Snapekat Alley

Madame Potion: Chapter Twenty-One. The Finale

Fri, 01 Feb 2008 01:59:07 GMT

Heaven Bend to Take My Hand

If it takes a whole life, I won’t break, I won’t bend

It’ll all be worth it, worth it in the end

Cause I can only tell you what I know

That I need you in my life

And when the stars have all burned out

You’ll still be burning so bright

Cast me gently into morning for the night has been unkind

Answer -- Sarah McLachlan

~*~*~*~*~*~*

“You’ve got to do something, Snape,” a breathless, frightened looking Death Eater said as soon as Snape came through the doors of the orphanage. “He’s gone mad, he has.”

Snape’s gut clenched, but he charged on. It was like running to the gallows. If the Dark Lord was angry, it would surely be Snape he would be looking to take it out on.

The screeching wails reached his ears long before he came to the doors of the wizard’s chambers. He entered without knocking and was met with the sight of the Dark Lord crumpled into a heap on the ground, screaming like a wounded animal and clawing at his head.

“My lord!” Snape gasped as he too went to his knees. “What’s happened? Are you hurt?”

Turning his red, burning eyes to Snape, the Dark Lord bared his fang-like teeth.

“YOU!” he snarled. “What did you do? What is happening?”

Instinctively, Snape slid back from him. “My lord, if something went wrong during the coupling…” he began.

“It was the potions!” he roared. “What did you put in the potions?”

“I followed your instructions exactly, my lord,” Snape insisted, trying with all his might to keep his conscience guilt free and his mind subservient. “Even when I questioned the ingredients and procedures, I did just as you directed me.”

The piercing eyes held him, scanning him for deception. “I think you lie, Severus. I think you and that damnable whore lied and conspired against Lord Voldemort!”

“No, my lord, how could we?” he pleaded. There was no effort in sounding appropriately terrified because he was.

“I’ve allowed you far too much. I should have never trusted you again after my return.” There was a ferocious threat in the wizard’s face, though he was still hunched over like a dying bug. “I know too little about your clever mind, my faithful servant. There are things you hide from your master.”

“I hide nothing, my lord,” Snape insisted. “Anything you wish to know or see is yours.”

Snape felt a weak attempt to enter his mind from the dark wizard. But hardly had his carefully controlled thoughts been touched when the pilfering retreated. The Dark Lord groaned from the drain of energy the magic expended.

“My lord, there was a combination of several ingredients that I feared would have a negative effect on your powers,” Snape began cautiously. “It is reasonable to assume that this handicap is only temporary and in time your powers will return at full force. And of course this was all in effort to gain the ultimate power of immortality. That is surely worth the risk.”

“I know why this was done and the risks involved!” he snapped in reply. “But I recall no errors in my original plans.”

“This magic was untested, my lord,” Snape reminded. “In theory it may have seemed perfect, but that is never a substitute for execution. I remind my students all the time…”

“I AM NOT ONE OF YOUR STUDENTS!” raged the Dark Lord. “And you are no longer a teacher! Do not question me, and do not lecture the most powerful wizard of the age about rudimentary potion making.”

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Snape murmured, backing away farther.

“You will fix this,” hissed the man as he began to uncoil himself and sit straighter. “You will be on a very tight, very short leash, and you will do exactly as you are told. If my powers do not return to full strength very soon, you will be punished beyond recognition.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As Snape hurried from the orphanage, he found two mongrel Death Eaters, Runyon and Koontz, at his heels. He whipped about to face them. They remainded in place, staring him down.

“The Dark Lord said you needed… assistance,” Runyon said in an oily tone.

“He’s given us orders to kill if you resist,” Koontz added with dark glee. “You’re to take us to the Vessel, and we are to report back her whereabouts.”

“Seems you’ve fallen out of favor, Severus,” the first commented with a smile of gray, crooked teeth. “I guess Bellatrix was right after all.”

Snape narrowed his eyes at the pair. “I have no idea what delusions Bellatrix Lestrange has been feeding you based on her own insecurities, but let me assure you that no one else could even begin to carry the position I’ve been assigned. Thankless and dubious as it is, in the end, it will be I the Dark Lord will have to thank for his success.”

Silent, resentful stares passed between them.

“If you insist on following, at least allow me space enough to walk,” he said in an indifferent, clipped tone.

Snape had only moments to devise a plan. The Dark Lord wanted him to know how little he was trusted and remind him how far down he could fall. But allowing Snape to know he was being watched gave him a small enough edge to perhaps outsmart them all. The group appeared at the end of the street in the dreary mill town Snape had called home since childhood.

“What is this place?” Runyon asked with a curl of revulsion to his lip.

“So judgmental, Runyon? If I recall, you came from a Scottish fishing village,” Snape smoothly replied. “Koontz here complains that you still smell of fish.”

“Oi, that’s a lie, Snape!” Koontz interjected. “I mean… maybe when you first joined up, you did a bit,” he explained more quietly to his partner.

The two groused in quiet snarls until they entered Snape’s home. It had not been used for some time, and at first he worried his companions might pick up on the excessive dust and mustiness and quickly figure out they were being led down a dead end.

“Goh,” snorted Runyon again in disgust, “you been making the girl stay in this rat trap?”

“She is well cared for,” Snape uttered through clenched teeth as he cast a weak light in his sitting room. “I was under no obligation to make her accommodations luxurious.”

“So, where is she?” Koontz asked impatiently. “We need to report back to the Dark Lord.”

“Right here.” Snape drew his wand and silently commanded a sweeping flash of light upon the pair. They hadn’t even had time to raise their wands in defense.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When he was finally allowed a few moments to think, Snape wasn’t sure he could risk going back to Grimmauld Place. What if there were others following him? What if the Dark Lord had somehow managed a tracer spell on him? Snape used every counter curse and protective spell he knew to make sure nothing trailed him or gave away his location. Somehow he had to get back and see to Davindra.

Runyon and Koontz sat in a semi-coherent, semi-drooling state back at Spinner’s End. After an Imperius Curse ensured that their report to the Dark Lord assured the Vessel’s safety and Snape’s obedience, they had returned to Spinner’s End like trustworthy, simple dogs. Their orders to watch Snape were almost complied with as they stationed themselves outside his basement workshop. They would not move until ordered to do so. Even if it were days. Snape had Disapparated back to London directly from his home. He couldn’t stop the compulsion to glance nervously over his shoulder every few seconds.

It was slightly unnerving to realize that as soon as he stepped over the threshold of the decrepit old house, a long-held breath of relief rushed out of his body. Had this house, in which he was not even welcome, become more of a sanctuary than his own home? Perhaps it was because he knew that someone anxiously awaited his return there. And perhaps he was as anxious to return to the only scarce bit of comfort and love he had ever known in his wretched life.

Immediately his eyes searched for Davindra. He was surprised she wasn’t waiting for him, even though his own orders were for her to be kept sedated and calm. Instead Potter and his sidekicks found him first.

Potter assaulted Snape with rapid fire questions about the Dark Lord’s condition and if the poison had worked. Snape answered that the plan had worked as well as could have been expected, but the Dark Lord was highly suspicious and Snape had barely gotten away with his life. They would need to devise a plan soon on how to make the final strike against the Dark Army.

His eyes went up the stairs to where he suspected Davindra might be, and he couldn’t keep his body from following. More important than any plan or victories for the cause, Snape had to be certain that she was alright. Assuring them he would give a full disclosure in a formal meeting of the Order as soon as everyone was gathered, he excused himself and hurried up the stairs. A silent beckoning demanded him to quickly find her; it grew stronger and more insistent by the second until his hand opened the door to her room.

Snape found the room quite dark except for the weak light pouring in from the tall, narrow window. A chilly breeze swept through the room, making bed clothes flutter. In front of the open window stood Davindra, her hands gripping the sill and her body leaning over the edge as if seeking something she had dropped. A cold sensation that had nothing to do with the temperature washed through Snape.

“Davindra, what are you doing?” he asked quietly, not wishing to startle her.

She didn’t answer nor move. Snape carefully walked toward her until he could reach out and pull her away from the window. Her hands continued to grip the sill as though unwilling to relinquish her post or grave mission. It took firm guidance before he heard her nails scrape across the old wood as she was finally pulled free.

Snape wrapped his arms around her to keep her from rushing forward again and also in some effort to comfort her.

“Did you think that was really the best solution?” he asked, trying to keep the anger and relief out of his voice. “Did you think I struggled to make my way back here just to collect your broken body from the pavement? Is that how you would repay me?”

“I can’t make it stop,” she muttered. “I can’t make it go away. I don’t want to see it anymore, but it won’t stop. I keep seeing his face and those eyes. Over and over and over again. It just won’t stop.”

“Had you not considered what my fate would be if I had to report back to the Dark Lord that the Vessel had thrown herself from a window while supposedly under my care?”

She wilted against him with a slight groan.

“If you would just sleep, just rest,” Snape continued in a kinder tone, “then I’m sure some of the memory would fade.”

“No, it only gets worse if I close my eyes.” There was a strangled sob amongst her words. Then she turned to him, her face painted with heavy desperation, and clutched his cloak in her fingers. “But you could Obliviate me! You can take it all away. Make it like it never happened in my head!”

“Davindra, I can’t do that. He would know. And he would know that I did it.” Denying her request and looking into her eyes and seeing the crushing disappointment was more torture for him than she could ever know. “I’m sorry, but you have to carry this, at least for now.”

Her head sank to his shoulder, and her crying continued in quiet, pitiful whines.

Only after the windows were warded did Snape feel safe leaving to retrieve a stronger calming potion. And only when he swore that he would immediately return and not leave her side as she slept did she release him from her grasp.

“Lupin!” Snape bellowed, baring his teeth and narrowing his glare as he caught sight of the drab wizard coming from the kitchen. “I told you to keep an eye on her and make sure she stayed calm. So why was it I narrowly caught her halfway out a third story window?”

“I left Kreacher to watch over her,” Lupin snapped defensively. “She was inconsolable after you left, and it was all I could do to get her to take the potions you instructed. I gave her as much Calming Draught as I dared. I went searching for something stronger.” He held a bottle in front of Snape’s face as though to prove his story.

Snape snapped the bottle from Lupin, giving him a disgusted look.

“Is she alright?” Lupin asked in an appropriately concerned tone. “I can’t imagine why Kreacher would have left her.”

“He left because he doesn’t have to take orders from you!” Snape informed him. “Where is Hero Potter, anyway?”

“He left with Ron and Hermione right after you returned,” Lupin muttered darkly. “I tried to get him to wait, Order members are on their way, but he was very impatient. He wouldn’t tell me what he was doing. But I suspect it’s the last Horcrux. He thinks that since Voldemort is now weakened and distracted, he might have a better chance.”

Snape would have had a hundred sharp words of critique for the impulsive actions of the boy if he only had the energy. Right now the idea of Potter getting himself killed and endangering everything Davindra had just sacrificed herself for was too enraging and mystifying to even address. Where would they truly be if the boy failed?

“Of all the impetuous, stupid things…” Snape spat. “What of our plans? What of the Order? Does that selfish little shit-stain ever consider anyone else for one second? Why didn’t you stop them?”

For once Lupin didn’t correct him. He looked equally as exasperated. “He is not one to accept orders or even suggestions. Without putting them all in a Body-Bind, I couldn’t very well detain him.”

“What does he know of the last Horcrux?” Snape asked.

“He’s said very little, but I believe he suspects it’s at Hogwarts. I would wager that’s where they’ve gone.” The werewolf sighed tiredly. “Maybe we just have to trust Harry on this.”

Snape made a noise of revulsion. “Why? He’s never proven himself trustworthy. And he never returns trust in others. Once again he’s run off to fight a battle that he perceives as his alone, jeopardizing everything everyone else has sacrificed for. And for what? Glory? So the world can once again acknowledge the great Harry Potter as the savior of us all?”

“What do you know of this Horcrux?” Lupin eyed him intensely. “Is there something you haven’t told us, told Harry?”

Dumbledore had not divulged that piece of information easily. It was as hard won as his trust. Finally the old man had known he had to tell someone in case Harry failed. But Snape had been instructed to keep a fair distance between them. He wasn’t to help in the task unless there was no other way. He felt uncertain if informing Lupin now would be beneficial or detrimental to Potter’s quest.

“Unfortunately, you’re right, Lupin,” he finally agreed in a somber tone. “Harry is going to have to fulfill his own destiny. It would be nice if the freedom of the entire world didn’t also hang in the balance of his success.”

Lupin gave him a puzzled and surprised expression.

“Alert me as soon as everyone has gathered,” Snape said as he climbed back up the stairs.

Davindra was finally settled into a dreamless sleep, and Snape stood in front of a packed kitchen. Order members seemed to lean in to hear him speak. It made him feel slightly uncomfortable, almost claustrophobic. He told them all he knew, all he suspected, all he feared. The last thing he wished to do was paint a prettier picture than what reality showed. But he could see the group glomming on to the scant words of hope and attempting to build great successes out of them.

“We have to remember,” he said loudly over the rising din of excited voices, “this battle has just begun. The Dark Lord is far from finished. This is barely a chink in his armor. And Merlin only knows what Potter’s plans are since he absconded before bothering to inform us. It’s imperative that he live to face the Dark Lord, but not before everything is aligned to assure victory.”

“What are you not telling us, Snape?” Mad-Eye Moody barked from somewhere near the back of the room. “Why is it Harry’s job alone to take down the darkest wizard this world has ever known? In the end, why does it matter who does it, as long as it’s done?”

“It’s because Harry is the key,” Lupin’s calm voice announced from somewhere to Snape’s left. “Isn’t it, Severus? This has to do with the prophecy and his scar and the night his parents were killed. He’s the last Horcrux. Isn’t that the final piece of the puzzle you’ve been hiding from us?”

Again the room burst into loud voices of exclamations and accusations as Snape stared bitterly at the calm, scarred man who seemed as determined as Potter to turn the resistance into chaos.

“SILENCE!” Snape shouted.

When order finally fell uneasily in the room, Snape continued. “As Lupin so tactfully disclosed, Dumbledore did believe that Harry held the last piece of the Dark Lord’s soul. Based on the connection the two share, the unsuccessful attempt on Harry’s life, and the already fractured nature of the Dark Lord’s soul, it has seemed the most logical philosophy.”

“And no one told Harry?” Another voice rose in accusing shock. “He’s been running around as a marked wizard, and only you and Dumbledore knew?”

Again more grumbling and bitter words floated about the air. Snape gave them all a slow, grim, sweeping gaze before he answered.

“I said nothing because it was my orders to keep silent,” Snape reminded them. “Dumbledore said nothing for any number of reasons only he himself could explain. But I suspect he believed that Potter would discover the truth on his own in time. And perhaps if it was his own to discover, he would handle his fate more gallantly than if someone just sat him down and told him it was his destiny to die for everyone else’s freedom. As it is, he’s managed to wipe out six Horcruxes.”

“So, does he know now? Is that why he’s gone?” A new voice asked.

“I suspect so,” Snape answered.

“And what of the Vessel?”

“She served her purpose.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“What good did you think that would do, Lupin?” Snape snarled quietly at the man who still wore the smug look of satisfaction after the crowd had disbursed.

Slowly Lupin stood. “If we all work together, then Harry can succeed. But that can’t happen if you still insist on keeping secrets.” He then stalked out of the kitchen.

Snape glared at the retreating man and then at the door that slammed after him. If he thought he could, he’d take Davindra and leave that house right then. Let them fight their precious, holy battle themselves. Sickeningly enough though, he knew even his hard, stubborn conscience wouldn’t allow him to abandon the cause.

For now they would wait. They would give Potter a few days while they made their plans. But the end was coming soon. Snape knew he should at least begin the pretense of making the healing potion for the Dark Lord, but his feet would not carry him to the cellar work-room. Instead he climbed the stairs and wrapped himself around Davindra’s peacefully resting body and fell asleep with his nose buried in her soft, warm hair.

The next day was the beginning of the end, Snape surmised as he started his day in the cellar. Davindra had taken the potion that would purge her body of any possibility of conception. She spent the day curled into a ball, fighting vicious cramps and heavy bleeding. But she did it silently and without complaint. Her tears seemed to have run dry, but her mood was no less depressed. He found it hard to even look at her. When she asked if the plan had worked, if the Dark Lord was truly weakened, Snape found he took little pleasure in telling her ‘yes.’ Likewise, she looked no less relieved.

Though he tried to force his mind to the work in front of him, all he could do was wonder how badly he had permanently damaged her. Something was gone from those imperturbable, pale eyes that had always before burned like ice on fire. Would she never be the same? Would she ever forgive him? Could he ever justify it within himself? No matter if the Dark Lord fell or if they all were sentenced to wither under his oppressive, tyrannical rule, could they live with what they were forced to become? What was truly worth sacrificing? He gave up, his mind too full of unanswerable, philosophical, emotional questions. Maybe Davindra did have the right idea. Maybe a dive from several stories up would be the best answer for them both in the end.

Back upstairs, he sat stiffly on the bed. She lay next to him, her fingers laced through his. Every time another wave of cramps would attack, she would bear down on his hand, digging her nails into his flesh. He didn’t utter a word. He deserved much more than this minor share of the pain.

Davindra let out a breath she had been holding, and her grip eased. She looked up at him.

“I know you’re sitting there hating yourself. I want you to stop it.”

“Who would you suggest as a more fitting target?” he asked.

Pulling herself up, she sat against him, leaning on his shoulder. “At this point I don’t know if being angry is even of any use.”

Snape looked at her finally. Her eyes were clearer, but the haunted look had yet to totally leave her. He pulled his arm free and put it around her, nestling her against his chest. It was such a familiar, comfortable thing to do.

“What do you see happening after this is all over?” she asked.

“How do you mean?”

“I mean you, us. Say the war ends tomorrow. Then what?”

A snort of ironic amusement left him. “I’ve hardly given it any thought.” His brain was too enmeshed in trying to figure out how to get through the task at hand. Mostly he hadn’t been so bold as to assume that he’d live to see the end of the war.

“I’ve needed to think about something,” she continued. “I need to have a reason to try to make it through. There’s still going to be a world out there after this is all over, and I still have to figure out where I’m going to be in it.”

She moved her head to look up at him. “Let’s just say that the Dark Lord is defeated. We can go about our lives however we wish. What would you like? What do you want?”

Snape sighed. “I don’t waste my time with daydreams.”

An exasperated sound rose from her, and she sat up straight next to him. “Damnit, Severus, why do you have to be so obtuse?” she said angrily.

“Obtuse?” His eyebrows nearly met his hairline.

“Why do I have to do all the work in this relationship?” Davindra threw her hands into the air in frustration. Then a cramp caused her to wince and clutch her abdomen. Snape reached out to ease her back down on the bed, but she shoved his hand away.

“What are you on about now?” Snape asked impatiently.

Still biting her lip to get through the pain, she raised her pale eyes to him, and when she spoke, her voice was barely more affable than a snarl.

“When this is all over, you had better marry me, Severus Snape.”

He wondered exactly what expression he made when his mind affirmed what his ears had heard.

“Marry you?” he finally sputtered in disbelief. The look on her face told him he shouldn’t dare laugh or mock the command he had just been issued. She had had to suffer enough abuse already.

Though he could hardly imagine a day of his life without her, the last thing he had ever considered was uniting them eternally as man and wife. There were simply too many impediments on that particular path.

“Davindra,” he began with as much sympathy as he could summon. “I’m nearly twenty years older than you.”

She shook her head. “I don’t care and that hasn’t stopped us yet.”

Snape looked for his next objection, but each one could be easily deflated by her, he was certain.

“Under the best circumstances, my reputation will never be viewed as honorable,” he attempted. “I’m not even sure how I would support myself, much less a wife or a…” his eyes darted to her stomach, which she still held tenderly, and he swallowed hard. “…family. I simply don’t have anything to offer you. I’ve never even considered myself a marrying man.”

She gave him a look that simmered between stubborn child and determined woman. “Do I need to recount everything I have sacrificed? Everything you’ve ever asked of me, I’ve done.” There was a fierce threat in her voice. “This is the only thing I want. The only thing I’ve ever wanted. After it is all over, I deserve at least this.”

She certainly knew how to dismantle his defense. How could he put his pledge as an eternal bachelor against her argument? Actually, she deserved far more for her sacrifices than a lifelong commitment to a ruined Potions teacher and professed murderer. But there would be no persuading her otherwise at this point.

“There is still a long way to go yet,” Snape started with great caution and calm. “No one can yet foresee what or when the end of this war will be. We have no way of knowing what the future will bring. I think this is a topic best put aside for now. We’ll discuss it later when things are less uncertain.”

Davindra gave him a frown, but another cramp caused her to redirect her energy. Gritting her teeth, she said, “Maybe you’ll get lucky and someone will hit you with a Killing Curse before then.”

He had to smirk at her sarcasm even during such an emotionally and physically painful time. A glimmer of hope that a bit of the old Davindra could once again emerge soothed him. Reaching out, he pulled her to him, and she reluctantly settled against his chest.

“One can only hope,” Snape replied coolly. “Though that does remind me that I should probably sleep with one eye open around you.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After two days there was still no word from Potter or his friends. Snape was summoned back to the Dark Lord, and with him he took a weak formula he would hope to pass off as a strengthening potion. The Dark Lord looked better than Snape had hoped. It appeared that he had regained some of his strength on his own. He took the potion from Snape, but with a suspicious eye. He didn’t consume the draught, but set it aside.

“So, the boy is at Hogwarts,” the Dark Lord said smoothly with a thin smile.

“Is he, my lord?” Snape asked with mild interest.

Runyon and Koontz stood off to the side, having come in with Snape. Still Imperiused, they would cause him no problems. The Dark Lord paid them no attention.

“Why do you not know this?” the wizard hissed at Snape.

“I have done only as you’ve told me, my lord,” he answered serenely. “I have worked on strengthening potions for you and kept an eye on the Vessel’s progress. I haven’t left my home.”

“And is she with child?”

“It’s only been a few days, my lord. I cannot tell as of yet.”

Barely a grunt was returned from the master. “If she fails to conceive, kill her,” he muttered airily. “Lord Voldemort can find another.”

“But I thought she was special,” Snape said, concealing his bewilderment and anxiety. “I thought she was selected from birth specifically for this purpose.”

“Any pureblood witch would do,” the Dark Lord replied, adjusting himself in the worn chair he occupied as though it were a fine throne. “She was no more special than Madame Collins made her to be. We see that now. A more willing participant might be a better selection anyway. If this girl does not produce an heir, she is of no use. She’s a detriment. Get rid of her.”

Snape’s stomach dropped, but he bowed respectfully and replied appropriately. Though he would kill himself before he’d raise his wand at her.

Rising from his shabby throne, the Dark Lord walked the room, but slowly and carefully, as though his steps had to be planned.

“Now there is something more important. Potter is at Lord Voldemort’s disposal. He waits at our old alma mater and we know he waits for me.” The skeletal wizard spoke maniacally as he moved about the room. “We’ll dispatch him, and the rest of civilization will crumple at my feet. When The Boy Who Lived dies, so too will their pitiful hope. When we have total subjugation, we can then recreate my immortality.”

“But my lord, your Horcruxes are destroyed,” Snape probed carefully. “Do you not have concern for your life? You’re vulnerable.”

“Lord Voldemort is not an ordinary wizard!” shouted the Dark Lord as he spun about to Snape. “And Lord Voldemort is not a boy running about the countryside playing a dangerous game of hide and seek! You dare question my powers for bringing down a paltry group of children?”

“Of course not. I mean no disrespect,” Snape attempted to soothe. “I simply am concerned for the timing of this conquest. Would it not be better executed when you were stronger?”

“And wait for the resistance to grow? And wait for those children to organize themselves into something of an army?” The wizard again began to look crazed and ill. He wobbled back to his chair and sat. “We do this now, tomorrow. Lord Voldemort grows tired waiting for success to be delivered. I will capture it myself.”

Snape left the orphanage. Runyon and Koontz followed. Walking away from the orphanage, the two had to jog to keep up.

Snape turned down an alley, and the two trailed like obedient, curious dogs. But as they rounded the corner, they faced Snape’s raised wand and a Killing Curse. He transfigured them into bones and tossed them into nearby rubbish bins.

If it was war the Dark Lord was seeking, let it begin now, Snape decided.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The small group of Order of the Phoenix members heard Snape’s report and went to pass it on to others. Tomorrow they would gather at Hogwarts to defend Harry, the school, and everything they held sacred. It gave them only a few hours to prepare and say good-bye to loved ones.

Davindra sat in the back of the kitchen listening, but not saying a word. After the meeting adjourned, she retreated back upstairs.

When Snape had finished all of his arrangements, he followed her. She was again standing by the window, but this time only looking out, an intense, fierce look upon her face.

“I’m going,” she announced to him.

“You’re not,” he answered as he closed the door and took off his cloak.

“Yes.”

“NO.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“Can’t I?” Snape gave her a threatening glare.

She was undaunted as usual by his threats. “You can’t ask me to watch you go out that door and just sit here and wait to see if you return!”

Approaching him with her arms crossed, she looked so much like the obstinate girl he had argued with so many times in his dungeon office over grades, opinions, and most of all, their relationship.

“That is exactly what you will do because I will forbid you to go out there and risk your life for this hopeless cause,” he snapped.

“If it’s so hopeless and there is no chance for any of us, then let me at least be with you. That’s where I’d want to spend my final moments anyway.”

He snorted sardonically. “More of your hopeless romantic hyperbole.”

She glared at him, then attempted to storm past him out of the room. But he caught her arm as she passed him and held her there.

“This isn’t how I wanted to spend this evening,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to argue, I just want…”

There was a flicker of panic deep in her eyes as she regarded him. It gave Snape a fleeting glance of her worst fears. The one thing about them that always worked was now tainted. The same sickening guilt that had plagued Snape ever since she had come home from the Dark Lord’s ravages engulfed him stronger than ever.

Taking out his wand, he pointed it at her, and her eyes widened in concern.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her breath obviously held.

“Something I should have done days ago if I hadn’t been such a coward. Obliviate.”

Like a pencil erasing lines from a paper, the events of the past few days were smeared and smudged away. Not gone completely, but faint enough that she would not be tormented by vivid memories every time a man touched her. So too were the memories of wanting to throw herself out a window, vicious cramps and blood, and the discussion of marriage. One couldn’t pick and chose what would be wiped out with the Obliviate spell. It was all or nothing.

Davindra’s face and body relaxed. Her eyes seemed dreamy and unfocused for a moment. Finally she fixed her gaze on him, and as if having just woken from a deep sleep she asked, “What happened?”

“You’ll be fine,” he assured her, pulling her to the bed. “Just rest a while.”

She obeyed and laid down, but then raised herself up again. “What day is it?” she asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied as he unbuttoned his coat.

Stroking her forehead, she quietly asked, “What did you do? Why is it all so fuzzy?”

Snape sat next to her on the bed. “It’s better this way.”

Reaching out, he gently swept her dark bangs from her eyes. His fingers brushed against her brows and down her cheek.

A soft smile touched her lips and she lightly stroked his arm. At last the icy, jade eyes melted into warm, familiar pools that welcomed the sight of him.

She was right, he realized. If there was no hope and this were the last night of the world, there wouldn’t be anyplace else he’d rather be. There was no other person he would rather spend his last living moments with.

When she pulled him against her and guided his lips to hers, the world could have ended and Snape wouldn’t have cared. As in the early days of their affair, they took time to peel each other from their clothing and experience every inch of flesh bared to them. Caresses and kisses went from slow and luxurious to deep and forceful as their passion heightened.

Buried deep inside her and rocking against her soft, warm body, Snape realized he was actually very scared. He was terrified. This made him want to live. She made him want to fight not for freedom or for honor, but just for the chance to come home and see her face and know that this bliss awaited him.

Their hands wound together and Snape kissed her fingers. She let go and threaded them through his hair. Her moans reverberated through his chest, sending tingles down his stomach. Every sensation was amplified and exquisite. Would it be their last? Would this moment sustain him through brutal battle and even death? Or would he live to put a ring on the hand that trailed down his back, pulling him into her further?

At last their quaking, sweating bodies collapsed together in a breathless heap. And as Snape’s heart began to slow and his mind began to once again gather the worries around him, he couldn’t help but hold her tighter.

“You’re leaving again, aren’t you?” she asked, her lips against his forehead.

“Yes,” he answered dully.

“Promise me you’ll come back.” She squeezed him hard enough to catch his breath.

“It will be my greatest ambition.”

She whispered her love for him over and over until they both fell asleep, wrapped tightly around each other.

It was still dark when a wild pounding at the door sent him scrambling out of bed and reaching for his wand before his eyes were even open.

“Snape! Get up! There’s been a message!” a voiced called. “We’re leaving as soon as everyone is assembled.”

“I’ll be down directly,” he replied. But instead of speedily dressing, he sat back on the bed, his head in his hands. Seconds ago he had been secure and happy in his ignorant slumber, Davindra’s silky, warm body draped over his. Now the cold, brutal world was calling him out. There was no going back.

Davindra’s hands stroked his back, and then her cheek came to his shoulder.

“Let me go with you,” she said.

“No.” His head snapped up and he stood to dress.

“I can’t bear it if something happens to you,” she said as she watched him gather his clothes. “I can’t sit here in this horrible house waiting to hear the outcome.”

“No, Davindra,” he said more firmly.

“I’m brave. I’m a good fighter,” she insisted, now getting out of bed herself. “I can handle a wand better than Hermione Granger or Ron Weasley.”

“That I have no doubt of,” he said, pulling on his boots. “But the fact of the matter is: I don’t want you there! Do you think I will be able to do my job when all I can do is wonder if you’re lying dead somewhere or, worse, captured by Death Eaters?”

“This is unfair, Severus,” she said. “It’s cruel.”

Snape stood and went to her, taking her beautiful face in his hands. He pushed a few wild strands of black hair away.

“If you truly love me as you say, then you will do this for me.”

Downstairs, there was a brief meeting. A stag Patronus had arrived to announce that members of the Dark Army had already infiltrated the school. There were more than the ill-equipped teachers and students could fend off. There was talk that the Dark Lord was on the grounds and awaiting his moment to strike.

Order members came and went through the door of Grimmauld Place without caution. Hurried, last-minute orders were shouted left and right.

Davindra was dressed and standing helplessly as she watched everyone assemble themselves. Mostly she watched Snape. Her eyes hungrily took him in as he spoke with various groups. It took all of his concentration to not allow her pleading looks to take him away from the tasks that the Order depended upon.

One by one, they left the house and Disapparated on the street. A few were remaining behind, mostly those too young or too old to fight. Then there was Davindra and Mrs. Weasley, who had both been given orders to stay behind by the men they loved.

Snape was about to leave. He thought once of just walking out the door and not looking back. But a choked sob stopped him, fixing his feet to the floor. The whispered cry of his name made him turn.

There had been many times that Snape had had to look at that shattered expression on Davindra’s face. The one that told of her heart breaking and her dreams being crumpled. And almost every time it was because of him. Once again he was leaving her with pain and misery. This time he wasn’t even sure he would be coming back to attempt to make amends. Why did she love him when all he did was abuse her affections?

For once he was glad that she did. He was glad that someone had stood next to him and devoted themselves to him despite his wretched moods and temper. He was glad that someone had bothered to know him enough to see that he needed to be loved. And he was glad that she was there, on the eve of his destruction, with tears in her eyes and her heart breaking because she loved him.

Snape strode forward and grabbed her, crushing her body against his in a fierce grip. Resting his mouth near her ear, he spoke in slow, deliberate words which only she would hear.

“I’ll only say this once, so remember it forever. I love you with all my body and soul, with every fiber of my being, and above all others including myself.”

He felt her body convulse with silent sobs and her arms squeeze him powerfully in return. With great effort he pulled himself from her. Her hands were reluctant to let go, so he had to forcefully pry them from his cloak. But he would look at her no more. Snape turned without another glance and nearly ran out the door. More fearful than the battle ahead was the possibility that she might see the tears he thought were forever dry were threatening a return.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The battlefield was frenzied anarchy. Acidic smoke of burned stone and flesh filled the air. His body ached and stung from the blows of innumerable curses. Screams and yells came from everywhere. Another hex came inches from his face. A familiar cackle arose from the din. She looked no better than him, but her eyes were wild with blood lust. “Filthy traitor,” she screeched. “I have you now!”

He raised his wand. ‘Davindra…’ A vivid green light filled him. ‘Davindra…’ It was almost like drowning in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry…’

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The hours ticked by minute by long, painful minute. Davindra and several other minor Order members sat around the kitchen table awaiting news. Mrs. Weasley put pot after pot of tea on the table that no one could drink. An elderly wizard paced in front of the fire. A few younger children silently passed in and out of the kitchen, never settling anywhere for long.

A sudden, cold sensation spread through Davindra’s body as she sat with an equally cold cup of tea in her hands. She shivered and looked about to see if anyone else had felt it. Everyone sat as they were. Davindra couldn’t breathe. Something had happened. Something was wrong.

She got up to leave. She could join the battle. But they stopped her. Mrs. Weasley reminded her of Severus’s words.

“But what if he needs me?” she asked, panicked hysteria threatening to drive her insane.

“There’s nothing you can do that the Order members can’t,” the kind woman soothed. “He’ll need you here when he comes back.”

Davindra sat back down with a heavy sensation of dread and grief pressing upon her heart.

Finally, a weasel Patronus snaked its way in to announce that the Dark Lord had fallen. The Weasley family members in battle were accounted for, but so many others had fallen. They were to prepare for wounded and dead.

“But who?” Davindra asked the fading specter. “Who died?”

Mrs. Weasley began to cry. “Oh, Harry,” she sobbed.

Why was she crying, Davindra wondered? They had anticipated Harry’s death. If the Dark Lord fell, then it was because Harry had sacrificed himself. But what of Severus?

The first person through the door was a young man Davindra recognized as a student from Hogwarts. He had little information except the Dark Lord was dead and his living followers were being rounded up for Azkaban.

The next group gave the shocking information that Harry Potter himself had overcome the pronouncement of death and actually lived after striking down the evil wizard who shared his soul. There was such amazement and relief in Grimmauld Place that for a second even Davindra had to feel grateful for the victory.

“But what of Severus?” she still asked.

They didn’t know.

Fred and George came in, dragging their father with them. They had seen Severus fighting Death Eaters but didn’t know what had become of him. Talk quickly turned to the defeat and Harry’s miraculous survival. Mrs. Weasley cried more, but this time tears of joy at seeing her family.

More came and went. Only tiny bits of news followed. When Mundungus Fletcher hobbled in, Davindra grabbed him.

“Where is Severus?” she demanded. “No one will tell me. Where is he?”

The dirty, ragged man looked at her nervously. “Las’ I saw he was still out there,” he muttered.

Lupin entered behind him and gave the man under her interrogation a look of warning. Davindra turned her focus to the werewolf.

“You know!” she pronounced. “Tell me! Is he alive? Is he dead? Where is he?”

Lupin started to speak but seemed unable to find the words. Instead he just sadly shook his head and looked at her with tragic, watery eyes.

“Where is he? WHERE IS HE?” Davindra screamed and clutched Lupin’s jacket, shaking him with all the strength she possessed.

Still that piteous, sorrowful look didn’t flicker from his face, and he could only shake his head in silent apology.

Something in her had whispered that dreadful news hours before. But she had insisted upon ignoring it because it was too horrible to imagine. Now it seemed impossible to ignore. The confirmation was standing in front of her. Yet, part of her insisted if she didn’t see his broken, still body for herself, she didn’t have to believe it. Perhaps Lupin had been mistaken. Severus was very clever. It could all be part of a crafty trick. Or it could be that it was Lupin’s way of getting back at Severus for all the times they had fought and disagreed. Davindra was well aware of the deep, longstanding dislike between the two. There were a hundred ways she could justify her hope and cling for just a while longer to a slim delusion.

“Where is he?” she again demanded, this time with anger in her voice. “I want to see him for myself.”

When words finally came from Lupin’s moving lips, his voice was choked and raspy. “Harry stayed behind to find him.”

She would wait. Davindra sat herself down on the stairs to watch the door. When Severus walked through it, she would be the first to greet him. She would throw herself into his arms and not care who saw them as she proclaimed her every emotion for him out loud. She would never again miss a moment to tell him how much she loved him. And he loved her. He had said so. She’d always known. But finally he had spoken the words she had been longing to hear for years. They need never again fear who knew what about them. They would be free to be together. Both of them finally released from their bonds to other people and other duties. From now on it would just be them.

Slipping once again into the easy daydream of their life together made the wait more bearable. She could disregard Mrs. Weasley’s request that she come eat or Lupin’s suggestions that she rest or take an offered potion. She would eat, rest, and continue living after Severus was home. Her aching back and her numb rear end from sitting on a hard, wooden step would be soon forgotten when she saw him.

Maybe it was hours, maybe it was a day. The door to number twelve, Grimmauld Place opened to bring many returning heroes. Each time, Davindra jumped in anticipation of Severus’ dark form and swirling robes. Instead, Order members and their relatives looked shocked and startled to find her about to pounce on them as soon as they crossed the threshold. Disappointment and sickening dread would begin to creep back upon her when she would insist her mind stayed buried in the snug and happy plans she had begun constructing for Severus’ and her future. So far she had decided on a quiet wedding in the garden of Grandmother Collins’s cottage.

When finally Harry opened the door, Davindra found she couldn’t stand. He moved as if exhaustion possessed him down to his marrow. Dark circles could be seen even through his glasses and dried blood was crusted from head to toe. He carried one arm close to his body as if it was wounded, and a large bloody hole in the knee of his pants was evidence as to why he was favoring his left leg.

Almost instantly, a group descended upon him. Congratulations and inquiries filled the air as several people attempted to touch him at once. Some just wanted to feel that he was alive and whole, some simply wanted to express their joy. He seemed little interested in any of it.

Their eyes met. Davindra still had not moved from her seat on the stairs. The crowd quieted as though they knew something important was about to be spoken.

“Where is he?”

She had asked the question so many times that the words seemed to have lost their meaning. And for a moment Davindra had to wonder if she had even spoken them correctly. But she must have because Harry slowly nodded.

“I found him.” His voice sounded different, more hollow, more quiet. Perhaps older.

Davindra stood and looked to the open doorway, waiting for Severus to walk through or be helped in by someone. Instead she saw nothing, but felt a slight breeze blow past her. Harry raised his hand in front of him and grasped at the air. His invisibility cloak slid from the body of Severus Snape, which lay in a peaceful pose several feet off the floor.

Was he resting? Had they put him into a deep sleep because of his injuries? Davindra cocked her head and scrutinized the form. His robes were filthy and bloody. Buttons were torn from his jacket and long slashes opened the fabric at his chest and forearms. A splatter of blood painted the side of his face and hanks of hair stuck to his cheek. His face was the color of bleached parchment. His lips were a pale purple.

This wasn’t right, Davindra said to herself. Her heart sped up in her chest and seemed to pump a current of ice water into her body. With one trembling hand she reached up to touch his face and found him as cold as a slab of meat. There was no more denying. There would be no more plans. There would be no garden wedding. There would be no future. Severus was dead.

She didn’t allow anyone to touch him nor her either. Davindra barricaded herself in the sitting room with his body, securing the door with a charm no one knew how to break and everyone was certain she had learned from Snape himself. At first the group stood around wondering what to do. They were torn between allowing the girl her grief and the demands of propriety. The sounds of her screaming and wailing were more unnerving than the sounds of battle to many. Perhaps because it seemed to go on and on and remind them all of someone they had lost.

Harry and Lupin finally encouraged the others to let her be. It was Harry who said that if anyone deserved to be loudly mourned it was the man who had saved not only him numerous times, but in the end, everyone else also.

They took turns sitting outside the locked door, listening to her shriek and sob for a solid day. On the second day the sounds became pitiful moans and whimpers like an animal dying. On the third day it was quiet, and people began to wonder if they had done the right thing. Had Davindra taken her own life in a fit of anguish? Just when Harry had decided he would tear down Grimmauld Place from the outside if need be to get to Davindra, the door opened.

Slowly a ghostly form floated into the hallway. Harry would have thought the worst except he realized that Davindra was not a transparent spirit of the recently departed, but simply a young woman who had gone days without eating or sleeping and suffered the greatest loss of her life. Her eyes were blank and vacant. She stood as if she had been physically wrung of all emotion.

A quiet, raspy voice came from her lips. “He should be buried soon.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She had taken great care to clean him. His robes were repaired, his wounds healed as best as one can on a corpse. He looked almost as he had every day of the last eight years of her life. It made the pain even more excruciating.

When she cried, she did so in memory of all the things she would never have: quiet moments in the dungeon, discussions of potions and Hogwarts’ gossip, cold evenings snuggled in bed, his children. Each thought would spark a new wave of anger and sadness only made bearable by screaming until Davindra believed her throat would rupture.

During those sequestered days Davindra said good bye to more than just the man she loved. She bid farewell to all she knew of her own life. Every preconceived notion about where she would go, what she would be and who she would be with was destroyed. There was nothing else left. And the list was long. Rage at the injustice of them both having to sacrifice so much and getting nothing in return inspired a new round of verbal grief, but by now her voice was gone and all she could do was gurgle and wheeze.

Finally no tears were left and every single happy thought, memory, and plan was examined, mourned, and tucked away to be buried with Severus’s body. On top of it all Davindra lay her heart, for she was certain it would never again be of use after incurring such damage. Besides it would have always resided with Severus anyway, no matter where he was. It had stopped being her own so many years ago, she would never miss it. She gave one final kiss to his cold lips.

“With every fiber of my being, and above all others including myself,” she whispered to him.

There was no point in putting it off any longer. She would have to face the world as it was, free of the Dark Lord’s hold and empty of Severus Snape.

Harry had taken her into the kitchen and sat her at the table. He pushed a cup of beef broth into her hands and sat across from her, encouraging her to take another sip every few moments, which she did automatically. It was nice having someone else tell her what to do, for she didn’t believe that she had the capacity to instruct herself in even the most basic tasks.

When her throat began to feel soothed and her stomach growled in appreciation of food, Davindra looked at Harry and actually saw him for the first time in days. He looked gaunt and sad. His injuries were healed and even the scar on his forehead seemed more faint. But he seemed more wounded than ever before.

She asked him to tell her what happened. It was obvious he didn’t want to. Perhaps it was too soon to speak of it all, but she had to know. She insisted that she had to know. It wasn’t fair. He had been there, he had perhaps even seen Severus’s last moments. She needed to know something about it.

Slowly, Harry reconstructed the scene of the final battle at Hogwarts. Briefly, he talked about the students and teachers who had shown to make their stand. There was chaos, destruction, and death everywhere. So much so that Harry couldn’t keep track of it all. He saw friends fall and was never sure if they were dead or just injured. Some he was still unsure about.

Snape had come in under the guise of helping the Death Eaters, even at the risk of attack by those he supported. Subversively he was able to take down many of the most dangerous before it was discovered what he was doing. Voldemort himself screamed of Snape’s demise when he realized he had been fooled for years.

Harry had been surrounded by Death Eaters, he could hold them off no more, when Snape broke in. He hexed and detained the mob long enough to pull Harry free and drag him toward Voldemort. Some might have thought Snape was taking the boy to his death, presenting him to Snape’s dark master. But he and Snape both knew Harry was the only one to finish the job. The battle would never be over until the twin souls faced each other.

He wasn’t sure how, but Harry knew Bellatrix Lestrange had delivered the killing blow soon after. Out of the corner of his eye he had seen him fall. But Voldemort had called his attention and Harry knew that he couldn’t give precious seconds over to thinking of the guilt and sorrow he felt. It wasn’t until the battle was over that he allowed himself that.

“Bellatrix Lestrange, you say?” Davindra asked after Harry finished. There was renewed strength with a bitter undertone in her voice as she pronounced the name.

“You needn’t worry about her,” Harry replied. “I found her. I used Sectumsempra just enough to make her unrecognizable but not enough to kill her.” There was a vicious, cold darkness in Harry’s eyes as he described his vengeance. “I let Neville have that honor.”

Davindra nodded once her approval. It would save her the task of hunting the witch down and doing the job herself.

For a while they sat in silence, contemplating their long, empty lives which stretched out before them.

“You know, you don’t have to make any decisions about anything for a while,” Harry offered. “You can stay as long as you like here. I know it’s going to be very hard for you.”

Davindra didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say. For the time being, she didn’t think she could move from her seat much less contemplate where to live or what to do next.

“The thing I always hated, after Sirius died, was people telling me they understood how I felt,” he continued. “That made me so mad. How could anyone understand? But now that I see you, I think I have to say that I can at least sympathize with what you are going through. Losing someone hurts.”

Vaguely, she did appreciate his sympathy, but she too felt offense at someone daring to assume her emotions were typical. To her they were the most unique and complex thing she had ever felt. And they were about to destroy her.

“What I don’t understand is how do I do it?” she asked softly. “How do I wake up every day and go about living when he was what I lived for? What do I think of now when he was my first thought every morning and my last thought every night? How do you exist when something so vital is gone?”

Harry was quiet for a while. He stared down into his cup, then slowly shook his head. “I don’t know how to answer that. But you’ve got to do it somehow. What would he say if he knew that you just gave up? He might have said he did all this to save the world or because Dumbledore wanted him to. But I think he did it because of you. I don’t know if he would have even cared that Voldemort was destroying everything and everyone in sight if it wasn’t for you. You made him care. Do you want it to be that he died for nothing?”

“But he should have lived!” she exclaimed, tears threatening a return. “That’s what I can’t get over. He should have lived. Everyone thought it would be you. But it was him!”

The look on Harry’s face stopped her from saying any more. She didn’t mean the words to be as harsh as they had sounded. She didn’t really wish Harry dead. Davindra put her face into her hands so she wouldn’t have to see the stricken expression he tried to hide by nodding and looking sympathetic to her outburst.

After another round of silence he spoke again.

“Tell me something about him. Something I don't know. Something most people don't know.”

Davindra raised her face from her hands and wiped her wet nose. The request seemed too painful to comply with. It would cause her to search her mind for precious details that would only remind her that he was gone. Also her brain felt so foggy and dull, she wasn’t sure she could construct any clear descriptions of the man she knew as well as she knew herself. She sighed and ran her hand over her face, pressing her cold fingers against her eyes, feeling her pulse pound behind them, reiterating the annoying fact that she still lived, even without him.

“He never slept well. He had horrible nightmares all the time.” A single memory emerged from the fog. “In fact, he feared sleeping. It was that bad.”

Davindra looked up to find Harry’s vivid green eyes gazing at her encouragingly. Once again she waited for another thought to solidify.

“He drank too much and took too many potions to try to combat it.”

She paused to think and decided maybe it wasn’t as hard as she feared. It was more like seeing old, long-lost friends.

“His childhood was terrible.”

“I knew that,” Harry replied softly.

Davindra nodded and thought some more.

“Do you know why his hair always looked so awful? It’s because he washed it with this rough, bar soap that he said protected his skin from all the elements he worked with in the dungeon.”

Harry’s eyebrows raised slightly at that bit of information and a slight smile touched his lips. Davindra allowed herself a very slight quiver of a smile when she remembered trying to get him to use actual shampoo and his annoyance at her desire to intrude upon his long established routine.

“Every Sunday morning he would sit in his night shirt and slippers and do the Sunday Prophet Deluxe Crisscross Word Puzzle in ink.” She could see him so clearly right then.

“When he graded papers he chewed his lip. I once caught him dissecting a Weasley Wildfire Whiz-Bang to see how it worked. When he did sleep he snored terribly but always swore he didn’t. And even if he was annoyed with me, he’s still let me kiss him goodbye. He said he loved me only once. But I’ll remember it forever. He told me to.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

15 Years Later

She had gotten up early so she could have some precious quiet time to drink her tea and look at the Daily Prophet before submerging herself in the deluge of noise and pandemonium. But soon she realized there was no use putting it off any longer, and she began to dress.

The dungeon living quarters were chilled after the cool night, and she moved quickly to cover herself in the traditional robes she always wore for teaching. As she completed her usual morning habits, she could feel a stare upon her. Though she didn’t look in its direction, she smiled at the familiar sensation. At last she pinned a garnet red brooch with inlaid crown at her throat and surveyed her appearance.

Reflected in the mirror was the portrait of a dark man who also watched her image. His eyebrow minutely raised when their eyes connected in the glass. The last item of her traditional ensemble was a long, worn, black cloak.

As she headed for the door a silken voice uttered, “Give them hell, Madame.”

Giving a knowing glance to the portrait she replied, “Don’t I always?”

After ten years, the first day of classes was always the same. First years sat in wide-eyed wonder and horror at everything that was delivered to them. They were so fun to toy with. She understood now why Severus had sometimes been such a terror. It relieved some of the tedious boredom.

Davindra swept into the dungeon classroom, walking smoothly but with a quick pace. When she turned to face the class, the black cloak swirled about her body in an elegant caress. She regarded the young group with a slight smile. They looked back with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity.

“Good morning and welcome to your first lesson in Potions. I am Madame Collins. Here you will learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. I don’t expect many of you to truly understand the beauty in a softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes or the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the sense…”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*The End~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Coming Soon!

Thu, 03 Jan 2008 21:40:05 GMT

The last chapter of Madame Potion!

My Beta, My Heart. And a new one-shot

Sat, 08 Dec 2007 16:07:37 GMT

I just had to share this. protowilson did it for me as a belated birthday gift. She calls it "Beta The Devil You Know." Don't anyone tell Logical Quirk or southernwitch69 that HE is looking over my stuff after they are done. (Don't I wish).

Also, I hadn't planned on posting this fic here since it is not Snape-centric and it is VERY fluffy considering my normal style. But Sycophant Hex awarded me the "Featured Story for December," so now I have to crow a bit about it. (The Burrow doesn't get a lot of submissions, I realize) Proceed only if you are a fan of Fred & George fantasies.

Paid In Full

Good businessmen rarely bargain. But when there is so much to gain and such an easy mark, how can they lose? However, their bluff gets called, and aren't they surprised!

Author's Note: For those of us who could never decide between which twin was their favorite. The girl is meant to be anyone and no one. The twins are part canon, part “Warner Bros.”

She held the two Galleons in her palm. It wasn’t enough. She knew it. But it was all she had, at least for another month. Her Transfiguration essay wasn’t anywhere near done and it was due tomorrow. She had to find a way to buy herself more time. A mix of violent vomiting and a vicious nosebleed should do the trick.

From a distance she watched the inventors of the Skiving Snackboxes. They lounged casually around the old armchairs in the Gryffindor common room, laughing with Lee Jordan, their brother, Ron, and a few members of the Quidditch team.

Never before had she dared socialize in their group. She wasn’t a Quidditch fan. She wasn’t a prankster. She wasn’t very cool, even. But she’d admired them from afar. They were daring, confident, and fearless. Sometimes she would just watch them and fantasize that she could sit easily amongst them, laugh with them, and belong. She had spent so much time surveying them that she had almost figured out how to tell them apart.

One, Fred, she believed, laughed loudly and shook his shaggy ginger hair from his eyes. When he did so, he caught her staring and flashed her a flirtatious grin. Feeling her face flush, she turned away. She hated when they did that! She hated herself worse for being caught staring.

Looking at the two coins in her hand, her shoulders sagged with defeat. It was ridiculous. She should just stop stalling and try to finish the essay tonight. As she was contemplating her options, a shadow fell over her. She turned to find two identical, flame-haired boys looking at her with pleasant smirks laced with undertones of mischief.

“Something we can help you with, miss?” She believed it was George speaking with a devilish twinkle in his eye.

“Let me guess,” Fred picked up, crossing his arms and examining her through a narrowed gaze. “You’re in desperate need of a Skiving Snackbox.”

Her eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“It’s in the best interest of a good businessman to know his client’s needs, even before they do,” George replied.

“Our stock is pretty low, but I think we can set you up,” Fred said. “That will be three Galleons.”

She sighed loudly, attempting a truly anguished look. “Yes, I know. But I’m afraid I don’t quite have three.”

“How much DO you have?” George asked.

“Two.”

Fred’s brow furrowed. “I’m afraid that’s not quite enough, love. Two hardly covers our overhead costs.”

She wasn’t sure what they meant exactly. She had only seen them selling things out of their pockets in the halls and common room.

“I'm desperate,” she pleaded. “McGonagall wants a two-scroll essay tomorrow and I am so behind, there is no hope I can get it done.”

“That does sound like a dilemma,” Fred said smirking to his brother.

“I’ll give you two now and TWO more later when I have it,” she suggested bravely.

They both shook their heads. “We don’t give credit,” Fred stated.

“Or accept payment plans,” George added.

Feeling completely panicked and near tears, she began to search her brain for something that might sway them. “Well, surely there is something I can do to earn that last Galleon in credit. What about…” she commanded herself to think creatively, “if I took care of your mail or helped you with bookkeeping? I’m good at Arithmancy. I could do whatever you like to work it off.”

Again they stood staring down at her. Their identical, warm, brown eyes tinged with mirth.

“We work alone,” George said, hardly bothering to hold back a smile.

“But you sound pretty desperate,” Fred commented.

“I am!” she said. “I’m barely keeping up in Transfiguration. Please, you have to help me. I’m begging. Isn’t there something we can work out?”

Their faces melted into such wicked grins that she almost took a step back.

“Maybe there is something you can do for us,” Fred said though his eyes stayed on his brother.

Her stomach twitched and she was sure her face was again a vivid pink. “What?”

“Especially for you,” Fred announced. “Today only, a Skiving Snackbox is now available for the bargain price of two Galleons and… one kiss.”

“Each!” George added.

She actually laughed. They had to be joking. But after she recovered herself, she saw they were looking at her quite seriously.

“You’re kidding.”

They both shook their heads.

“You wanted a deal,” Fred said. “That’s about the best we can offer. I consider it a small price to pay for saving your Transfiguration grade.”

“Just give you each a kiss?”

“And two Galleons,” George reminded.

“But not just a slight peck on the cheek or a chaste smack on the lips.” Fred spoke like he was giving instructions for a Quidditch match. “It has to be a truly decent kiss.”

On one hand she was relieved. She could get the Skiving Snackbox and the time to finish her essay and not have to kill or steal to do so. But she would have to kiss two boys who made her nervous and flustered just by looking at her. Snog them right out in the open? Both of them? She stood staring at them with her mouth open.

“This deal isn’t good forever, you know,” George said, bringing her out of her shocked trance.

“Alright. Deal,” she heard herself say.

Broad smiles broke out over the two, and a nauseous heat spread through her as she realized what she had done.

She handed her two Galleons to George. “So, where do we… uh… do this?” she babbled, unable to look them in the eye.

Fred shrugged his shoulders and both boys looked at the nearly empty common room.

“Looks like this is as good a place as any. I think most everyone has gone to bed,” he said.

“R-r-right here? Now?” she squeaked.

“Payment up front is expected.” George waggled his eyebrows at her.

She wondered how many other girls they had struck this deal with. The way gossip spread around Hogwarts, if Fred and George were snogging girls for favors, she would have surely heard about it by now.

Well, if she was to be the subject of future gossip, she decided she wanted it to be good gossip! Taking in a big breath and steeling her courage, she nodded. She had kissed boys before, though only one at a time; she could surely do it now. She figured half of their amusement came from the fact that they were embarrassing her. She resolved to not be the butt of their latest prank.

“Right then,” she found her voice and made it strong. “Over here.”

She took Fred’s hand and moved him over to the nearest lounge chair, forcing him to sit on the arm. It brought him down to her height.

George stood close by, his arms crossed and a look of curious amusement on his face.

“If I’m going to do this, I’d at least like to not get a crick in my neck,” she stated.

Fred gave his brother an appraising look, then grinned back at the girl standing bravely between his knees.

“Ready?” she asked, her heart thundering in her chest.

“Very,” he replied.

Taking his face in her hands, she took a moment to look into his eyes. This close she could see the flecks of green and gold threaded through the chocolate brown irises.

Slowly she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. His mouth was soft and warm under her. She could feel the slight prickle of the sparse hairs on his upper lip. For a moment neither moved. It surprised her to not find him more aggressive. Then she realized that they hadn’t expected her to go through with it! She had actually called their bluff.

A slight chuckle tickled her lips and briefly Fred pulled away to question her. But she pulled him back and intensified the kiss. Her tongue brushed against his lips and she gently sucked. A quiet groan escaped him and his mouth opened. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her in close. Their tongues wound together in languid, wet strokes. His teeth gently scraping her lip. He was actually quite good at this. She found herself forgetting the surroundings and the fact that another boy stood watching, waiting his turn, until the sound of someone clearing their throat disrupted them.

With great disappointment she broke the delicious kiss. Her breath was almost gone from her body and her legs felt like over-cooked spaghetti. She spent a second or two looking into Fred’s face. His eyes were still closed and his lips slightly puckered. Again she chuckled and his eyes slowly opened, revealing a look of dazed euphoria. She dared one more soft kiss.

"AAAGHHHHMMM!" George again cleared his throat as loudly as possible.

She smiled at him. “Okay, next.” This wasn’t nearly as hard as she thought it would be. In fact, she was enjoying it quite a bit.

Fred reluctantly got up from his spot, with the help of George who pulled him out of the way and eagerly took his brother’s spot on the chair arm. His hands immediately went to her waist and he looked into her eyes with a warm grin.

“Ready whenever you are,” he announced brightly.

Again she laughed. How could she have been afraid of this? Taking George’s face in her hands, she kissed him. Instantly he kissed back and pulled her close. Interesting that he seemed to be more forceful than his brother. His lips were the exact size and shape of Fred’s, but he kissed all together differently. He tasted different. The way his tongue slid in and out of her mouth was quite different, but equally wonderful. Deciding who was better would be an impossible task.

She found her entire body feeling warm and tingly and wished that after this kiss was broken she could go back to Fred to further research their differences. Then again sample George. She wanted to kiss their necks and ears. She wanted to spend hours running her hands through their hair and down their lean, muscular backs. Her mind began listing the things she wanted from them that she had never even considered from other boys.

“Alright, I think you two should come up for air,” Fred’s voice broke in with a vaguely grumpy tone.

George broke the kiss. “You got twice as long!” he said irritably.

“I did not!”

George gave her one more passionate, deep kiss that made her groan and giggle before he released her.

Then the three of them stood staring at each other in silence. Their eyes went from one to the other and they shuffled about nervously. Finally Fred spewed out a loud laugh. She and George followed and soon they were all bent over clutching their sides, gasping for air. If asked, she wouldn’t be able to say why she was laughing. There was just something ridiculous about the fact that she had just paid for vomiting and a nose bleed by snogging two brothers in the middle of the Gryffindor common room. She hoped they were laughing for the same reasons.

When they regained control of themselves, they again stood looking at one another.

“I didn’t think you’d go through with it,” Fred said shaking his head.

She nodded. “I know you didn’t.”

“Well, I think you can consider your bill paid in full,” he said looking to his brother.

George handed her a small box with a smile.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you.” She grinned, feeling her old, tell-tale blush returning.

“Oh, no, the pleasure was all ours,” George replied.

Fred added with a lowered voice and a particularly roguish look, “However, we may have to raise our prices in the future.”

“I'll start saving up,” she said as she gave them both smiles and bid them good night.