It Takes a Miracle

Chapter 9 – Going Under


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She didn’t go to London. With a fair degree of astonishment, she watched herself move, talk, and smile until Val left. She provided him with a reasonable enough explanation as to why she’d rather stay at Hogwarts (Professor Sprout was expected to visit her greenhouses today). She even managed to give him a nice “good bye” kiss. But when she finally was all alone in their rooms, she slumped into one of the chairs and buried her face in her hands. She was devastated, and didn’t know whether to smash something, or laugh, or cry -- each of the alternatives seemed to be quite attractive at the moment.

For one, she needed to rationalize the overwhelming intensity of her dream, still pulsating hotly in her veins, but failed miserably. No matter what she said to herself, she couldn’t be persuaded that the dream was…well…just a dream. Somewhere deep inside she knew it was a real farewell, and she was absolutely powerless to reverse it. And the more she thought about it, the more painful it became. And the more painful it became, the more apparent it was that she had to see Snape… Talk to him… Touch him…

“Oh fucking Merlin…” Probably crying wasn’t a bad idea.

“Remember, you are engaged. You are in love with your fiancé. You are happy,” Gerry tried reasoning. She had always considered herself to be a fairly sensible and honest person. However, for the life of her she couldn’t explain how she could confess her love to two wizards in one night. And the worst of it was that she was completely honest both times.

“Does this mean…” No, she wasn’t ready to admit it. She still hoped that the connection forged in the Vita Redux ritual was playing a trick with her emotions. However, the trouble was she never knew she even had these emotions. Not the intensity of them anyway. When she’d forget to breathe… When her heartbeat faltered at a mere thought of him… When she couldn’t stay away…

“No, no, no…” Gerry wasn’t giving up. “It’s ridiculous, girl. You just think entirely too much. Of course, a whole week with nothing to do would make anyone pay attention to the stupidest stuff. Like dreams…”

By the time she had washed and dressed Gerry almost persuaded herself that somebody up there was laughing at her right now. And she, instead of pointless brooding and moaning, should join in.

Still, she didn’t go to breakfast. She wasn’t sure she could face people yet. She spent all morning pacing around the rooms until she gave up and went to the library.

“I need a good book,” she lied to herself.

“No one expects me to spend all day cooped up in the room.” She shrugged almost nonchalantly, as she reached the third floor.

“And it’s stupid to go outside when it’s raining cats and dogs.” She stopped at the door to the library and bit her lip. She really shouldn’t…

The library was deserted, and there was no sign of her working with Snape there only last night -- chairs straightened, books shelved, parchment removed. In a moment of sheer panic, Gerry turned around and hurried out. She barely managed to stop herself when she realized she was heading to the dungeons. Shit.

She went back in and stood for a while, as if not sure why she was there. Then she remembered. A book. She needed a good book. Right.

She moved slowly between rows of bookcases. Every now and then she would stop and listen for the sounds of approaching steps. But there were none, and nobody was coming. And so she would resolutely resume her wandering.

After Gerry had completed her third trip through the entire library, she was ready to admit a defeat -- she didn’t care for a book at all. But walking helped. She also forced herself to read the book titles, which have served as a further distraction. And yet her heart wrench painfully and her steps faltered every time she passed the table, where Snape and she sat the previous night.

She made another couple of fruitless rounds before lunch and then collapsed on the windowsill. Again, she decided not to go to the dining room. Of course, it was going to be difficult to explain to Val why she skipped two meals, obviously unoccupied as she was. And of course the “Oh, but I couldn’t leave the library, because it is the only place where the constantly hiding somewhere in the dungeons Potions Master surfaces” would never do. But she couldn’t bring herself to care at the moment.

Her chin on her knees, which she hugged to fend off the shivers of chill or anxiety, Gerry sat, staring out the window. It was still raining. The ominous gray skies loomed over the dark-gray, rippled lake. The Forbidden Forest seemed gloomy, foreboding, and the grassy area in front of the castle also had acquired a menacing shade of gray. Gerry thought about the day when she first saw Hogwarts, how different the grounds looked back then. Suddenly she was aware of the fact that she was leaving here tomorrow morning, never to return. Never.

“It’s okay,” she tried to be resolute. “You’ve been here long enough as it is.”

Then she thought about her first night at Hogwarts and her meeting with Snape. Abruptly, she sat bolt upright as if recalling something that so far had escaped her notice. “Fucking Merlin,” she murmured and rushed into the depth of the library.

She passed the row after row of bookcases that she familiarized herself with so well a short while ago, until she stopped at the right section.

“Okay, it should be here,” she said softly, her gaze gliding along the shelves. She located the book on one of the top shelves and climbed up a small ladder to get it. Then, she sat on the steps, hungrily leafing through the thick volume. There. Her finger jabbed the page.

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It took him at least an hour to get back to the dungeons. He made a stop at the library to clear things up. He even stepped outside to get some fresh air. Finally, he was at his office door, where he stood for another twenty minutes, wondering if he should indeed go in. And when he at last did, the faint aroma of vanilla and peach hit his nostrils, and he had to exert a considerable effort to persuade himself not to flee.

He extinguished the fire and noticed the potion vial on the mantel. He picked it up gingerly. The witch’s Dreamless Sleep Potion. Poor girl, she was going to have a miserable night yet again. Because of him. For the briefest moment he considered going upstairs to Mr. Tresini’s rooms to offer the potion to the witch again, but stopped himself, clenching his teeth, as if trying to suppress the moan that was about to get out. He sat in the armchair in front of the empty fireplace, holding the vial tightly.

He never felt this powerless ever before. Never this weak. Just to think that for days he had been struggling with… He wasn’t even sure what he was struggling with. His thoughts? His desires? His longing? And all because of one slip of a witch. He, who was deceiving the Dark Lord regularly. He, who was effortlessly instilling fear in hundreds of students. He, who ruled the House of Slytherin with irreproachable cunning and distinctive arrogance. The same he who couldn’t banish a witch from his head, from his blood, from his…heart…

It had been exactly a week since that miserable night, when she found him dying on the steps of Hogwarts’ Castle. A week of nightmares… A week of frustration… A week of weakness… A week of the aroma of vanilla and peach… A week of the most beautiful witch he ever met…

“She should have left me to die.” Snape squeezed the vial in his hand so hard, that it burst in small pieces, and the potion mixed with his blood trickled down between his fingers. He watched intently the red puddle growing on the floor for quite some time. Then he shook his head and swept into the bathroom.

A couple of quick spells and plenty of cold water took care of the blood and cuts. Catching a glimpse of his sallow face in the mirror, he growled and smashed the freshly mended fist onto the sink. Fuck.

By the time he returned to the office, he had a plan. He paced, considering its pros and cons, and then slammed back into the armchair, sweaty palms on his knees. The sole of his boot smeared the bloody puddle on the floor, but Snape didn’t notice it, glaring at the empty fireplace.

Moments later he jumped up and resumed pacing. No! No, it would be foolish to try and interfere with something he was ignorant about. He couldn’t act on so little of information -- a girl’s positively incomplete and largely incoherent tale about Vita Redux and his own, rather too emotional, experience with the phenomena. No, he would not do anything. He would wait. He was good at waiting. Snape made himself sit down and take a deep breath. Yes. He’d wait.

Then he noticed the red smeared puddle on the floor. With a sharp flick of his wand he got rid of it, but before he put the wand away, he saw a trail of his own bloody footprints. Shit. He watched them intently before spelling them away. Shit. He couldn’t just sit and wait.

Now that he knew about the link between the witch and himself he should try to sever it. He couldn’t afford waiting to see if this link went away on its own as the girl told him it would. What if it wouldn’t? As much as Snape loathed embarrassing himself with loosing control, there was a real danger of passing the wrong information through this link. That was absolutely unacceptable.

Snape frowned, pondering over his plan once more. No, he couldn’t wait. The plan was based on the use of his Occlumency and Legilimency skills, and it would be much harder to execute once the girl was way. With her leaving in a days, the waiting could prove to be imprudent. Besides, they both seemed to be eager to put an end to this nonsense. Right.

Snape glared at the fireplace for the last time, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He concentrated, willing all the unnecessary thoughts, feelings, and memories away, and bringing to the forefront of his consciousness the one and only matter that needed to be resolved.

He saw her right in front of him, just like he intended. She was standing mere meters away from him, close enough to see every little detail of her features and clothes, but far enough to not be able to touch. He held her in a full-body vertical binding spell, coupled with a silencing charm. He let her look at him with her unbearably blue eyes for as long as he could tolerate it and then he allowed the fog to appear.

He saw the begging and fear in her eyes, but didn’t flinch and didn’t give in. The higher the fog rose, the more frantic the witch became. And still he didn’t concede, keeping perfectly motionless, an utter absence of expression on his face. Only when he was completely engulfed by the green fog, he said softly, “Good bye, my love,” and lifted the spells from the witch. Almost at once he heard her heart-wrenching scream, “No-o-o-o-o!” In a flash, he pulled out of the dream, whispering to no one in particular, “I love you…”

He sat, panting heavily, waiting for his heartbeat to slow down. His clammy palms were clenching fistfuls of his robes, and a thin film of sweat covered his forehead. Suddenly, he felt cold. So cold that his whole body was shaking violently and he had to wrap the arms around himself in a feeble attempt to warm himself up. His teeth were chattering, as he felt as if his own blood was turning icy-cold.

“Just as well,” Snape sneered, his fingers clutching the coarse fabric of his robes. “That’s what people think of me anyway. A cold-blooded bastard.”

He spent the morning in his rooms, keeping himself busy with his research. From time to time he would look up from the parchment and stare into space, wondering if his early morning exercise worked. It better, because right now Snape wasn’t sure he would be able to bear another farewell dream. Even if he was a cold-blooded bastard.

Sometime after lunch, he ran into a problem. He knew exactly which book had an answer to that problem, but the book was in the library, and Snape was inclined to postpone his visit there until tomorrow afternoon, when he could be certain that the young witch was removed from Hogwarts. But then, he decided to go.

“I don’t care if she is there on not,” he lied to himself marching upstairs. “If she is,” he gulped, “she might even thank me.”

The door to the library was ajar and it should have been a sign for Snape to run for it, but in spite his better judgment he didn’t. He saw no one at the tables, or between the bookcases, and sighed with relief -- he, probably, didn’t close the door properly last night. Not paying the least bit of attention to a sickening feeling of aching somewhere in the vicinity of his heart, with an added spring to his walk, Snape headed towards the Restricted Section.

As soon as he reached the Potions bookcases, he realized what a mistake it was to come here. The young witch was sitting on a step of a small ladder with the book open on her lap, her hair, free from the constrains of the customary ponytail, was lying in soft waves on her shoulders, shimmering slightly under the dull light coming from the rain-washed window. Snape suspected at once there was no way in hell he would be able to survive the warmth of her blue-eyed gaze, the redness of her thoroughly bitten lip, the intoxicating aroma of vanilla and peach. But he couldn’t run off at this point, he couldn’t allow himself to be frightened by her. “Remember, a cold-blooded bastard,” he hissed inwardly, braced himself, and stepped forward.

“Ms. Ardant.”

“Hello, Professor.” Did he imagine, or her smile was sad? “How are you?”

He “hmm’ed,” moving his gaze to the books. He didn’t want take any chances of looking into the witch’s maddeningly blue eyes for more than an instant.

“You seem to be quite taken by potions. Yet, I was led to believe that your interests lie in the area of Transfigurations.” Snape congratulated himself on being able to formulate and actually say all of it without his voice faltering of. Cold and indifferent. Good.
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“Yes, well,” the witch replied quietly, as if knowing the he wasn’t a bit interested in her academic pursuits.

“And come to think of it, you did mention working for Professor Grumbledam.” Snape continued searching for the book, without looking at her. He felt her gaze, burning him, disturbing him, but stubbornly refused to acknowledge it.

“Professor?”

“Yes?” No, he wasn’t going to look at her. No, he wasn’t. No, no, no… He glared at the young witch, who eyed him sadly at him in response.

“Is this what you are looking for?” she asked softly getting up and offering him a book that was on her lap a short while ago.

Snape dragged his eyes from her face to the cover of the book and stated, “You did figure it out.”

“Well, it became obvious enough once I began to think about it,” said the witch eyeing him carefully. “Jomby root is used for psychological dysfunctions, and the effects of the Cruciatus… And the Imperius for that matter…”

He glared at her again and scowled, considering how to take the book without getting too close to the witch. Disgusted with himself, he made several firm steps towards the girl, and stretched his hand to accept the book.

The said book fell down with a loud thud. Because it was unexpectedly heavy. Not because Snape’s hands shook violently when the witch said, “I wanted to talk to you about the last dream…”

Snape shot a look of pure venom at her, then looked down at the book on the floor.

“You did have a dream today, didn’t you…” whispered Ms. Ardant almost inaudibly.

Snape jerked his head up ready to kill the damn witch with his glare alone. A strand of his jet-black hair fell over his face, and suddenly he saw her hand, as if in slow motion, reaching for it. In less than a heartbeat he grabbed it in a vise hold. Her other hand shared the fate of the first. For a moment, he just stood there, holding her hands, breathing in her smell, almost feeling the warmth of her body, looking into her insanely blue eyes. He tried very hard to keep a cold, irritable expression on his face. In the end, all he wanted was to stop her, to let her know that he was not the passionate lover from the dreams, to scare her away from the dour greasy old Potions Master he really was. A cold-blooded bastard. But before he fully realized what he was doing, he crashed his lips onto hers. Angrily, mercilessly. However, the moment his lips touched hers, a tidal wave of tenderness washed over him. His lips became gentle, almost begging, trembling from the fear of an imminent rejection. But she did not scream or push him away. Her lips were warm and soft, shivering slightly under his.

Inspired by lack of obvious negative reaction from the witch, Snape tentatively ran his tongue along the line between her upper and lower lip. She tasted so sweet, that suddenly he thought that he would be blinded with the passion that was building up in him. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment. And when her lips parted inviting his tongue in, he barely could muffle a moan.

As their kiss deepened, threatening to leave them both breathless, Snape loosened his grip on the girl’s hands. His fingers, tracing hot, feverish lines, moved to her palms, opening them up to his caresses. He was losing himself in her feel, her touch, her smell. His mind was reeling, completely giving up the control over his actions, as the defensive walls built upon logic, sense, and self-control, the walls that helped him stay alive for so long, and kept him sane for the last week, were crumbling down, and he could not care less. His raw desire, barely acknowledged and fiercely suppressed for years, stirred by the witch’s accidental touch, was suddenly strong enough to overpower him completely. His whole body was trembling, overwhelmed by her closeness. He never felt this way before. Lust, possessiveness, desperation, but nothing like this. Now, he knew what he wanted, what he needed. What made him complete. What made him whole. This… It was like… magic.

And then the girl sobbed. It did not registered in Snape’s excited mind at first. But it suddenly hit him when she sobbed again. Snape stiffened. He was not sure what a woman would do when she wanted to be with a man, but he knew all too well what she would do when she did not. She would cry. And here it was. The girl in his arm was crying.

An icy waterfall of images rushed in front of Snape’s eyes. His worst memories… Women under Imperious, with empty eyes, submitting to laughing Death Eaters, who would lift a curse midway through the rape to enjoy the screams of terror and cries of pleading… Women, beaten and bound, powerless to defend their bodies and dignity, howling helplessly, but still fighting merciless tormentors in faceless masks... Women young and old, pretty and plain, tall and short. Women screaming, moaning, struggling, pleading. Crying…

He froze in sheer horror. For a moment, Snape thought that his heart would burst into pieces with the pain of guilt. What had he done?! All the girl wanted was to talk. She didn’t come here to be assaulted! How could he, even for a blasted moment, think that she wanted it?! He forced her!!! Her of all women. The girl he lo… “No, shut up, Severus. You should have known better, bastard.”

Breaking the kiss and dropping the witch’s hands, Snape backed up, putting, in a split second, at least five meters between them.

“Ms. Ardant, please…” He really wanted to apologize, but how could he apologize for something like that? There was no way. Especially when he just proved that all the horrible things he ever thought about himself were true. Snape made another couple of steps backward, choking on every word whispered, “It’s unacceptable. I… Please…”

He could not make himself look into her eyes, terrified that he would never be able to live through the day, if he did. He just turned on his heels and ran out.

He did not remember how he got to the Apparation, but he knew he had to get away from Hogwarts as soon as possible. The only consolation he had was that he managed to stop himself fairly quickly.

“Well done, Severus. It is what you wanted, isn’t it? She is not only totally disgusted with you, but scared of you as well,” mocked the little voice. Snape grunted furiously, Apparating to an obscure nameless pub in Hogsmeade. The only thing he wanted right now was to Obliviate himself completely of any memory of the last week.

It wasn’t time for a slow flow of scotch. It was time for the decisiveness of vodka. Or cheap firewhiskey. A couple of shots later, Snape caught a wayward thought on the back of his mind. “She did kiss you back.” However it was easy enough to choke it -- Snape knew all too well what pain and fear could do to a person.

After a good number of shots, when the girl’s taste on his lips, thoroughly mixed with vodka was washed down, Snape almost persuaded himself that he was relieved that everything between him and the young witch was over. He fell half-asleep half-unconscious, face-down on the dirty table, and the gloomy bartender did not bother him until the next morning.


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Gerry could not move for a very long time. Still feeling his lips covering hers, his tongue tasting her palate, his fingers caressing her palms, she refused to accept that Snape was gone. Gone, leaving her standing all alone with her heartbeat pounding heavily in her chest, with her breathing coming in raspy gasps, with her mind straining to wrap around one simple, but quite shocking, although not entirely unexpected, message that her shivering, liquefied body was sending.

It took her some time to calm down, but when she did, Gerry knew that the last piece had fallen into place and the puzzle was complete. She knew exactly what was happening to her -- she loved Snape.

“Oh, sweet Merlin!” She was scared, and happy, and sad all at the same time. How? When? Why?

Alright, let’s start from the beginning. He came looking for the book. Mentioned something about her interest in Potions. Not that he cared… Not that she wanted to discuss the subject at that moment either. What would she possibly tell him? That she simply couldn’t afford to become a Potions Mistress. It would be embarrassing enough if he ever found out that she didn’t really assist Professor Grumbledam, just substituted one of his apprentices for a couple of weeks.

“Wait, forget about Potions,” Gerry stopped herself firmly. “What happened next?” Oh, yes, he came close. To get the book. Standing on the steps of the ladder, she was almost same height as he was, and didn’t have to twist her neck to look him in the eye. And she did look him in the eye, when she said it. About the dream. And he seemed to get angry, but she persisted. And then she saw it – a raging fire deep down in his black eyes. The fire that he couldn’t hide even by narrowing his eyes to mere slits. It wasn’t the longing of that time when he was giving her the potion in the infirmary. It wasn’t the surrender of last night when he let her work with him. It was a beautiful, scary, painful, all-consuming, smoldering force that pulled her in, and captured her.

Her head swam instantaneously, otherwise she would have never attempted to move the strand of his hair away from his face. But then, he would have never kissed her either. And she would never have had anything so mind-blowingly wonderful like that in her life... And she would never know that she loved him…

Her legs refusing to support her, she wasn’t sure how she managed to keep standing. The feathery touch of his fingers sent the order to surrender, which her body happily did. So much so, that Gerry practically cried, realizing she couldn’t give fast enough everything and anything of hers he wanted to take. She never felt this way before. Desire, pleasure, lust, but nothing like this. Now she knew what she wanted, what she needed. What made her complete. What made her whole. This… It was like… magic.

And then he left. Hurriedly, as if realizing what a mistake it all was. Not even trying to talk, to explain, to apologize. Ran away, leaving her to love him…

It was so very clear now. After a week of emotional roller coaster, of reasoning seesaw, everything became so obvious, so…straightforward. How was it that she didn’t see all of it before? How could she miss all the signs?

Dreams or no dreams, she loved him the moment she saw his mutilated body on the grass in front of the entrance door. She loved him despite all the bad things people ever told her about him, despite all the foul names he was given. She loved him even when he ignored and insulted her, and avoided her at all costs. She loved him more that she ever though possible. Her feelings for Val, or the few boyfriends before him, were never this intense, this deep. They weren’t even in the same class. This was classless. This was above anything else…

But he… He ran away. He left her standing there because… Gerry gasped, clasping her hand to her mouth: Snape left her standing there because he didn’t love her. Hell, he didn’t even like her. And the fire she thought she saw in his eyes was probably just a flicker of the light. Or a reflection of her own, now that she knew what it was that burned so much inside lately. And the kiss was probably just a reaction to their dreams. And the touch…

Gerry couldn’t think anymore, it hurt so much. If only Snape would have stayed… If only he would have told her something… Anything…

Valerius found her standing on the same step of the ladder, where Snape left her. The young wizard was so happy to tell her that his part of the project was accepted and highly commended by his boss, that he didn’t notice anything peculiar about Gerry’s disposition…

They were leaving the next day. The presentation went well, and, while they were packing, Valerius chatted excitedly about his improved chances of getting a wider scope of responsibilities. Gerry didn’t really bother to listen to her fiancé, thinking about her first dreamless night in a week. They had their last lunch in the little dining room and shook hands with Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Sprout. Jay and Derek saw them to the gate, leaving after agreeing to exchange owls and have another Hogsmeade trip as soon as Val and Gerry were back to Britain.

They stood outside Hogwarts’ gates, ready to Apparate to her mother’s house in New Jersey. Val held Gerry’s hand and smiled at her. She offered him a small smile in response, thinking about her secret, which he would never find out. Because she wouldn’t be able to reveal to him anything about the Vita Healing: he wasn’t her family, and was never going to be. She only hoped that they remained friends after she told him that there was somebody else in her life. And she would tell him soon. Very soon.

Gerry glanced at the castle, half-wishing, half-dreading to spot the black-clad tall form of the Potions Master, whom she hadn’t seen since yesterday afternoon. There was nobody. She sighed, squeezed Val hand, and they Apparated.


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He Apparated to Forbidden Forest. The warm August night was dark and quiet. He stood for a moment, all of his senses sharpened, and then hastily began removing the faceless white mask and the gray cloak. The uniform of the Death Eater.

He dropped the offending clothes to the ground, as if they were poisonous, and leaned against a tree, breathing heavily. He knew he should be going. Albus was, probably, waiting for him, worried after that “incident” of two weeks ago, when a certain blue-eyed witch… Stop, stop… No more, please… No more…

Tonight was a raid night, and a number of Muggles had fallen victims to the ruthless Death Eaters. Even in the dead calm of the night forest, Snape could still hear the screams of the tortured, the pleading of the raped, and the silence of the killed. Even in the darkness of the night, he still could see the gleaming of the tears, the glistening of blood, the sparks of curses.

He buried his face in his hands and groaned. It was his job, his duty to play a role of a vicious monster. This was what he did for the Order. This was why he was left to live, all those years ago. This was how he was supposed to atone. But it was getting harder and harder, more and more painful. He almost lost it tonight, when one of the girls they kidnapped looked at him pleadingly, unshed tears in her blue eyes. Not as blue as Geraldine’s, but nevertheless he had to make an excruciating effort to stay composed. All he could do for her was a quick Killing Curse that protected the girl from inevitable rape and torture.

“Oh, bloody fucking Merlin, I can’t take it… I am not a monster…” Snape moaned silently.

“But you are, cold-blooded bastard, you are,” whispered a little voice in his head. “And you proved it tonight -- you are a proper Death Eater, you are a true monster.”

It began to rain. Shaking slightly, Snape raised his face, as if looking for the gods that were probably not even there. The warm drops of summer rain entangled in his greasy hair, plastering it to his scalp. They tapped his hooked nose, his sallow cheeks. They slid down, along his neck into the high collar of his robes, mixed with something bitter and hot. Something that didn’t know Snape was a cold-blooded monster.

END of PART 1
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A/N A huge thanks to my beta Odddoll