Slytherin Chronicles : The Desire of Darkness

CHAPTER SEVEN Spirits

The week passed by in quite the same way as things turned out on the first day, and seven days steadily went by. On Monday of the next week, the Slytherin first-years had Charms and History of Magic after breakfast, Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts before lunch, and Herbology and Potions before dinner.

All of the Slytherins learned to anticipate Potions and hope that Neve and Draco Malfoy would pull off more performances of their knowledge and thus, gain even more points for Slytherin.

But Neve didn't reach the dungeons for her Potions lesson that day.

Lunch had just begun and Neve and Roisin were on their way to the Great Hall from their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. Roisin was complaining about Professor Quirrell.

"He's such a bloody moron! Afraid of his own shadow, for goodness sake! He must've jumped ten feet into the air when he saw it move," she grumbled. "Honestly, they couldn't give us a worse teacher for any subject."

Neve nodded mutely though not paying much attention. She had had a splitting headache ever since the beginning of Quirrell's lesson, and every few minutes she felt a piercing pain in her chest which intensified with every step she took. She could think of no legitimate cause for neither the headache nor the chest pains, but they bothered her and she began to feel scared.

When she reached the Slytherin table, she collapsed onto the bench beside Roisin, the latter not noticing anything wrong with her, and put her hands to her chest. The pain was unceasing and worse than before, making it difficult to breathe properly.

No one seemed to have noticed that there was something wrong with Neve and she didn't have enough energy to speak up. Beside her, Roisin was still chattering about how incompetent a teacher Quirrell was, completely oblivious to her friend's pain.

Everything seemed to swim strangely infront of Neve's eyes, and the multitude of voices around her sounded like a buzzing of bees in a hive. She couldn't comprehend anything anymore, and she couldn't control the pain any longer. Her chest tightened and she suddenly wanted to cough, but because she couldn't take in any air, she could not cough.

Then, without warning, she keeled back right over her seat and sprawled, unconcious, on the stone floor.

Roisin heard Neve hit the floor and turned around; when she saw her friend she let out a shriek that echoed around the hall and commanded silence. Roisin threw herself onto the floor beside Neve and tried to awaken her, but to no avail. She heard gasps from several people and cries of "What's wrong with her?" and "What happened?" from every table, but she concerned herself with Neve only.

Then a black-clad figure loomed over her - Professor Snape. "Miss MacKeve, may I ask what is going on?"

"I - I don't know, sir ... she seems to have fainted but - but ..." Roisin stammered, wringing her hands desperately.

An expression of grim concern placed itself on Snape's face and he knelt down by Neve, checked her pulse and his face darkened. He picked her up and carried her out of the Great Hall, Roisin running in his wake. He strode briskly down the marble staircase to the dungeons and through the long corridors to his office.

It was a fairly large room with a dark desk and a couple of dark green armchairs. On the many shelves attached to the stone wall were bottles and jars of coloured liquids, dried plants and other potions ingredients.

Snape gently lowered Neve into an armchair, lit a fire in the grate with a flick of his wand, and began inspecting Neve's hair, eyes and skin. When he lifted up her eyelids, Roisin gasped; the irises of Neve's eyes were the colour of blood and the pupil's were large and not black, as was usual, but a deep dark blue. When he finished examining her, Snape stood up and paced back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Sir? Professor? She's not - not ... dead?" whispered Roisin.

Snape stopped walking and seated himself behind his desk, staring at the floor. After a moment's silence, he said, "No, Roisin, she isn't dead. She'll be alive for a few more hours yet."

"What do you mean for a few hours?" breathed Roisin, terrified. "Professor, what's going on?"

Snape looked at her; she could never have imagined seeing him like this, worried and almost panic-stricken. "Do not ask me how I know this, but I am sure that Neve has been inhabited by a spirit which shares her body with her own soul. "

Roisin's mouth fell open in shock. She remained speechless for a few seconds before finally choking out, "What? But - but ... how? When? And most importantly of all, why did this spirit possess Neve's body? Of all the other bodies in the world, why did it have to be Neve's?"

Snape sighed heavily. "Well ... the reason a spirit possesses the body of a live person is because the one who owned the spirit before did not complete their purpose in this world while they were still alive. They feel that they can accomplish something that they wanted but were unable to do at the last moments of their life ... like to take revenge on someone ... so they make someone else do it for them, unknowingly.

"Usually, only very powerful spirits possess live bodies and there have not been many cases of a child being possessed. Only one other, and the girl died because she didn't have enough strength to control the spirit." He looked down at Neve grimly. "That is why Neve has no more than twenty-four hours to live, though if she is stronger than I suppose she may get another twenty-four, but no longer."

Roisin was doubly horrified. Die? Neve? It wasn't possible! The girl had only just got to Hogwarts, she couldn't just keel over and die for no good reason! But as Roisin looked back at Neve's still body, a fresh wave of despair hit her over the head like a mallet. She had no knowledge about spirit possession but she was intelligent enough to understand that resistance was close to 99.9% futile.

"Why did it have to use Neve?" she wailed.

"Because the spirit deemed her powerful and strong enough to do what it could not. The spirit didn't ask Neve whether she would or wouldn't mind being taken over to do its intention. It simply hid itself inside her body and ... and ..." Snape faltered.

His eyes suddenly opened wide in astonishment but he seemed to be seeing something Roisin was blind to. He lowered his head to his hands. "It is possible that Neve's mother was possessed with a spirit and when - when Neve was conceived, the spirit transferred itself into her. Perhaps because it felt she had more potential power than her mother," he muttered.

After a few seconds of silence, Roisin asked hopefully, "Professor, isn't there any way we could get the spirit out of Neve's body?"

"Exorcising a spirit is a very dangerous process, Roisin. There is every chance that Neve could be killed if the spirit is exorcised, just like there is every chance of the same thing happening if the spirit overpowers her. However ... if she is strong enough ..." said Snape, gazing pensively at Neve. "If she is strong enough she will live, but the full influence of the spirit cannot be extinguished. If we do all the necessary precautions, it is very possible that she will survive."

"How exactly do we do the exorcising?" asked Roisin warily.

Professor Snape was silent again, his head still in his hands, thinking and trying to remember with all his mind. It was not difficult, the memory of her resided in his mind ever since she left Hogwarts and she was the one he thought of the most during those lonely hours at night.

Finally, he looked up at Roisin, his eyes strangely bright. "I believe I know of someone who can help us, and I'm quite sure she will consent to do so."

~ ~ ~

Evelyn Trennor sat straight-backed and cross-legged on the floor in the tiny cluttered attic of her home, draped in mauve robes. She sat with her eyes closed, the redness of the sunset pouring in through the skylight on the roof and the open window opposite her. She was completely still and quiet, her chest slowly rising as she stowly breathed in and out, her long hair shining golden in the crimson light.

A loud hoot sounded outside the window, and a barn owl with glossy feathers soared into the attic, dropping a scroll of parchment beside Evelyn and landing on the windowsill. Evelyn still didn't move or open her eyes but she took a deep breath, exhaled and reached for the scroll. She didn't unravel it but felt around the parchment, tracing a finger over the small Hogwarts seal.

"Rough yet gentle at heart ... cruel, but remorseful and pained ... bitter, though hope is not all lost," she said, running her fingers over the emerald ribbon holding the scroll. "Yes, only he would have these qualities, only he would sacrifice himself for another, only ..."

She put the parchment to her nose and sniffed, the ghost of a smile spreading its way around her lips. "I see you haven't quite forgotten me, Severus," she said and opened her eyes as she unrolled the parchment and read:



Evelyn stared at the letter unblinkingly, the smile now gone from her mouth. So she had been right. So she had spoken the truth when, on one particularly tempestuous night, a little girl had been born to one who had never wanted to become a mother and to one who had never expected to become a father. It was a tiny creature that was born, silent and sickly, but alive. It had been a most strange birthing and Evelyn suspected that it had turned out a very strange child.

She never thought that her prediction on that night would come true as it only came to her in an angry moment. And now it would shape the girl's life. She wished that she hadn't made that prediction, that she could take back her words, but she knew that it was impossible.

Evelyn was a Seer, and one of the very few in the whole world with healing powers. But of course it was expected for she had descended from the great Merlin himself. And she had gone to Hogwarts the same years as Severus Snape, been sorted into Slytherin with him, and became the best friend he would ever have.

But something happened that disrupted their friendship, and they hadn't contacted each other for five years until one fateful night when everything changed, not only for them but for the whole wizarding world.

However, after that night, things did not go back to the way they were during school days for Evelyn and Snape. Both retreated to their own sanctums, all hostility for each other lost though neither dared to renew their full friendship. The first time Snape contacted Evelyn after the night was five years ago, and it had been for a very serious matter indeed.

She remembered how she first saw him at that time - filthy, frightened and in great pain. She remembered how she forced him to tell her of what those who had been his enemies did to him. She remembered how he flinched when she ran her fingers nimbly over his body, healing him ... and how she had seen him break down for the first time in her life.

Now, five years later, he was asking for her help again and for yet another serious subject. Evelyn sighed, tore a piece of blank parchment from Snape's letter, summoned a bottle of ink and a quill from across the room and wrote:




She then sealed the parchment, walked over to the barn owl and tied the letter to its leg. Standing by the window, she watched it flapping into the distance until it was quite out of sight. Then she closed the window and skylight and rushed downstairs to prepare.



A sharp gust of wind blew over Neve's body as she lay on her back, black hair spread out around her head like the legs of a spider, in the middle of a deserted street, making her shiver into consciousness. Opening her eyes, she beheld a mass of grey clouds looming over her, sure to burst with rain at any moment.

She stared at them unblinkingly for a minute, trying to discern where some clouds ended and new ones formed; it was difficult as they all seemed to have molded into one great block of stone.

Eventually Neve rose to her feet, bleary eyes slowly taking in her surroundings. On both sides of the cobbled road she stood on were houses of varying sizes, though all were no larger than two storeys. The gardens in front of each of the houses were small and well-kept, full of herbs and pruned rose bushes. Every single window of every house was closed and curtained. There were no people anywhere along the street as far as Neve could see.

Another gust of wind rushed through the street, biting through Neve's Hogwarts uniform and breaking off the last few leaves of a nearby tree. Neve wrapped her cloak closer around her body and walked briskly down the road, her breath rising in a mist before her face. Her eyes strayed to the wet clumps of red, brown and yellow leaves that choked the gutters.

The road was not a very long one. A little further along, where there were no more houses beside the road, Neve was able to clearly see a dark house standing at the very end of it, a large metal gate prohibiting entry to the driveway. Drawing closer to the gate, Neve noticed that this house had larger lawns than the other houses, but also that they were not as well looked after as the others.

The grass was very patchily cut with some bits longer than others, the few flowering shrubs that remained were thin and withered, and the trunks of the trees that stood, gnarled and naked, on the lawn were covered in some sort of green fungus. All in all, the front garden did not look loved at all. More like hated and almost forgotten, thought Neve.

Looking up at the house Neve thought it was no better. Ivy had crept over nearly every uncovered surface of the house it could reach, making it look as though it was either covered in charcoal or painted black. Most of the front windows were boarded up with planks of wood, allowing presumptions of them being broken. The door of the house was large and dark, and boarded up also.

There was nothing beautiful about the house, not even for Neve. It was very drab and imposing, so much that it even appeared cruel and somehow dangerous, like a snake pretending to be dead in order to draw its prey closer. Neve felt as though she knew it, had seen it before, had even been inside it, but she just didn't know how she could feel this when she knew that she had neither been in it nor seen it before.

Feeling slightly disconcerted, Neve turned away from the house and looked to the right where there was a smaller road leading to a wide bit of pavement bordering what looked like a park. She trudged along the road, arms crossed, lips pursed, trying to keep in the little warmth she had as yet another bout of wind harshly blew her hair away from her face.

She had no idea how she could have got to wherever she was, but the only reason she wanted to get away from it was the cold. It was definitely autumn but Neve had never experienced a season so icy without actually having snow.

Yet there was a certain strangeness about the place that fascinated Neve; an eerie, almost sinister gloom seemed to hang in the air, almost palpable, as though clusters of invisible people were grouped along the road, breathing their misery into the atmosphere. If it had not been for the houses, and the grass and leaves desperately clutching at the skinny twigs of trees, Neve suspected that the village would have been completely colourless, existing in only black and white.

No, the ivy-covered house was not beautiful, and neither was this peculiar feeling that made Neve want to curl up on the ground and whimper. She felt somehow akin to this place, as though she had lived here all her life, but then she remembered that she had never seen it before and the feeling diminished slightly, as though a voice was turned off in the back of her mind.

Approaching the pavement at the end of the road, she saw a narrow pathway leading the way through an aisle bordered by leafless birch trees that were curved like an archway, topmost branches entwining to form thin, stick-like shadows on the path. Neve supposed that in the warmer months they would make a pretty green canopy with a few slits of light here and there. But now the branches looked skeletal and intimidating against the slate-grey sky.

Suddenly, a small shape seemed to run from the gap between two of the birch trees and went tripping down the pathway, giggling. Neve blinked and the shape disappeared. She looked around her warily as though suspecting more shadowy shapes to come running out from the trees. Then she heard a soft giggle ahead of her and, turning her head, saw that same small shape a little way ahead of her.

It was a very small girl of around six or seven years bundled up in a dark grey coat, her thin legs for some reason looking odd in white stockings, holding a bunch of crusty maple leaves in her tiny fist. She was grinning widely at Neve, her grey eyes wide and amused, chest heaving as she inhaled and exhaled deeply. A beret was perched precariously atop her head, with long strands of black hair hanging down from under it. She gave a high-pitched laugh and ran off down the path, her shoes making pitter-pattering noises on the stone path.

"Come on! Come on!" she shouted back gleefully.

"Wait!" Neve cried.

But the girl had disappeared again although she had still been in full view of Neve. The oddest thing about her, however, was not her random vanishings, but the fact that she looked uncannily like Neve. In fact, Neve could have easily believed that the girl was her if she had not been smiling so happily or running so fast. Neve could not remember ever smiling like that or being able to run so quickly and carelessly.

Another strange thing about the child was that she seemed to be curiously transparent, even with the dark colour of her hair and bright colour of her stockings. She seemed to be made of the kind of material as ghosts, though the speculation that she was a ghost was dismissed almost instantly from Neve's mind for ghosts did not run.

Neve blinked again and the girl materialised at the end of the aisle, still grinning and breathing deeply as though she had run very far at a very fast rate. She laughed softly and beckoned to Neve with her free hand. "Come on! Hurry! Hurry!" she called before turning around and running further down the aisle, away from Neve's line of vision.

"Wait!" Neve yelled again, but to no avail - the girl was gone.

Neve sighed impatiently and, after looking left, right and behind her, plunged into the aisle, running after the little girl as she had never run after anyone. Her black robes and hair fanned out behind her as she raced along the path, her own shoes sounded like thunder on the old flagstones. Just as she reached the end of the aisle and was preparing to run down the presently sloping path, she saw the ends of the girl's hair disappear as she rounded the left hedge at the bottom of the slope.

Neve slid down the path and out between the two hedges, gazing about wildly for the girl, but she was nowhere to be seen. Instead, several rows of crumbling tombstones bearing fading inscriptions littered the green plain before her. It was very plainly a graveyard.

At the other end of the plain was a narrow lane lined with hedges surrounding it from every side. As she couldn't see where the girl went to, Neve wended her way through the tombstones towards the lane, reading the text of the ones that caught her eye.




When Neve reached the lane it looked much darker than she had thought, most likely from the lack of light able to penetrate the hedges. She hurried through it, eager to be back in the light for being in the dark inside a graveyard did not appeal to her much, even with her unnatural morosity. She emerged into a larger, round and grassy area strewn with autumn-coloured leaves from the few trees around the edge of the hedges.

This area also contained tombstones, but these were not many and much bigger and more ornate than the previous ones. It looked like a private graveyard reserved only for the deceased of a certain family and none else.

And indeed, as she looked at the various contents of the closest tombstones, Neve noticed that they all had the same surname: Riddle. The males also seemed to have the same first name: Thomas. The names on the two tombstones at the front were Solange Ursula Riddle and Thomas Robert Riddle, and bore dates of birth and death around a hundred years back. The next ones were Victoria Mary Riddle and Thomas Albert Riddle, with dates of some seventy years back. The ones after were Beatrice Elizabeth Riddle and Thomas John Riddle, with dates that were quite recent compared to the others.

The very last ones were a little way apart from each other, the one on the right being smaller than any of the others. The larger tombstone on the left bore a date that was the same as the that of the ones in front of it, some sixty years back, and the name Thomas Abraham Riddle. The littler tombstone bore a very different date of birth and death that seemed to span only seven years. The name above the dates was Neve Riddle, with no middle name in between.

Neve gasped, her eyes widening in shock and fear, her heart beating three times faster, face turning chalk-white. She trembled as she stood staring at the tombstone which clearly bore her first name and the surname of the other family. She could not imagine what was going on, she didn't even want to imagine, she was too terrified.

Could it be a coincidence? She was not a Riddle, she was a Coulden, she had been living with her parents for the past eleven years. She didn't know if names like hers came up very often in the days when the most recent Riddles were still alive, but she didn't think so. Then what else could it be? How had her first name come to be on this tombstone when here she was, standing in front of it, alive and more or less well?

Neve didn't really think she wanted to stay and find out for the answer seemed to be fairly ominous and frightening to even contemplate.

She turned to go back through the lane when she suddenly heard the little girl's high-pitched laugh again. Neve turned and saw the girl dancing in a whirl of wind and autumn leaves around the two furtherest tombstones, her face alight with amusement. She glanced at Neve and in that moment, Neve saw that the girl was her, though she had never acted like the little girl had. Neve backed away towards the narrow lane, and started when she looked down and saw the girl was standing next to her all of a sudden.

Neve stared at her and the girl stared back blankly, all amusement suddenly gone. They had the same stormy grey eyes, same long black hair, curved aristocratic nose and rosebud mouth. They were even of the same build, both short and slight. The girl raised her arm and stretched it out to Neve, palm forward, as though to block her face. Neve reached out her own hand, but her fingers came in contact with something like a cool mist instead of the soft skin of a child's hand.

Then, a searing pain ripped through her arm and all through her body, a pain like she'd never felt before nor ever been able to imagine. Neve yelped and tore her hand away from the girl's with all the energy she possessed; instead of relief, it felt as though her own arm was being pulled out of its socket! Neve stood weak-kneed, panting like she'd run a mile. She looked down at her hand and nearly fell to her knees in horror.

A curvy sort of X with the outline of an eye in the centre of it that had three lines running through it, each slightly longer than the one preceeding it, had somehow been etched into her palm without any blood being drawn. Neve had never seen anything that even resembled the mark, and no matter how much or how hard she rubbed her hand, the sign continued to gleam and did not seem to have a reflection.

Neve looked up at the girl and observed that she had opened her mouth as though to gasp, looking desperately sad and almost scared. She shuddered, and before Neve could do anything, vanished like smoke, her eyes brimming with tears.

Neve didn't think she could stand it any longer. She turned and flew through the dark lane, catching her cloak on the chipped tombstones at the other end, slipping and sliding up and down the sloping pathway leading into the graveyard. The world seemed to be spinning around her, the sky pressing down closer and closer to the earth, the birch trees stretched their skeletal arms towards her, eager to trap her in their clutches.

Just as she was about to step out onto the wide pavement at the entrance to the paved aisle, Neve tripped and went sprawling onto the flagstones, completely unconscious by the time her head hit the ground.


Severus Snape was pacing back and forth in the hospital wing, his black robes billowing around him, his brow furrowed, countenance dark and gloomy. Roisin was no longer with him; he had sent her to the girls' dormitory to give her some rest, and to give all the inquirers a false but reasonable explanation for Neve's condition. He didn't want the whole school to start panicking and neither did Professor Albus Dumbledore, who had visited Snape's office an hour ago and confirmed the truth about Neve.

She had been moved to the hospital wing and Snape administered his strongest Draughts of Peace on her every hour to keep the fever down. Snape stopped beside Neve's bed and looked down at her. Her face was pale and wan, her mouth slightly open, and her chest barely rising with her infrequent breaths. She looked so small wrapped in the coverlet that Snape wondered whether she had been frequently ill when she was younger and perhaps not grown enough because of it.

He watched her anxiously as she began trembling and her breaths came in short rapid gasps. A few strands of her long black hair fell over her eyes and Snape reached out his hand to tuck it back, but caught himself just in time. He remembered that it wouldn't be at all prudent if he touched her, because if the spirit was raging within her then it was best to leave it be or serious harm could be done to the possessed. But he had no need to do anything about it because Neve twisted her head to one side and the locks fell back, leaving her face clear.

He couldn't ever recall seeing a face like Neve's. Even now, when asleep, she didn't look like all other children - peaceful and vulnerable - but just like when she was awake - cold and unrelenting.

Just then, the door of the infirmary opened and a woman with waist-length silvery hair walked in, quietly closing the door behind her. Snape recognised her profile at once; the last time he had seen it was five years ago. He could never forget it, not even at his death.

"Evelyn," he breathed, opening his arms in welcome.

The woman nodded but ignored his open arms, offering a thin pale hand, which Snape grasped in his two larger ones.

He could barely believe that he was seeing her again, that he was holding her hand without her pushing him away. But he knew that she would come, she always had and always would. There was no emotion in her turquoise eyes to betray her true feelings on meeting him again; she was as calm and cool as a crisp winter morning.

In Evelyn's eyes Snape seemed healthier and better-looking than he was five years ago. But there was something in the way he held himself, in his face, in his whole being that pronounced wisdom and strength. But trapped in the darkness of his eyes she saw anger, bitterness, regret and sadness. She knew the reasons for those caged emotions, and she sympathised.

Only a little.

She wished that he would never let those emotions take control of him, for fear of the same thing happening that had happened ten years ago. She was enough attached to him as it was. She remembered how those deep black eyes had beguiled her, and driven her to the heights of ecstasy ... it seemed to be so long ago, half a century at least ... but it was only ten years ...

But nothing like that was to happen now. She couldn't let him take control of her again. She'd have to fight against him and his charms.

Rustling from Neve's bed broke the silence and Evelyn slipped her hand out of Snape's clutch and drew closer to Neve's bedside, bending over her.

"How has she been?" she asked.

Snape sighed and shook his head. "Not very well, I'm afraid. Fever, high temperature, minor paroxysms. I've been giving her my strongest Draughts of Peace every hour and she's quietens, but I believe she's still in torment. Look at her hands."

Evelyn looked down at Neve's blanket, and saw the girl's small hands gripping the blanket as though it was being torn away from her. Her breathing grew even more ragged than before, beads of perspiration poured down her face.

Evelyn placed her palm a couple of inches from Neve's forehead and focused on her face; the heat radiating from the child was incredible! Her body temperature was much higher than was usual, and this was not a good sign at all.

"She's burning, Severus," said Evelyn, taking her hand away from Neve. "The possession is more than advanced than I imagined. In a few hours, she will be lost."

"Well, what do you suggest we should do?" barked Snape. "I don't want to exorcise the spirit because there's a very high risk that she'll be killed in the process."

"Make contact," replied Evelyn calmly. "Ask the spirit what its purpose is. If it's not for evil, we keep it and teach Neve how to control it. If it is for evil, then I'd rather she died with an unpossessed body."

"But there is no one in this school who can handle it. Sybill Trelawney may be a Divination professor but she's hopeless at impromptu trances, as with pretty much everything else. And Dumbledore - "

"I didn't say it had to be someone in the school," interrupted Evelyn. "I will be more than happy to do it myself."

"No! Evelyn, I won't let you put your life in danger. Do you know how hazardous it is to make contact with a potentially evil spirit that resides in someone else's body?"

"Much better than you do. I've done this before, Severus, and I'm doing it again. I've been through hundreds of trances and connections and I'm sure I can survive a hundred more."

Snape gripped her hands in both of his again, pressing them tightly and drawing her closer to him. "I have put your life at risk before," he whispered, "And I still haven't forgiven myself. I'd die to protect you, Evelyn, and you know it. My love for you hasn't waned."

Evelyn ripped her hands away and crossed her arms, avoiding Snape's eyes. "Don't tell me about love, Severus," she said, hitching half a smirk onto her face. "I'm heartless when it comes to that matter. And don't even think of charming me with your suavity, I'll have none of it."

Amusement flickered in Snape's dark eyes and a sardonic smile pervaded his features. "So you still think I'm attractive, do you? Your love for me may have been extinguished, but you know you can't resist my allurement."

"Whoever said that I loved you in the first place?" asked Evelyn coolly. "Maybe I just used you for my own pleasure and you were fool enough to take the bait!"

The corners of Snape's mouth turned down, but he didn't seem in the least perturbed. "Yes, still so convinced that you could make men fall at your feet in rapturous desire. And still reaching for the sceptre of the Ice Queen, aren't you? No matter how much it's frozen over, Evelyn, you've got a heart somewhere and the ice will melt someday."

"And you're so sure that it will be you! Don't get your hopes up, Severus," replied Evelyn, hiding a smile.

"Charming as always," muttered Snape glancing at his watch and walking to the infirmary door. Casting a glance at Neve, he said, "We can talk about Neve's condition over dinner. Coming?"

"Oh, yes! I've been longing for those Hogwarts meals ever since I left, and my imitation of them wouldn't even get down my own throat!" remarked Evelyn.

"You don't look it; still as bright and healthy as I remember you to be."

"And you look the complete opposite. Anyone would think you're living as a hermit and wasting away with nothing to give," Evelyn observed airily, walking out the door held by Snape.

"You don't know how right you are," muttered Snape, giving Neve one last glance before closing the door behind him and following Evelyn to the Great Hall.