The Girl in the Tower

The Girl in the Tower

Part 3: The Lion and the Tempest

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Chapter Seventeen: The Infinite Sadness

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Harry smiled when he awoke. His eyes remained closed, his dream-fuzzy mind lingering on the night he'd spent with Sara. It had been better that he'd ever imagined, sweet and perfect and emotionally intense. He felt closer to her now, closer on a different level, intimate, entwined and committed. "Sara?" he whispered and snaked his hand across the bed, feeling for her sleeping form in the dimness of dawn. Soft gray light filtered in through the doors as birds chirped in the trees around the lake. He opened his eyes to find the bed empty, his hand resting where she used to be.

A foreboding crept up his spine and he knew she was gone. As he pulled himself up and went for his glasses, a cold iron hand wrapped around his heart. "Sara?" he called to the empty room. His echoing voice met with no reply.

Harry swallowed hard as he pulled on his pajamas and got to his feet. He looked through the doors but didn't see her on the roof. His second guess was the bathroom, though he didn't hear the shower running and checked the kitchen on the way, hoping she was making tea.

She wasn't.

He tried the dressing room next, another of her favorite places, but found it still and lifeless, empty, with most of her things packed in huge suitcases, like Aunt Marge had used, all piled in the middle of the room.

But then they weren't.

They were gone. Every last one of them.

Harry's breath caught in his throat as panic gripped him and he ran from the room, threw open the doors and hurried across the roof. "Sara?!" he yelled. "SARA!"

He went to the wall and looked down at the grounds - around the lake - the Quidditch Pitch in the distance, silent and undisturbed. There was no movement anywhere. Even the birds had gone silent.

Harry went back inside. His arms hung at his sides, shoulders slumped. His expression grew despondent, overwhelmed by misery and desperate for someone to tell him it was all a joke. She'd brought her things down to the train and he was just being paranoid. He clung to this idea, desperate for a single thread of hope. Of the fact that she was gone, he was certain.

Harry found his father's watch where he'd left it on the nightstand, slipped it on, then stood staring down at the unmade bed, wondering what to do. He had to do something, after all. Tell Dumbledore. And find her.

His eyes happened upon the letter, propped against the candle by her side of the bed. A lavender envelope set atop a larger package, wrapped with brown paper. Harry rounded the bed, took the purple letter in his hands and lowered himself to the coverlet.

Dear Harry,

I write this in the dark and have only a fleeting moment. You're asleep right now and I fear you'll awake to find me here, dressed for a night of flight. If you think I'm a coward, you're right, but I have my reasons. Escaping is simply something I must do. I'm not leaving you, Harry. Not really.

You once said you would forgive me anything. Can you really? Can you forgive me this? Would you really wait forever? I'm taking my chances, hoping words spoken in love can stand the test of time and I wear the promise you made me on my finger, where it became my promise, too.

I know your first reaction will be to find me, as that's exactly what I would do if I woke and found you gone. Please, Harry, do not come after me. I need to be alone and deal with things in my own way. I ask you to trust me.

Please don't blame yourself. You did nothing wrong. You have been the only light in my life these past few months.

I'm Sorry.

Love Always,
Sara

He couldn't breathe. The air had turned to lead in his chest as helplessness invaded him. Harry grabbed the package and ripped it open, desperate for more than the few words in her letter.

There were three things in the package. A very old book, Celestira, a thick envelope, and a flat velvet box. The third item grabbed his curiosity and he set the other things aside to open it. There was a scrap of paper, which he removed, and a crimson amulet, flat and thin, like her Fortificus Charm, but square and swirling with a shimmering liquid. He read the note that accompanied it.

This is an Amoridon and it holds the essence of my love. It will live as long my love for you endures but never fear, Harry. It will never turn black.

He slipped the gold chain over his head and tucked the essence of her love in its thin diamond shell under his shirt where it was warm and comforting against his skin.

The envelope, he found, contained stacks of Muggle money, a credit card with his name on it and another note.

For our house.

Contact the barrister, Brad Silverman, for any needs this cannot cover. I have left instructions for him to hire a gardener and a housekeeper.

Harry tossed these things onto the bed, anger rising like the tide, grief twisting around despondency and wringing the shock from his mind. "This can't be," he told his shaking hands. "Sara would never do this to me."

There was a soft knock at the door and Dumbledore pushed it open. Harry's head shot up, thinking it might be Sara, having changed her mind about leaving. Harry leapt to his feet and made to speak, but Dumbledore held up a hand.

"She's gone, then," he said, grave and saddened. "It's as I thought."

"Where is she? Professor, I know she must have told you."

"She did not. I only guessed her plan last night and she neither confirmed nor denied it. As to the nature of the dilemma from which she suffers, she gave no indication."

"I don't understand! Why would she leave like this? In the middle of the night with a last minute note and no explanation? Was her life in danger?"

"I don't know."

"She would tell me if it was! She knows I would protect her. I don't understand! It makes no sense!"

"Harry." Dumbledore stepped closer. "Sara doesn't want us to understand. Last night, while we were talking, she said she had lost herself. I believe she has gone to find herself again and that sort of healing must be done on one's own terms, and often alone."

"But she took the ring!" he argued, his frustration building. "She's coming back, I know she is! A few days, maybe a week, right? Don't you think?"

"There's no way to be sure."

Snape appeared in the doorway, looking solemn, as if entering a funeral. "She took the ring?" he asked. "You proposed and she accepted?"

Harry felt oddly embarrassed and his anger spiked at discussing such a private moment with Severus Snape. He held it at bay and nodded his head, feeling defeated.

"And she took the ring?"

Harry dropped his eyes and wandered away from the bed, putting his back to them to hide his anguish.

"She left a note!" Snape's eyes widened and he crossed to the bed's foot, but Harry threw out his hand and used magic to snatch the letter away.

"It's mine!" he snapped. "It's addressed to me and you can't read it!" He folded the page and stuffed it back in the envelope, not really knowing why the thought of someone else reading his letter disturbed him so.

"As you wish," Snape conceded, thinking Potter was on the verge of losing it. "But did she say anything you might be willing to share with us?"

"She said..." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "She said that she was a coward but that she had her reasons. That escaping was something she simply must do." Pain twisted in his chest as he remembered her words and, for the first time, felt a sting behind his eyes.

"She gave no explanation?"

"No, okay?"

Snape sighed, distraught. "She never told me why she was leaving, only that she was."

Dumbledore interrupted, surprised. "You knew, Severus?"

"She came to my lab before the binding."

Harry was incredulous. "You knew? You actually knew and you let her leave?" Harry raised his voice. "What's wrong with you? Have you looked at her lately?!"

"That's exactly why I let her leave." Snape narrowed his eyes.

Harry glared at him, his anger apparent.

"Calm down Harry," Dumbledore suggested. "We all want answers. Severus?" He turned to Snape. "Why did you not come to me immediately when she revealed her intensions?"

"She asked me not to. I gave my word."

"And why didn't she tell me herself?"

"Yes." Harry glared. "Why did she tell you? Why not her uncle? Why not me?"

"She said the headmaster was the only person alive who could talk her out of it. As for you, Potter, there were a few things Sara wanted me to relay to you that she felt she could not say in person."

"What!" he demanded. "What did she tell you?"

Professor McGonagall entered in silence and remained near the door so not to interrupt.

"She wanted you to know that leaving was an act of self-preservation. It had nothing to do with you, or anyone else here for that matter. As for the malady itself, she said trying to overcome it while bearing the pretense of a normal life was hopeless, like swimming against the current, afraid of what the truth could do to those closest to her. She also said that you wouldn't understand, but there was something she had to do. Something of which you won't approve. Whatever it might be, she did it to protect both of you."

"But... but last night! I mean, she took the ring and... it was..." A pained expression saddened his eyes and Harry found he could look at none of them.

"Harry?" Dumbledore's gentle voice inquired. "What happened after you gave her the ring?"

Unable to meet his eyes, Harry stared at the floor, opened his mouth to speak, his mind racing, stumbling over words and finally gave no reply.

The room was silent and Dumbledore smiled.

"Oh dear." McGonagall sighed. "Well, I hope you were a gentleman."

Harry left them and moved to stare out the doors at the roof beyond, wishing they would all go away. He wanted to cry. There were many times throughout his life when he'd wanted to cry and this was all of them in a single moment.

Snape's voice was sympathetic, hesitant. "Potter. She asked that you not write to her."

"Shut-up!" Harry bellowed, spinning around to face him. "You're a liar! Sara would never say that!"

"She thought it would be best-"

"GET OUT!" he yelled. "Get out! Get out of my sight!"

"Look, Potter-"

Snape ducked as Harry hurled something at him.

Dumbledore never flinched as he sent the object off its trajectory and it smashed against a wall.

Snape was in the doorway, looking riled, but sincere. "This is not my fault, Potter," he said and left.

Harry was no longer listening. He had turned his back and watched the sky it seemed, oblivious to everything except the pain of his loss. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Come Harry," McGonagall said and guided him back to the bed. She pulled the blankets up to his chin and smoothed his hair back with a gentle hand.

It was a caring gesture and it stirred something in him that he'd been too angry to feel until now. Harry pulled the covers over his head and curled into a ball. The blankets shivered as Harry trembled beneath them, his breathing abnormal.

Minerva sighed. "I'll make him some tea, Albus."

When she had left the room, Dumbledore sat on Sara's side and laid a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. He could feel him shaking under the coverlet. "Stay at Hogwarts, Harry. You're always welcome here." Dumbledore lifted the book Sara left, thumbed through it and set it on the empty pillow. "I suggest you read this. Sara left it for you because it contains information that will give you insight. Harry, the nature of the Elemental is complicated. When you consider Sara's recent depression and the path she took, remember that, when one's emotions and the world entwine, it can be powerfully overwhelming. Especially for a young girl who has seen tragedy in her life and has found a source of happiness she could never bear to lose. There are constants with her kind, some of which fight her own free will. That kind of inner struggle could push even the strongest person to the edge of madness. But don't fear for Sara. She knows what's wrong and she won't come back until she has fixed it. Don't mourn her absence, Harry. Believe in her instead."

A choked noise came from the blankets.

Dumbledore patted Harry's shoulder and stood. "I'll return to see how you're doing. If you want to talk, just send your owl." He sighed, dismayed by the state of his favorite student. "Time, Harry. In time, all things come full circle."

* * *

"Let me get the door for you," Mr. Sanders offered as he helped her through the hotel corridor.

Sara collapsed against the wall and closed her eyes.

He slid the card through the slot and pushed it open, holding her arm with one hand, fearing she'd fall. Sara had slept all the way to the border of France but he'd awakened her as they went through customs. After that, she'd cried the entire trip and seemed to grow weaker until he feared she was sick. She'd barely said a word and he had asked no questions.

"Come on," he said, hushed and concerned. "Let's get you inside."

Sara tried to walk but was dazed, incoherent and her steps were unsteady. With her backpack over one shoulder, Greg lifted her and carried her into the room, setting her down in a chair near the bed. He removed her shoes and the jumper she wore but he didn't dare change her clothes. But then, she didn't have anything to change into, did she? Why had she brought only one small backpack?

Sara looked down at him as he unzipped the bag and looked with confusion at tiny pieces of luggage. It was the first time he'd caught her eye since she'd arrived at his apartment and what he saw there disturbed him.

"Back away," she whispered and lifted her hand with obvious effort. "Reducto."

Sara's hand dropped back into her lap as seven leather suitcases leapt out of the backpack and landed full-size.

Greg fell back a step. "What the bloody hell?!"

"My mother... taught me that one," she muttered.

Sanders thought she sounded almost as bad as she looked and, never in a million years did he think a beautiful girl like Sara could ever look so horribly wretched. And her hair! It was bizarre and downright disturbing, what had happened. It made him uneasy.

"The smallest one," she instructed. "The white oxford."

He found the shirt and got it out, not daring to question her about the supernatural luggage, and laid it across her knees.

"Help me," she said, her voice growing weaker by the moment. "I can't."

"Sara, it wouldn't be proper for a man my age to help a teenager out of her clothes. I know you're not feeling well but you'll have to make do."

"I trust you. I need to wear this. I have to. Help me."

He hesitated, torn between wanting to do as she asked and his better judgment. Finally, he gripped the hem of her shirt and closed his eyes. "I won't look," he said and pulled. She nearly fell out of the chair but he managed to keep her upright. Maybe, he thought, less haste and more gentleness would help. As it was, he felt guilty, criminal, and wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. He felt for the oxford, which was obviously Harry's, and got her arms into it. He'd had his eyes squeezed shut so hard and for so long there was a regular fireworks show on the backs of his lids and he needed to either relax or open them. Since opening them wasn't an option, Greg took a deep breath and set to steady his hands. He did the buttons gingerly, ever mindful of keeping a light touch.

Now that she was dressed again, he looked at her. He had a million questions, none of which was his business to ask, but he was worried about Sara. She slipped her hands around her arms, embracing the shirt, holding it close to her. Tears ran down her cheeks and that, to him, was unbearable.

He lifted her, carried her to the bed and laid her on the pillow, pulling the covers up and around her.

"My skirt."

"No. I won't do it."

She tried to catch her breath.

Greg knew he shouldn't make her talk anymore, it was obviously difficult, but this he simply could not do. He had always considered himself an honorable man and it just wasn't right.

Sara tried to speak but her voice choked with her tears.

Sanders slid his hands beneath the sheets and removed her skirt, wanting to run from the room the entire time and half expecting the police to knock the door down and take him away.

"Sara," he said as he set the garment aside. "Let me call someone. You're not well."

"No."

"You need help. You're upset! You're crying. Sara, you're devastated."

Her voice was a choked whisper and she spoke with effort. "I miss him, Greg."

"I know." He lowered his eyes, knowing something terrible had happened between Sara and Harry. He'd known it from the start.

"My heart has turned black tonight." Her silent tears dripped onto the pillow. "I think I might die of this misery."

"Now you listen to me." He leaned over and stroked her hair, brushing it back from her face. "You've got no black heart. Let your troubles rest awhile. Get some sleep."

He waited in the chair in the dark, watching until he knew she slept and then let himself out.

* * *

Dumbledore was in his bedside chair when Harry awoke. The moon dusted silver in his long white hair and beard in the darkness. "I've brought you a cup of tea, Harry."

"Thank you," Harry mumbled and accepted it. He took a sip. Earl Grey. His favorite. "What time is it, Professor?"

"Nine. You've slept a long time."

"I woke up now and then, just didn't feel like moving."

"Do you feel any better, now that you've rested awhile?"

"No."

"Tell me what's on your mind, Harry. Why do you think Sara left Hogwarts?"

"We had all these plans. We'd bought a little cottage on the channel and we that's where we were going when we got to London. I thought it was what she wanted. I thought we would be there by now." Harry grew silent for a moment. "Then I gave her the ring. I keep thinking she knew I would. She's a seer, after all and has the Orb of Arassel. Maybe she saw something in it she didn't like."

"You believe you chased her away."

"It was all too much. Too soon."

"I fear the problem may be something much more than that. Don't be so quick to blame yourself." Dumbledore remembered the object in his hand. "Oh yes, this letter came for you. It's from Draco Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" Harry pulled himself up, grabbed his wand and lit the candles. He took the letter and tore it open. If there was one person in all of creation who knew what troubled Sara, it was Draco Malfoy.

Potter,

Surprised to hear from me? Believe me; I have better things to do than write to you but there's something you need to know. I'm not telling you for your benefit, of course, but because Sara needs help.

Next to the stand by Sara's bed, there is a loose stone at the base of the wall. Behind it, you will find a great deal of correspondence from my father. He started writing to her soon after that night at my house and she encountered him a few times as well.

I found out about it the day of the Yule Ball when I arrived at the tower to find her crying. I insisted she tell someone, but he'd threatened her to silence and she swore me to secrecy. And Christmas? She lied to you. I found my father's cane on the roof, snapped in two near her cloak, which was thrown on the floor. All the furniture was overturned. She asked me to hide it and used the holiday as an excuse. I don't know why I agreed, but she'd already set the school on fire and I thought that was enough for one day.

I break my word today, Potter. Don't make me sorry. Do something about this.

DM

Harry threw the letter aside and Dumbledore, who snatched it up without pretense, set to reading it at once. Harry hurried from the bed and used his wand to find the stone.

It was as Malfoy said. The shoebox overflowed with letters and small packages, still wrapped in brown paper as if she'd never even considered opening them. He took the whole thing to his bed and sat on Sara's side. Dumbledore climbed onto the other and removed the first of the letters.

"Curious," he said. "It's addressed to Sara Francis, Ravenclaw House."

"That's what she told him the night I rescued Draco from the cellar."

"Clever, using her middle name. It would make it much more difficult for him to sense deceit."

Harry read in silence. "He was watching her."

Dumbledore sighed. "Why didn't I know it?"

Harry handed the letter to Dumbledore and opened the next.

They went on this way for more than an hour, occasionally noting certain events aloud. They followed the downward path the letters took, from disturbing, yet merely flirtatious invitations to veiled threats, demands, and outright lies. They understood as Sara had that Lucius discovered Harry had been involved in Draco's escape and he dangled the knowledge in front of her, never making it certain. It was through the letters that Harry learned about the night of the Yule ball. Sara had kissed Draco Malfoy. It pained him at first, regardless of what he himself had done, and then he found it didn't matter. It changed nothing, wasn't even important and he didn't hold it against her.

"This is from her!" Harry pulled the lavender paper from its envelope, much like the one he'd received that morning. It was sent back to her with a short response scribbled on the back. Dumbledore leaned in and they read it together.

Lucius,

Why don't you give up already? How many ways can I say no before you finally get it? I want no relationship with you whatsoever beyond "acquaintance" and even that's a stretch. How could I have a single shred of fondness for a Death Eater who delights in killing off members of his own family? When you thought I was in love with Draco you threatened to kill him in his bed. Do you think I don't know whom you're hinting at now? He would kill you first, he'd do it gladly, and you know it. You don't scare me, Lucius. In fact, I find you rather nauseating. Your touch makes my skin crawl. In short, go to hell.

You're disgusting. Leave my friends alone.

Sara

Dumbledore smiled, "Couldn't have said it better myself."

Harry allowed himself a small smile of relief and pride. She had stood up to him and never showed a bit of fear. He read the words a second time. "He threatened to kill me. That's what this is about."

"That's the impression I got as well."

"And he wrote on the back; You insist on this nonsense, do you? Did you think this paragraph of insults would alter things in your favor? I stand by what I said. Doubting my conviction will only result in headlines of unprecedented magnitude. However, your abrasive words do not fool me. What girl sets herself so high and gambles with her heart's desire? You're stalling. Do not test my patience. I'll soon resort to more drastic measures."

"Well, I'd say he definitely threatened to kill you." The old wizard sighed, rested his brow on his hand for a moment and then stroked his beard. "We could have done something about this. She should have told me."

"He should be arrested." Harry packed the letters back into the box in slow motion. "He threatened to kill two people and he was terrorizing a teenaged girl, not to mention he's a psycho and a Death Eater to begin with."

"I agree." Dumbledore stood. "I'll speak to the ministry. In the meantime, I suggest you get up for awhile. I'll arrange for your dinner to be brought up."

"Professor, whatever you do, don't let them take the letters."

"Good thinking, Harry." He smiled. "You know, there was a reason I came to see you this morning. Something I planned to ask you before events changed the course of things. Have you made any plans for employment or schooling?"

"No, sir. I wasn't exactly thinking about it."

"Harry, I want you to remain at Hogwarts. Become my apprentice for a year or two."

Harry tried to smile through his anguish.

"Also, there's the matter of Defense Against the Dark Arts. The fellow they sent to fill in for Morgio has gone back to his regular job and we are without a teacher once again. I know this isn't the best time to be asking, Harry, so I'll leave you to consider it."

"I can't teach, sir! I was a student all the way up until yesterday!"

"And now you're the highest level of wizard under the name of Merlin. Who else has come face-to-face with Voldemort and walked away the victor? Show me a wizard better qualified and I'll show him to his office." He half-smiled. "Hogwarts could use someone like you. I have a feeling you'd be an excellent teacher, Professor Potter, and someone of your stature would require an excellent paycheck."

Harry sighed. "I accept. I have nothing left to look forward to, anyway."

Dumbledore gave Harry's shoulder a gentle pat. "You have a bright future and Sara's return to look forward to. I'll come again soon."

Harry went to shower, sick over her plight and wishing she'd said something. But he understood why she hadn't. He'd come to know all about Sara, the way she reacted and how she made her choices. He held nothing against her, although he was hurt and maybe a little angry.

The hot water held no comfort. Harry closed his eyes as it rained down on him and thought of their little house, standing empty atop the cliff, waiting for those who had never arrived. His mind wandered to the white rose he'd given her. He'd thought of her the moment he'd seen it in the greenhouse and remembered it during one of his miserable wakeful periods earlier in the day. She'd taken it. The vase stood on the stand where she'd placed it, still containing a bit of water. No trace of the flower remained. Harry didn't know what it meant, that she'd taken the rose, but it told him something in light of the letters. She didn't want to leave. He was sure of it.

He shut the water off and went for his robe. As he tied it closed, he noticed Sara's robe still hung on its hook, a painful reminder, and he ran a hand over its length. Purple terrycloth, thick and soft against his skin. He remembered the last time he'd seen her in it, last Sunday morning as he made tea for them. She'd come into the kitchen and sat on the counter, her legs dangling over the edge, and how she'd smiled at him. Come here, Harry, she'd said. The tea can wait.

There was something in the pocket. It felt dishonest, going through her things, but he went about retrieving it and was surprised to find another letter from Lucius Malfoy hidden there. Harry opened it at once, read it through, and finally understood. He'd given her a deadline and she'd acted to protect him. But how? What had she done? Harry shook his head, not knowing what to think. Would Sara really sleep with Lucius Malfoy in an effort to save his life? It seemed to be his only demand.

Harry put his pajamas back on and went to the bedroom where he poured himself a drink from the decanter near the fire. The warmth in his stomach as he drank it countered the chill that ran through his veins and mellowed the anger that festered within him. He wanted to get on the Mach 2 and fly full speed all the way to Malfoy Manor. Blow the front door off its hinges and obliterate Lucius in a rage unrestrained. Harry thought about going but knew that, if he did, he'd kill Draco's father and spend the rest of his life in Azkaban for it. Helplessness consumed him and he fell onto the couch with his drink, the letter clutched in his hand.

Dinner arrived and Harry dismissed the elf. He had no intention of eating any of it. The thought of food made his stomach ill at ease. What he wanted was to get up and smash something. Everything. He tortured himself with thoughts of Lucius Malfoy touching Sara the way he had the night they'd rescued Draco. His blood boiled as the imagery progressed and his anger mounted. Sara must have felt cornered, like there was nothing else she could do. If she told anyone, he'd threatened to kill Draco as well.

Harry sighed and took a sip of rum.

Sara must have felt so alone in all this, knowing the fate of two people rested on her shoulders. And Sara loved Draco, he knew she did, but Harry no longer felt threatened by their friendship, even after learning of the kiss at the Yule Ball. Sara had a strange bond with Draco, but it was on a different level and his trust in her was implicit.

He read the letter again and again before slamming down his glass, throwing his spring cloak around his shoulders and going to the landing outside the door to retrieve his broom. Lucius Malfoy would pay for what he'd done, even if it meant Azkaban for Harry. He didn't care what became of him, as long as he had his vengeance first.

Harry came face to face with Dumbledore and Snape, standing on the other side of the door, hand still poised to knock. Harry shoved the letter in Dumbledore's wrinkled hand, shot Snape a vicious glance, and gripped his broom. He hurried toward the roof with it; meaning for a furious flight, but Snape grabbed his arm and spun him around.

"Where do you think you're going? You're drunk!"

"He went too far," Harry told him. "He left her no choice and now he's left me none as well."

Snape thought Harry was delirious. His voice was too high, unsteady. He kept expecting the boy to burst into tears, but he didn't. "And what do you propose to do about it at this time of night and in your condition? Sit down, Potter. It's not as you think."

"Yes, Harry. Please sit." Dumbledore had finished reading the letter and moved to the new sofa before the fire, the page dangling from his hand. "Before you run off there's something you need to know. Harry, Lucius Malfoy is dead."

Harry was dumbfounded. "But...but who..."

Snape, who had appeared lost in thought until now, looked Harry in the eye and spoke, his voice a confessional. "It was Sara." He gave a heavy sigh and fell back against the mantle, guilt-ridden. "Lucius was poisoned. She came to me a week ago and asked for a vial of belladonna and its antidote. I thought nothing of giving it to her, of course. How would I know? Why would I ever suspect she had such intentions?"

"Belladonna. He calls her that several times in the letters," Harry said, considering this new information as he sat beside Dumbledore.

"What I think," Snape added. "Is that she mixed the poison in wine and used the antidote to allow her to drink it. Lucius would never drink it unless she did first. We all know he would never be so easily tricked."

"Even in the end, she wouldn't give him what he wanted." Harry smiled and stood to remove his cloak. It was a warm night and the fire was too high to be wearing so many layers.

"Were you really going to kill Lucius in silk pajamas? Dirty ones at that? And barefoot of all things? Headmaster, I think Potter should spend a few days at St. Mungo's before he gets himself hurt."

"Harry will be fine, Severus."

"That's more than I can say for you, Snape." Harry scowled and stood. "Everything goes back to you. You let her leave without a word to anyone and now you've provided her with the means to commit murder! We had an engagement today, unless you forgot, and I think it's time we got to it." He drew his wand and motioned toward the roof.

Snape drew his own wand and nodded. "Fine, but I've waited a year for this day. I'm willing to wait until you've come to your senses. I'll take no pleasure in killing you while you're wearing pajamas."

"A duel, is it?" Dumbledore rose to his feet. "As fun as that might be to watch, I'm afraid I need my teachers in one piece. Put your wands away, both of you."

"Yes, I forgot," Snape said as he stowed the wand. "Congratulations on your new employment. I swear, the list of Dark Arts teachers grows more peculiar every year."

"You're just jealous, Snape. Don't dwell on it. You belong in the dungeons."

"Enough!" Dumbledore stood. "You will not antagonize each other into another round of defense lessons! Now, let's all sit back down and resume our discussion."

They did, Snape opting to stand before the fire again over sharing the couch with Harry.

"What if they find her, Professor? They'll put her in Azkaban."

Snape's face went white. The thought hadn't crossed his mind.

"They won't, Harry. They can't."

"What do you mean?"

"Azkaban is a place of desperation and apathy, remember. The Elemental's

emotions are a dangerous thing when taken to an extreme. She would level the place."

"Of course."

"In fact, Sara is governed by a different code than the rest of us. You see, the Elemental has many constants, as I've mentioned before. She can be counted on to be good natured and mild. She is also a unique being with a strong drive to protect herself at all costs. Therefore, Sara is permitted to use any means she deems necessary to eliminate any threat to her person. There will be no repercussions."

Harry thought a weight had lifted from his heart but he felt no better. He found his glass still resting beside the decanter and refilled it. This met with no opposition, but then it wouldn't be, would it? He was a student no more. In fact, he was a Hogwarts professor, on the same level as Snape and, as a first class wizard, he out-ranked him. The realization should have brought him great pleasure but Harry slunk down in the cushions with his drink, wondering how Sara was at this hour. After her long ordeal, he hoped she was resting, that she was safe and that she was thinking of him, too.

"Harry?" Dumbledore inquired, seeing the change in his expression. "Why would Sara leave a white rose on the body? Does it mean anything to you?"

"Yes." He swallowed, wondering what it meant. "It does."

"Hmmm." The old man stroked his beard. "A message. She wanted you to know I
I think."

"Maybe." He hesitated. "Do you know who found him?"

Snape answered. "It was Draco." He turned his back on the couch and lowered his
head. "He was detained by the ministry until the headmaster vouched for his whereabouts at the time of the murder. Imagine. As if he hasn't been through enough already."

Harry felt little pity for Malfoy. His thoughts were only of Sara. Lucius deserved to die and he was glad she'd done it, though he knew how it must have affected her. Somewhere tonight it was raining.

Harry's voice was barely a whisper as he stared into his empty glass. "I want to be alone."

Snape moved without hesitation toward the door but Dumbledore had something more to say. "All I ask is that you not leave the school unless you tell someone where you're going. At least for a few days."

"Yes, sir."

"Would you like Severus to bring you something to help you sleep?"

"I'll be fine."

Neither present thought Harry was fine. On the contrary, he looked on the verge of a complete mental breakdown.

"Rest yourself, Harry. Morning will bring a new day."

"Yes, sir."

As soon as they were gone, Harry crawled into bed, wishing the dull ach in his chest would subside. He lay there in silence, a thousand questions flashing through his mind, all in need of answers. He wondered where she was, what she was doing, how she felt. Did she miss him? Did she have regrets?

His eyes happened upon the book she'd left for him, Celestira, and he opened it. It was ancient, and written in Old Romanian. He used a translation charm and soon was reading the text in English. It was a book about Elementals. In fact, the title of the book had changed to the more recent word.

Insight Dumbledore claimed, resided in its pages.

* * *

Author's Note: The phrase "The Infinite Sadness" is borrowed from the Smashing Pumpkins album Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness.

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