It Takes a Miracle

Chapter 3 – What dreams may come

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All she wanted to know was if the wizard had survived. More precisely, all she wanted to know was that he indeed have survived. She was desperately rummaging through her well-faded memories for any bits and pieces of Nana’s lessons that could help her figure that out.

She knew she had attempted to save his life, but this was her first time ever performing a Vita Redux, and Gerry had no idea if she had done it correctly. She was quite surprised that she remembered so much from what her Nana had taught her, for she was just a bouncy playful five year-old back then, a little girl who could not sit still. Nana died before she had a chance to find out if her only great-granddaughter had inherited her gift. Over the years the gift had never manifested itself, and Gerry almost forgot all about it and Nana’s lessons. Until now.

She was floating in some kind of green fog, looking around in awe, wondering where the wizard (and the whole of Hogwarts for that matter) had gone and what was happening to her. For the life of her she could not remember if Nana mentioned anything about the green fog. While with the wizard, Gerry wanted to save his life so much that everything – the words, the songs, the moves – came as if by themselves, without her conscious involvement. But now, all alone, she was lost. And she was anxious. “Merlin, let him be alive.”

Little by little the fog started to give way to some gray shadowy matter, and with that Gerry felt that her body was being invaded by pain. She could not pinpoint exactly where and how the pain first surfaced, but much too soon it was everywhere. From now on Gerry did not pay any attention to what was happening around her, instead concentrating on overcoming the agony inside.

She told herself that she could take it. She always had. Bad broom falls, countless Quidditch accidents, duels that went nasty – she would stoically bear it all. But nothing had prepared her for the kind of pain that rode her body now. She felt that her insides were being ripped apart and set on fire simultaneously. Again and again. Every inch of her flesh was tortured. But worse than her physical torment was a choking sensation of absolute gloom and loneliness. She had never felt so miserable in her entire life. It seemed as if all the joy was sucked out of her life. She frantically searched for something to hold on to – good memories, happy days – but came back empty-handed. Instead, she discovered something completely different. It was an overwhelming burden of guilt. Ugly, unforgivable. Unredeemable. Suddenly, Gerry loathed herself so much that the thought of a suicide that flickered on and off in her feverish mind did not appear to be scary at all. She was going insane. She just could not take it any longer. Despite all of her efforts to hold the tears back, they came rolling out of her eyes.

With the warmth of a first tear on her face, however, Gerry’s mind cleared a little. “My life is not so bad,” she thought suddenly. A typical twenty-year old witch, who had loving family, good friends, and a perfect boyfriend, she could explain her misery. And she definitely was not that desperate to consider a suicide. What was going on? Was she loosing her mind?

It was not long before it finally dawned on her -- all those feelings were not hers at all. She took them from the wizard along with his physical maladies. That was what she felt – his physical pain and his emotional torment.

Relieved Gerry sighed. At least now she could assume that she had reduced the wizard’s suffering. Except for… Shit, she only meant to save his life, not dig in his sole. “He is going to hate me for it,” Gerry thought with bitterness. Could she do anything right?

Fortunately, or unfortunately, she didn’t have time to ponder that question. The new wave of pain washed over her, and Gerry knew she had to get rid of whatever she took from the wizard before her body gave in. She should be able to do it, should not she? “I should,” said Gerry forcefully. She just did not know how.

Another couple of agonizing minutes went with no relief in sight. Gerry began to wonder if that was a good point to start losing hope, when she felt a heat in her hand. “That’s it!” A light bulb went on in her mind. “Heat! Go to the source.” Oh, it was too easy. How could she miss it before? Of course, the heat of the Vita Redux came from her navel, and that was where everything had to go. All she had to do was concentrate.

When it was over, she opened her eyes. He was standing right in front of her, holding her hand. “He is okay, he is okay.” Happiness bubbled inside her chest. For a moment, she just gazed at him, his beautiful face twisted with worry, his soft hand warm around hers. Then she said, “Thanks gods, you’re alive.”

His head jerked, his black magnetic eyes met hers. There was incredulity and hope in his eyes. And there was so much tenderness that Gerry felt as if an invisible hand had squeezed her heart and let go. Now, she could sleep. Gerry closed her eyes, and sleep embraced her.

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Snape left the hospital wing as soon as Dumbledore returned with disheveled and very flabbergasted Mr. Tresini. The builder glared at Snape with barely hidden antipathy, but did not say anything. He took a chair, which Snape had quickly vacated, and locked his gaze on Gerry’s face, set for a long watch. Dumbledore whispered to the Potions Master that he would take care of informing Mr. Tresini about the incident and let the younger wizard go.

Back in his rooms in the dungeons, Snape poured himself scotch and stretched in front of the empty fireplace. Never before he had come back from the Dark Revel like this, unharmed and rested. Frankly, he was not sure what to do with himself. It was too late for a dose of the Dreamless Sleep potion, but he could not go to sleep without taking one – it was enough to live through the horrors of the Death Eaters’ meeting once in one night, without repeating them in his nightmares. And then there was this witch that just would not leave him alone.

He was never too concerned when somebody suffered from physical pain. He had to endure so much physical torment that he got used to thinking of it as a natural occurrence. Otherwise, he would not survive. That was why compassion was never one of his traits. But with this girl everything was different. She took his pain. She suffered from his agony. Snape swirled the drink in his goblet. It slightly gleamed in the dim light of the single candle on the mantle. And she smelled vanilla and peach...

“Damn you, Severus, think about your work or the Order’s plans. Albus said that the girl would be fine. She will sleep it (whatever it is) off, take Mr. Big-Fat-Reliable-Fiancé by the hand and walk with him into the sunset. You have no business thinking about her. She will leave Hogwarts, and you will carry on with your fucked-up life, not enjoying it as much as you possibly can before it ends (better sooner than later) in some slummy gutter.”

Snape gulped the content of his goblet and refilled it instantaneously. Perhaps drinking himself into a stupor would not be a bad idea, considering the circumstances. He felt warmth in his chest. Was it scotch or the witch lying on top of him? Damn girl. Snape closed his eyes. Yes, he could still feel the warmth. Moreover, for a moment he thought that if he peeked carefully under his eyelashes, he would see her there, lying across his chest, those maddeningly blue eyes, a smile, long wavy hair and all.

Snape threw the goblet into the wall and jumped out of his seat to an accompaniment of shattering glass. This was insane. This was laughable. This was unbearable. He needed to walk it off. Pity, there were no students around to take a healthy number of House points from. Oh well, just a stroll then.

He went pacing in the dungeons. Even though it was close to sunrise, and somewhere up there the dark night sky was paling into light-blue, going through a number of color transformations, here two floors underground, it was predictably dark and gloomy. Exactly what Snape needed to snap out of whatever it was that was cluttering his thoughts.

It was a very dangerous thing for him to have distractions like that. He had to stay extremely focused, his mind clear of anything remotely human. It was more than enough to struggle with the whole Potter and Co. business, but at least in that case it was his responsibility as a teacher and the member of the Order to keep the boy safe. But the girl...

The girl kept popping up in his head as if she belonged there. At some point Snape started feeling her weight in his arms as when he was carrying her to the hospital wing. Bloody hell! Against his better judgment, Snape willed his mind to think about the last night’s Dark Revel. That was why that, by the time he had to go to the Headmaster’s office to discuss the information he gathered at the Death Eaters’ meeting, he was totally irritated.

“Good morning, Severus,” the old wizard greeted him, a twinkle in his eyes, which often drove Snape insane.

“You look cheerful, Albus. Any reason?” The younger wizard gracefully lowered his body into one of the armchairs.

“Why should I not be? My dear Potions Master is alive and well. The brave young lady, who almost lost her life saving him, is recovering...”

“She what?” Snape sprang to his feet, his reserved nonchalant manners abandoned. Momentarily though, he got a hold on his emotions, turned his back to the Headmaster, and slowly walked away from the desk behind which the old wizard was sitting.

“She is recovering.”

“No, before that,” Snape interrupted impatiently.

“Ms. Ardant saved your life by taking your curses upon herself. Haven’t you realized that?” Snape let out a barely audible sigh, his back still to Dumbledore. The older wizard continued, “I reckon what you witnessed was her struggle to overcome them. She managed.”

“But how did she take them? What did she do?” Snape turned to face the Headmaster. “And, more importantly, why?”

“Why? Why? My dear boy, not everybody is out to get you. Some of us may even like you, as implausible as it may sounds to you.” Snape’s lip curled in half a sneer, and Dumbledore shook his head. “As for the young lady... There is something I need to discuss with you. Would you, please, sit down? A cup of tea perhaps?”

When Snape was back in the armchair, Dumbledore allowed himself a long thoughtful look, and begun, “First of all, I would need to ask you to keep everything I am about to tell you in the strictest of confidence. I know, I know.” He stopped the Potion Master, who was about to challenge the very idea of the possibility of him being indiscrete, with a dismissive gesture, and continued, “I have to stress it, because the secret belongs to Ms. Ardant, and it is her prerogative to disclose it. For now, we’ll keep it between you, Minerva and I. If she wants to inform Mr. Tresini, she will do so, when awake. So, let me start from the beginning. Last night, when Ms. Ardant...hmm...met you, she performed a Vita Redux, or a Restoring Life ritual. The name does not exactly reflect the true meaning of this ritual, but describes the end result. In this ritual a Vita Healer takes any grave maladies, physical or emotional, magical or non-magical, that a wizard is suffering from, in effect restoring his health, or his life in him, so to speak. I do not know the mechanics of this ritual, but witnesses describe it as something short of a miracle.”

“A Vita Healer?” Snape could not hide his interest. “I do not think I’ve heard of this before.”

“Right, and here is the reason why. Vita Healers, I mean the true Vita Healers, not the impostors that prey on desperate Muggles, are very rare. I believe there are no more than a couple of hundred Vitas around the world now. You cannot learn the skill, you have to be born with it and taught to use it properly. A trained Vita could literally raise a person from the deathbed. But because of this extraordinary ability, they are obviously in a great demand. Unfortunately, their gift has been abused by our ancestors, so Vitas formed a secret Order, the purpose of which was to hide their identities, to support each other, and to help the training of the young. From that point on they chose whom they would help and how, and no one knows who Vitas are. In other words, you can not come to a Vita, a Vita comes to you.”

“For this to be a secret Order, you seem to know a lot. Are you...?”

“No,” chuckled the Headmaster delighted, “I just have my sources. But let us get back to the issue at hand. When you told me about what happened last night, I had my suspicions. I made some inquiries, and found out the following. Yes, indeed, Ms. Ardant had performed a Vita Redux on you. The trouble is, she is not exactly a Vita Healer. See, a Vita’s gift manifests itself before a child turns seven. He or she is taught by a relative -- it is an inherited quality – first, and by the Order later. Then they get tested and accepted in to the Order. There is no record of Ms. Ardant in the Order. They said to let her sleep, and as soon as she wakes up, inform them, so a counselor could come to talk to her. Meanwhile, they said that it is surprising she is alive, because for an untrained adult witch performing a Vita Redux, not to mention the gravity of the curses she got from you, can be fatal.”

Both wizards were silent for a while. Then Snape asked hesitantly, “Were they positive that Ms. Ardant would survive?”

“Yes. She is just sleeping. By the way, Madam Pomfrey came this morning. I had to tell her at least a part of the story. She did a thorough check on Ms. Ardant.”

“And?”

“She is fine.”

Snape was working hard on absorbing all this information. At least, it was confirmed that the girl was out of danger. As for the rest of it...

“How do you think she performed this...ritual, if she is not a Vita?”

“I asked this same question myself, Severus. They said rarely someone comes along that has the gift, but does not know it. In this case, there has to be a trigger to bring the gift out. It has to be something of an extreme importance to the person. Severus, I reckon, she must have wanted to save you very much.”

Snape was glad when they changed the subject to discuss the previous night’s Dark Revel.

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She needed to get some rest. She was dead tired. Why? Oh, yes, a Vita Redux. Who would have thought that she could do it? Amazing that it worked. Thanks gods that it worked. Nana would have been very proud of her. She was very proud of her. The man was alive! She smiled and fell asleep...

...Her eyes, fresh from the nap, were focused on him. He was sitting in front of the empty hearth, his long legs stretched, a goblet in his hands, embraced by his graceful long fingers. She could not take her eyes off of him. It was not that he was handsome, or amazingly built. Although he could have been…or not… It was not that he was madly in love with her. Although he could have been...or not... It was not that he promised her the moon and the stars. Although he could have...or not... No, it was something completely different that made her gaze lock on him. It was unfamiliar and yet so...powerful, that she could not help herself but keep looking at him.

He was not paying attention to her, engrossed in his own thoughts. The gaze of his bottomless black eyes was slowly moving around the room, never quite reaching her. After a while, he turned his attention to his drink that slightly gleamed in the dim light of a single candle, as he swirled the oily liquid in his goblet. He quickly gulped the drink down, and right away the goblet was refilled magically. Then, his eyelashes flickered and covered the onyx depths of his eyes in their shadows. A small sigh barely moved the strand of black hair that fell over his face.

She was feeling a little embarrassed, gaping at him like she was, but again, she could not help herself. On the contrary, now she did not only want to look at him, she needed to touch him. She felt an urge to come close to him, to caress him. She did not fight the urge for too long. A couple of light quick steps, and she was next to the armchair where he sat. She perched on the arm of the armchair. Then she slid down just so that she could rest her head on his chest. His heart was beating hard and fast. She smiled...

...He was pacing the dark corridor for a good half an hour already. She watched him with growing concern. She wanted to say something reassuring to him, something that would pull him out of his deep thoughts for she felt that those thoughts were not happy ones. She restrained herself though, unwilling to intrude, scared to come across as overbearing and irritating. He needed his space, and she would give it to him. That was what she kept telling herself. Still, she was sad seeing him like that...

...He left the dark corridor for a slightly lighter hallway. He walked quickly, and she could barely keep up with him. The unfamiliar paintings on the walls were flowing by, hardly visible in the light of the torches that were placed too far apart. She thought of asking him to slow down, to wait for her, but decided that it was probably something important that required him to stride so fast. In the middle of the hallway, he took a sharp turn to a half-hidden corridor. She was not prepared for this sudden change of direction, and tripped over the hem of her own robes following him. She landed on her knees, mostly unharmed save for the all too familiar pain in her ankle, now the twisted ankle. He stopped, looked at her, and without a sound picked her up, and continued walking, carrying her in his arms...

...For a while they walked around a huge castle. She thought that it definitely looked like Hogwarts, but when they went out, instead of open space, the lake, and the forest, she saw a small, immaculately kept English garden. The day was beautiful, sunny and warm. The garden was quiet, save for the birds, and the rustling sound of small gravel under their feet. He took her small hand in his, and they went down one of the narrow footpaths. Although he seemed to be oblivious to the unpretentious charm of his surroundings, his walk was slower, his face was calmer, and he did not look as worried as he did back in the castle. Taking a cue from him, she also started to breath easier.

It did not take them long to go through the whole garden. She was expecting that they would wind up on one of the appealing benches they passed, or in the gazebo, which was half covered in a bright green vine and stood next to a little pond. But he kept on walking, and she did not want to break their comfortable silence with unimportant questions. He fancied some walking, then walk they would.

After leaving the garden they continued their stroll along an abandoned road that led them through the wild countryside. As they went, he was not looking at her, but she knew he wanted her there, by his side, and that was all she, in truth, needed to know...

...They were standing on the edge of a ridge that was abruptly cut, hanging high over the thin line of the shore. Tall waves were smashing on the beach, and further, as far as the eyes could see, there was a boundless width of water that served as a floor to the magnificent dance of the white, foamy waves. They stood here, on the rim, for a while, looking at the ever-changing beauty of the sea. Ten he beckoned her to a barely visible, narrow path that led down to the beach.

It was an extremely steep path, and one of her boots kept slipping. But every time she was about to lose her balance, a strong hand, his hand, would be right there, steadying her, keeping her from falling. She did not mind the path at all, as long as his hand was near by.

By the time they walked all the way down, she noticed that the skies had gotten darker. The wind was gusting stronger by the minute, and the light, fluffy clouds were quickly blown away, and were replaced by heavy, dark thunderclouds. The combers were getting higher, pounding the beach with more and more deafening force. The white tips of the rising waves were clashing with one another, sending explosions of water up into the air.

They were all alone here – not a bird, or an animal, or a man in sight. Hand in hand, they walked down the narrow strip of beach, their cloaks flapping around them, their hair swept from their faces by the wind, their boots sinking into the wet gravel. The black thunderclouds seemed to be closing in on the dark water and the shore. The storm was imminent. She could almost feel how the first drops of rains were separating themselves from the clouds, and the first thunderbolt was being charged. Under other circumstances, she would start searching for shelter. She was not afraid to get drenched but the whole idea of being out here, in what looked like going to be a major storm, was unsettling.

Suddenly, he stopped and turned to face the roaring sea. She smiled to herself -- he indeed looked like a hero from some ridiculous romantic novel. His face, thin and pale, with its noble nose, high cheekbones, and a proud chin, bore an expression of a complete and total disregard for the forces of nature. The glare of his absolutely black, bottomless eyes was fearless, and seemed to welcome the looming storm as if it was his trusted companion, the only one who understood the absolute power of passion. The billowing black cloak and disheveled long hair completed the picture.

And then he smiled. His smile lit up his face, and it did not look like it came from a cover of romantic novel anymore. It looked better.

With the first drop of rain he swept her into a small cave, pulled her to his chest, and they kissed. As the bolt of lightening ripped apart black clouds outside the cave, the kiss sent a bolt of electricity through their bodies, which were clinging to each other under his cloak...

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If before the conversation with Dumbledore, Snape had a hard time keeping his mind off of Ms. Ardant, it was impossible afterwards. Whatever the reason was – a regret, a gratitude, a worry – he could not make himself not think about the witch. He knew it was a bad idea, no matter how he looked at it. Yet, none of his usual means of blocking the unwanted thoughts worked. Snape was scared to even suggest it to himself that maybe, just maybe, somewhere, deep inside, he wanted to think about the young witch.

Damn witch! Used to calculating his every move, Snape was at a loss when dealing with an irrational desire to go to the hospital wing. It was more like a need, actually, as if an unseen force was pushing him toward the infirmary. Despite an enormous amount of inward scolding, to his great displeasure Snape kept wandering to the part of the castle where the hospital wing was located. At the end of the day he was practically proud that he managed to go in there only three times. The first two visits were limited to brief exchanges with Madam Pomfrey. He was informed that the girl was still asleep, and should be fine when woken up; that Mr. Tresini -- “what a nice guy” -- was keeping his watch, barely taking breaks to eat, but she insisted on him going to the dining room for a proper dinner; that her vacation was wonderful, and she hoped to resume it as soon as the girl was out of the infirmary.

Snape carefully timed his last visit to coincide with dinnertime. After he made sure that all current inhabitants of the castle, except Madam Pomfrey and the girl, were in the dining room, Snape went directly to the hospital wing.

The mediwitch was sitting behind her desk, her back to the door, busy with a large plate of food. Snape could not linger for more than a couple of seconds, but he managed to get a glimpse of the girl, still motionless in the bed. She was covered with a blanket now, probably changed into a hospital gown. Snape was holding his breath, gazing at her. The young witch’s face looked almost serene. Suddenly, he realized that she was, in fact, beautiful. Last night he was wrong to think that she was not. But last night he did not know what she did for him. And last night she did not smile at him the way she did this morning. Very carefully, not to disturb the mediwitch, Snape backed from the room, turned around, and went straight to the dungeons.

He looked at the food that was delivered to him since he did not bother to eat at the dining room that day. He was not hungry at all. He was tired. His restless all-day wandering around the castle coupled with the sleepless night, was taking its toll. And there was still this witch to stop thinking about. A witch that, thanks to him, was lying in a hospital bed... A beautiful young witch that smelled of vanilla and peach...

“Alright, Severus, enough is enough. A beautiful girl, engaged to be married, half your age... You are even a bigger fool than people believe you are. You do not deserve even to think about her. A greasy foul-tempered git with a dark past, a questionable present and an absent future, you cannot come close to her. Besides, your acquaintance can be dangerous to a person, and you are not going to put this witch in danger. She has suffered enough because of you already. Stay the hell away from the girl. AND STOP THINKING ABOUT HER!!!”

It took a couple of minutes to steady his breathing.

For the next half hour he stared at a tiny crack in the wall. He was so tired. That witch... It was unsettling, uncomfortable, not to mention totally useless to think about her. Snape almost wished the witch did not find him last night. But then he almost wished... No, no... No! Snape whipped the cold sweat that lacquered his forehead with the back of his palm and cradled his face with long fingers. No.

He needed a nice helping of scotch. Better yet a healthy doze of the Dreamless Sleep Potion. He scowled at the wall, but didn’t move.

“One or the other, Severus, and call it a day,” Snape told himself sternly to no avail. He was still sitting in his armchair, cradling his head in his hands. Still he was thinking about the girl, imagining the aroma of vanilla and peach. As if she was right there, in this room...

“Now what do you want?” he thought irritably, looking at his suddenly painfully tight around the crotch pants. “Go away. It is not your time. It is never going to be your time.”

Snape closed his eyes and sighed, willing this untimely problem to disappear. He was considering taking care of it magically, when he felt that he was being touched at the very spot he was pondering about.

Snape’s eyes flew open. Kneeling right in front of him, actually, between his legs, was no other than the witch. She was looking at him, her unbearably blue eyes warm and mischievous. Her hands were on his inner thighs, closer to the crotch than anyone’s gotten in a very long time. She gave him an incredibly warm smile, and for a moment Snape forgot to breathe.

He shook the daze of. “What are you doing here? When did you wake up?” He made an attempt to get up, but his muscles refused to follow his request.

“Shh,” uttered the witch. “You do not have to shout. Relax. I will help you.”

Her hands moved to the numerous buttons on the fly of his pants.

“No! No, no.” Horror-stricken, Snape grabbed the witch’s shoulders. “You must not... You can not... You have to leave...”

“Shh,” she was calming him. Then she gently ran her palm over the bulging, and Snape shuddered at the touch. She smiled again, repeating, “I will help you. It’s okay.”

She had a beautiful voice. Snape felt that it was next to impossible to resist her. Still he was fighting.

“You cannot!” He shouted, pushing her away. “I forbid you!”

“You cannot forbid me.” The witch was back at her spot, shaking her head as if he was a little child throwing a tantrum. “You know, I want it very much.”

“You can’t! Leave. Now,” Snape was hissing, trying scowl, but his reserve was melting under the gaze of her stunning blue eyes. As her hands worked, one busy with the buttons, another caressing him, his nerves were vibrating in anticipation, building up his desire. Snape’s heart was pounding hard in his chest; the blood was rushing to the part that the witch was so occupied with. She was not giving in. She really wanted it. He whispered, “Please...don’t...”

“Do not worry, I am your chance,” the witch spoke softly, caressing him even with her voice. And Snape exploded...

When he regained the ability to comprehend, reality slowly came in to focus. He was still sitting in his rooms. Alone. His right hand was grabbing the lump in his pants under half undone fly. The mess under his fingers was sticky and warm, spreading a dark stain.

Welcome back, Severus. Enjoyed the excursion? This was pathetic. This was stupid. This was completely humiliating.

He laughed. At first it was a couple of coarse chuckles, which grew into loud bursts of laughter. The laughter was replaced by something that sounded a lot like howling. The howling of a wounded animal.

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She wanted to do it for him. He did not have to ask. He did not have to reciprocate. All he had to do was to relax and enjoy it. He could not. She practically begged him to allow her to do it before he finally gave in. He put up quite a fight at first, but at the end he had to admit that despite his weariness and anxiety, he needed that. He needed her...

...She could not find him. At first she wondered if he was simply busy and he would be back with her again as soon as his work was done. But the time passed, and he was not there. Then she thought that maybe he was waiting for her somewhere, and she just forgot about the appointment.

At last, the time came when she had enough of sitting around and waiting. He could be in danger, he could be in trouble. She simply had to go and find him.

She started her search with the University’s campus. Unfortunately, she could not find anybody she knew there, and felt uncomfortable stopping strangers to ask about a tall guy with a distinguished face and black hair.

Her second stop was the Hogwarts express. It was completely empty. She went from compartment to compartment, but did not see anybody. Finally, she sat down, fiercely wishing for the train to move faster so she could continue her search in Hogsmeade and Hogwarts. The lady that was pushing a food cart approached her compartment with a miserable expression on her face -- with no buyers around, it was not a happy trip for her either. Being the only passenger, she knew she had to buy something to change the lady’s mood so that she would be willing to answer a couple of questions. Alas, she had no money, so the cart with the lady in tow passed her compartment by, and she did not ask about him.

Then, she was on the main street of Hogsmeade. It was late, the street was empty, and all of the shops were closed. She hovered for a moment at the entrance to “The Three Broomsticks” that, judging by the sounds coming from it, was full, but did not go in. She knew he was not the type to enjoy a crowded place. If she could locate some unassuming, half-empty pub that only patrons knew about, she might have a chance of finding him there. But how the hell she was supposed to find a pub like that, if she was not familiar with the village at all? She was getting very nervous. There was just one last place to look for him -- Hogwarts.

Being back in the castle did not calm her down. On the contrary, she was feeling more and more anxious. Where could he be? Why had not he contacted her yet? Was he all right? The questions seemed to multiply by the minute with no answers in sight. Moreover, she realized, she was not exactly sure where his quarters were, except that he lived somewhere in the dungeons. She spent a couple of hours wandering in poorly lit unfamiliar hallways and corridors with no success. Finally, she decided that she had to find someone who could tell her exactly where his rooms were, and, abandoning the gloomy deserted dungeons, she went upstairs.

Being back in daylight did not give her much relief, though. She was running through the main floor hallways, looking for anybody to ask about him, but it seemed she was all alone here too. She remembered that there should be classrooms and offices. She saw them that night. But the walls were covered by strange paintings that did not move, and she did not see any doors at all.

She was beginning to feel desperate. May be the next floor. But it was empty as well, and there were no doors there either. And on the next floor. And on the next floor.

Finally, she found a door. Not completely believing her luck, she stood in front of it for a moment, as if getting ready to face her destiny. And while she was standing there, she suddenly felt light butterflies deep in her stomach. He was here. Oh, she just knew it. She could sense him. Still, she walked in gingerly, prepared to be disappointed.

It was a long bright room lined up with made-up identical beds, partially covered by half-drawn curtains. The smell of medicinal potions and strong cleaning solutions wafted at her. It was an infirmary. Now she was petrified. Was he sick? Was he injured? She ran through the whole room, calming down only when she made sure he was not on any of the beds or behind any of the curtains. But then where was he? Where? She could not sense him any more.

She collapsed on one of the beds, crying the way she had not cried for a very long time. May be she had never cried like that at all. Probably, she would never cry like that again. Out loud, sobbing and swearing, burying her face into an immaculately white pillowcase and drenching it in her tears. Oh, Merlin... Oh, Merlin... Oh, fucking Merlin...

And then she woke up.

She was still lying in bed. She was very tired, but she had to get up. She had to go and keep looking for him.

Gerry sat abruptly in her bed, and right away the room spun around her. When everything slowly returned to their places, she dragged her legs from under the covers and touched the floor with her feet. Grateful that the room was not moving, she tried to stand up. The muscles were not overly responsive, but she managed to get on her feet holding the back of the chair that stood next to her bed.

A moment later, she knew it was a mistake, when her legs gave in, and she started falling on the floor, missing the bed by centimeters. But before her body hit the cold tiles under her feet, a pair of strong hands caught her.
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A/N A huge thanks to my beta Odddoll