him. "You can learn to love her and be happy with her if happiness and love are your aspirations in life. She'll appreciate her future husband taking the time to get to know her instead of proposing to other witches. You should be owling her and learning some Hungarian out of respect."

"Divorces are scandals. I'll be trapped in a marriage I don't want."

"The only thing that occurs to me is asking your parents to give you more time to find a better match."

"I already asked. One week is what they offered. They…" He hesitated and lowered his voice a bit, yet the boys managed to make out what he was saying anyway. "They didn't take my reaction well. They threatened to disown me if I became engaged to someone who doesn't meet their standards. I must honor my family, not bring them shame. I owe them. They've given me everything."

They're taking everything from him now, realized Severus. It was the first time he felt privileged to be a half-blood.

"It's you, the Hungarian witch, or disownment, with everything it entails: losing my friends, my entire family including cousins I love as siblings, becoming homeless and poor, being disrespected..."

"You've got another option: you might find affinity towards one of our peers and strike a marriage more convenient than that of yours with the Hungarian witch."

"So intelligent, and yet you fail to see the only want I want to marry is you."

"I said no, Mulciber. You must accept my answer."

The sob that came was loud and clear. His friends returned to the Great Hall. Mulciber would need a moment alone, after all. Pleading, stammering… And now crying was added to the list. None of his friends had expected to see such a raw, vulnerable side from their group leader.

Severus was more confused about Skyrah than about Mulciber. Why hadn't she mentioned Mulciber's flirting to him? Had her family discussed marriage and children with her? Those were questions he couldn't ask until they got to the Room of Requirement, transformed into her grandmother's garden. Its magic sensed the conversation would be tough and they'd need a peaceful place. The garden had always calmed her down, and yet, Severus wondered if it'd be enough this time.

"Avery, Rosier, and I heard your conversation with Mulciber."

She frowned. "Why would you invade our privacy like that?"

"Avery and Rosier were worried about him. I wanted to discover why you'd kept Mulciber's flirting from me. I thought perhaps, by joining the guys, I'd find the answer."

"I wasn't the right way to go about it."

"I'm not proud of what I did, but I can't bring myself to regret it. You took long to answer Mulciber. Did you actually consider marrying him?"

"I've never wanted to marry him," she said after a short pause, breaking eye contact with him.

"I believe you. That, however, isn't what I asked. There's only one reason you wouldn't be straightforward with me: you did consider it." He snorted, though it was clear he was hurt. "Just what I needed to learn shortly after burying my father and taking care of my desolate mother."

"You don't have the whole picture."

"No, I don't. It isn't the first time I feel like you're keeping things from me this year. I often wonder if I'm imagining things or not."

He wasn't.

Skyrah took his hands. "Do you think I'd do something to hurt you on purpose?"

"No."

"And do you trust me?"

It took him longer to answer this time, but yes, he trusted her. He stared into her warm eyes, the ones that had always seen right through him.

"You're keeping secrets under coercion or to protect us from your father," he concluded. "I hate him. I'd gladly let Tobias live and have your father die in his—" Place. He realized what he was about to say and shut his mouth.

Skyrah didn't look offended, though. She squeezed his hands.

"I'm trying to find a way to solve the problem. I hate keeping things from you, but right now, I must. I will tell you what I can. I've only ever flirted with you. I didn't tell you about Mulciber asking me out because you're insecure. You don't see what a noble, intelligent young man you are. I knew you'd second-guess yourself if you came to know. I tried to spare you unnecessary suffering. As for the reason I considered his deal…" She trailed off. It made him nervous, for it meant she didn't quite know how to provide him with the information he'd requested without somehow upsetting him. "Father brought up the idea of me becoming engaged to someone."

"Did he mention a name? Do I know him?"

Skyrah bit her bottom lip and nodded. The name was but a whisper: Mulciber.

Her behavior made sense all of a sudden. How was Severus to blame her for considering becoming Mulciber's fiancée when her father, one who appeared to imperius her with no need of the actual curse, had hinted at their union? Now that she'd disobeyed him in such a blatant way, helplessness came over Severus. If her last-summer punishments had been so severe that she hadn't even told Severus what they consisted of (and she'd had no problems telling him that her father used the cruciatus curse on her to 'discipline' her), he didn't want to imagine what could happen now. Though his chest compressed at the thought, he'd rather Skyrah stayed safe with Mulciber than put her life at risk.

"You made a mistake. You shouldn't have rejected him."

"What are you saying, Severus? Should I tell Mulciber I'm ready to play his pure-blood wife after all? Are you giving up on me so easily?"

He'd never seen her so angry. She was flushed, narrowing her eyes at him, and incapable of controlling her voice volume.

"Your father's a murderer, a mentally sick, unstable person who's capable of torturing his own daughter with no remorse. He's strict and expects you to obey him or pay inhuman consequences. If keeping you safe means seeing you with Mulciber, then—" She kissed him with so much impetus he nearly stumbled and fell. Thankfully, the garden table was right behind him. He gripped its edge to maintain his balance.

"Don't you imply you want to see me with another boy," she said, breathing harshly.

His face contorted in pain. "I don't, but I'm scared for you. Mulciber loves you. If I can't have you—"

She kissed him with even more fervor. If she kept kissing him like that, his heart might explode.

"Show a little faith in me, will you? The most traditional pure-blood families view marriage as a business. So does Father. I told him I need time to find the best business deal, to find someone worthy of me and with his ideals. I let him know Mulciber could be too sensitive at times. He didn't believe me and punished me for countering him, but now he's got compelling evidence: Mulciber's love confession. Father sees love as a weakness. He'll be proud I rejected Mulciber in the end."

Severus let out a sigh in relief, thankful she'd thought quickly and manipulated the conversation so that Mulciber spoke of love and, in doing so, discarded his potential as a suitor.

The relief lasted short.

"Does your father expect you to marry someone with his same illness, incapable of understanding love?" he asked.

"Pure-blood arranged marriages aren't known for love, the Malfoys notwithstanding."

"So he intends to arrange a marriage for you to ensure there isn't love. How long have you got before he comes to you with a marriage contract?"

"If he doesn't change his mind, he'll wait until I finish my studies to become a History of Magic teacher. I convinced him."

"How?"

"I can't give you all the details." How was she to tell Severus that her father had approved of waiting until then only because she'd persuaded him that, with such qualifications, she'd be able to teach and shape the minds of young people? Shape them to his liking, of course. Severus didn't know her father was Voldemort, and he couldn't know it. "Father mentioned an heir."

"You've got a brother?"

"No. He wants a grandson, an heir. Waiting a few years will mean I'll be more mature but still young enough and biologically at a good age to get pregnant and ready to carry out the task he set for me. I might as well use the time until the right age to study and work."

He shook his head, stunned. "Why doesn't he make a baby himself and leave you alone? Is he impotent?"

She shrugged. "I think my grandmother knows the truth. She always looks suspicious when I bring it up, but she never tells me. In the end, Mulciber's right: my own father regards me as a body to be bred."

"Your father's wrong. What will happen when you're at the 'right' age anyway? Will you marry the wizard he finds for you?"

"One step at a time."

"But—"

"Severus." It was her we're-dropping-the-subject tone, and so he didn't insist.

Considering how overwhelmed they both felt, they wouldn't reach any conclusion. It was good enough that she'd bought herself time. Sooner or later, they'd find a way to outsmart her father, or so Severus told himself. He sat on the table and hugged her with his arms and legs, bringing her close to him.

"For a moment I thought…" His worst nightmare, being separated from Skyrah, would come true. Even now, he couldn't voice it.

"Didn't you say you trust me?" she asked, though it was clear by her light-heartedness that she wasn't reprimanding him. She meant to cheer him up.

"I feared for you and your family. Your father's despicable."

She rubbed his back as if calming down a child. "Mulciber's parents don't seem much better, forcing their child to marry a witch against his will."

"My grandparents, the Princes, were like that, too. My mother ran away from home when her family made the engagement official. She mingled with those that would disgust the Princes: low-class muggles. Disownment came next. Shortly after she found out she was pregnant with me. She'd just turned fifteen and couldn't even take her OWLs."

She was glad that, having her head buried in his chest, he couldn't see her horrified expression. Pure-blood families could be so messed up. "Your grandparents wanted her engaged at fourteen?"

"To someone who doubled her age. A cousin of hers."

"A cousin… It's ironic, how similar elitist pure-bloods resemble the muggle monarchy."

"In what sense?"

"The muggle monarchy in Europe was known, in history, for incestuous practices. By trying to keep the power within a selected few, they flew straight to their doom: intellectual disability, deformities, infertility..." Her implication was clear: pure-blood families would face the same fate if they insisted on keeping the blood pure, whatever that meant. "What your grandparents asked of your mother was immoral. I'm not happy she suffered, but I'm happy her suffering led her to your father, and consequently, to conceiving you. I can't imagine my life without you."

Nor could Severus imagined his life without her. What he didn't know was that Skyrah feared they'd discover that sort of lonely life fairly soon.

"Riddle, don't—"

"Can't I choose my seat, Snape?"

Severus hated the roles they had to play. Riddle sounded foreign in his mouth. Anyway, he didn't think it kind of her to sit next to Mulciber. His engagement to Kitarni Sovány had become official only a day ago.

"Leave him alone," Rosier interrupted.

"And Mulciber, for the matter," followed Avery.

Mulciber made a gesture with his hand. "If I didn't want her close to me, I'd tell her."

They'd been trying to help. Mulciber was pretending to be strong as if he hadn't spent the night awake, cursing his fate and Skyrah's rejection, and silently glad his mates were by his side and did their best to console him. Whereas Rosier sat next to his girlfriend for Transfiguration class, Severus and Avery sat at the desk behind Mulciber and Skyrah respectively. That was how Severus overheard Skyrah talking to Mulciber.

"I hope your loyalty to your family helps you cope with your engagement."

"Me too," he murmured.

They devoted class time to their task at hand: turning a toad into a toadstool. After succeeding, she took out a history book on the Khmer Empire to read while she waited for further instructions from Professor McGonagall. Only then did Mulciber address the issue.

"Would you have dated me if circumstances had been different?"

Avery nudged Severus and pointed to Mulciber, urging him to listen to their conversation.

"You aren't the kind of person I'm looking for."

"And what is that person like? What's your type, so to speak?"

"I haven't got one."

He snorted. "Everybody's got a type. I think I know yours."

"Oh, really? Enlighten me."

Severus had got to know Skyrah inside and out. That tone of voice was her way of playing it cool and appearing bored, even if she was far from calm.

"Severus Snape."

Severus's heart nearly burst out. Avery was observing him, his toad forgotten, with a spark of curiosity in his eyes.

"You fancy Riddle?" he mouthed.

Severus made a gesture as if telling him to shut up and listen. It worked.

"What makes you think so?" Skyrah asked Mulciber, still in her cool tone.

"The Lunar Ball kiss."

"It was part of a deal. I could kiss you too, and it wouldn't mean a thing."

Avery flinched, feeling sorry for Mulciber.

"All right. Forget the Ball. You laughed with him after that duel, back when Professor Lawless taught us. I think he's the only person who's ever made you laugh. It was the only time I saw you… happy, assuming the dancing in the Great Hall was all an act." Putting Skyrah and happy in the same sentence sounded strange to Mulciber's ears, but that was the truth of what he'd watched in their fourth year.

"He challenged my skills. A good duel can be thrilling. My enjoyment was strictly academic."

"And couldn't it be his mind that attracted you? You could argue he's a Potions genius. His talent is unparalleled, at least, in our generation. If you like him, I'll give him a push and hint at him asking you out. Your happiness matters the most to me, and now I know you won't find it alongside me."

Skyrah was taken aback, not by his slur (he often used such a word), but by his real care for her. For once, Skyrah wished she could act with empathy towards Mulciber, apologize for having been so cutting when he proposed to her, thank him for having her best interests at heart and his maturity, and tell him that his future wife would be lucky to have someone so considerate. She sneered instead.

"If I wanted to date, I'd be dating. I'm an ambitious girl and I get what I want. I'm pleased with my life the way it is."

Severus had to occlude not to smirk at her cunning. Her words had been frank, hadn't they? The truth was more efficient than lies when tricking.

Avery tugged at Severus's sleeve. He was pressing him again, asking him if he had a crush on her.

"Do I think she's good-looking? Yes. Who doesn't? Do I want to date someone who doesn't want me? No," he answered, following her strategy of giving vague truths.

Avery dropped the subject, presumably thinking Severus was still holding onto Lily.

That evening, Skyrah was waiting for Severus in the Art classroom with a smirk.

"You heard us, didn't you? Mulciber and me."

"And you heard us, Avery and me," he stated. "Pleased with your dating life, aren't you?"

He thought she'd push him down onto a chair and straddle him to snog him, as she typically did when he gave her his boyish grin. Far from that, she gave him a chaste peck and retrieved a textbook she settled on a desk, close to a ceramic pot with paint brushes. He grumped, inwardly cursing Professor McGonagall.

"Did you have other plans in mind when you came in?" Skyrah asked him.

"As a matter of fact…" He was staring at her chest.

"Are you always thinking about that?"

"Well, you do say you like my mind a lot, which makes me think your thoughts don't differ much from mine."

Her chuckle echoed in the classroom. "True, but it's our most important school year and our studies can't be forgotten. Come on. Let's study together. It won't be so tedious."

Just like that, what he'd hoped to be a sexy time turned into study time.

The closer to the NEWTs, the less they engaged in sex. They used most meetings to study together, quizzing each other while cuddling. Skyrah initiated the cuddles. He noticed she did so more than last year. Not that he'd complain about that. Fridays were for them to enjoy, no matter what. School talk was forbidden in the prefects' bathroom, too.

There had been one time in which Severus slipped a note, charmed so that it looked blank, during Defense Against the Dark Arts class. She kept it and cast a quick revelio while pretending to study in the library as any other seventh-year pressured by the upcoming NEWTs. It turned out that a combination of injuries in Quidditch practice and a case of the flu had rendered his dormitory empty for the night. The note explained so and asked her to spend the night with him in his dorm. If she sneaked out of her dorm after the girls fell asleep and returned before they woke up, nobody would have to know they'd spent the night together.

After midnight, Severus heard soft knocks on his dorm door. She'd come. Even though they'd meant to fall asleep spooning each other, the new experience and the idea that they had the whole night ahead quickly spurred them into making love until they became exhausted.

"It's been…" He trailed off and laid his head on her shoulder, his arm hooking around her waist. "I wish we could spend every night like this."

"Every night like this would be too much for my body. My knees are still wobbly."

Severus smirked. "I didn't mean spending every night together making love. I meant simply being together, in the same bed. It feels right."

"Yes," she breathed, running her hands through his tousled hair. "It does. But we can't have this every night. You know that."

"We can't have this every night yet. We won't always be at school." Her body tensed, and with it, the mood darkened. Tentatively, he added, "We never talk about our future. Are we going to keep hiding our relationship after our graduation? How?"

"I don't know."

"We should mull over this and discuss it thoroughly."

"Not now. Don't spoil the night, please. It's been perfect."

"I know that your father—"

"Not now," she insisted. "I don't want to talk about Father and our future now. Please."

Her voice had trembled. Feeling guilty about upsetting her, he positioned himself on top of her to look at her face properly and caressed her cheek.

"All right. You'll raise the issue whenever you're ready. I won't pressure you anymore. You made me wait before we finally began dating, and it was worth it. If you need time, I'll give you time." He dropped a sweet kiss on her forehead. "What can I do to make you feel better and go back to the perfect, unspoiled night?"

Skyrah sighed and gave him a tired smile. "Read poetry to me?"

That could be easily solved. He accioed an anthology of poems written by wizarding folk that lived in the late nineteenth century and began to read only after Skyrah had incorporated herself, leaning against him. Lulled by his voice and sleepy after their love-making, she fell asleep by the second poem. Severus gently moved her so that she was lying with her head on his pillow and he was spooning her.

Early in the morning, they both were drowsy yet neither regretted waking up in each other's arms. As he watched her go, he promised himself that he'd think of a way for them to stay together after their graduation with the intention of having more mornings similar to this, in which her sleepy but warm smile was the first thing he saw upon waking up.

Skyrah entered the Potions classroom. Severus was supposed to join her in about five minutes. Only she already heard a noise. She followed it. There he was, rummaging for ingredients in the cupboard. She was about to make a remark about him being incapable of waiting for his potions when she took notice of three important details: his hair was slightly shorter and wavier, his uniform robes looked impeccably new, and his body was suddenly taller. Whoever it was, he wasn't Severus. The mysterious boy turned around, wand at the ready. He lowered it as soon as he realized the one at the end of his wand was none other than his Prefect and Head Girl.

"What are you doing here, Regulus?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

"Nothing. I was leaving."

"Do you think me an idiot?"

Regulus huffed. "Whatever I was doing isn't of your business."

"Maybe not, but it's Professor Slughorn's business if you steal supplies from the school."

"I haven't stolen a thing."

"Because my impeccable timing impeded so."

Regulus narrowed his eyes at her ironic tone. "I'm not the only one who borrows ingredients."

"Professor Slughorn is aware of those who do. They're students who show a lot of potential in the subject and have little monetary means. He chooses not to say anything to allow them to cultivate their skill. If I went to him and explained what I saw, would he tell me you're one of said students, or only a thief? Blacks, as far as I know, are wealthy."

His mouth drew a thin line.

"The deduction of fifteen points is appropriate, don't you agree?"

He held his palms as if he meant to negotiate with her but screwed his eyes shut and groaned with pain instead. He spun, but not before Skyrah noticed how he'd brought his hand to his forearm, rubbing it.

"Regulus…"

"Deduct the amount of points you see fit. Just leave me alone."

"You're in pain. Allow me to escort you to Madam Pomfrey."

"No!" he snapped, bringing his arm closer to his torso. Trying to keep his cool, he took a big breath and repeated, this time much calmer, "No. Stick your nose into somebody else's business, Head Girl."

His persistence only fueled her curiosity. She had an idea of what Regulus could be hiding to the point he wouldn't even go to the Infirmary to get proper treatment. She had to test out her hypothesis, and for that, she had to see his bare arm.

"Roll your sleeve up," she demanded.

"Or else?"

"I'll tell Madam Pomfrey that you are hurt and refuse to get help. She'll find a way to discover what it is you're hiding."

Regulus scowled and, not having much of a choice, did as she'd asked. A black skull and snake moved against his reddish skin. She'd have rather rejected her hypothesis, but here was the undeniable, sickening truth. He'd been seeking ingredients to brew himself a potion to ease the pain of having been recently marked. Skyrah couldn't help but think of Sirius, and how he'd always insisted on his Slytherin family being the worst. She thought about Regulus, too, who'd sold his freedom and lost his big brother for good, the one who'd lied to protect him when they were little kids. Now she faced a dilemma: to help or not to help a boy who'd pledged loyalty to Voldemort.

"It won't work. Nothing magical works on it," she revealed at last.

"How do you know that?" He was quick to roll her sleeves up, thinking he'd find the answer there. To his surprise, her forearm was clean. "You know nothing. You haven't been marked."

"I know it's dark magic, meant to harm. It burns, doesn't it?"

He didn't reply, but it was clear by his eyes, which rounded slightly, that she'd been spot on.

"Muggle methods might alleviate your pain."

He grimaced. "I'm not using anything related to those filthy—"

"You've always favored discretion. You'll bring attention to yourself if you look in pain but don't go to the Infirmary. You don't have to like something in order to use it."

"Even if I swallowed my pride, even if I begged you to keep mum about this, I wouldn't know where to start. My knowledge about muggle medicine is null."

"Mine, too," she admitted.

That was why Voldemort designed the Dark Mark that way.

"I won't ask a mudblood for help. I'll bear the pain."

"You needn't," said another voice.

They didn't waste time asking how long he'd stood there listening or why he was in the Potions Classroom. It was clear to Regulus that Severus was one of those students Horace Slughorn allowed to experiment with school supplies.

"Of course, the half-blood," said Regulus with a tone of disgust.

"Will you accept my help or is that stooping too low?" asked Severus.

When Regulus hung his head, Severus gave Skyrah instructions to apply cool water on the burn while he fetched something. Later, a honey pot floated in the air, approaching them, alongside bandages.

"We must put it on the mark."

Regulus started upon hearing his housemate's voice. It didn't take long for Severus's figure to become visible. He'd stolen from the kitchen house-elves.

"Honey?" Regulus asked, incredulous.

"It has got antibacterial, antiviral, anti-inflammatory, and antioxidant properties." Severus opened the pot for Regulus, who began to massage some honey on the mark and the area next to it. "A thick coating, Black."

While Skyrah applied the bandage, Severus drank some more invisibility potion to return the pot to the Kitchens unseen.

"Could we negotiate?" asked Regulus once he was alone with Skyrah. "Fifteen points when there has been no stealing is too much, don't you agree? Besides, you didn't complain when Snape stole the bandages and the honey."

"Didn't you say I could deduct as many points as I saw fit?" she asked with a lopsided grin. The bandage was now secure.

"My arm was burning. I couldn't think properly."

Skyrah gave a nod. "It was an emergency. I may overlook this one, and Snape's. I won't tell anyone, either, that you accepted a half-blood's help and applied muggle methods to dull the pain of the mark. I'm not the one to gossip much, anyway. You must have noticed."

He was satisfied with the answer, though he didn't move. In fact, he looked at her intensely. "Are you planning on getting marked, too? The Dark Lord asked me about you, which means he's interested in you. You'd be a beneficial addition to his followers."

"Would I? What exactly did you tell him?"

"That I don't know you well enough because we're in different years, but that your reputation as an excellent student precedes you. You're intelligent, a good leader, and take your duties seriously. You strive to make the Slytherin House strong by helping us all."

"I see…"

"You haven't answered. Would you join us?"

"I'll ponder it."

Her answer must have convinced him, for he finally left.

When Severus returned to the Potions classroom, she wore a far-off look.

"Are you okay?" asked Severus, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"I don't know if I can see those who've relied on me as their Prefect and Head Girl turn to…" Father, she thought but couldn't say. "To He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The Slytherin House is becoming a factory of Death Eaters. It's distressing."

"Do you think he made a mistake by joining the Death Eaters?"

"A grave one. I think he might have been trying to please his parents because his brother can't, and he's doing things he isn't ready for."

"Or perhaps he really wanted to become a Death Eater out of his free will. My dorm mates have never talked to me that way."

"He might be repeating what he hears at home, what he's expected to say."

"You have too much faith in him."

"Maybe," she admitted. "…Is Mulciber marked, too? He's the indisputable leader. If he didn't become a Death Eater, perhaps others would follow him."

"It is only a matter of time until Mulciber and the rest are marked. They often talk about it."

Skyrah swallowed hard. The future scenario was desolate. Evans had to be frightened, Gryffindor or not.

"Does it bother you that I helped him with that?" Severus wondered.

"No. It surprised me that you did, considering whose brother Regulus is."

"He's Narcissa's cousin, too. He didn't choose his brother, although he looks too much like Black for me to want to talk to him at all."

Skyrah accepted the explanation. "I wanted to help Regulus despite everything. It's a good thing you knew how to, even though I detest the reason why you knew the treatment in the first place. How many times have you had to apply honey on burns caused by Tobias, Severus?"

He hung his head and confessed, his tone bitter, that there had been too many to count.

She let out a shaky breath and took his hand. "Can we brew something together? Experiment with potions? It'll keep our minds off Tobias, Regulus, and the war in general."

As a response, Severus retrieved his notebook with the Capricornus constellation sign, ready to take notes about his process.

"Shall we revise wandless spells?" suggested Skyrah.

"Shouldn't we try to cast the patronus charm before moving on to another subject? The exam doesn't require us to do this, but it's one of the most powerful defensive charms. We never know when we may need it."

She bit her bottom lip, thankful Severus couldn't see her nervous tick from his position. He was sitting on the Xylomancy classroom floor, with his back and head against a bunch of conjured pillows they had set against one of the classroom walls and Skyrah lying between his legs. His chest had become the greatest pillow for her head and upper back. It had been her idea to cuddle in this position; the cold that came with February was bearable that way according to her.

"In my case, that'd be a waste of time. I'll study Ancient Runes while you work on it."

Before she could summon her notes, he asked her, "Have you never succeeded?"

"My grandmother can invoke a manatee patronus. My mother, a non-corporeal one. My father, not even that. Guess who I'm like?" she finished darkly.

"Not him. If I can do it, so can you. I'll teach you." They got up, though she remained doubtful. "If you can't produce a patronus, it's most likely due to the nature of your memory. It isn't the proper one."

"That makes sense. Has your patronus taken the form of a creature? Can I see it?"

Severus breathed in and out, thought of the first time somebody had been happy to see him and listen to him explaining magic. How uplifting it had felt. How different from the pain at home and his muggle elementary school. The first hint of joy in his life.

Nothing.

Not even a small grayish ray came from his wand after casting the spell.

Nothing in Skyrah's stance or face discouraged him. So he tried again, failed, and groused that his crow had always come when he'd summoned it.

"A crow?" she asked, half-touched half-amused. Morrighan, the injured crow Severus and Hagrid had looked after, crossed her mind.

"I've always had a certain affinity for them," he muttered, slightly embarrassed. "I don't know why I failed."

"You just said that the problem resides in the memory. What were you thinking about?" When he broke eye contact with her, Skyrah could only guess. "Evans?"

"Meeting her," he clarified, his voice rough.

Many people in her situation would have gone green with jealousy. Skyrah, instead, managed to give him a smile. Her understanding nature amazed him.

"It sounds like a powerful memory, the first time you experienced true happiness. You must unconsciously think of the time you lost your friend and so now it isn't enough to summon your crow. It's what happened to me when I thought of memories with Faith, or so my grandmother told me. Childhood memories featuring my mother and grandmother didn't work either, though."

"Perhaps there was a happier memory you overlooked. You occlude so often that it is entirely possible you didn't allow yourself to be completely invaded by that feeling of joy when you cast the spell." Or maybe she inevitably thought of her father when she thought of her family, and no delight came from him. Severus wisely refrained from voicing so.

"I'll do my best to relax and think of my family."

She concentrated on the memory of her mother tickling her on the grass and her grandmother giving her a white rose, feeling the love she had felt as a kid in those moments, back before her father started cursing her. An innocent period of her life, when nothing had looked grim other than the feeling of missing a parent.

Only a spark.

By the humming sound of satisfaction she'd made, that had to be her best result so far. When she asked him if he was ready to try again, he stopped to think. Apart from Lily, there had been only one person in his life who had brought him joy: the witch standing before him. The problem was he had no idea which memory to choose out of all the beautiful ones she'd given him.

The time she'd touched his cheek when he was only twelve?

Falling in love with her during their dancing sessions?

Their first kiss?

Splashing water at each other in the bathroom?

Waking up next to her, both naked?

Making love to her for the very first time and hearing her say she loved him?

He recalled the afterglow neatly. He'd felt immense relief and gratitude that he at last knew how requited love felt. Just thinking about her love for him, the way she touched him and looked at him, got his heart pounding strongly.

"Expecto patronum!"

He held his breath, eyes shut. When his favorite sound (that of his girlfriend laughing) reached his ears, he dared to open his eyes. His crow kept playing with her, pecking her cheek as if kissing her, perching on her arm for her to scratch its ears, and flying in circles around her form. A stunning scene to behold. The moment his crow disappeared, Skyrah flung her arms around Severus.

"Your crow's beautiful! I felt your happiness just by getting my hand close to it. I couldn't stop grinning." She still couldn't. Captured by pride and bliss, she looked breathtaking. He had to hold back not to kiss her, for she was asking him a question: "What memory did you use?"

"You holding me after our first time, the moment it dawned on me that I was loved," he explained, caressing her hair. "You're my happiness."

"I always think I can't be more in love with you, but then you say things like that and prove me wrong."

He smiled, landing occasional kisses on the top of her head for lack of a verbal response. She smelled of roses. It made him feel warm to know that she was using his gift, the shampoo he'd made for her. He was looking forward to seeing her patronus and expressed so.

"You're so sure I'll be successful."

"You're a particularly stubborn Slytherin," he quipped, making her chuckle.

"Let's suppose you're right… Do you reckon it'd take the shape of a snake? I'm a Horned Serpent and a Slytherin." Quite literally, she thought, unconsciously touching her serpent bracelet.

"It's strange, what comes from within. You wear a mask in front of everyone, but I got to know you well. There's more to you than two school Houses."

"If not a snake, what?"

"A caring, highly intelligent, playful creature. Those traits you sometimes don't see yourself, but that are there."

"Caring, intelligent, playful creatures… Like dogs and orangutans?"

"Mhm. Or manatees, like your grandmother. Perhaps you get another sea animal: a seal or a dolphin. It tends to happen within families."

She'd love to get a sea animal, judging by the little squeal of excitement that escaped her at his mentioning that. Her grandmother would be so proud of her.

"Can your mother produce a patronus? Is it a bird as well?"

"She could once, when she escaped her family and met Tobias. It was the first time she felt free. I've never seen it, though. She stopped using magic when she began to live with him. It was another bird: a vulture. Not the most beautiful of creatures, I'm afraid. Much like crows, they've got negative connotations."

"In our culture and era, perhaps. Native Americans portray crows as wise animals, symbols of good luck, and fortune. Celtics believed crows to be a sign of good omens and to represent individuality. Crows were associated with the Greek God of truth and the Sun, of music and poetry and healing. None of that is bad. You aren't bad. Your crow's perfect."

He twirled a lock of her hair, grateful she was so knowledgeable when it came to History and myths. It felt nice to know the birds he'd always liked had not always been associated with tragedy.

"What about vultures?" he wondered.

"When dealing with the ancient Egyptians, Professor Binns told us only the basics. Do you remember anything about their art? They depicted deities wearing headdresses which often showed vultures. They were everywhere, like cats and beetles. In amulets. In statues and figurines. In murals. Vultures symbolized femininity and maternal protection."

Severus snorted. "One thing is for sure: my mother's vulture isn't Egyptian."

"Maybe it is. You said it yourself. Patronuses show what's within your soul, things sometimes the own casters are blind to."

Skyrah realized the unfortunateness of her statement too late. The harm couldn't be undone.

"Where was my mother's protection when Tobias marked my back with his belt and broke my bones? Where was it when I needed it the most? The times I'd begged her to flee, to get a broomstick and fly away with me, to sell potions to earn some money, or even use palmistry to read the future of muggles to be able to get by… Where was her motherly instinct then? Where's it now? She wept over his tomb. She didn't even care that I was at home, taking care of her on her first days as a widow. She makes me feel helpless. Nothing I do is ever enough!"

At his outburst, Skyrah flinched. If he hadn't been shaking, he'd have apologized, especially when he took notice of her eyes, always so warm when they looked at him, becoming glassy.

"I didn't mean to upset you. Her patronus gave me hope that she's got the capability of becoming a loving mum, something she clearly wasn't ready for in the past nor is she ready for today. She's missing out on a precious son. I choose to hold onto that hope even if I understand why you can't do the same. I only meant to give you hope, too, because you deserve to know what a mother's love is like."

Severus couldn't be angry with her, not when it was plain to see that she had meant him well. If anything, he felt bad for having lashed out at her. Skyrah, observant as ever, hugged him. He needed it more than he'd admit. Her arms were his shelter.

"Sorry," he rasped, running his hands along her back, his mouth brushing her ear. "I overreacted quite badly."

"It's a sensitive topic. I should've been mindful."

They held each other until their minds weren't clouded by negative emotions. He kissed her temple before extracting himself from her embrace and tilted his head, a silent request for her to summon her patronus. She was about to give up after five tries when she heard a loud gasp. She raised her head only to see…

Not a manatee, or a dolphin, or a seal.

Not an orangutan or a dog.

Not even a snake, but...

"Another crow," Severus murmured in awe.

Having just gone through the theory, both knew exactly what matching patronuses implied. It was a heavy yet beautiful thing to realize they were luckier than most people on Earth. For the first time in forever, Severus knew what Skyrah referred to when she said her tears were of happiness. He was experiencing them himself, even if he refused to shed them lest she misinterpreted them.

Abruptly, he trapped her between his body and the nearest wall. Despite the demanding kiss, his hands were caressing her nape and face tenderly. She was powerless against his perfect balance between affection and passion.

"Severus," she whispered as kisses trailed the curve of her neck.

The evidence of his desire pressed against her body. They'd never had full sex in such a place, preferring his dorm, Prefects' Bathroom, and Room of Requirement over ordinary classrooms. She wasn't sure it was a good idea despite her body pulling her towards his touch and the pleasure it promised her.

"We cast the charms. Nobody will know," he said, as if reading her mind. The reminder appeased her. "I need you. I need to be inside you. I need to make you say my name in pleasure, feel you, and show with my body everything I'm not ready to say yet. If you aren't in the mood, I'll stop, but tell me now."

Now she wanted him even more. She bit her bottom lip and cast the anti-conception charm on herself.

"Should I cast cushioning charms on the floor to be comf– Oh!" she exclaimed.

He had lowered his trousers and pants, hoisted her up by the buttocks, and pressed her hard against the wall. She liked him like that: a Severus who didn't repress his feelings. For better support, she hugged him with one leg and kept one foot on the floor. An incantation later, her tights were removed. Her wand rolled on the floor as she pushed her knickers aside. Needy as he'd told her he was, he took the time to touch her folds and play with her clit, and only when she begged him to take her already did he slide into her. Moans, groans, sighs, yeses, each other's names, and 'my heart' phrases filled the room for minutes.

A week later, when they came into the same classroom, Skyrah couldn't help but blush at the memories the space rekindled. Severus saw right through her even when she cleared her throat and made an effort to look poised.

"Care to repeat the experience?" he teased her, a smirk flickering at the corner of his mouth.

Her blush spread from her face to her neck. So irresistible was the sight, that Severus began sucking that one spot at the crook of her neck which never failed to make her knees buckle. Coupled with his hands (one of which slowly traced her spine while the other held her firmly by the waist), his ministrations were bound to set the mood he was seeking.

"W-wait," she said, her breath already quickening. He looked at her with an eyebrow raised in question. "We should study first."

"You can't mean that."

"Perks of dating a Horned Serpent," she said with an apologetic smile. He groaned against her neck, and she shivered in pleasure. It took her a moment to recover, take a step back from him, and ask, "Should we review Arithmancy or Transfiguration first?"

"Transfiguration. We should start transfiguring a desk into a mattress."

She suppressed a little chuckle at his smug grin and shook her head. "Let's review Arithmancy instead, to be safe."

"Arithmancy, it is. Bridget Wenlock discovered the magical properties of the number seven. Do you think she forgot to test if it has sexual properties as well? What do you think will happen if I make you come seven times in a row?"

"Is that even possible?"

"We should test it."

"Not today."

He shrugged. "I had to try."

She bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing. Inside she was crying. It was impossible to forget her father and Mulciber's fate, one she feared for herself. Even when studying, her mind wasn't entirely focused on numbers. Luckier than most people on Earth, they'd known they were. Now, though, she was starting to think their crows were more a curse than a blessing in reality. The deeper the love, the deeper the pain.

It was at some point during spring break that she became resolute: her fear and stress couldn't go on anymore. She needed advice, and so she went to those she trusted for it. In her grandmother's yard, sitting under a tree and with a nerve-calming infusion, Skyrah explained her predicament. To her surprise, neither her mother nor her grandmother interrupted her. Quigley, the house-elf, listened in perfect silence, too.

Getting angry with her would have been an understandable reaction. Nonetheless, her family wasn't angry at her but at the situation in which Skyrah was placed in the first place. They were convinced that if circumstances had been different, Skyrah wouldn't have hidden the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to her (falling for Severus) from her family.

"Mistress Skyrah ought not to feel guilty. House-Elf Quigley thinks Mistress Skyrah was being sensible," he added to her family's comforting phrases.

"I wasn't, Quigley. I shouldn't have given Severus and me a chance. Our break-up will break his heart."

"A matching patronus is so special. Most of us never meet someone like that, someone who seems to be made for us. You shouldn't break up with the boy. I'm not letting your sadistic father take that special love away from you," claimed her grandmother.

"If you defy him, he'll kill you, Mother. Tom's never liked you."

"The dislike is mutual. It started long before you introduced me to your, back then, lover. He was so possessive of you, and you didn't see it. Whenever I warned you, you pushed me away. Tom manipulated you and I couldn't do a single thing about it. Now my granddaughter is unable to live as any other girl her age. She must hide and lie to survive. I blame him."

"Grandma Brighid, Mum's right. You can't defy my father. Don't you remember last summer? I thought I was going to lose you." Skyrah's voice was unsteady. She was holding back, trying to appear strong when in fact she was terrified. Quigley covered his eyes as if he could erase the memory of his oldest mistress being bedridden and half-dead. "I won't sacrifice you. I need this family, your love."

"And the boy's," Brighid remarked.

"I agree with your grandmother. You need more than the love we can give you. I've always felt like I failed you."

"Mum…" started Skyrah, her expression soft.

She put her palms up to silence her daughter. "You've never felt free. It's my fault."

"No, it isn't!" "I thought you wouldn't be able to recover after Faith," Skyrah and her mother spoke simultaneously.

It was her mother who continued, "You did. Severus's love for you gave you strength and made you believe in yourself. So if you want my opinion, this is it: breaking up with the one who sees you and makes you feel alive would be a mistake."

"Don't you understand? He's a low-class wizard, born of a muggle father and a disowned Prince mother. Father would never approve. He'd never approve of me loving anyone. What other alternative have I got but breaking up with him to save him? I told you everything so that you could advise me on what exactly I should tell him for him to suffer as little as possible. I've thought every day about a way to outsmart Father but I find no solution. I must put an end to this before it's too late."

"You still have time, sweetheart. Your graduation isn't happening in a week," Brighid pointed out.

"It's happening too soon. Please just tell me, Mum. You've been through break-ups. What's the best way to put an end to a relationship without hurting the other person more than the inevitable?"

"It'll be easier for him to cope with the break-up if he knows the exact reason behind it."

"The truth's cruel."

"But necessary," said Brighid.

Skyrah looked at her mug. She'd need something more potent than an infusion to relax.

"Quigley doesn't want Mistress Skyrah to think about breaking up with her caring boyfriend. He wants Mistress Skyrah to remember that her family loves her and will help her."

Skyrah gave him a sad smile and patted his bald head affectionately. This house-elf, alongside her grandmother, had been her only friend before Faith. She was fond of him.

"He's right," said Brighid. "Your mother and I will think up strategies to defeat that son of a bitch. Only death can stop him. He's too cunning. He'd flee Azkaban if the aurors managed to catch him. He'd be angrier with us. We wouldn't survive. He must die."

Skyrah blinked back tears in vain at the harsh statement. Quigley climbed atop her lap and hugged her, crooning the same words he would when she couldn't fall asleep at night as a child whenever her mother wasn't available, normally due to Voldemort having hurt her. Those nights, holding her dolphin stuffed toy hadn't been enough for little Skyrah. She wished the hug was as comforting as it used to be years ago.

"Sweetheart, I know you love him. Your heart's so forgiving, but mine isn't. I can't forgive him for not loving you and your mum, even if he's mentally sick. He's so sick that he's recruiting an army. Innocent people are dying."

"Don't you think somebody else would take his place if he were dead?" asked Skyrah. "He's got many followers."

"We must act now, before his ideas spread more, so as to avoid that," concluded Brighid.

"I don't know if I can kill again. Faith… I think it did something to my soul."

Her mother squeezed Skyrah's arm in a comforting gesture. "You won't kill again. I won't allow it. Your soul is scarred, but your heart is big enough to deal with the scars. Besides, your grandmother's wrong. He should be jailed. He can't be killed."

"He's made of flesh and bones just like you and me," Brighid reminded them.

"He isn't like us. Have you ever heard about horcruxes?"

Quigley muttered something about dark magic and buried his head in Skyrah's chest.

Meanwhile, Severus was penning a letter to Lucius. He'd promised himself he'd do something to ensure he and Skyrah would be able to keep on dating safely, and he was determined to fulfill the promise.

Ever since learning the truth about Voldemort's immortality, Skyrah had been more attentive than usual. She'd strived to listen to the conversations of other students, especially but not only Slytherins. Voldemort's influence grew every day. The spring break had been the perfect timing for a considerable amount of students to be marked. Others were about to join the Death Eaters or had already been marked for some time. Some were half-bloods and didn't expect to be chosen for the mark yet fully supported the cause. Severus kept quiet through it all, as Skyrah herself did. It was impossible to keep their mouths shut forever, though.

One day, Mulciber asked them, quite straightforwardly, about their future plans in front of a group of Slytherins who supported Voldemort unashamedly. Mulciber had just boasted about his new dark mark.

"My plans are mine to know. Nobody else's," Skyrah stated in her icy don't-mess-with-me tone.

None of her Housemates were shocked by her answer, if only disappointed they hadn't (nor would they) get more information from her.

"Will you be this vague, too?" Mulciber asked, looking straight at Severus. "Have you got the intention of fighting for the sake of respectable wizards and witches, or are you still lusting after that red-haired mudblood?"

Skyrah was reminded of that time, in their fifth year, when Severus had refused to tell her why his Slytherin mates didn't say anything about his friendship with a muggle-born. Here was the answer: they assumed Severus only wanted to be close to Lily because he was physically attracted to her but not because he valued her as a person.

"I'm keeping my options open," was all he said in the end.

"You'll end up realizing there is only one side where you'll be accepted: ours," said Avery. "And so will the Head Girl. She's too prudent to say something that could mess up with her position in this school, but she's intelligent." He looked at Skyrah. "You will join the winning side."

"Wait! Did you hear that?" interrupted Lucinda, Rosier's girlfriend.

"Scared of mice?" he teased her.

She, far from amused, checked the floor. "It's a rat!" She looked at Avery, grimacing. "Will you get your familiar or what?"

"It isn't mine," he told Lucinda. "I think it's lost. It isn't the first time I see it."

The rat scurried away, although Skyrah couldn't help but think of Avery's words.

Later, when Skyrah and Severus were doing each other's hair in the prefects' bathroom, he didn't miss how tense she was.

"Are you like this because you've discovered what I allowed them all to believe about my relationship with Lily?"

"No. I don't think you had much of a choice. I understand why you didn't tell me, too."

"So what is it? There's something on your mind."

Yes, there was: Faith's corpse morphing into Lily's. Severus going through the pain of mourning somebody he cared for. What she told him, though, was that Evans wouldn't be safe.

"They won't cross the line as long as they're at school."

"We're about to finish school," she reminded him.

Severus brought his hands from her scalp to her shoulders. "Potter has always been obsessed with Lily. My dislike for him aside, he'll protect her to the best of his ability."

"They're two Gryffindors. They'll want to play the hero and put themselves in danger."

"What do you expect me to do? Lily won't listen to me. I promised her I'd keep her safe, but I…" He gulped. "I don't know how to keep that promise after school. We can't put an end to the war. Hogwarts is a bubble. The real world is wicked."

Seeing the subject wasn't helping Skyrah, Severus prompted her to rinse her hair while he did the same. When there was no trace of shampoo on them, he put his hands on her waist and kissed her forehead. She leaned into him.

"My heart." He cupped her face, which remained stern. "The future is frightening and treacherous, but there is one thing that gives me strength and bravery: you. I don't know what we'll do after graduating from Hogwarts. You haven't brought it up yet. You need time, and I respect that. What I don't doubt is this: as long as we're together, we'll be fine."

Only they wouldn't be together. All bubbles burst. Even when Severus kissed her, her mind reminded her of the cruel truth she had yet to tell him. No matter how much her mother and grandmother wished for her to stay with her boyfriend, Skyrah would do anything to keep him safe, even if it meant breaking his heart.

Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures, Muggle Studies, and Arithmancy were the last exams seventh-years took during their NEWTs period. Most students were hugging each other after it was over in spite of being sweaty with the warm temperatures of June and the stress released. They were free to spend the remainder of the afternoon in Hogsmeade. As a consequence, the village was replete with seventh-year students in need of relaxation and celebration, and, most importantly, a butterbeer. Severus had asked Skyrah to meet in the Room of Requirement to celebrate instead, after assuring the Slytherin boys that he was exhausted after the exams and would rather remain in the castle.

The last thing Skyrah had expected was to enter into a replica of the Lunar Ball Great Hall. Severus, in his Lunar Ball suit, was waiting for her on the dancefloor. Her uniform had been transfigured into her matching gown as well. Even her hairstyle had been modified to duplicate that braided side bun she had worn years ago.

"How…?" she asked with a chuckle, bewildered.

"This Room grants us what we need," he said, extending his arm.

"We need to dance?"

"You're getting better and better at it."

There had to be more to it. They'd danced many times, and the Room hadn't gone this far to please them. Anyhow, she didn't question him nor give it much of a thought. The music played automatically. Skyrah allowed herself to melt into him, to let him lead her and enjoy the magical moment. There were no couples to bump into, no glares or prying eyes on them. They had each other, the only thing they required. Nobody spoiled their slow-dancing and the kisses that Severus initiated.

Later, they took a seat on a wooden bench etched with a pattern of lunar eclipse phases.

"It should have been exactly like this," said Skyrah, laying her head on his shoulder. "I'm glad we got to experience it."

Severus was even gladder that she'd liked the idea. He took it as a good omen for what he had to do. "I've organized this not only to celebrate we have finished our NEWTs and have the Ball we deserved but to ask you something important."

At his uncharacteristic fumbling of his sleeves, Skyrah put a hand on his knee to encourage him to relax. It wasn't enough, for he took her free hand to hold in his shaking one. He didn't wish to screw up, and his nerves were threatening him with doing exactly that. He cleared his throat and held her gaze.

"We b-began to open up to each other thanks to the Ball. It is only fitting that I ask for y-your hand in marriage here." He got on his knee in front of her, still holding her hand. He was looking at her so intensely that she barely breathed. She hadn't believed her ears, and now her eyes confirmed she hadn't imagined anything. "Skyrah Andraste Riddle, you are my best friend, my girlfriend, my heart. Will you marry me?"

For a moment, her hand trembled as much as his. No sound came from her mouth. She covered her face, but not before Severus caught sight of her quivering lips and large tears coursing down her cheeks. Her sob, though muffled, was loud, a stab in his chest. Many times, he'd rehearsed the exact words of his proposal and thought about different ways Skyrah would react. In each and every scenario, she was overcome with joy. The image before him was the opposite. Slowly, as if not to overwhelm her when her sobs were already raking through her body, he brought her to his arms and caressed her back. When he kissed her temple, she cried harder, and he began to get scared. Had he ruined it all with the proposal he'd prepared with his entire soul?

"I know the proposal hasn't been ideal: I stuttered too much and I haven't got a ring for you. But I swear, the stuttering ironically happened because I wanted the proposal to be perfect and that made me nervous. I intend to start saving money to get you the engagement ring you deserve, too."

"Your stuttering proves just how raw your emotions were, and I definitely don't need a ring to tell you it's been a beautiful, poignant proposal."

"If so, why aren't these happy tears?" he asked, using his thumb to dry them. "My heart, what's the matter?"

"Don't call me that," she begged, her face contorting in pain. "Not when I'm about to break your heart and mine."