It Takes a Miracle

Chapter 20 – Call my name and wake me from the dark


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The necessity to endure an extra day of a term galled Snape. Thankfully, he hadn’t been included in any of the festivity planning. The only task Dumbledore had assigned to him was to keep the castle in one piece and the students unharmed, as the Hogwarts population was getting ready for the ball.

Catching the rule breakers and announcing their punishment with a perfect, nasty smirk on his face was a job Snape always enjoyed. However, with his mind being in such a wretched state, it was not about deriving pleasure, but having something to concentrate on to keep the little voice in his head quiet. To smother it, to make it stop. Snape was so set on his task that by Friday afternoon Dumbledore, with the help of the rest of the staff, had to start awarding the dismayed students with points for ‘regular breathing’ to bring the counters back into the positive territory.

“Is there anything you wish to talk to me about, Severus?” the Headmaster asked, his voice mild and concerned.

Five or six months ago, when Snape was just beginning to realize what had happened to him because of his donations to the Potion, he often thought of confessing to the Headmaster. He owed too much to the older wizard to hide this from him. But then, as his condition worsened, he couldn’t bring himself up to it. He couldn’t let anyone, especially Dumbledore, pity him. And pity they would, since there was nothing else anyone could do for him. Once his restoration spells didn’t find themselves welcomed, there was no recourse, no cure. Snape had looked it up.

“No,” he answered curtly.

“Well then.” Dumbledore eyed him pensively, “Xiomara and Tristan have volunteered to patrol the hallways tonight, and I have tomorrow all covered. So, why don’t you take a break, and get ready for the big celebration?” The old wizard smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Very well, Albus.” Snape nodded, turned around, and strode away from the old wizard, trying to move as assuredly as possible, feeling the Headmaster’s thoughtful stare heavy on his back.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he groaned when the door of his private quarters closed softly behind him, and the hissing of the resetting wards reassured him of his solitude. “Shit!”

“So-o-o-o, here we are,” the little voice in his head smirked, and Snape knew he was in for a very long night. Before he lost the last modicum of grip over his mind, he managed to make a quick decision. The Autoquill scrabbled a couple of his words on parchment, which closed and sealed itself at Snape’s command.

“Take it to Ms. Ardant,” he instructed a slightly shaken house-elf, who appeared in front of him at the snap of his fingers.

“Yes, Professor Snape,” the little wide-eyed creature squeaked, stretching its hand to take the parchment, but the Potions Master wouldn’t let it go right away. Instead, he scowled at it. “And don’t you dare, any of you lot, to show up in here until I’ve called for you.”

The house-elf cowered, looking absolutely terrified at him, but asked, “If Miss give answer…”

“I don’t need a bloody answer!” Snape yelled. “Get out!”

The elf snatched the parchment and disappeared.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” the little voice scorned mockingly. “Raising your voice at a poor sod, denying a girl her medicine… Don’t you feel…guilty? Just a bit?”

“I’ll be soon feeling guilty about drawing a breath,” Snape hissed and regretted it before the last sound left his lips.

“And you should!” the little voice bellowed.

Snape grabbed his temples and swore. In three large steps he reached the chaise and flopped down, not bothering to remove his robes. “Accio scotch!” he growled, and the bottle flew to his hand.

“It is not going to help you,” the little voice cackled. “Nothing is going to help you, because you are nothing! Worse than nothing! The lowest of the low, the slimiest of the…”

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” Snape screamed, his spit mixed with alcohol flying out of his mouth. In response, the nasty laughter echoed in his head. His hands shook violently when he brought the bottle to his mouth for a burning gulp. He swallowed thickly and drank some more.

Merlin, he could almost feel how the control was slipping out of his grasp. Powerless, worthless piece of crap! He knew Dumbledore was watching him since that coma incident! Not as bluntly as the girl, but he felt the old fox’s contemplative gaze on him more than once. Maybe even a soft probe into his mind. And what had he done! Like a hysterical idiot he went on a point-taking rampage that was bound to draw even more suspicion, and, to top it all off, cancelled the appointment with Ms. Pet Project, because he was too weak to live through one more day without getting himself pissed into oblivion. And because he couldn’t face her. Shit!

Several hours later, his third bottle in shards at the base of the opposite wall, Snape wasn’t fighting any longer. He gulped a mouthful from the new bottle and closed his eyes. The picture of Hogwarts grounds sprung to life behind his eyelids – not the early summer green and bright, as it was that morning, but bleak January-cold and sodden. He looked at the bodies on the dirty, bloody snow. How many times he’d seen this in the last six months? Several dozens? A hundred? Yet, he couldn’t get used to the sight – people he knew, kids. Too many kids, his kids, went to the wrong side. And, of course, it was his fault. Everything was his fault…

The alarm clock spat viciously at him early Saturday afternoon, and Snape stirred into consciousness cringing at the stench. Muscle by muscle, limb by limb, he dragged his aching body to the bathroom and almost passed out again from all the effort it took. He grabbed at the sink and blindly searched for the hangover potion, determined not to think about anything except for the strictly necessary – clean up, dress up, give a farewell speech to the three remaining seventh year Slytherins, and live through the feast and the ball. The last two items on the list made Snape gag, and he barely had enough time to push back down the hangover potion he had drunk a moment before. Shit. He definitely would need something more than just a hangover potion.

An hour later, the Potions Master strode out of his rooms, no visible signs of the night spent in drunken stupor on his sallow face. Half a dozen vile concoctions, pulsing in his blood, kept his head clear, and his movements dignified. A couple of third years dodged from his path, sheer horror written on their faces, and for the first time since he woke up that afternoon Snape thought that he could survive through the rest of that wretched day.


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Gerry was in turmoil. She was much better at making split-second decisions, than at carefully weighting pros and cons of her choices.

When she realized there was a problem with Snape, she was prepared right there and then to do anything to help him. But once she had decided to take a mature approach – talk to Dumbledore, collect the intelligence, get an approval from the Order of Vita Healers – she was rapidly turning into a nervous wreck. What if she was right in her suspicions, and before she got a chance to do anything to help Snape, he did something horrible to himself? What if she was wrong, and her Vita Redux would be useless, but she would have to somehow live through yet another recovery, broke and out of a job? What if she was right, and she would do a Vita Redux, and it would save the dark-haired wizard, and he would hate her even more? Was it worth it then?

The days passed in a strange rhythm of leaps and drags. Her homework grading having ended, and her numerous tutoring sessions having dwindled down to a few meetings with desperately fallen-behind students, Gerry suddenly found herself with a lot of free time on her hands. However, what should have been a pleasant change from her previous grueling schedule, seemed to fill her with dread, and she grabbed any chance for occupation – working with Jay and Sprout in the greenhouses, helping the students with revisions in any subject, running errands for other staff members. Late one night she even ended up sitting in the Gryffindor common room, willingly participating in a heated discussion about make-up spells. She returned to her rooms absolutely stunned. Merlin, was she that anxious?

Apparently, she was. One moment she wanted to storm into the hospital wing and demand from Poppy the full recap of Snape’s health history, and the next she would seek out Jay to trade jokes with him. She would watch her wand for hours for any signs of an answer from Mrs. Doomsfield, and then spend a day without even looking at it. She would sit through the meal, paying more attention to Snape than to her own food, but upon leaving the Great Hall she would be ready to pack her trunk and get as far away from Hogwarts as possible. She would pace her rooms at night devising the most devious plans for making Snape open up to her only to curl on her bed afterwards, wishing to just forget the grim Potions Master and get on with her own life.

Meanwhile, the end of the term was rapidly approaching, and with it just as rapidly was approaching the time when students and teachers would vacate the castle. That made Gerry’s worry intensify.

“What if Snape leaves before I get an answer from Mrs. Doomsfield?” she would panic. “If I am right, wouldn’t it be easier for him to take his own life when he is away from school, on his own?”

“What if all Snape needs is to get away from it all and rest?” she would contemplate at calmer moments. “What a fool I am going to be rushing to ‘save’ him. He will never speak to me again…”

But whether Vita Redux would help Snape or not, the approval for it was slow in coming. Whatever it was – Mrs. Doomsfield’s desire to give her more time to think before rushing into yet another ‘ill-advised’ ritual, or the Order’s bureaucracy, Gerry didn’t know. All she knew was that come Sunday, her decision had to be made, approval or not.

On Friday night Jay and she entered the castle, returning from the afternoon’s work in the greenhouses. Before they reached the main stairway, a house-elf appeared in front of them and handed Gerry a note.

“Shit,” she spat as soon as she skimmed through the few short sentences. “I want to give you an answer,” she said to the big-eyed creature, but the response was a violent shaking of the head.

“No, no, no, Assistant Professor. Not going back.”

“Why?” Gerry frowned.

“He said not come.” The house-elf kept shaking its head.

“Bastard!”

“Who?” Jay finally interjected into the conversation.

“Snape!” Gerry crammed the piece of parchment in her hands.

Meanwhile, the trembling creature shook its head one more time, looked at them as if waiting for further instructions, and squeaked, “If Assistant Professor not needing Dippy…” With a pop, the house-elf disappeared.

“What has the greasy bat done again?” Jay asked angrily.

Gerry looked at him as if remembering she wasn’t alone. “Oh, nothing. I’ll take care of it.”

“Look, I told you, if you need help…”

“Thanks, but Snape I can handle,” she forced herself to smile.

After a short hesitation, Jay gave her a knowing grin.


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It was hard for Snape to imagine a more horrible way to spend his evening than being present at the Leaving Feast that year. Squished between Hooch and some ugly witch from the Ministry of something-or-other, he had to exert a tremendous amount of effort to keep himself from fleeing the Great Hall. The Leaving Feast, a strenuous event under any circumstances, this time, being the culmination of a special school year - the year of the fall of the Dark Lord and the year of the successful defense of the castle, - turned into yet another celebration of the victory over the Dark Side. Ministry representatives and invited dignitaries got up one after another to offer yet another take on the ‘hooray, we won’ subject. Snape’s only consolation was that with so many people present at the High Table, his seat was moved time and time again, until he found himself at the very end of the stretched table. At least from there, although he couldn’t help hearing all the speeches, he didn’t have to see the speakers. And, of course, he himself was practically invisible to the most of the people in the Great Hall.

Finally the speeches were over, a few new medals were given away, and the event moved into its traditional part – the awarding of the House Cup. It didn’t take long, did it? Snape almost snorted when the Cup went to Gryffindor. What a joke these things had become. No matter what happened throughout the year, no matter how hard the students tried, some way or another the House Cup would wind up in McGonagall’s office.

It was unreasonable to expect, of course, for Slytherin to win this year, the year of the defeat of the Dark Lord. Most of the students in his House were connected somehow to the people on the wrong side of the barricade, and no one, not even the all-mighty and honorable Dumbledore, would let them forget it. Still, Snape found it extremely unjust that everyone easily ignored the fact that so many of his students remained in school, often defying their parents’ and relatives’ direct orders, and some even drew wands to defend Hogwarts against the Death Eaters, whose masks covered faces of people they knew from childhood. Wasn’t it Dumbledore who said several years ago “It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends?” Well, apparently, Slytherin’s bravery was of a lesser kind, of the kind that was not worthy of notice.

The little voice in Snape’s head whistled almost affectionately, “Idiot. Don’t you know your little snakes are just as worthless as their Head of House? Worthless, worthless, ala-la-la-la-la.”

If Snape hadn’t been living with this menace for the past six months, he would have at least gotten irritated. As it was, he only muttered under his breath, “Stupid, infantile bugger.” He was always puzzled as to why his conscience, or whatever it was his little voice represented, was speaking to him like an infuriating child. Probably because he spent so much time surrounded by annoying brats.

Meanwhile, the Great Hall was cheering McGonagall. She was shaking the Cup over her head, and Snape had to offer at least a couple half-hearted claps.

“Cheer up, Snape, there is always another year.” Hooch grinned, elbowing him amiably. Dim-witted cow! How often did he need to remind her how unpleasant his glare was? In less than a heartbeat, the yellow-eyed witch turned from him with an indignant huff.

At the end of the Feast the Headmaster announced a one-hour break for students to change, and for the staff to rearrange the Great Hall to accommodate the band and the dancers. Most of the guests, who participated in the feast, bade farewell, and Dumbledore went to see them off. With him went McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout. Snape remained in the Great Hall to supposedly oversee the preparations for the ball. However, it was really Dumbledore keeping him away from the undue attention of the Ministry people. It wouldn’t be a good idea, would it, for him to be noticed by some ignorant but eager Auror? A suspected Death Eater on the loose! Oh, my! Don’t let him escape!

The stupid twit would then make a scene out of capturing a dangerous criminal. Would he know he was doing Snape a favor by escorting him to Azkaban? Would he even suspect it? Snape smirked – in his current condition he wouldn’t survive the Dementors’ guarded prison for more than a night. Yes, that would be all it would take. A strange feeling of contentment washed over Snape, and for the first time in a very long while, he smiled.

Somewhere near him someone gasped loudly. Snape twisted to see who it was, instantaneously rearranging his face into one of his best scowls. A tiny first year, wrapped in toga as some underage Roman emperor, stood frozen in place a mere couple of meters from him, his eyes wide with horror.

“Well, Mr. Greene,” Snape sneered maliciously at the boy, and that brought the poor sod out of his stupor.

He twitched and began to back up hurriedly, whispering, “Sorry, Professor… I just…go, Professor…”

The boy disappeared, and Snape glanced around – if there were any more witnesses to his disgrace. Thankfully, the Great Hall was almost empty, save a group of house elves, who under Filch’s gloomy management were moving the tables and the benches. The boy probably came all by himself, an eager fool, too afraid to miss anything of the first ball of his meager life. Snape swore under his breath. There was going to be a very long night.


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Saturday morning came to Gerry in a hangover haze. Making an effort to dress, she slowly moved around her rooms, cursing her own stupidity, and Jay’s ability to convince her, and all the firewhisky they drank, and… Oh, Merlin, she just hoped nothing else happened. The memories of the previous night were a bit foggy. She shook her head slightly, wincing at her headache. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.

There was no excuse for her behavior, except for… Well, except for nothing, really. Snape cancelled her lab time. Big deal! If she survived a week with almost no Nerve-Calming Potion, she could survive one more. It was probably nothing personal. Most likely, he would be very busy with his Head of House business, Saturday being the last day of the school year. But this cancellation came on top of everything else that was happening with her, and in such a cold detached form that she snapped. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl. As if she hadn’t realized by now that he didn’t give a damn about her, medicine and all.

Gerry flopped tiredly onto her bed and grabbed her head with both of her hands. The hangover’s throbbing pulsed through her, and for a moment she felt so sorry for herself she almost cried. But the moment passed, she bit her lip, and made herself get up.

“No one has yet died from rudeness,” she muttered to herself as she tried to button her robes with unresponsive fingers, “or from dizzy spells.” No one had died from a broken heart either…

It was long after breakfast when she dragged herself out of her rooms. Her first stop was the hospital wing, where the kind mediwitch was anything but kind, lecturing her on the adverse effects that alcohol overindulgence tended to have on witches’ bodies. In the end, she measured the dose of hangover potion for Gerry and handed it to her with a displeased expression on her round face.

Poppy’s remedy helped in alleviating physical discomfort, but it did nothing for the mental anguish she had been drowning in for the last couple of weeks. With her head cleared once again, Gerry suddenly realized that today was the very last day of the term. Come tomorrow, Snape could be gone from Hogwarts. This thought made her gasp.

“Are you all right?” Despite Poppy’s stern expression, her voice sounded gentle. Gerry shook her head dismissively and left.

She wandered restlessly for a while, but the excitements of the day - the warm sunny weather, the tonight’s ball, the absence of classes, the promise of upcoming freedom - that captured the mood of the most inhabitants of the castle, left her indifferent. She hid in her rooms for a while, but soon began to feel as if the walls were closing in on her. A friendly game of Quidditch provided some distraction. Unfortunately, she didn’t play for long before a dizzy spell almost threw her down from the hundred-meter height.

“What was that, a Vronsky Feign?” At the edge of the field Jay greeted her with a happy grin. “Or the famous the Ardant Fall?”

“Shut up.” Gerry smacked him playfully. She was glad to see him, hoping he would make her take her mind off of Snape. But strangely, too soon, she caught herself thinking that his jokes were not all that funny, and his stories not all that amusing. Too soon, she realized she wished she was alone.

But then, her day got even more complicated. When Jay and she came to the Great Hall for the Leaving Feast, there was a large group of guests invited to the event. All these witches and wizards were waiting at the entrance to be seated. A tall handsome wizard stepped out from the multicolored crowd and walked towards them.

“Hey, what…”

“Why… what…”

Neither Jay nor Gerry knew what to say.

“A surprise,” Valerius smiled widely. “Aren’t you two happy to see me?”

“Yeah, sure…”

“Of course, Val. But how…”

“I heard there would be a delegation from the Ministry, and I asked to join it.” The young wizard shrugged his broad shoulders. “I worked on restoration of the castle, so…”

“Right, come on, man, let’s get you seated with us.” Jay finally recovered. He punched Val lightly in the arm and grinned. “It’s great you came. We’ll shake this place up tonight. I hope you are staying for the ball, aren’t you?”

Gerry, too, smiled weakly. It wasn’t that she wasn’t glad to see Valerius. They parted on amicably, and remained, if not friends, at least good pals. But that day she didn’t want to deal with him. She exerted way too much effort to stay focused on Jay. Add Valerius to the mix… Shit.

Soon, it became apparent that was exactly the word to describe the situation. While they listened to the speeches, and the award ceremonies, they couldn’t exchange more than short “how are you’s” and “what’s new’s”. However, when the food was served, and they could talk freely, Gerry wished Valerius had never come.

Gerry didn’t notice how it actually began. She was busy glancing around searching for Snape, until she finally saw him at the very end of the table, squished between some Ministry official and Hooch. Then she could take a barely noticeable sigh of relief and concentrate on the conversation between Jay and Valerius. At that time, Jay was in the middle of the story of Gerry’ and his trip to London.

“You can’t imagine how much we drank in that little pub,” he announced proudly, forking a piece of steak. “Let me just tell you about the hangover we had…”

That story was followed by another. And then by another. And another. Somehow, from Jay’s tales, despite all schemes of pranks and practical jokes, it appeared that most of their free time was devoted to drinking or recovering from excessive drinking.

Gerry sat, staring into her plate, too aware of Valerius tensing by her side. Despite their not being together anymore, somehow she still valued his good opinion, and that opinion was rapidly worsening. Yet, she couldn’t find the strength to interject, to change the subject of the conversation.

It didn’t help the matter when Valerius saw the costumes Jay and she picked out for the ball. But if Jay’s pirate outfit made him only shake his head, Gerry’s cowboy garb honestly disappointed him. He frowned, looking her over from the straw hat down to the leather boots, stopping for a disapproving sigh at the fitted plaid shirt and faded blue jeans held by a wide belt with a silver buckle. Gerry coiled inside, preparing herself for a lecture about “a proper witch would never…” but none came. Oh, yes, they were not engaged anymore.

Still, with a heavy heart and a forced smile Gerry entered the transformed Great Hall. She was followed by Jay, who wouldn’t stop talking, and Valerius, who wouldn’t say a word.

One of the seventh year students, who she tutored excessively before the NEWT’s, greeted her at the door and with a shy smile asked her for a dance. Gerry glanced questioningly at her escorts, but they just shrugged, one with a grin, another one with a sigh. She nodded to the student, and was led to the dance floor.

The boy had sweaty palms and an utter absence of rudimentary knowledge of dancing. She smiled lopsidedly at him, when he stepped on her foot yet again and thought, “It will be a very long night.”


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He stood leaning lightly against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, the scowl firmly plastered on his face. The loud, colorful sea, called The Costume Ball, was swirling around him. The waves were rolling on and then, as if hitting an invisible barrier that left an empty semicircle area around him, retreating to roll back again a moment later.

His glare, unpleasant on the best of days, was outright menacing that night. It was no wonder no one dared to approach him, which suited him just fine. As far as he was concerned, he had already done all his socializing for the evening - he suffered through Albus’ “cheer up, my boy, it is the end of another school year” talk, he grudgingly congratulated McGonagall on yet another House Cup win, he exchanged a couple of words with Filius and Sprout, and provided Hooch with enough of his sarcasm to keep her away from him until the next meal.

Talking with Albus was the worst, of course. Let alone the fact that Snape had to endure all his twinkling and cheering, the Headmaster reprimanded him for “lack of school spirit,” since he didn’t bother with a costume, and waved his wand over the Potions Master’s head. As a result, Snape’s only formal robes were transfigured into… Well, it was black, but absolutely not something he would willingly put on. He vaguely recalled having seen someone, dressed like that, on a cover of a silly Muggle romance novel that he confiscated from a blushing sixth year.

As an afterthought, the barmy old wizard twinkled once more and added a blowing charm to the Potions Master costume. So now, to add insult to injury, Snape’s hair was flowing and his cloak was billowing around his legs, as if he were facing a stormy wind. Just like the stupid sod on the cover of that romance drivel - a bloody hero standing on a cliff over the thunderous sea. Shit!

Snape gritted his teeth and slowly transferred his weight from one leg to another. His cloak flapped against the wall, and Snape swore. Shit!

He never enjoyed functions like this. His only consolation was in making others, namely students, even more miserable than he was. Although, he rarely needed justification for dishing out punishment, somehow it felt better to do it whilst celebrating or such. It was almost fun identifying the troublemakers in the cheerful crowd, figuring out where and how they would strike, thwarting their plans, and punishing them with a deeply felt satisfaction of a job well done. And how delightful were the moments of catching the amorous couples, who would sneak out in search of the darkest and coziest places around the castle, and make them squirm by offering several sarcastic comments pertaining to skills and virtues.

Snape could barely stifle a groan. It used to be easy. Easier. Tonight the balance between the efforts he had to exert and the potential reward was off. Way off. The little voice in his head kept throwing insults at him and demanding decisive action in bringing his life to an end. The respite, he allowed himself last night through this afternoon, wasn’t nearly enough, and the exhaustion was filling his every muscle, notwithstanding the iron control he had over his body, and all the potions he had consumed before leaving his rooms.

And then, abruptly, everything went from bad to worse. Snape felt as if someone hit him in the solar plexus so hard he couldn’t breathe. Into the Great Hall, with small smile playing on her lips, walked Ms. Ardant. Out of her robes, she looked so small, so fragile, that his desire to go to her, and collect her in his arms, and shield her from the rest of the world swept over him like a tidal wave. When he could breathe gain, Snape swallowed, hating himself for his idiotic urges. She was his enemy, he reminded himself grimly, a silly little witch in a silly Muggle costume. Someone, who wanted to make fun of him. Someone he was supposed to loath.

Snape glared at a puny Merlin, who walked too close to him and quickly continued his list - she was Dumbledore’s pity Pet Project, she raised her wand at him twice, she was close with the stupid Rag Clown, and she smelled of vanilla and peach...

This was ridiculous! “You’re supposed to loath her!” He ground his teeth “And you will.”

The only problem was - he just couldn’t. Suddenly realizing that tonight might very well be the last time he would see the girl, Snape couldn’t take his eyes off of her, as if trying to imprint her image in his mind, so it would stay with him until… Shit! Snape forcefully moved his gaze.

The girl was followed by Carnavale, dressed as a pirate. The usual inane grin stretched his clownish face, which was crossed by the black ribbon of the patch covering his right eye. Snape felt the bile rising in his throat at the sight of the young wizard, the disgust and dislike, mixed in equal proportions, curved his lip into a nasty sneer. Carnavale, his uncovered eye darting merely around the room, was talking enthusiastically to another young wizard who walked in with him. That one wasn’t wearing a costume, but rather expensive evening robes, and looked very dignified. Especially next to the Rag Clown. And then, that young wizard turned, so that Snape could see his face, and the Potions Master felt as if he was hit again. Only this time he recovered instantaneously, the flames of hatred flaring high, engulfing him in their sizzling heat.

“So, she is… He is... I will…” The thoughts swirled in his head, none of them complete, none of them happy. It took Snape a moment or two to regain the ability to reason, and he swore, furious with himself for his utter lack of control. The timing was absolutely atrocious for letting his feelings reign over his mind.

Snape clenched his teeth and watched as the girl was led to the dance floor by one of the seventh years. Then, he lost the sight of her in the crowd.


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She was glad she had her cowboy hat on - no one could see her eyes, which relentlessly searched for the tall clad-in-black wizard in the bursting with color Great Hall. Unfortunately, the dance floor was packed, and with her very unimpressive height she had no chance of seeing anyone beyond the immediate vicinity.

After the first dance was over, she was asked by another seventh year. And then another one. She didn’t want to offend the boys with her refusal. However, all her partners wanted to be only at the center of the dance floor, which severally limited Gerry’s observation field, and her impatience to find Snape began take the better of her. That was why she couldn’t suppress a sigh of relief when Jay came to her rescue.

“All right, Mr. Manning, that’ll be enough.” He grinned at the tall scrawny boy dressed as a medieval knight, who kept holding on to Gerry. Nudging him slightly away from her, Jay pointed into the direction of a bright flock of sixth year girls and added, “You go, joust for some fair maiden over there.”

“Thanks, Jay,” she whispered in young wizard’s ear, when the boy left.

“Any time.” Jay winked his uncovered eye at her, sneaked his hands around her waist, and said quietly to her, “Now, the pirates don’t do anything for naught, do they? You owe me a dance, miss, or you’ll walk the plank!”

“Okay, Mr. Black Jack,” she forced a laugh, raising her arms to his shoulders. So she would wait for a bit longer. As with the boys, she didn’t want to offend Jay either, and an excuse of “I really need to find Snape” wouldn’t do. “I give in.”

Thankfully, the dance was short, and afterwards Jay led her to where Valerius was waiting for them.

“Care to dance?” Jay grinned at him, gesturing at Gerry. “Comes highly recommended.”

Gerry saw how Valerius’ face tensed, and said, “Jay, be a friend. Get us drinks, will you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The ‘pirate’ bowed mockingly and left. Gerry, pretending to be looking as he walked away, quickly glanced around. There was no sight of Snape.

“So, you left me for him,” Valerius stated, as soon as Jay was out of earshot. There was a distinct note of disappointment in his deep voice.

“What!” Gerry looked at him surprised.

“Please, don’t. Just don’t…” The young wizard’s handsome face cringed.

“What are you talking about?”

“Him.” Valerius jerked his head in the direction of departed Jay. “You left me for him…”

“No!” she cried out.

“Why are you lying to me? Are you ashamed of your choice?” Valerius inquired, and his soft brown eyes sparkled with anger.

Kids around them began to throw curious glances, and Gerry grabbed the young wizard’s hand and pulled him into the dancing crowd. He followed without saying a word. When they stopped, he bowed solemnly, and offered her his hand. She almost snorted, but proffered her own hand to him, and let him lead, his every move conforming to the formalities of a proper dance. She forgot how ridiculous he could be with his overdeveloped sense of propriety, his devotion to decorum. The words of sarcasm were on her tongue, but she bit her lip, and decided that now was not a time to rebel.

“I understand, I have no right to ask you this,” Valerius began with palpable unease, when they fell into the pattern of the dance. “But I wanted to know why you chose him? You think he is amusing? You think he is…”

“Val, stop,” she interrupted him. “I didn’t choose him.”

“Gerry, please, give me some credit.” He shook his head. “You broke our engagement, remember? Right after our stay at Hogwarts.”

Her attention slipping, she blurted out, “It wasn’t him.” Gerry regretted it right away.

“Aha! There was someone, wasn’t there? I knew you couldn’t just leave me because ‘we are not good together.’ Who is he, then? Dumbledore?” Valerius had to bend low to talk to her, so people around them wouldn’t hear the conversation. By the end of his tirade he was practically hissing in Gerry’s ear, and she once again thought it was going to be a very long night.

“There is no one,” she whispered looking into his chest, and her heart throbbed at the truth of this statement.

When the dance was over, Jay was waiting for them with a little tray hovering in front of him. There were three goblets filled with bright orange punch and some biscuits.

“Isn’t she the greatest?” The ‘pirate’ grinned at Valerius, who smiled stiffly in return. “So, I had a chat with this Gryffindor, and listen to this.”

Jay went into reporting the freshest House news, and Gerry feigned interest as she watched her ex-fiancé. She spent most of the dance assuring the handsome wizard that there was no one who’d replaced him in her life, and if there ever would be, Jay would never be a consideration. That he was just a good pal. She wasn’t sure why it was even important to her to reassure Valerius. But seeing her ex-fiancé at Hogwarts brought back memories of their stay here, and made her feel guilty to a degree, and as such responsible for his comfort, if not happiness.

Either their conversation helped, or Jay’s tales were amusing, but Valerius looked more relaxed, and his laughter began to sound genuine. “Thanks, Merlin,” Gerry thought with relief and joined her companions in a toast. “Long live the Gryffindors!” The men drunk from their goblets, but she only sipped a bit, the horrid sensation of this morning’s hangover too fresh on her mind.

Meanwhile, the band announced a short break, and the center of the Great Hall began to clear up – some went out, others, gathering in groups, were moving to the sides where the benches were placed. When one of those groups moved, in the clearing Gerry saw Snape.

She knew he should be here. She had been searching for him ever since she came, and shouldn’t have been surprise to see him. But when she did, she was stunned.

There he was, looking just like she imagined him one bright July night - a hero from a silly romantic novel. The flying hair, the flapping cloak, the proud stance. It wasn’t the Snape she knew - not the one she saw day in and day out around the school, not the one that could glare students into tears, and scowl colleagues into avoiding him, not the one that hated her. No, it was another Snape - the Snape she first saw lying in the grass, his blood glistening in the moonlight; the Snape she shared a walk with around his mother’s garden; the Snape who stood fearlessly facing the brewing storm; the Snape who kissed her breathless in the little cave.

For several moments Gerry stood mesmerized, motionless, afraid that if she so much as blinked, he would disappear, and would be replaced with the real Snape, the Snape she actually knew. And then he turned, and their eyes met. Even from a distance, she was pulled into the black pools of his eyes, and suddenly she realized they were not cold as usual, not impassive. In them, she could see the guarding walls crumbling, revealing the dark glow of sheer agony. It was as if a bolt of electricity went through her, and Gerry knew that the Snape of her dreams was somewhere in there, and he was real, and he was calling for help.

A group of ‘centauries’ moved in front of her, blocking her view of the dark-haired wizard. She cried out at the loss, and her goblet slipped out of her trembling fingers.


00000
The ball was in full swing. The initial shyness subsided, the curiosity as to who was who, and wearing what, had been satisfied, the dance floor was filled to the brim, and the ‘fun’ had begun. It was time to watch for brewing troubles. It was time to look for the first signs of inebriation. It was also time to identify all the potential couples, who could be found later on, exploring their sexuality.

Under any other circumstances, Snape would be prowling around the Great Hall, glaring down his nose at the students, instilling the appropriate wariness into the empty heads of the twits. Even taking into account his current condition, he would at least… Well, it didn’t really matter what he would do, if all that he did since the moment he saw the girl walk in, trailed by Carnavale and the builder, was struggle to ignore her, and not to think of her. At times this struggle would turn so fierce that even the little voice in his head sounded muffled, and punishing the dunderheads became simply non-essential.

Snape was furious – the girl had been working at Hogwarts for almost two month now, and he managed all right. Mostly. And yet tonight he was helpless.

Maybe because of this stupid ball - celebrations always tended to try his willpower to the bone. Maybe because of the realization that this might be the very last time he saw Ms. Ardant hit him harder than he was willing to admit. Or maybe because seeing them together, the girl and her fiancé, stirred up the memories that had been locked away somewhere in the dark passages of his mind for almost a year now. The memories of one July week. The memories that should have remained undisturbed...

Snape felt cold sweat beginning to dampen his shirt. Bloody Merlin. He should be watching the girl and Co. so he could catch them red-handed when they tried to play a prank on him. He should be watching and getting ready to strike back. He shouldn’t follow every move of the silly straw hat in the crowd, trying to see who the girl was talking to (and smiling at). He shouldn’t care who she was dancing with (let alone dream up tortures he would inflict on those unfortunates who had the audacity to ask the girl to dance). He should…

Well, the very least he should do was stay focused and project an image of someone who was in control. Snape deepened his scowl and made a conscious effort to walk to the other side of the Hall.

Bloody memories… Snape swore as he leaned on the wall. The last one to assault him was about him coming to with the achingly-delicious weight of the unconscious witch lying on top of him. He thought he could smell the distinct aroma of vanilla and peach, and barely caught a moan before it escaped his throat.

He was still too vulnerable, still too raw from tearing himself out of the unwelcome memory, when he felt a gaze on him, and turned to see who it was.

In retrospect, it was a big mistake. A colossal one for someone who spent his life wearing masks. But then, looking into the unbearably blue eyes of the girl, who had once made him feel alive, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He stood there, mesmerized, motionless, unable and unwilling to stop the flood of memories, and sensation, and feeling that washed over him - the smell of vanilla and peach, the kiss in the little cave, the walk in the garden, the kiss in the library, the heat of the touch on the stairs…

A group of ‘centauries’ moved between him and the girl. “No!” he whispered. “No…” He took a raspy breath, and ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Oh, bloody Merlin…”
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A/N A huge thanks to my beta Odddoll