One wish alone have I

Chapter 4
You cannot serve two masters at once

“I have asked you to come here because I trust and respect your judgment,” said Lady Marilena, as we were sitting in two leather armchairs by the fireplace.

“I will do my best to oblige your needs, my Lady.”

“I saw you during the meeting this evening, and you seemed to perceive things that the others did not see or feel. Were they about Professor Snape?”

“They were, for the most part.”

“Visions or Legilimency?”

“Both, in fact. But the visions were not related to him only.”

“Were they pertinent to our interests?”

“Yes, my Lady. When Professor Snape told you that the… the wizard suffering from lycanthropy was under control, I think he lied, at least in part.”

“He did? In what part?” she asked, frowning.

“As he reassured you about his harmless nature, he thought about several occasions in which the wizard in question had transformed when there were humans around. I saw too few flashes to tell if these events are recent or not, but I can definitely tell you that Professor Snape made special efforts to conceal these thoughts, even to suppress them.”

“Basically, you are telling me that the werewolf might not have been properly domesticated,” she said, taking an obvious pleasure in choosing words that would shock me.

A muscle twitched slightly in my jaw, but I had expected her degrading comment and I successfully hid my reaction. It was with a rather indifferent voice that I replied, “It might be a possibility, but I cannot be a hundred percent sure, from the little I saw.”

She crossed her legs and tilted her head to one side, her temple leaning against her right index finger, in a very pensive manner. Her eyes were fixed on the fireplace and her lips were tightly closed, but one of their corners was curled up, revealing one of her white and sharp canines. She was very annoyed.

“Ah well,” she said, her head turning back to me as her arm fell lazily on her lap, “I am ready to assume that this was only a white lie, if indeed it was a lie. I can always obtain his guarantee that the werewolf will take the Wolfsbane potion regularly. That would spare us the displeasure of his transformations at the very least, let alone the drudgery of… taming it by force,” she continued, stretching her lips in an ironic smile that unveiled her other canine.

“I guess so,” I simply replied.

She riveted her mauve glance right into my eyes and looked at me for several minutes, the same ironic smile adorning her lips. Instinctively, I raised my protective mental barriers very discreetly, like any capable Occlumens would do. Marilena had been a Muggle in her previous life, which slightly reduced her potential as a Legilimens. Nevertheless, her respectable age and powerful lineage did give her other resources, like a tremendous hypnotic capability. Professor Snape would have a hard time resisting her should she decide to turn these powers against him.

We continued this mental duel for a while, until she finally decided to tell me what was on her mind.

“Antanasia… I have been magnanimous with you, in the past. I doubt many clan leaders would have taken you back after what you did.”

“I am very aware of that, Lady Marilena.”

“Or given back all your previous privileges.”

“And you have all my gratitude for these, your Ladyship.”

“No doubt I do, but along with that gratitude, I count on your obedience to the clan’s rules.”

“Have I ever done anything to disobey those rules, your Ladyship?”

“Not since you came back. But that does not mean I have released my vigilance on you. I have long abandoned the hope of bringing you back into more… reasonable feelings concerning werewolves. However, if I do not have power over your emotions, Antanasia, I do have power over your behaviour. Should you decide to go against the rules again, I would take the proper actions, no matter how Ivantie would plead for you. You would be judged and sentenced to death, by the ancient laws I had re-established when I took power. Have I made myself clear?”

“Perfectly clear, my Lady,” I said, in a deep and cold voice that reminded me very much of a black-haired wizard.

“Now, before our conversation drifted to more dreadful topics, I believe we were talking about our guest,” she said, matter-of-factly. “You did talk about your visions, but you did not talk about your other impressions.”

“Even before his arrival, Professor Snape demonstrated highly developed skills at both Legilimency and Occlumency,” I stated, trying to chase Marilena’s words away from my mind, where they had invaded my soul like damp fog infiltrates your cloak on a cold morning.

“How so?”

“He communicated with me several times, very clearly and succinctly, even with whole sentences.”

“Oh really?” she said, rising her eyebrows in astonishment. “And what did you two babble about without the knowledge of everyone?”

“Not much, not much. He mostly did this during the meeting. He simply told me that he knew of my apprehension about the Dark Lord’s recent rise to power. He also made the request to talk to me personally. Other than that, he—”

“Wait, wait, wait! He did what?”

“He asked to meet me in private,” I repeated, trying to make it sound like an insignificant detail.

“What, he did not think meeting me would be sufficient?” she said, looking obviously insulted.

“I do not know why he wanted to meet me personally, Lady Marilena,” I said, in a soothing voice.

“Oh come on, Antanasia!” she exclaimed, rising from her seat and pacing the room. “Floarea found him in your lab barely half an hour ago! You really thought I would not know by now?”

“My Lady,” I explained, in the same soothing tone, “I never said that I have not seen him. I said that I still am ignorant of the reason of his visit, that’s all.”

“How long was he in your lab?” she asked, with an irritably childish voice.

“About two hours.”

“Without telling you what the heck he was doing there?”

“That’s right.”

“And you let him in, just like that?” she questioned, her eyes glimmering with dangerous sparkles.

“I did. As far as I know, he did not seem to come here with unfriendly intentions,” I explained, trying to keep my tone as even as possible, though I felt the need to justify myself. “I did mean to question him, because I was curious about his motives, just like your Ladyship is. But the conversation somewhat drifted to my work and a particularly difficult potion I am working on at the moment. He offered his help very generously and we got really absorbed into the task… until Floarea came knocking at the door.”

Marilena kept pacing the room, her face set. After a while, my words seemed to make their way through her volatile emotions and reached her reason. She stopped next to the window and leaned her back against the wall. She gave out a long, painful sigh and lifted her chin, closing her eyes and displaying the superbly long lines of her throat. The first gleams of dawn started to peer between the curtains, surrounding her body with spokes of vaporous light. She spoke in a much more composed tone, though still emotional.

“Tell me… how was he, during your time together? Did he look like he was having a good time?”

“I would not say so, my Lady. At times, he seemed scrupulous, to the point of being impolite. He even seemed bored in other moments. Most of the time, he was calm and detached. I did not really try to penetrate his mind during his visit, because I was not sure whether he would feel my intrusion or not, and I did not want to offend him. So I do not know if that calmness was hiding something else.”

“I see…” she said, seemingly relieved by my answer. “He was like that with us as well, with the difference that he remained rigorously polite the whole time. Mara, Valeriu and I did our best to entertain him during his tour of the castle, but all we could obtain from him were polite compliments and constipated smiles. Even when we were finally in private, right here, he did not seem to react much to anything. He listened to Catalina’s performance very attentively, as far as I can tell by his reserved applause, but nothing else happened. He took leave shortly after she was done. In a word, as soon as social conventions allowed him to.”

“My Lady, if you would allow me to speak freely…”

“Please do. I already told you that your judgment is appreciated.”

“I think we should be patient with the wizard. He took leave in a very abrupt manner with me as well, after a visit that had been punctuated with uncomfortably tense moments. He does not look like the type of man who will bow to somebody else’s requests, unless he has very good reasons to do so. He told me of your offer of a longer stay and he seemed disposed to accept. It suggests that your company is not unpleasant to him, do you think not?”

“I guess so,” she said, moodily.

“Something tells me that the wizard does not react very cooperatively to pressure. But he has shown a remarkable intellect, at least when it comes to his work. Maybe you should keep entertaining him like you have done so far. With time, you might be able to obtain… warmer reactions from him. Meanwhile, you should keep in mind that his initial reactions, or lack of them, say nothing about you in particular. You have proved to be a most attentive hostess from what I have witnessed.”

“I will keep that in mind,” she said, with a comical pout.

She stretched and yawned, while coming back to her armchair, in which she graciously fell.

“I think that will be all for tonight, Antanasia. It has been a long night for both of us. I will see you in the ballroom tomorrow evening, as usual.”

I obediently bowed and left her apartments. As I slowly went down the stairs leading to the second floor, I crossed Niculaie, who was going upstairs. His flexible body, along with his ochre eyes made him look more like a cheetah than ever as he quickly but agilely moved aside to let me pass. He did not speak, nor did his thin lips greet me with a smile. He did not need to: I knew what he was up to. A faint smile still curled the corner of my lips as I opened my resting room door.

~*~

That day, my sleep was not very refreshing. I kept changing position in my coffin; nothing was comfortable enough. Either the coffin seemed too large or its lid was too low. At times, I felt too hot and half-opened the lid; minutes later I felt too cold. When I finally drifted into a deeper sleep, strange dreams invaded my mind. One of them was similar to the memories I had summoned in the garden. The same faceless man, with Arnaud’s body, passionately made love to me, massaging my breasts, kissing my throat (I know this is illogical, but so was the dream!) while he thrust deeply inside of me, making me beg for more, to the point that I eventually woke myself with my own moans, without ever reaching the blissful relief of an orgasm. Sometimes, I experienced a very familiar nightmare, in which I fell from the top of Zaharia’s cliff, but could not transfigure into any form of bird, so I kept falling and woke up, covered with cold sweat. At the end of the day, I kept seeing Ivantie’s face in my dreams, laughing unceasingly at some silly thing and refusing to stop despite my angry requests.

Around 4:30pm, I had fully woken up. I took a long bath and read for a while. As the deliciously fresh water rocked and relaxed me, I tried to empty my mind from the images that the days’ dreams had left. I simply put on aquamarine low cut trousers and a matching top. I had bought them during one of my trips to India a very long time ago. The trousers were made of many superimposed silk veils that waved gracefully around my legs when I walked. The top was also made of silk veils that wrapped around my back, covered my breasts, crossed on my chest and tied behind my neck. I was about to curl up in my Recamier with my book when I suddenly realized that the potion I had started the night before with Professor Snape was about to need my attention. It had been simmering for almost twelve hours and I had to begin the second stage of its preparation.

It was far too early to have the misfortune of meeting anybody in the corridors, so I simply took my robe, which I had negligently thrown on a sofa by the fireplace, put on some Indian slippers and left for my lab. I ran along the corridors, carefully wrapped in my robe, in order to minimize my exposure to the sunlight.

I inspected the various cauldrons on the table. The Counter-Photodermatitis potion was not ready yet for the second stage of preparation. Snape’s revolving fires had indeed produced a uniform source of heat, but it was also much more gentle. The potion looked like it needed some additional simmering before it reached the appropriate texture and colour; probably one more hour, I estimated. On the other hand, Iulian’s Hellebore potion was ready. I poured some in a small bottle and stored the rest in one of my cupboards. Having an hour or so of free time, I curled up in an old armchair in a corner of the room, not too far from the table. Wrapped in my robe –one can never be too careful- I read my book for a while, but soon gave in to the temptation to take a little nap. I counted on my naturally light sleep and strange dreams to wake me up before the potion needed my attentions.

Contrary to what I expected, I do not remember having dreamed much during that little nap. Instead of waking up because of Ivantie’s unnerving laughter, I was extirpated from my sleep by an unctuously rich voice, murmuring next to my ear, “Well, well, well… I am no longer surprised, my dear colleague, that your potions keep burning when I see the kind of assiduity you put in you work!”

I opened my eyes and raised a bit in the armchair. Professor Snape was standing three or four feet away from me, leaning against the table. His face wore an expression of profound disappointment.

“And you dare come to me and ask my professional advice to solve the problem! From what I see, the problem lies more in the Potions Mistress than in the potions she makes… what a pity.”

Still a bit confused from my recent awakening, I could not decide if he was teasing me or if he was really serious. Given his past behaviour, both possibilities looked perfectly plausible, to me. As I struggled to conveniently sit in the armchair, I saw that my robe had slid down during my nap, exposing half of my upper body. The veils of my trousers had loosely opened too, revealing my left leg from my foot to the top of my thigh. I felt a sudden wave of heat spreading on my cheeks as I quickly raised to my feet, readjusting the robe over my shoulders.

“Do not worry, the sun is quite low by now. You do not need to cover yourself anymore with that robe. Unless you want to borrow my handkerchief again?”

“Maybe he was only teasing me, after all,” I thought.

“What time is it?”

“A quarter past six,” he said, making me startle and widen my eyes in disbelief. “I thought you would be either still asleep or unable to work in the lab by the time the potion would be ready for the second stage of preparation. So I thought I would come here and take a look.”

“I might be a careless Potions Mistress, Professor Snape, but I do lock the door each time I leave, you know.”

“I doubted the charm would be very difficult to break. A lab in such an isolated castle was bound not to be too well-guarded,” he said, haughtily.

I started to think that the tease might not have been the best option after all, but he said, in a more sociable tone, “You were already asleep when I came in. You did seem to make an attempt to wake up in time for the potion, but you were confused and your speech was somewhat incoherent. I figured that you were talking in your sleep.”

“Really? What did I say?” I asked, feeling a bit nervous about what he might have heard, given the content of my most recent dreams.

“From what I heard, you called me Arnaud, but I did not understand what you asked me; your pronunciation was not clear enough. I simply told you to go back to sleep and you did. I figured that you were tired, so I took care of the potion and let you rest.”

“In that case, I guess I should thank you. Both for letting me take a nap I much needed and for taking care of the potion while I did,” I answered, smiling, trying to hide the sinking sensation I had felt when I had heard Arnaud’s name in his mouth.

“Do you want to come and take a look?” he suggested, taking a step back to let me walk to the cauldron.

I checked the potion; it was just the way it had to look and smell. Apparently, Professor Snape had followed the instructions by the book that time. I reviewed them with him to double check that everything was ok and we both sat on stools, next to the table. Despite the brutal and somewhat bizarre way in which he had awakened me, I felt more and more at ease around him. Fascinated might be a more appropriate term, because I always felt the need to be on guard whenever he opened his mouth. Yet as we spoke, he demonstrated quite an impressive culture, for a human of his age. Looking at my book, he asked, “What are you reading?”

“Poetry, by Mihai Eminescu. He is one of the most famous Romanian poets from the 19th century… and my favourite. I even had the honour of meeting him in person on two occasions. He was a Muggle writer, but at times I could swear that he was of our kind or at least knew of its existence and essence.”

“It would be lovely to hear some of his work, don’t you think?”

“What, you want me to read some to you?” I asked, incredulously.

“Why not?”

“Ah, but it has been a couple of centuries since last time I have read poetry in front of a teacher! I might have lost the habit…” I said, a pink flush spreading on my cheeks.

He took the book from my hands and glanced through it minutely. He finally made his choice and handed me back the book.

“I am sure your skills will come back fast enough.”

“You promise you will not laugh?” I asked, uncomfortably.

“Only if it is funny,” he answered, indifferently.

“I guess I will have to make do with that.”

I cleared my throat. Professor Snape had chosen a well-known poem that I often remembered, during my lonely walks. I had read it so often that I knew it by heart. Still, a bit to feel more secure and a bit to avoid his piercing glance, I kept my eyes down on the page as I read.

“Years have trailed past like clouds over a country,
And they’ll never return, for they’re gone forever,
And I no longer enjoy such light endeavour
As the magic of folk songs or the land of fairy

Which as a child filled me with wonder,
Not quite understood yet meaning so much to me,
And now these shadows try to recapture me
In this hour of mystery, this twilight hour.

These trembling fingers touch the strings in vain
To find the right notes from the fading memory
Of youth, so that my soul can vibrate again.

Everything’s disappeared from the horizon of that distant plain
And you can no longer hear the voice of past harmony.
Behind me time gathers… and I darken!”

Professor Snape listened to me very attentively. His eyes remained set on my lips as he did.

“The words are splendid, but you do not do them justice,” he commented, in a critical tone.

“Really! How so?” I questioned, taken aback but curious about what he had to say.

“Your rhythm is acceptable, but rather flat. You read the words as if they were empty of any emotion. This is unacceptable and I am afraid that you will have to read the poem to me again.”

“Says who?” I asked, with a teasing smile at the corner of my lips.

“Says Severus Snape, Hogwarts Professor.”

“Oh, forgive me, but I was under the impression that Professor Snape was teaching Potions. Has he switched to literature lately?”

“Only when teaching out of the country,” he said, bluntly.

I was a bit short of words. He had argued with the same even tone, the same even expression. I knew from the absence of light in his dark eyes that he was being deadly serious about both his criticism and his request. Normally, I would have shut up such an arrogant and demanding man, who pretentiously thought he could tell me what to do so shortly after our first encounter. But a part of me, mostly my proud side, was shocked enough to take the challenge and obtain his satisfaction. That part also decided to keep some dignity in the attempt and bring some humour in the situation. He had gained my respect quite a lot since his arrival and I hoped he would give me some in return.

“All right, then!” I exclaimed, smiling and moving gracefully off my stool to stand in front of him. “I guess my oral presentation will be best given if I stand.”

“Please proceed,” he commanded, visibly satisfied that I obeyed his demand.

I started reading the poem again, but I exaggerated the interpretation a little too much, still being in a joking mode. He interrupted me in the middle of a stanza.

“No, no, no! This is even worse than the first time!” he said, displeasingly. “You sound like the eagle I heard on my way here!”

“Look, Professor, I do not find this funny anymore. Why don’t you—?”

“Antanasia,” he said, in a much smoother tone, “you told me Eminescu is your favourite poet.”

“He is!” I said, looking up in exasperation, one hand falling down my side with the book and the other leaning on my hip.

“Don’t you think you would enjoy his poems even more if you took the extra care to read them properly?” he asked in the same tone, as if I had not reacted at all.

“I usually do not read aloud when I am alone… that would be a little strange,” I said irritably, but much keener to re-establish the conversation.

“Not at all, on the contrary. Poets have most unfortunately lost the habit of doing public recitals during the last decades—”

“And now he’s talking like a kindred, in addition!” I thought.

“—why do you think they did it so often before?”

“Because the way their poems sound is also a form of art itself.”

“Exactly. Now, is it that surprising, or strange, that I should ask you to read a poem aloud, and expect to hear it properly recited?”

“I guess not,” I answered.

I was beginning to see his point, and he had one. I was very, very fond of public recitals when I was a mortal, for that precise reason. In addition, our clan had developed its own personalized version of such recitals, which fully supported Snape’s opinion. Unfortunately, as I came to that conclusion, I felt guilty that I had not given Eminescu—or Snape—justice by my effortless readings.

“Should we try again, then?” I asked, in an uncertain tone.

“Certainly,” he said, quietly. “But let me demonstrate a few things before you do.”

He got up and led me to one of the windows. The sun was going down and the oak alley looked splendid in the sunset. Likewise, the great falls caught the sunlight and sparkled with shades of pink and orange. Professor Snape stood once again behind me and put both his hands on my bare shoulders, pushing me gently to stand straight.

“There,” he said, firmly but calmly. “If you start with the right posture, the air will travel more easily from your lungs to your throat.”

His hands slid lightly down my arms to my elbows, which he spread gently apart from my body. His fingers barely touched me, but I could feel their freshness against my skin.

“Now, breathing. Your rhythm is passable, as I said earlier. Nevertheless, if you do not breathe properly, you will quickly find yourself out of breath while wasting your efforts to keep your voice clear and sonorous.”

“Professor Snape,” I said, with a touch of impatience in my voice, “I am not totally ignorant of the basics of oral performance.”

“Really? Show me, then. So far, what I have heard and seen suggests quite the opposite,” he retorted coldly.

At that precise moment, I was really tempted to ask him to leave. I was getting sick of his little game, which was getting nowhere. But something made me let him stay there. Something between the stubbornness of striving to have the last word and the certain pleasure of feeling him close to me, as I looked at the beauty of a place I cherished. I swallowed my pride and took a deep breath. It got stuck right in my throat as I suddenly felt his right hand pressed flat against my stomach.

“Send your breath down here, it will help you have a fuller voice,” he murmured in my ear.

“Well, surely you have mastered the technique…” I half-whispered, half-chuckled in my nervousness.

He snorted. I was as tense as a violin string, all tuned and ready to sing. His hand was still against my skin, and I could fully appreciate its feel each time I breathed. I discerned that, despite the freshness of his fingers, the palm of his hand was feverishly warm. Full of contradictions, just like the man. I did not dare to turn my head and look back, as I was a bit too confused to locate his exact position behind me. So looking right in front of me, I asked quietly, “Shall I proceed, Professor?”

“Go ahead.”

I read the first stanza, looking at the oak alley below, tasting the words as they were born in my mouth and caressing my lips on their way out. I let their melodious sounds charm my ears, thinking of nothing else but the special place they took in my heart. As I finished the first stanza, I felt the fingers of Professor Snape’s left hand land gracefully on the upper part of my throat, at the precise point where it joins the under part of my lower jaw. He slightly raised my chin, murmuring, “Yes, yes, that is more like it. You know the poem by heart, Antanasia; I saw that your eyes were barely moving as you read last time. Keep going but look up, that will make it sound even better.”

The wonderfully low and smooth sound of his voice strangely soothed my nervousness and I completely abandoned myself to his guidance. The hand that was holding the book fell negligently down my side, slapping the book gently against both our legs before it escaped from my loose grip and landed on the floor. I kept reciting, slowing my pace so we would both enjoy the verses the way they deserved. After the second stanza, however, Professor Snape’s voice joined mine. A long shiver ran down my spine as I realized that he was not speaking out loud, but was instead echoing the words inside my mind. Once more, he had managed to find his way through, but I did not resist. I wish I could find the words to describe what an incredibly strange and unique sensation it was, as Eminescu’s melodious words vibrated both from inside and outside of me.

When the last words were pronounced, the night had completely fallen around the castle and Professor Snape’s cold fingers had finally warmed to the touch of my skin. Though my breathing was slow and deep, the rest of my body was in effervescence, waiting passively for his reaction, I am sorry to say. Just like the night before, he had stepped forward and given himself the right to do whatever he wanted without bothering to take the time to justify, or at least explain, his actions. And I had played along once more, as if it were the only logical thing to do! I felt trapped in his embrace as I understood this, but was not capable of leaving. My body just did not obey me anymore.

As I looked up, I saw him, reflected in the window in front of me. His face was next to mine, his cheek barely touching my right temple. His expression was totally relaxed and his eyes were closed. He was so still that I even wondered if he was breathing at that moment. The man I saw in the window that night was completely different, compared to the suspicious emissary I had seen at the meeting the night before.

He said nothing for a few minutes, then murmured in my ear, “Very good. That is the way poems should be enjoyed...”

“I agree,” I said, still moved by my experience.

“I think I shall ask for another recital soon,” he declared, removing his hands from me. “Just to make sure that your skills are maintained.”

“I wonder, Professor,” said I teasingly, “if you use the same… assiduous physical proximity with all of your students?”

I could almost hear my words travel from my lips to rebound on a barrier of ice that had suddenly arisen between us. The sound of it was horrible to hear.

“Obviously not,” he snapped dryly, stepping back and rising to his full height. “Though the lesson seemed to indicate it in your case, I did not think it would offend you. I was mistaken.”

“No, Professor, you are not. Do not worry about that! This is not what I meant,” I explained, holding out my hand to touch his arm.

He snorted, shrugged his shoulders and walked back to the table. I picked up the book that had fallen on the floor, cursing my lack of reserve. My clumsiness, on that occasion, had spoiled the moment quite inelegantly. What had been meant as a friendly joke had been received as a reproach and Professor Snape did not seem to react very well to criticism. I made many attempts to ease the atmosphere, but a certain distance remained between us and he left shortly after that, with the cold politeness that seemed to characterize him so well.

After his departure, I felt a bit shaken. I was shivering, being uncomfortably more conscious of how little skin my clothes were covering. It was just as if I had been wrapped in a soft, warm blanket only to be thrown outside on a freezing winter morning. My stomach felt weird, I was definitely nervous about some vague apprehension of the future. Had I lost a great opportunity?

“Sure… a great opportunity for what, Antanasia? What did you suddenly expect?”

As I write this, things seem clearer to me. I think I expected more than mere physical warmth. I knew that I was able to get it from others in the clan if I needed it too badly. What I wanted from Professor Snape was something like recognition. I had lowered myself in front of him in a humiliating way, by changing my attitude and forcing myself to be more pleasant with him in the first place. Then I displayed my ignorance when I had humbly asked for his advice about the Counter-Photodermatitis potion. Still, I had not been devoid of eloquence or intelligence during our conversations, but he did not seem to notice it, nor care. The only positive comments he made were moderate and generally led right to a new criticism, to one more thing that did not meet his standards. That kind of indifference towards my competence was what ruffled my feathers the most, now that I think about it.

That probably explained why I let him give me that strange “lesson”, but it did not make my attitude seem more acceptable to my own eyes. I lectured myself over and over while preparing the blood potion, slapping the doors of my cupboards as I did so. Swallowing my pride once again, I concentrated hard and successfully created a revolving fire under the cauldron. I left the lab with the firm intention of staying away, as feasibly as possible, from the wizard, telling myself that I would certainly manage to complete the Counter-Photodermatitis Potion by myself anyway, with all the information he had given me. After I closed the door, I took a certain pleasure –and used my best skills- to charm the door with very ancient spells, thinking of Professor Snape’s puzzled reaction should he uselessly attempt to break them.

I still had an hour or so of free time before the meal and I did not feel like spending it alone in my resting room, no matter how refreshingly calm it would be. I headed for the Hall, hoping that Ivantie might still be guarding the front door. As I passed in front of the great dragon, the orb filled once more with white mist. I took the opportunity to stop this time, for I was in need for spiritual relief.

I bowed respectfully in front of the dragon, trying to empty my mind and make it fully available to receive the orb’s impulses. Then I raised my arms straight above my head and pronounced the incantation:

“Amplissimi Draconis! Condocefacio Me!”

The great dragon first lowered on his hind legs and sat on the granite pedestal, wrapping his long scaly tail around his feet. Bending towards me, he slid his hands under the orb and moved it closer to me, offering it solemnly to my glance. I approached, looking into his white marble eyes behind which I knew I had summoned magical, ancient life and wisdom. I always felt surrounded by an aura of safety, in perfect communion with Zaharia’s memories and forces when I stood where Horatiu himself used to stand, centuries ago. The smoke started to whirl inside the orb as I wrapped my hands around the dragon’s bony front paws.

I waited for it to vanish and show me something, but the smoke’s density only increased and its glow became intensely dazzling. Blinking, I tried to find the signification of such an intense manifestation, when I saw a familiar image that grabbed my heart and squeezed it painfully tight. A lycanthropic was there, his or her head turned up. It appeared so clearly that I could almost hear its terribly moving cry. As if feeling my presence, he or she stopped howling and turned towards me. That glance… that wonderfully wild glance! It always knew the way to speak to my soul! It was a man, behind those dark green eyes. He wanted me to follow him, which I did.

We crossed countless fields and valleys; we jumped over countless mountains and seas. We arrived in the courtyard of a splendid property. The night had fallen there too, and a subtle fog clung to the cedar hedges around the garden, like a chain of enormous spider webs. In the background, I saw a majestic manor, definitely not of Muggle architecture. My conclusions were even more confirmed when I saw a large owl fly in an open window. The lycanthropic trotted around the manor to the backyard, as if he knew the place like the back of his hand. He reached a spot near a bush of white roses and started scraping and digging the soil with his front paws. He did not dig long, though, before finding a most peculiar object. Retrieving his head from the hole, he took out a white lily and dropped it in front of himself, as if he wanted to offer it to me.

Seconds later, a snake crept out of the bush and glided threateningly on the grass. It stopped over the white lily and curled itself in a defensive manner, its fangs bared and its thin tongue flickering in the air. The lycanthropic had vanished, but shortly after, a beautiful phoenix appeared in the sky. Its colourful feathers glimmered in the moonlight as it swooped down on the snake. The fight was intense and very fast; the two animals charged each other with such animosity that their image became a blur of colours. At times, the snake seemed to have the advantage over the phoenix, encircling its body around the bird and paralysing its wings, but the latter quickly reacted and, with a few vigorous strokes of his claws freed itself from the snake’s deadly grip.

I was not allowed to see the end of the fight. The two animals were still fiercely lashing out at each other when the backyard fog intensified and ended in a thick smoke everywhere inside the orb. Slowly, the dragon’s hands moved back on each side of the orb and its claws clutched it again, protectively. As he resumed his habitual standing position, I caught a last glimpse of life behind his white eyes. Still inhabited by the mystic link that had united me with him, I allowed myself to sit between his feet, under the orb that had been raised back into its defensive position. I leaned my forehead against one of his legs, feeling the marble getting colder and colder as I heard life fading away from the animal. It was a wonderful feeling, sitting so close to that powerful guardian. Of course, I could have felt threatened by such a massive presence above me. The great dragon was able to crush all of my bones with only one of his enormous feet. But, on the contrary, it was as if that old counsellor would always protect me from external threats, as if he guarded a part of my soul in addition to that of Zaharia.

I let my recent visions fully impregnate my mind, in order to deepen my understanding when I would later have more time for introspection. There were few symbols in the visions, but very powerful ones. The fight in itself had been quite impressive to watch, and its violence still haunted me. That is why I was greatly startled when I heard a cherished voice echoing in the hall.

“What did this old Ernie have to say, tonight?”

I opened my eyes, but saw nothing. The doors were closed. I leapt down the pedestal and walked around the great dragon. Ivantie was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, a cheerful smile on his lips. I walked to him and sat at his side.

“Very interesting things, actually. They might be of great importance in the events that are about to take place.”

I told him about my visions and he listened attentively, frowning slightly when I mentioned the lycanthropic and the fight.

“And what do you understand from all this?” he asked, when I finished.

“Not much… and many things at the same time.” I answered, uncertainly. “It can be understood at many levels. That man suffering from lycanthropy, he could be a vestige from the past… or simply my messenger. The white lily could be a symbol of purity… or death. And he offered it to me; that part really puzzles me. The manor did not seem familiar at all, so I cannot even tell in what country we were. And well… a snake and a phoenix fighting… it could mean there is a battle coming… or that a battle already took place. It is really striking how there were absolutely no temporal signs in these visions, nothing to guide me!”

“Do not worry,” he said, pushing me affectionately with his shoulder, “you always manage to find out with time.”

“By the way… how come you sat here, spying on me?”

“I was not spying on you, Antanasia!” he said, chuckling. “I looked everywhere after my guard shift, but I did not find you. I figured you might have paid that old Ernie a little visit and, as always, I was right.”

“Thanks for having waited for me, then.”

“Oh, it had its advantages! Magical powers make you particularly sexy you know…” he said mischievously, kissing my right shoulder lightly.

I laughed. Ivantie, though much older than I am and gifted with impressive powers as a cainite, does not use magic often. I guess this is why he enjoys watching me, who fully integrates it in my daily life, for little chores as much as for the bigger ones.

“Are you sure that the outfit had nothing to do with your enthusiasm?” I asked, teasingly.

“I assure you, Antanasia, the combination of both is particularly explosive,” he said, getting up and helping me do the same.

We both left the hall and headed upstairs. You can guess that Ivantie did not miss the chance to yell a joyful “Evening, Ernie!” before we did, though. He had already restrained himself from disrupting my visions with that greeting while entering the hall; asking him to refrain twice would have really been asking too much.

Ivantie and I parted on the second floor. As I headed for my lab, I felt as if my friend had lifted fifty pounds off my shoulders, with only the help of his warm presence and natural joyfulness. I quickly made sure that everything was under control in the lab and checked the dinner temperature. It was just perfect: a tiny bit warmer than normal body temperature. It gave Marilena the old familiar taste of the hunt. I transferred the dinner into an elegant china tureen and, with a snap of my fingers, made it Apparate on the service table in the dining room, along with its revolving fire, so it would stay warm.

Back in my resting room, I quickly put on the first black dress that I picked from my closet. Made of satin, it was strapless and tightly wrapped around my curves, down to a point just above my knees. The shiny fabric fell in an elegant cascade behind, from the small of my back to my ankles. This time, I made the effort to do my hair elegantly; their cascading moves, from the top of my head to the middle of my back, imitated the dress in a sophisticated uniformity. I completed my outfit with a single satin black ribbon, tied around my neck, and a pair of black rhinestone earrings. Before I left, I sprayed French eau de toilette on my neck and cleavage.

I went down the stairs pensively, still thinking about my visions, when something caught my attention. That smell… as soon as it reached me, I felt a nervous lump in my throat. Sandalwood… definitely sandalwood. Was he around? I froze on the spot, in the middle of the staircase, wanting to take a look around to find where he was. An instant later, I felt somebody bump lightly against my back.

“Oops! I am sorry!” I said, turning back to see who it was.

Severus Snape, as ever dressed in his black frock coat and trousers, was standing behind me, one step above. He said nothing, but tilted his head to the right and the corners of his lips raised in a slightly mocking smile. Once again, his gait had been totally silent; I had no idea that he had been following right behind me. Riveting his eyes into mine, he moved to my right side and continued downstairs. As he finally turned his head and walked away, I distinctly heard, “You will agree with me, Antanasia, that though your complaints about the physical proximity of my teaching might be, at times, well-deserved, there are times when you just seem to ask for it.”

I tried to argue and make my point to correct what was a very erroneous impression, but I found myself trying to pierce a stonewall once more. I did not insist.

Seconds later, another person’s body brushed against my elbow. It was Vlad. He politely smiled and offered me his arm to escort me downstairs. He was particularly elegant that night. His dark brown hair was tied in a queue with a black silk ribbon. His black frock coat accentuated the paleness of his face, yet the satin burgundy vest and white shirt that he wore underneath gave it a translucent appearance. The supernatural wisdom that emanated from Vlad in that instant gave me back the little steadiness I had lost. It was with one of my most charming smiles and an affectionate pat of my hand against his forearm that I accompanied him to the ballroom.

Fortunately, and I was grateful for that, Vlad stayed with me until Marilena’s arrival. We chatted about various things, such as Boris Eltsine’s re-election, or the recent Nobel Prize laureates. Cami, Catalina and Ivantie soon joined us. As Catalina talked about her previous cello performance, I made her swear that she would soon let me come to her practice room for an informal concert. I desperately needed some music to soothe my soul.

Our animated conversation successfully kept my thoughts away from Snape. Only once did I dare a circular glance in the room to see where he was. If I remember well, Mara and Valeriu had cornered him in the opposite side of the ballroom. He looked bored to tears. My smile broadened.

The meal did not really differ from the previous one. Like the evening before, I chose a seat next to Ivantie, as far as possible from the wizard. Through all the meal, I remained in a pleasant state of mind, despite a slight nervousness about a possible Legilimency attempt from him. I made a particular effort to raise a mental stone wall of my own. The only thing I gave him access to was the enjoyment I felt from my friends’ presence.

After the meal, Marilena took the floor. Her beauty was dazzling that evening: she wore a dark green dress with a very tight corset that splendidly underlined her full cleavage, gold earrings and necklace and even a golden barrette that held her hair in an elaborate chignon.

“Dear guest, dear friends… after much deliberation with myself, I have decided to delay any firm decision about yesterday’s meeting until further notice. Earlier tonight, however, Professor Snape and I came to a first agreement. Many of you have expressed your concern about the presence of a werewolf in the Order of the Phoenix. Professor Snape and I have agreed that it will be allowed to stay in the Order only if it formally engages itself to take the Wolfsbane potion as prescribed. It will also have to agree to be locked away from our sight on each full moon. Professor Snape has even proposed to personally apply the clauses of that contract, even to prepare the Wolfsbane potion himself.”

I heard a murmur of approval from all the kindred around the table, except from Ivantie and, surprisingly, from Cami. My heart felt considerably warmer, despite the ironic side-glance that Marilena gave me.

“Despite the fact that no formal meeting will be needed tonight, I thought it would nevertheless be necessary to create an opportunity for all of us to enjoy our guest’s presence, given the short time he has spent with us so far,” she continued.

The side-glance was threatening, that time.

“So! Professor Snape, as you are our distinguished guest, I will let you decide. What form of entertainment do you wish for, tonight?”

I deduced that her technique had not been very well chosen, because Professor Snape’s mental barrier weakened for a split second when everybody’s eyes turned towards him. Whatever emotions were filling his mind at the moment, ease was not among them. I looked at him too, with, I admit, a rather superior smile in my satisfaction of seeing him in the spotlight. I had felt just that way during his improvised lesson.

If he felt uncomfortable, it was only for a split second, because the moment his eyes met mine and he saw the expression on my face, I saw his lips open in an unctuous smile.

“Lady Marilena, I was recently telling someone that I missed the joy of attending poetry recitals. I am sure there are many Romanian poets that I do not know, and hearing their work might certainly give me a fine taste of your country’s culture,” he declared, with a voice as unctuous as his smile.

His words did not produced the desired effect, though. At first, he must have thought that everybody’s glances turned towards me, but it was not I who answered his request. Vlad, sitting on my left at the table, smiled and said, “Professor Snape, I did not know that British wizards were still fond of that form of art! That reassures me a lot on the intellectual qualities that your kind may still possess. You are lucky to find yourself in a clan that is still pretty much attached to that ritual ceremony. I will be delighted to suggest a selection of Romanian poets’ best work…”

“If we do organize a poetry ritual recital, Vlad, for once let’s vary the authors a little,” interrupted Ivantie. “Why not include a random selection from all continents?”

“I agree,” said Marilena. “Vlad, I am sure you will find the right books in no time. We will all go into the garden. It does not look like it is about to rain, for once.”

Vlad left for the library, while all the others, including myself, headed for the garden. We sat in a circle, some of us on comfortable cushioned benches, others, right on the grass. I sat on the grass too, leaning my back against Ivantie’s legs. Vlad came back with a few books of various poets’ selected work. As he quickly surveyed the titles he had chosen, Professor Snape suggested, “When I suggested a poetry recital, Vlad, I did not mean to oblige you to recite everything yourself. I think it would be best if the speakers changed after each poem.”

“Oh, I had no intention of taking everything on me, Professor,” Vlad explained. “Poetry recitals among kindreds have a strong spiritual element. We believe that poetry is one of the purest expressions of the soul. Therefore, one who is willing to read a poem to others must respect its author by choosing a poem that is in harmony with his or her spiritual dispositions of the moment. Reading a melancholic poem when you are joyful, for example, no matter how skilled you are as a speaker, will never fully express the author’s art as it deserves.”

“I can very well understand that,” said Snape, calmly.

I winced. I do not think anybody noticed.

“Likewise, the reader will share a spiritual bond with the audience by unveiling, through somebody else’s words, his or her state of mind, be it positive or negative. It takes a great openness of mind from both sides, as well as a great acceptance.”

Snape looked suspicious, as ever, but said nothing.

“What we do in order to respect the art of poetry is observe a little ritual before we choose to read a poem,” Vlad continued. “We simply put a small drop of our blood on the cover of a given book and only then do we open it. Our emotions, fully impregnated in our blood, automatically guide our choice. I will demonstrate first, if nobody minds.”

Marilena smiled and showed her agreement with a slight nod. Vlad took the ritual knife, made a little cut at the tip of one of his fingers and left a drop of blood on the book. Not surprisingly, he chose a Romanian contemporary poet, Nichita Stanescu. The poem, Sentimental Story, was as follows:

Then we met more often.
I stood at one side of the hour,
you at the other,
like two handles of an amphora.
Only the words flew between us,
back and forth.
You could almost see their swirling,
and suddenly,
I would lower a knee,
and touch my elbow to the ground
to look at the grass, bent
by the falling of some word,
as though by the paw of a lion in flight.
The words spun between us,
back and forth,
and the more I loved you, the more
they continued, this whirl almost seen,
the structure of matter, the beginnings of things.

Vlad’s words resounded beautifully in the peaceful night. I wondered who might have inspired his choice. Catalina’s discreet and dreamy smile gave me the answer. One by one, the members of the clan read various poems. Ivantie’s was humorous, Mara’s was grandiose, Niculaie’s talked about war and Cami’s, about the forces of nature. When my turn came, I was too full with the impressions that everybody else’s words had left on me to be fully aware of my inner state of mind. To my surprise, I chose an American poem about war; I have a rendezvous with death, by Alan Seeger:

I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.

It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.

God knows \'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where Love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear...
But I\'ve a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.

If I remember well, my recital was very emotional that night. As I took my place in front of the group, I instinctively remembered Professor Snape’s instructions. I automatically assumed a straight posture and took special care to breathe as deep as I could. At times, I could feel the touch of his warm hands against my chin and stomach. It made my voice quiver a little, as I read the first verses, because I feared that he might sense the presence of those memories in my mind. Fortunately, he did not sneer. His face remained neutral, his eyes open, and his mouth, shut tight. There was no way for me to know if he appreciated my efforts or not.

When I understood the meaning of the poem as I read, it appeared very clear that it had been well chosen. Indeed, later that night, I was about, one more of countless occasions, to break the clan’s rules. I had indeed a rendezvous with death and absolutely did not intend to change my mind.

Eventually, Professor Snape’s turn came. He wiped the knife’s blade with the ritual cloth, which was made of white silk and embroidered with Horatiu’s armouries. He then took his wand and finished cleaning the blade with one of the sterilization spells that we had used the night before. As he pierced his skin with the tip of the knife, his face remained relax and neutral.

“Either he possesses an impressive self-control, or he is used to suffering,” I thought.

Everybody remained silent, watching him attentively. We were all curious, Marilena and I probably even more than the rest of the group, to see what poem would be chosen. Moreover, the occasions to have a wizard sharing our clan’s ritual were extremely few.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the book. His left eyebrow rose up when he read the title on the page and the faintest, oh so ephemeral of sneers passed on his lips. Keeping his head down towards the book, he abruptly turned his glance on me. I listened raptly, but his voice remained silent in my mind. His expression was terribly intense, but also totally unreadable. Not knowing what to do, I looked down and leaned my head against Ivantie’s knee. At long last, Professor Snape stepped forward and began reading. Trying not to gasp, I immediately recognized “Because she would ask me why I loved her”, by Australian poet Christopher Brennan. It had been read to me countless times before. That time, however, Severus Snape’s mesmerizing voice made me vibrate in a different way. In his mouth, the poem sounded like a menace as much as like a caress.

If questioning would make us wise
No eyes would ever gaze in eyes;
If all our tale were told in speech
No mouths would wander each to each.

Were spirits free from mortal mesh
And love not bound in hearts of flesh
No aching breasts would yearn to meet
And find their ecstasy complete.

For who is there that lives and knows
The secret powers by which he grows?
Were knowledge all, what were our need
To thrill and faint and sweetly bleed?

Then seek not, sweet, the \"If\" and \"Why\"
I love you now until I die.
For I must love because I live
And life in me is what you give.

That man was definitely used to speaking in public. His voice vibrated in each and every one of us, finding its way into sacred places in our hearts. I wonder if the evening breeze really did stop blowing in the garden as he read or if it had only ceased to exist for me alone.

Shortly after he read, Professor Snape gave the book to Floarea, who was next. Snorting, he said, in a strangely arrogant tone, “Well, the ritual does not seem to provide very accurate choices for humans. Maybe our blood is less of a reflection of our state of mind, after all.”

“Blood never lies, Professor Snape, no matter what is its provenance,” said Marilena with a little smile. “The ritual provides knowledge about what is, but also about what has been... and what might very soon take place.”

Professor Snape bowed his head politely. Marilena smiled even wider and slowly passed her tongue under her right canine, a thing I had seen her do many times. Usually when she had cornered a human somewhere and was about to feed. Feeding meant, in Marilena’s case, playing with her food for hours until she got bored and gave the final stroke. Snape was in big trouble; at least this is what I believed at the moment.

Half an hour later, the rest of the group had finished reading and the ritual was complete. As the night was warm and peaceful, everybody stayed where they were, to enjoy the garden a little longer. I looked at the moon. Its crescent was already quite high and I needed to be in Oriana’s resting room very soon. Ivantie informed me of the time, which confirmed my doubts. I got up and went to Marilena:

“My Lady, I will have to take leave from you now. Some potions in my lab require my immediate attention.”

“Very well. Have a good night, Antanasia.”

“Thank you, my Lady.”

I had barely made it a few steps away from Marilena when I heard Snape’s deep voice.

“Will you need a hand?”

“No, that will not be necessary. I would not want you to mistakenly think that I am asking for physical proximity once again.”

I answered firmly, then raised my mental barriers and put a brutal end to our conversation. I guess if anybody else had seen me, they would have wondered why I had stopped walking for a couple of seconds and resumed my progression towards the castle with a triumphant smile on my lips.

When I unlocked the door and entered into Oriana’s room, he was already there. He was not too tall, had straight chestnut hair, a vast forehead and an oval-shaped face that ended with a virile chin that was faintly split with a vertical dimple. His features were innocent, yet very masculine. His mouth was quite small but voluptuously shaped in a comical pout. And he had the habit of looking at me sideways with the loveliest dark green eyes that I had seen in a long time.

Andrei was a Romanian wizard who lived in Bistrita-Nasaud, a city located next to the Somesul Mare River, in Transylvania. He was very young, about 16 years old at the time, and I had met him during one of my walks in the Calimani Mountains a few months before. It was full moon then, and we had come face to face behind a pine tree. I had quickly transfigured into my usual mountain eagle form and had patiently waited (for a couple of hours), perched on the top of the tree, until he stopped shaking the tree to get me. I had followed him in the forest, from the sky, until dawn had brought him his human form. I had quickly transfigured back into my old self and introduced myself. He had been a bit suspicious about my proposition, but two nights later, he had shown up in the Calimani Mountains where we had met.

Another person suffering from lycanthropy had bitten the poor boy two years before. Since then, he had walked or fled on his broomstick, on his own, on every full moon, all the way up the mountains to transform where he had no chance of meeting humans. He had forced himself to do it, even in the middle of winter when the snow and raging winds made his way back extremely painful, as he was often half naked when he had inadvertently torn up his clothes during his transformation. As always, our first meetings had been merely devoted to answering his need to be heard, to share his experience with his condition. I patiently listened, sometimes for hours, to a story that was very familiar. His first transformation, occurring in total terror and excruciating pain. His first morning and, with it, the first fears of not remembering potentially shameful events of the night before. His parents, both doing their best to help him; both being scared of him. His refusal to continue his education at Durmstrang for fear of being expelled in shame when somebody would surely not fail to discover his lycanthropy. Like most of those who shared his fate, Andrei had not had it easy.

For the several weeks, we had met in the mountains, as the boy did not possess the required skills to Disapparate from his house into the castle. During the weeks preceding Severus Snape’s arrival, I had put all my efforts into teaching the boy how to Disapparate and Apparate from one place to the other, always further apart, until he could finally choose to Apparate into my lab or Oriana’s room at will. These times had been very stressful for me, as I always feared that inexperienced witches or wizards would accidentally Apparate right under Marilena’s nose. Usually, and it had been the case with that boy, these miscalculation mistakes occurred at the very beginning. Poor Andrei had indeed found himself uncomfortably sitting in the middle of the Somesul Mare River or desperately clinging to the highest branches of a pine tree during his first attempts. Fortunately for me, by that time I had gained his trust enough for us to simply laugh about it.

Just before Snape’s arrival, we had worked on various aspects of his transformation. I had first informed him about the complicated stages that he went through every full moon. Luckily, the boy was brilliant and the excellent education he had received at Durmstrang, in addition to his high motivation and enthusiasm, had accelerated his understanding even more. Giving therapy is a real pleasure, under those conditions.

That night, one of the most difficult parts of the treatment was about to begin. Andrei, though a bit impatient to start practical work and see the results, was aware that the capacity to halt his transformation completely would not be reached without long weeks of preparation. My priority, in this treatment, is always to teach lycanthropics how to keep their minds after they transform, before I even address transformation itself. I have always told myself that, if they can at least master their minds, the transformation will only be a possible source of harm for themselves, not for the population. Indeed, I will admit that I take a certain pride in the fact that, because of my treatment, dozens of Romanian people suffering from lycanthropy are now able to peacefully watch the full moon, with or without people around. With publicity or at least the freedom of practice, I could have done so much more for them...

I had spent many hours with Andrei in my lab, simulating the lycanthropic mental transformation with my Legilimency skills. He had become quite good at shutting down his hunting instincts by that time and we had agreed that he was ready for a more formal trial, with the powerful and more realistic influence of the moon. As I have written before, Oriana’s room is equipped with a system of mirrors and crystals that greatly amplify the moonlight bathing her tomb. I have often used it for therapeutic purposes, because it allows me to do therapy at almost any point in the lunar cycle.

Andrei was nervous. The poor boy knew that he was about to transform and the prospect was not appealing to him. To my satisfaction, however, I saw a certain determination in the way he paced the room, hiding from the moonlight by staying away from the tomb. He smiled very clumsily when he saw me.

“Good night, Andrei!” I said, enthusiastically. “Ready for the big trial?”

“Yeah... you’re ready too, I see,” he answered, with his soft and quiet voice.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the dress and everything.”

“Oh, that!” I said, laughing. “Yeah, I guess it is a change from the routine! We have a special guest here for a few days. And that is all I am going to tell you about it.”

“Okay,” he simply said, shrugging his shoulders.

I reminded him of the procedure, but I saw that I was unnerving him more than anything. So I simply sat on one of the few steps forming Oriana’s tomb pedestal and I told him, softly, “Andrei, when you are ready, just step into the light. I will stay right here the whole time.”

He nodded. He stayed in his corner of the room for a few minutes, concentrating like I had taught him to do. Then, courageously, he walked straight to the window and exposed his face to the moonlight. Seconds later, I heard him breathe deep and fast, but he kept facing the window, as planned. I was very proud of him. Many before him, and older than him I must say, had stepped back in the attempt to stop the transformation at this point. I waited until his transformation was complete, trying not to react to the sound of his ribs snapping one after the other to expand his chest. That part has always been the most difficult to bear, for me.

At the last minute, I remembered to put a protective charm around the room, in order to make it more soundproof. I completed it just in time to muffle his reflex howling sounds. Coming back to him, I tried the traditional communication method.

“Ok, Andrei. That must have been a bad moment to go through, but it is over now. I will ask you to completely concentrate on my voice and stick to it until you transform back into a human. We have rehearsed this many times and I am sure you can stay with me the whole time. Now, if you understand what I say, please take two steps forward.”

To my relief, Andrei struggled to take two steps towards me. I kept talking to him and saw that he was indeed able to keep control over his hunting urges. After a while, though, he seemed to have used most of his energy and his mental strength started to weaken. I sat back on the tomb’s steps and established mental contact with him.

“I am here, Andrei, I am not going anywhere else.”

He was grateful. He was not skilled enough in Legilimency to really answer me, but I could nevertheless get an impression of his feelings and some general thoughts.

“I am going to help you control your urges for a while, as we have discussed, for as long as it is needed for you to rebuild your energies. After that, I will cut the link and you will make another attempt on your own,” I said.

That time, he felt both relieved and apprehensive. That was quite normal for a first attempt. A total lack of reaction would have worried me far more. Unfortunately for both of us, I did not stay in Andrei’s mind long enough for him to rebuild his mental strength. I had been mentally supporting Andrei for barely fifteen minutes when I heard somebody enter the room. I first thought it would only be Ivantie; he liked to assist me from time to time and felt secure enough with his defence skills to protect himself if things went wrong. He was the only one who knew of my secret treatments.

But seconds after the door opened, my mind was submerged with a succession of bad memories. First, I saw a long corridor, very dark, and some distant steps leading to a wooden door. The door opened violently and a very aggressive lycanthropic rushed down the stairs. It was a very sturdy, very tall one and he ran very fast, teeth bare, and thick foam was drooling from each side of his mouth. I was soon invaded by a pure, raw, primitive feeling of terror. The images kept succeeding in front of my eyes, over and over in a loop. It took me several minutes before I could extirpate myself from them and come back to reality. What I saw froze me on spot even more.

Severus Snape had sneaked into the room, probably curious about what I was up to. That was becoming a very, very nasty habit of his (and I was to learn later that the habit in question was not recent at all). He had found a most inconceivable scene: a cainite calmly sitting next to someone who was in the middle of a lycanthropy attack. The sight of Andrei had somewhat triggered uncontrollably strong memories, so strong that I had immediately received them in my own mind.

Unfortunately for Snape, they had taken so much space that the link I shared with Andrei broke completely. During the time I took to become conscious again, Andrei had given in to his more primitive urges and slowly walked towards Snape. The latter seemed paralysed with fear. The moonlight spread everywhere in the room and accentuated the unhealthy paleness on his face, which was covered with sweat. The rest of his face was emotionless, except for his eyes: his pupils were fully dilated.

As Andrei walked closer to him, growling threateningly, his ears flat on the back of his neck and his teeth bared, Snape fumbled in his frock coat with a trembling hand, trying to find his wand. That gesture made me fully regain my self-control.

“Andrei! Andrei, remember, stay with my voice! It is Antanasia! Come back here right now!”

But Andrei did not recognize his own name anymore. An instant later, he swooped down on Snape’s left arm and held it tight between his jaws. Snape’s reaction came before mine, unfortunately.

“Expilliarmus!” he shouted, in a voice mixed with fear and blunt rage.

Andrei was thrown across the room and painfully fell behind Oriana’s tomb. I could hear his faint wailings as I rushed to Snape. I was too furious at that moment to feel any guilt about what had happened because of my fault. Professor Snape did not even react to my presence. Andrei had ripped his left sleeve into pieces when the spell had hit him. Only a few black and white shreds were left from his elbow to his hand. He was feverishly examining his skin to make sure he had not been bitten and his hands were still shaking madly. He was not saying a single word.

I was about to help him look for bite marks when I saw it, just as he raised his forearm to look on the inner side. That ugly skull, with a snake creeping out of its mouth, both so horribly black against his pale skin! I felt thunderstruck. The Dark Mark! He was scarred with the Dark Mark! When he finally noticed my presence next to him, he saw where my eyes were fixed and startled.

“Antanasia, it is not what you think...”

“You are one of them!” I said, breathlessly.

“Yes, but it is more complicated than that.”

“You are one of them, you bastard!” I screamed, giving in, like poor Andrei, to my own violence within.

I did not give him time to reply. I powerfully grabbed him by the neck and pulled him up against the wall, with both my magical and physical maximum strength. I felt my eyes fully turn red and my canines become dangerously salient. His feet did not touch the floor anymore and he started to suffocate, but I did not care. I was beside myself with rage.

“HOW DARE YOU, HOW DARE YOU COME HERE AND SHOW YOUR FACE TO ME, YOU FUCKING DEATH EATER! I SHOULD KILL YOU FOR WHAT YOU HAVE DONE, YOU HEAR ME? I SHOULD KILL YOU!”

In my anger, I threw him against the opposite wall. He hit it hard and fell on the floor, his wand landing a few feet away from him. He did not let the slightest sound slip out of his mouth. Only a feeble, hoarse breath. A second later, I hit him square with a spell. Thin ropes shot out of my hand and twisted themselves around his mouth, wrists and ankles.

I slowly walked towards him, debating with myself whether I should give in to the irresistible urge to kick him in the face. His glance stopped me in time, fortunately. Surprisingly, his eyes were not glimmering with anger, as I would have expected. They were not begging me to spare him either. They just looked at me, more intensely than I had ever seen him look at me before. They seemed so eager to tell me something, but I just did not want to listen to one more word from his mouth. Even less from his mind.

“You have no idea what kind of trouble you are in now, Snape,” I simply said, in a quieter tone, but with a voice that quivered with anger.

I went to Oriana’s tomb. Andrei was unconscious. Away from the moonlight, he had resumed his human form. His lips were bleeding and his right leg was bent in an abnormal angle. I tried to help him, but the repercussions of the shock I had received fully reached me. I bent forward and leaned both of my hands against the tomb’s lid. A first moan passed through my clenched teeth and was soon followed by uncontrollable sobs. My knees, unable to support me any longer, hit the stone steps. I do not remember feeling any pain. I slowly slid along the side of the tomb until my whole body fell on the floor.

Ivantie entered the room. His resting room was on the same floor and he had been alarmed by my screams. They had escaped through the door that Snape had left open. He found me still lying on the floor, crying my heart out. He made me sit, then took my face between his large, warm hands.

“He is one of them, he is a Death Eater! The bastard is a Death Eater!” was all I could articulate.

~*~

AUTHOR’S NOTES
I hope you are enjoying the story so far! I would really appreciate some reviews. It does not take much of your time and it tells me if you like where the story is going or not! It’s in your best interest, in a way! Writing 25-30 pages every week represents a lot of work; your comments are a valuable reward! :o)

FOOTNOTE
The poem Antanasia and Professor Snape read together is Years have trailed past... by Mihai Eminescu. The other poetry references are included in the text.

Amplissimi Draconis, Condocefacio Me! could more or less be translated, from Latin, as \"Great Dragon, fill me with your science!\"