Eternal Mistakes On The Spotless Soul

A/N: Alright, alright. So I’ve settled in here on a Saturday evening her in Oz, too exhausted to join the midway party of one of my shows, mind too numb with a raging headache to attempt to mix any more sound files for the evening. I’m wearing my fuzzy little slippers and Jack Sparrow jammies, look if they made Snape ones I’d have them, although sometimes I wear my Snape t-shirt to bed with my Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy Marvin pajama bottoms. Sorry for the lovely teaser to freak you all out. Just couldn’t resist. Yes, I truly am evil, this I know. Please continue to read and review, in hopes that your reviews will make my throbbing headache go away. *bets more on the Advil* And for those of you having a whinge about me responding to my reviewers, there is now a little bar to indicate where the review responses end and where the stories start, though I thought this was obvious, but apparently for some people, it\'s very difficult.



TenderQuaintWitch— Tee-hee, thank you. Glad you got a little chuckle out of it, and enjoyed it.



HermioneSnape— Yes, I know. I’m mean. I’ve said that. I’m pretty sure I’ve announced it and my madness several times, yet you people always seem so surprised. *tosses the update at you* Go fetch.



winters— Hahahahaha! I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in a long time. Yes, Albus felt the disturbance of my 20 odd some fans crying out in anguish that it was only a pseudo update. Lordy loo, I was laughing so hard my 30 some flatmates thought I needed to go to hospital. Enjoy your sleep, perhaps when you awaken there will a nice proper update.



Desirae— Your opinion is your own to have. Some of my readers who are more familiar with the finer points of soapdrama writing understand the placement of the last chapter. Yes, it will come around to make sense later. *pats you on your little head* Sit patient, and read.



Wolfen18— bugger off, would you? Thanks. Read, and leave reviews that have to do with the story, or read and shut up. Thanks. Or don’t read. I don’t really care. But stop telling me how to communicate with my readers. Thanks. And if you’re having trouble following along, might I suggest the guide, “How to read dramatic plots” it explains how to follow stories that don’t go A—B—C. Thanks



Sljh— Mama, I’m going to tell you the same thing I tell my own mother. I don’t drink tequila. Bad things happen when I drink tequila. And do the words Ann Boleyn mean anything to you??

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Now to the general on-looker, a fly on the wall, or perhaps some small snow dog that had managed to slip into the crack in the opened door with the chilly snow-clad wind, the scene that stood in the tiny cabin in the frozen mountainous north eastern region of Russia would have seemed quite normal. A man, standing with his back facing the door he just entered through, a wooden stick on the ground, a young silver-haired, doe-eyed girl seated at a wooden table, with a slightly older bushy brown-haired girl seated across from them, a kettle of stew resting on the wood between them.



Disbelief was an understatement at best. He was dumbstruck, jaw agape, unable to move. Tiny pops from the fire were the only sound that filled the room as he stood there, staring. It was a moment before anyone made any sound. But it was Hermione who spoke first. “Severus—” but her words fell flat as he rushed forward, collapsed to his knees before the silver-haired girl, and pulled her into a tight embrace. His lips covered hers, and tears streaked from his eyes.



She did not struggle against him, but gently put her hands on either side of his face, pushing firmly but not forcefully until she managed to break the kiss. The tears continued to roll down his cheeks and he blinked, gazing into her eyes. Ever so slowly the girl shook her head no. Severus’ head fell forward, hands coming to cover his eyes as he wept into his own lap, body once again shaking. “Better get a blanket,” the girl said to Hermione.



It had taken the both of them to bring Severus to his feet. The cabin was sparsely furnished, no couch or comforting chair, so they thought it best to bring him into the bedroom and place him on the bed. Hermione never had been able to sleep in anything but a four-poster since her days at Hogwarts and had transfigured the tiny cot that had been in the cabin upon her arrival.



He sat with a thick wool blanket draped over his person, Hermione standing next to the other girl in the doorway. “Severus,” the silver haired girl said. His eyes lifted slowly to meet hers, his face paler than usual. “I am sorry.”



“But—” he muttered, and then shook his head.



“Lenore,” she said. “We were twins.” The silver haired girl was identical in every way to Nalina. The same long, silvery hair, the same bluish gray big, doe-like eyes, the same pale almost translucent shimmery skin, everything about her was the same. And yet, there was something cold about her, unwelcoming almost, though perhaps it was merely that she lacked the warmth and love that radiated from Nalina.



Hermione sighed, having already heard this story; she was not apt to hear it again, especially not with the emotional mess of a man seated on the bed before her. Severus Snape was no man of emotions, at least not when she’d known him. And if she’d had her way, she never would have seen him again. But fate seemed to keep stroking its luck out in her path, and not the good kind of happy luck either. The kind of luck that leaves you to believe that there’s a black cloud hanging over your path and that when it starts to rain, it rains solely on you. She stepped back into the other room of the cabin, pushing the door to the bedroom shut as she left.



Lenore moved to the bed and sat beside Severus. He could not bring himself to look at her, keeping his head tilted down, eyes lowered. “It’s ok,” she said, “I understand,” she whispered, wishing there was more she could do to comfort him. But she figured a touch from the identical twin sister of his recently deceased almost wife might be a bit more than he could currently handle.



They sat in silence. A long time passed, neither being aware of the hour or whether the morning had come to grace the mountains. “Why didn’t I know?” he asked, finally.



“One illegitimate child was bad enough, I guess.” She said. “Our mother died after birthing us…or so we were told.” Her eyes grew bitter at the thought, but she did not dwell on it. “Lucius was not around to witness the birth. He was summoned, but not before Narcissa arrived…”



~*~



The pail, thin woman lay there panting in pain. “It is twins, Willow,” the midwife said, a smile on her lips. “Two girls, healthy and beautiful.”



The woman tried to smile, sweat beading down her forehead. “We must call for Lucius Malfoy, their father, please, have him sent…” she panted. The lights in the tiny room flickered. Willow frowned. “The storm must be getting worse…” she had given birth on a rainy October night, a terrible thunder tearing across the sky, lightening flashing every few minutes and a torrential downpour drumming heavily on the roof.



“Yes, that may delay Mr. Malfoy in his arrival…” the midwife said. “But I shall make haste to summon him.” She turned and disappeared through the door.



Thunder roared and the lights flickered again, staying off this time. There was a loud crash and a thump that came from the hallway. “Grace?” Willow called, twisting about her sheets, blood still dripping from between her legs. A dim yellow light, no brighter than the tip of a glowing wand appeared in the doorway. “Oh, goodness, Grace,” Willow sighed and closed her eyes. “Gave me quite a fright.”



“Indeed.” Lightening flashed, lighting the room.



“Oh!” Willow cried.



Narcissa Malfoy stood tall; her long blonde hair was pinned into a tight knot at the base of her neck, her wand drawn. “Two daughters, I hear.” She said.



“Yes, twins…” she said, uncertain.



“Tis pity,” Narcissa said.



“Tis pity what?” Willow said, trying to sit up further in the bed, but the pain between her legs did not allow for much comfortable movement.



“That their father shall only know one of them…” she sneered. “Though count your blessings, dear Willow, if I had it my way, he’d know no child other than my son.”



“Narcissa,” she said as it dawned on her who the woman was. She had never seen Lucius’ wife before, but knew that the woman was meant to be of frightening beauty. And the beautiful woman that stood before her was certainly frightening. “Please!” she whimpered, reaching forward as if to grab at the woman. “Don’t hurt them! They’re innocent children!”



Narcissa recoiled. “Don’t touch me, you little filth.” She said. The thunder continued to clatter overhead, as she took a calculated step closer to the bed. “And don’t you worry about your precious little cherubs.” She took another step forward and was standing just overtop Willow. The other woman’s eyes grew wide, frightened, and she opened her mouth as if to scream, but Narcissa drew her fingers up against her own mouth. “Shh, wouldn’t want to wake the babies…”



Tears began to streak down Willow’s face and she started to shake. “Please…don’t hurt them,” she repeated.



Another loud thunder crack split the sky as Narcissa turned and walked away from the bed, stopping with her back to the woman in the bed. She swooped around and blasted her wand forward, “Exanguo Omnis!” she hissed and a beam of yellow light shot forward, blasting the white sheet from Willow’s body.



“Aaahh!’ Willow cried; her eyes scrunching tight in pain, her fists clenched into the flimsy mattress of the hospital cot. Blood gushed forward from between her legs, a thick sticky river pouring out of her vagina. Her skin began to pale and her body shook, blood continuing to flow rapidly from between her leg, soaking the white mattress and running onto the floor.



“Don’t worry about your precious babies,” she said, and left the room. Her feet were silent as she moved nimbly through the darkened corridor into the adjoining room where the twins were placed together in a tiny bassinette. Leaning over the slumbering infants, Narcissa pulled one up into her arms and turned quickly around, eyes scanning the darkness. A heavy shadow rested in the corner. “Ah, so you’ve arrived.”



A short, but well rounded woman stepped forward, her head hung low. “I don’t like this,” she muttered.



“Your choice is simple.” Narcissa said. “You are sure no one will find her.”



“Yes, there a muggle family all ready and waiting,” the other woman said, holding out her trembling arms. Narcissa placed the baby into the other witch’s arms, and at once there was a shrill cry from the infant left sleeping in the bassinette. “She can tell, this is wrong, Narcissa!”



“No more wrong than your wandering ways, my dear.” The other woman fell silent. “Now, take this mistake back to the muggle world where it belongs before I change my mind and kill the wretch.”



“You are a cruel woman, Narcissa.”



“Yes, but you’re buying my silence, and you should be so grateful,” the blonde witch smirked and leaned against the wall closest to the bassinette. “Silencio,” she muttered over the shrieking infant. The other woman began a hasty retreat toward the door, sleeping infant tucked under her cloak. “One more thing,” Narcissa called.



The woman stopped dead in her tracks, turning slowly to look at the blonde witch. “This is our secret, from cradle to grave…my husband’s illegitimate child’s cradle…to your grave…” she chuckled at her own sick joke. “Mark my words, Molly Weasley, you cross me on this one, and I’ll have more to squawk about than Bill’s father.”