The Girl in the Tower

The Girl in the Tower
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Chapter Twenty-five: My Immortal Beloved

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"Well? What do you want? I was in the middle of something, you know!" Draco sat in a hard leather chair across from a set of frightening reddish eyes, glaring out at him from beneath the hood of a cloak. He reclined, casual, as if the dark lord had just interrupted his dinner.

Voldemort showed no sign of amusement and scowled at Draco's disrespect. "You've had that book for many hours."

"Well, it took some time to get it back! Or didn't your spies tell you? I assumed you knew I went to Hogwarts." He brushed back his long hair and let it spill down around his shoulders, arrogant.

"I grow tired of your pride, Draco. I can make you just as loyal and compliant as your father was, though I do not think you'll enjoy it."

"Is that all you want? Some idiot savant? Well then you'd better look elsewhere. I'm not changing my very personality, not for you, my father, or anyone else. I got you the book, didn't I?"

"Yes, but you lost it. By your own admission. That's failure in my eyes."

"Yeah, but I got it back. I'd call that a success. Next time, have me steal something from the girls' dorms during shower time. I want to keep my rating high."

"Do you expect me to believe you managed to steal this book from the school? With Dumbledore and Potter there to stop you?" Voldemort raised his wand. "Veritas."

Draco felt his mind open up as if what guarded it ripped aside.

"Draco, what did you do at Hogwarts?"

"I went to see Harry Potter."

"And he gave you the book?"

"Yes. He said someone died trying to find Granger's and he wanted to know why. His has gone missing. That's why it took so long. He had to get that book back from Sara. He said Snape was bringing it."

"Why give it to you at all?"

"Because I was afraid of what you would do to me if I lost it. Harry's a good Samaritan. And supremely sentimental. I knew I could draw on his sympathy. After all, he is rather fond of saving people."

"Is he a friend of yours?"

"We associate."

"How do you think your father would feel about that?"

Draco's brow creased in annoyance at the mention of Lucius. "I don't really care what my father would think! After all, we did attend the same school for seven years. You tend to run into people now and again."

Voldemort seethed. "You're too stubborn for your own good, Draco. Perhaps you need a few more lessons in obedience and respect."

"I'll do as I'm told. I'll keep up appearances. I'll even answer your questions. But don't ask me to respect you. Respect has to be earned and, in my eyes, you're worse than my father."

"But you loved your father."

"When I was younger, I worshipped him. There was no one like him. People listened to him. They feared him, cowered in his presence. They respected his power over them - even his enemies. I wanted to be just like him." Draco leveled his eyes on Voldemort. "Then I met someone who opened my eyes to the truth of it all. The secret of life you could say. Creating fear is easy. Any Hufflepuff could learn to be heartless and cruel. The challenge is in making people love you. It's a fine and difficult art in which the real power lies. It's something my father failed at abysmally. I loved him because he was my father. I hated him for the father that he was."

"The words of the weak, Draco. Love itself is weakness. Love is the only way out for those without the strength to endure. Those who lack ambition."

"Allow me to point out the flaws in that particular bit of nonsense."

"Silence!" Voldemort stood and took a few steps toward Draco's chair, his wand held out before him. "My patience with you wears thin."

Draco recoiled the slightest bit. "You wanted honesty."

"I want answers, Mr. Malfoy." Voldemort lowered his wand. "Did Potter say anything about the book? Did he give you the password?"

"Of course not! He isn't stupid. Naive maybe, but he knew you wouldn't be able to open it. He couldn't understand why you would want it to begin with."

"What did you tell him?"

"I said I didn't know and I don't."

"Very well, then. How did you lose the book?"

"Polyjuice. The very thing that allowed me to steal it in the first place! Two of your wizards came to the door, claiming to you sent them to retrieve it. I handed it to her. To Sara Lemke."

"The Elemental herself came after it?"

"Yes. I recognized her just before she made off with it." His eyes became pained with the memory of her words.

Voldemort considered this for a moment. "She has been a thorn in my side for far too long." He raised his wand again. "Finite Veritas."

"That was completely unnecessary! How rude!" Draco yelled. "Besides, I didn't tell you anything other than what I would have said without the curse! I may be a lot of things, but I'm not a liar!"

"Go home, Draco. It seems I have a swordsman to visit."

"Thank you." Draco found himself standing in the grass on top of a hill, overlooking London. He turned to find his house right behind him.

Draco sprawled out on the cool blanket of green and stared up at the stars, again with the sensation of being in two places at once. He thought of the bed on the roof of the tower. A smooth glass of Finnigan's Swill and the Moonlight Sonata, drifting from the player, blending peacefully with the still of the night.

* * *

...thus he was, thus he died, thus he will live for all time... *

Sara cradled the pillow, dabbing at her eyes with a scratchy paper tissue as she lay in bed, watching a movie about Beethoven on the hotel's TV. She was crying for Vanya, whom she had come to love. She'd slipped into a deep coma the night Sara had recovered the book from Draco, one from which she wasn't to return, having drifted beyond even Sara's reach. A week later she died. That was 2 days ago. The funeral had been this morning.

Sara found she could no longer stay in Vanya's little fieldstone house. She no longer wanted Romania or the cold mountains to surround her. She had sent Greg home to England, knowing she wasn't going back and thinking it unfair to take up any more of his life. He hadn't seen his friends and family in two years and she wanted to be alone anyway. Standing beside Vanya's grave in the rain, Sara realized she had never been truly alone in her life.

The moment she'd foreseen so long ago had come to pass as Sara put Mr. Sanders on a train earlier in the evening. She'd smiled as they stood on the platform. She had taken his hand and thanked him for all his help. He hugged her and kissed her cheek, promising to see her soon, but she got the feeling as he walked away that she would never see Greg Sanders again.

Sara ordered room service, knowing there was no one in the room across the hall to bring her dinner. No one to share a table with in a nearby cafe. The thought was a little frightening, though she felt solace and a kind of liberation in her loneliness. It was how misery should be.

The movie held her interest, kept her mind off Vanya and everything else that clogged her thoughts today. She sipped her soda, curled up on her side and propped on three fluffy pillows. It was unexpected, the way the words of a movie letter stirred her deepest emotions. She was caught off guard, staring at the TV when the sentiments grabbed her attention and tore at her heart.

Why this deep sorrow? If we could be united, we would feel this pain no longer. Where I am, you are with me, too. Soon we will live together, and what a life it will be! I have to see you. However much you love me, I love you more. Never hide yourself from me. ..

While still in my bed, my thoughts turn to you, my immortal beloved. Some of them happy, some sad, waiting to see whether fate will hear us. I can live only completely with you, or not at all. Yes. It must be.*

Sara closed her eyes and tears burned her face, the feelings she tried so hard to ignore bubbling to the surface and she wrapped a trembling hand around the diamond ring on her finger. Slowly, she took it off.

* * *

Harry sat in his office, having just finished grading his final exams. All of his students had passed, with the exception of a few Slytherins. It pleased him to know the three who gave him so much trouble would be spending summer holiday taking classes at the ministry. From what he understood, they had failed Transfiguration and Herbology as well.

With its pot, the snapdragon was now far taller than Harry was. Its leaves spanned at least six feet from tip to tip, and it bit him every time he tried to water it. He could always levitate the can over to the plant, but it had become a bit of a challenge and he stood up to face it now. It was even more vicious, now there was a little pink seedling blooming no more than a foot tall in the pot as well, but Professor Sprout insisted it had to grow a little more before it could be transplanted.

"Are you going to bite me?" he asked it, standing no more than a meter from its big purple flower, water can in hand. The snapdragon seemed to be staring him down. They had a little standoff that lasted just a few moments, then it spit a blast of pollen in his face. Harry sneezed six or seven times before using a spell Hermione sent him to remove the sticky power.

"That's it!" Harry pointed his wand and was just about to curse it when there was a flash of purple and the snapdragon bit his hair, pulling until Harry lifted off his feet. In his surprise, he dropped his wand. "Let go of me you big ugly weed!" he yelled as the flower tossed him around. He swiped a hand at it and missed, only to get the stinging smack of its leaf across his face. "I'm having you turned into COMPOST!!"

Harry drove his fist into the 'jaw' of the bloom and dropped to the floor.

Harry kept a large pair of garden shears in the closet for occasions like these and he summoned them now, glaring up at the looming flower. "Accio scissors."

The snapdragon recoiled in fear, wrapping a lower leaf protectively around the seedling.

"That's right!" Harry smirked as his eyes narrowed, opening and closing the scissors with a sharp SNIP! "Where's your pollen now?"

"Harry." Dumbledore chuckled in the doorway. "It seems flowers are the one threat we never covered and should have."

Harry, yellowish hair standing straight up, turned as the headmaster entered. Snape, looking grave and serious and carrying a newspaper, leaned against the wall just inside. Dumbledore took the can and approached the plant.

"Sir! It's not friendly!"

"Don't worry, Harry. They appreciate a light touch is all." Dumbledore stroked its purple chin, bruised from where Harry'd punched it, and dumped the water on the soil. "Such a beautiful shade of lavender, you are. And your little friend here is coming along nicely." He bent to touch the head of the tiny pink bloom. With Dumbledore's attention diverted, the larger snapdragon leaned forward and blew a cloud of pollen at Harry. He sneered with menace as he tried to fan it away. He was now mostly yellow.

Dumbledore leaned on his walking stick and gave Harry a hand up. His expression turned serious. "Harry, Severus has some news that might be of interest to you, although I have to warn you. It's troubling indeed."

At the mention of his name, Snape came forward, unfolded the Muggle paper and pointed out a small article. Harry saw it was The Times out of London. He read in silence, his smile fading with each word.

"Mr. Sanders," he said, incredulous. "He's dead!"

"Yes," Snape answered. "It looks like the work of Death Eaters if you ask me. Killed on a train headed for France with no witnesses and his wallet intact. No obvious cause of death. Perhaps they thought he was carrying Sara's spell book?"

"Why didn't Sara protect him? I don't understand!"

"I don't think she was with him. I would love to ask her myself, but I don't know where to find her. I went to Romania right away, but she had told them nothing. The elderly Elemental has died and Sara is nowhere to be found."

"They killed her, too?"

"No, Potter. She was one-hundred and twenty years old. She died two days ago. Sara attended the funeral this morning."

"Find the rain and you'll find Sara."

"Not quite. Sara has learned to control her emotions. It may be raining, but there will be no hurricanes to follow. No sudden storms."

Harry turned to Dumbledore. "Send Fawkes with a letter. She may not even know about Mr. Sanders!"

Dumbledore nodded, his expression troubled. "That's true, Harry, but I don't think writing to her will do any good. She returns all my letters."

"Mine, too." Harry sighed. Then he looked to Snape. "She doesn't return yours."

* * *

Sara had ordered a bottle of wine with her dinner, then requested another and both lay empty on the floor. Merlot stained the carpet from an overturned glass. The floor of the balcony was littered with cigarette butts, even though she had given up what little smoking she'd done long ago. Sara herself lay on the bed, still wearing her funeral clothes. Black mascara smudges lined her eyes. Her vision was blurred.

The doors were open to the night, the TV dark and silent as she hummed the Moonlight Sonata, the few blond strands in her hair gone black. There was no light in the room, only what spilled in from outside and the open air called to her, brought her to her feet and onto the balcony.

The blinking cityscape swam in and out of focus as the traffic roared beneath her and Sara sat on the rail, clinging to the post and pulled her legs up and over. Tears spilled down her face at the mere thought of him. "Harry," she said. "I'm so sorry."

If she let go of the post, she would fall.

She held on fast, though she longed to feel the peace it would bring. The serenity.

Sara stood there on the edge, thinking of Draco, whom she still loved and missed. The guilt she felt for what she'd done to him ate away at the fabric of her being, the way the thought of Harry darkened her soul. She thought of Lucius, his parting words to her, and the mark she still bore. He must have understood her well. A black widow she was. Belladonna she was also. Poison to all who got too close.

Nikita...

I hear you, she replied. You have found me at a strange moment in time.

Your soul is troubled tonight, my dear.

No, Nikolae. My soul is dead.

Invite me in. Talk with me awhile.

Sara sat on the floor of the balcony, looking out through the wrought iron bars, too listless to move. The vampire lifted her without effort and carried her to the bed. Gently, he lowered her to the pillows, then pulled up a chair and sat close to her. He smoothed her hair, black and brittle and long - like a shroud - ever more so than it had been only one night ago. He thought it probably touched the floor.

"It is a shroud," she told him, her voice a whisper. "Only it's supposed to be myth. I cut it off, but it grew back within hours."

"What does it mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything."

"My dear, you have come too far to give up this way. You fought for what you wanted; you sacrificed everything dear to you, only to succumb to the hardship when it's all in your grasp. Has your journey made you lose sight of its own purpose?"

"I set out on a desperate quest for strength of will and understanding, Nikolae. I left a path of destruction, but you're right, I got what I wanted. Only now, I understand all too well and the experience has changed me, taken from me my very spirit. Decimated my ability to feel happiness. I'm dead inside. My only true accomplishment was in destroying myself."

"You think you've changed so much that the ones you left behind would no longer love the person you've become?"

"Yes. Something like that."

The vampire cast his pained eyes to the floor, and then looked at her again. "The rest of your life hinges on this moment, Nikita. And you have already played your hand, I see."

"I did what was right. What was fair. Do you know how I affect people? I am a burden to every person I know. My parents died because of me. I killed Malfoy's father and his mind grows darker by the day. Draco was so kind to me, Nikolae. All he ever did was love me."

"And he still does. I could see it in his eyes when you spoke your parting words. What's done is done, you can't change that, but there's one you love above all, one who's fate you hold in your hands. That situation is easily remedied, dear girl. He is not lost to you."

"I am lost to him." Sara sniffled, starting to cry again. "There is no one alive who understands, save one. I doubt Harry even understands."

"How could he unless you told him? Have you ever sat down and confessed to him all the things you have told me?"

"I can't, don't you see? I could never bring him down that far, to suffer the burden of my dysfunctions and insecurities. To feel the blackness as I do. Harry shines from within. He belongs in the light."

"So do you, Nikita. You are one of God's angels, sent to grace us all with your very presence." He raised her chin. "You... are... beautiful, my friend."

* * *

Harry was getting killed in a game of chess. The third he'd played with Dumbledore and probably the last, unless he cared to continue embarrassing himself. Tomorrow's classes, the last of the semester, had been cancelled in favor of a fun day of competitions, such as doubles Quick-Quidditch, comedic dueling, lots of other stuff, even a regular old talent contest. It was all being run by prefects, which Harry was thankful for. He wasn't in charge of any of it. He would have the whole day to do as he pleased.

"I received word from Roland today. I almost forgot to mention it."

"What did he have to say?"

"Only that his son had returned home, but that the boy was not adjusting well. I suggested he send him to Hogwarts with the next batch of students. There's no harm in him starting a year early."

"I can only wonder what he learned after two years with Voldemort. However, it does tell us that he accepted the book."

"Thank Merlin." Dumbledore sighed and moved his queen. "Checkmate. I think that's Severus coming up the stairs."

"I don't hear anything."

"You will."

Harry listened harder. "I hear wings."

Both heads turned toward the open doors to the roof just as a huge macaw flew through them, a letter held in its talons.

"Topenga!" Harry yelled and jumped to his feet.

Dumbledore leaned forward with interest.

She dropped the envelope and right away Harry knew something was wrong. For the first time, Sara had addressed it to him. He wanted it to say "Captain." There was something inside, lumpy and rolling around in one corner, so he sat down and opened it.

He dumped out a single sheet of hotel stationary and his diamond ring.

Dumbledore watched as Harry fell back in his chair, his hands dropping limp to his sides, unreadable eyes glued to the glittering item before him. Harry did and said nothing for a long moment, just stared at it.

"Harry," he whispered. "What does the letter say."

Harry spoke through his shock. "I... I don't know."

Dumbledore lifted the sheet, placed it open on the table so Harry could read it and slid it in front of him. The hand was so shaky it was nearly illegible, but the two words didn't take much to decipher.

I'm sorry

"Sir," Harry managed. "I want to be alone."

Dumbledore sighed as he stood, he went to say something else, give Harry some bit of wisdom to help him through, but came up empty. He turned and left the room, Snape having just opened the door to let himself in. "Come Severus. Leave Harry to his letter."

Snape stared at the table, saw what Harry's eyes were trained on. Tears slid down Harry's face in silence and Snape bowed his head respectfully, closing the door without a sound behind him.

* * *

Harry had no idea how much time had passed. He didn't care. He had been numb for so long, unable to move from his chair, or even bring himself to touch the ring. He couldn't tear his eyes away from it, either. He didn't know what to feel, or how to deal with what was before him. He didn't understand.

How could it end this way? After all this time of waiting and anticipation, all the worry and the anger and the love he still felt for her. And to send only two words. No long letter of explanation. No assurances, nothing. His eyes landed on the note and he picked it up, brushing his thumb over the scribbled apology. His heart ached, not knowing what he had done wrong, why she had come to this decision. He read the heading on the stationary. She was at a hotel in Russia and he thought briefly of Apparating there, but knew she would already be gone. Why else would she leave such a clue? Or maybe she wanted him to look for her. Maybe she was finding it hard to come home.

Harry stood and pulled the gold box from his pocket, stopping first to attach the diamond to the chain that held his Amoridon, which still swirled scarlet, still radiated warmth and assurance. Confused, he touched the key and went directly to the phone in the kitchen.

His hopes were so high it frightened him. He knew how he might come crashing down if the answer was not what he wanted to hear, and his fear was valid. The clerk at the hotel said Sara had not been a recent guest. She must have had the stationary from a visit long past and used it now to turn her back on him.

He wondered why, but an anger welled in him he could barely control. He had an intense desire to smash everything. He wanted to tear the walls down, break the windows and set the cottage on fire. He wouldn't, though. Harry knew if he harmed a single thing in this place he would regret it. He loved Sara, and couldn't grasp the idea that he might never see her again. That it was over just would not sink in. It wasn't possible.

For the first time in a year and a half, Harry got out a bottle of swill, pulled the cork, and did his best to drink himself into oblivion, collapsing against the back of the sofa. He drank too quickly, swallowing Seamus' rum in gulps instead of sips and it was less than an hour before he felt the numbness return and, with it, a desperation the likes of which he had never felt. It was as if she had died, gone to a place unreachable on all levels and lost to him forever.

Carrying the bottle, Harry went to the kitchen, found Elizabeth's caddy of cleaning supplies under the sink and took out a bottle of glass polish and some paper towels. The anguish he felt as he misted the mirror tore at him and he nearly cried again as he smudged the hearts they had drawn there two years ago, then wiped them away. The gesture held some note of finality, that, by doing this, he accepted her refusal but the anger in his heart needed an end to this unrelenting, drawn out drama he had lived for so long. At last, he turned away, unable and unwilling to look at his own reflection.

Harry left the bottle and went out. There was one thing he had to do, one thing that felt right above any other and he made his way to the big house, situated down a flower-lined path through the trees that connected it to the cottage. There was a fountain and a wading pool in the front yard, but Harry barely acknowledged this as he came onto the step and let himself in.

Slowly, Harry wandered through the replica of his fencing room, imagining a warm and festive gathering of friends as he made his way up the center of the pillars. He could almost see people dancing, tables heaped with food and drinks. Seamus and Neville playing drinking games in the corner with Susan and Mary, laughing and joking with other Hogwarts alumni. He saw Dumbledore and McGonagall off to one side, having a pleasant conversation with Snape and Madam Hooch. Fred and George sat in the corner, offering tongue-swelling candy to a group of fascinated children. Finely dressed ministry officials and their husbands and wives mingled and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley talked with the Grangers as radiant couples danced a waltz in the center of the room. Ron and Hermione stopped arguing long enough to smile at him - and there was Sara near the hallway arch, speaking with Draco, glasses of champagne in their hands. She turned toward him and smiled as he approached, and then faded away.

Room after room brought visions of what might have been. What his life should have had in store. He imagined having dinner with Sara in the empty dining room, telling each other about their day as they ate and sipped glasses of wine. Relaxing together before the fire in the sitting room. Playing endless games of Exploding Snap at the kitchen table. Splashing around in the pool, having a tea in the solarium.

Finally, he made his way to the courtyard and admired its beauty as he found a bench and dropped onto it. The many lilacs were in full bloom and the moonlight roses glowed as did the marble statue that graced the center fountain. It was Frodo Baggins she'd chosen, bearer of a heavy burden, nearly enslaved by it, dragged down by it, but never defeated by it. The tears came again, but he didn't wipe them away. He could feel only the totality of her loss as he sat in solitude in the middle of his forsaken paradise, his mind on days long passed.

Everything in his life, it seemed, brought about her memory. The wind, the rain, the castle where he spent his days, the rooms where he spent his nights. London, Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade... All held some memory of Sara. Even to look upon his friends was painful as she had been their friend, too. He felt cheated and betrayed and, as he touched the ring around his neck, he thought of Frodo Baggins and what had become of his ring. What a relief it was when he'd tossed it into the fires from whence it came. Difficult as it was to part with it.

It was with this thought that Harry left the courtyard, left the silent statue of Frodo and the lilacs he'd planted for Sara, the violets and the moonlight roses that would forever remind him of her, and found the room where the contractors had left their excess supplies. He located a can of paint that would suffice and carried this and a large brush to the main entrance of the house and set it on the step.

Harry felt nothing as he painted the doors in the dark. Black, to mark the death of his life with Sara, to match the mood of his soul. To identify this place as a tomb where all his hopes and dreams had perished. A place to which he would never return as long as he lived.

* * *

On top of the box that contained his journal, Harry taped a short letter for Sara, open so she had to read it. The ring he placed in a velvet pouch tied to Topenga's leg, who he was surprised to find still in the tower. Perhaps Sara expected a reply.

Sara,

Do I not deserve some sort of explanation? Did you really think you could send me this lame apology and I would just shrug and go about my life? Have you forgotten that I have been waiting patiently for you to come home all this time, waiting to start the life I thought I would have one day? I've been waiting blindly; foolishly, it seems, never knowing how you are, wondering about you constantly. I love you so much, but you won't even write! You have no idea what you have done to me today. Did you think I would just get over it, find someone else? I could never, unless I gave them my heart in pieces. Besides, if this is what love is like, I never want to feel it again.

I do not want this ring. I refuse to be the bearer of your broken promises, having to be the one to look at it, to feel the pain of its presence. Keep it. Every time you see it, remember what you did to me and know that I suffer still.

As for me, I guess I'll just go on waiting, hoping you'll change your mind. I love you, Sara. I can only hope you put it back on your finger.

Harry

Topenga took the package and then dropped it. Harry thought it odd that Topenga would refuse to carry his mail and wondered what instructions she had been given. "Hedwig." Harry turned toward the cage. "Come here. I have a job for you." Hedwig landed next to Sara's bird and lifted her leg so he could attach the pouch that held the ring.

Topenga cocked her head at the owl. "Hello, Hedwig!" she said, squawked, then repeated. "Hello, Hedwig!"

Hedwig hooted in reply.

Harry watched as she jumped onto the box and wrapped her talons around the string that held it. With a flutter of wings, she was gone.

Harry looked at the parrot. "She'll get it whether she likes it or not."

Topenga flew onto his shoulder and pushed her head against his cheek.

* * *

Harry did not leave the tower the next day. He awoke with a hangover he wouldn't bother to medicate and an understanding that he had been freed of the ties he held most dear. He could love no one except Sara. He wanted to see her, but didn't know where to look. Snape's letter had come back to him, even his owl unable to find her.

He'd spent the entire day considering what could possibly push Sara to this point, came up with nothing probable, and realized it was beyond his comprehension. Either she was past her limits, ever so much more than she had been two years ago, or there was some truth to Snape's lies. This he could not even fathom, and the other was too difficult and heart wrenching to contemplate. He felt he should not be angry with her, but yet he was. He felt decimated, all life gone from his limbs, and he walked around in a daze most of the time, unable to focus on any one thing, his thoughts returning quickly to Sara.

Harry played the Moonlight Sonata often, standing on the roof in his pajamas and barefoot, sipping Finnigan's Swill and watching the competitions play out below him and at the Quidditch Pitch in the distance. Once in awhile, he made a cup of tea and ate the salad and soup that had come with Winky, lost and indifferent.

He didn't go down to dinner and ignored what was sent up for him. He took her pictures down, only to find the empty spaces more disturbing and soon put them back up. It was hard to look at her, but not seeing her face in these rooms was even harder to deal with and Harry stood now before the Criterion photo, remembering one of the best days of his life.

He missed her. The very thought of her brought him physical pain. What had sustained him to this point was the knowledge that she was coming back to him someday. That what he awaited was the only thing that would make him truly happy. Now that the promise was broken there was nothing left to hold onto. She was gone, lost to him and he had to go on without her.

Harry found himself crying again and turned his eyes from the picture, collapsing moments later into the bed on the roof. Thinking of Sara, he drifted off, her pillow in his arms.

* * *

He should have gone down to breakfast to bid farewell to the graduating seventh years - since he didn't attend the ceremony or the end-of-year feast - but Harry slept through it, waking up just in time for lunch. He'd lain in bed as he picked at the tray he was brought, then pushed it away and tried for hours to sleep. It was impossible.

This was the day that marked Sara's departure two years before. It was also a year ago that he had choked Snape in her defense, wrapped in a silent rage. Then he'd spent yet another restless night searching the skies for any sign of her, thinking she would come home for some reason. He had no misconceptions this year, however. Sara had already told him this much. He was sick over it - and furious with her. He'd once said he would forgive her anything, but she hadn't believed him as they'd sat on the new sofa in the cottage, as she'd tried to warn him. The truth of it was; he would forgive her anything. Anything at all.

Even this.

Harry wondered if she'd received his journal and the letter. Snape's owl being unsuccessful was worrisome, but Harry had faith in Hedwig. He thought, if there was one bird in a million that could find Sara, Hedwig was the one. He wished the letter hadn't been so angry. He was sorry he'd sent it now, in the light of day and with a much clearer head, but would it really hurt for her to see the way he really felt? It was a side he had never really shown her, but was this the time? He thought if he didn't hear back from her soon, he would send something a little more heartfelt.

Stepping out of the shower, Harry used Hermione's comb on his long hair, flowing over his shoulders now and looking weirder than ever, but he found the length much easier to cope with. It didn't look as neat as he would like, but it had been a long time since he'd cared about his appearance. He used a quick drying spell before replacing his glasses and getting dressed.

The rain was coming and the air had cooled, so Harry put on his favorite outfit of jeans and the green jumper Sara sent to replace the one he'd worn to death. He didn't really want to see anyone, especially Snape. He went down to dinner mostly so they wouldn't worry about him. He'd found out long ago that if he made brief appearances and kept to himself, they would leave him alone when he returned to the tower in search of seclusion.

In silence, Harry took his seat. He was dismayed to see the chairs already rearranged so they faced each other, so they sat around it instead of along it. He much preferred to look out at the empty hall and was glad to see the chair across from him was vacant, as was the one next to him at the head of the table. Dumbledore sat on Harry's right with Minerva next to him and Snape sat across from her, talking with Hagrid. All fell quiet when Harry joined them. Dumbledore patted his arm and Harry tried to smile, but didn't quite manage.

Harry noticed Filch was not at the table and wondered what manner of problem would keep him from his dinner with no students left at the school. Harry wished Filch was here to sneer at him. It was better than dealing with the fact that everyone kept to their plates so they didn't have to catch his eyes. It seemed no one quite knew what to say. He decided he should eat quickly and return to his rooms.

Of course, it had to be Snape who finally addressed him. "I wouldn't dwell on it. Some things are for the best." (McGonagall, Dumbledore, and Hagrid looked at Snape as if he were mad.) "It wasn't meant to be to begin with if you ask me. It's just too bad Sara had to wait so long to fill you in. My condolences, Potter."

Harry's wand was in his hand and pointed at Snape in a flash. "SHUT-UP!!" he bellowed as a bolt of light leapt forward. Snape's lips melded together seamlessly and Harry went back to his dinner, dropping his wand beside his plate.

"Minerva." Dumbledore sighed. "Would you mind taking Severus to the hospital? Poppy is gone, but I'm sure she must have a counter curse for 'shut-up'."

"Some things are better left unfixed, Albus. Let's all have our dessert first." She turned and frowned at Severus. "You deserved that."

Snape managed a grunting noise, pushed back his chair, and left the hall. Harry stared down at his plate, pushing the dessert around with his fork without much interest in eating it when Hedwig flew in and lit on the arm of the chair. She was minus the package, but the pouch was still tied to her leg. Harry removed it, his heart sinking lower than he thought possible, holding back the urge to cry in front of everyone. He slipped the pouch into his pocket as the front doors opened. Filch was a little late for dinner and Harry looked up, perhaps to see the sneer he had hoped for earlier. Only it wasn't Filch. It was two hooded figures, charming the rain from their clothes in the entrance.

Harry stood, his fork clattering to the plate, his chair toppling to the floor with a loud crash behind him. His sudden movement drew everyone's attention, including the newcomers. The taller figure stood against the wall, hands clasped respectfully before him. The other ventured toward Harry between the tables, black cloak floating along the stone. Its hood concealed the face, but recognition stunned Harry and his heart beat like a freight train in his chest.

She stopped near the end of the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables, a fine hand reaching up to undo the clasp of her cloak. In one trembling movement, she pushed back the hood and let it fall to the floor.

Everyone gasped.

"Sara." Harry walked on nervous legs to the edge of the rise and down the stairs, coming to a stop a few feet from her. His stomach fluttered, yet sat like lead. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know where they stood.

Her hair was death, black as night, brittle and course, like a million little twigs that might snap off if touched. The ends swept the floor. Even her eyebrows were black and the change was positively frightening. Her skin was pale and lifeless. Harry held back the tears that threatened as he looked on her for the first time again.

"What happened to you?"

"Harry." She sighed and tears coursed down her face as he threw his arms around her, unable to wait for her answer. So long he had dreamt of this moment and the relief he found in her touch washed over him, the Amoridon glowing warm against his chest. She clung to him, crying on his shoulder. "I made a terrible mistake."

The teachers watched as Sara's hair turned blonde the moment his arms went around her and just the old black streak remained. The extra length broke off at her waist and drifted to the floor. Dumbledore smiled as he led them out. Hagrid was bawling and McGonagall sniffling, but smiling just the same.

Sara felt surreal, stuck in dream. She couldn't really be here with Harry, his arms around her, holding her close the way he used to. She melted against him, closed her eyes and kissed his neck, his face. It was strange to touch his hair, to feel the warmth of his skin against hers, to feel his heart pounding in his chest. He was the remedy for all that ailed her and she wondered how she could have gone another day without seeing his face.

"Let me look at you." She smiled and stepped back, her eyes wet with tears. "Harry, I've missed you so much."

His voice was quiet and unsteady. "I've missed you, too."

"I like your hair." She gave a tearful smile. "I saw it in the orb, but that was some time ago. Not even in my dreams was it as soft as this." She ran her fingers through it, letting her hand come to rest on his cheek.

"You're blonde again, Sara." He brushed a few wisps from her face. "It's better this way. Easier to look at."

She lifted a lock of hair and smiled, turning back to Harry with fresh tears in her eyes, her voice a whisper. "It's gone! Merlins, Harry, it's gone!" Sara threw herself into his arms and let her eyes fall closed as he kissed her, pulling her close again, remembering every moment she'd spent without him.

Harry felt his anger melt away, his fears drifted from his mind as two years of intense loneliness and misery culminated in this moment and were washed away by the touch of her hands, the feel of her hair against his face, the familiar scent of her perfume. No one could know how it felt to be near her again. As the kiss fell away he held her, stroking her hair, his eyes closed to the room. He could sense only her, there was nothing else and he would have it no other way.

Finally, he pulled away, but only just enough to look at her. Tears stood in his eyes as she brushed a lock of hair behind his ear. "Why did you return the ring? I have to know."

"Not now, Harry. There's always later for darker things. I just want to be here with you now. I want to remember every single thing I love about you."

He brushed away her tears, cradling her face in his hands. "What I need to know is." Harry pulled the pouch from his pocket and dumped it onto his palm. He held the ring in the dim light of the sconces, the fire reflecting, brilliant, through the diamond and glinting amber off the polished gold. "Will you return this to your finger?" He pulled her closer and let his head rest against her hair. "I'm asking you to marry me, Sara. Soon. No more waiting. No more having to guess at what tomorrow will bring. I don't want to live in fear, waking every morning, wondering if you'll still be there beside me."

"You don't know me anymore. I can only hope that you'll still love me when you see what I've become. I'm just a shell of your Sara, filled with shadows and anger. Desperation. And misery."

"I know everything about you. I feel your pain, your darkest days. And I forgive you all of it. All except this." He brought the ring between them. "To this I need an answer. Will you keep your promise?"

"My answer is always the same, Harry. I'll be your Mrs. Potter." She smiled through her tears. "How could I be anything else?"

Harry smiled as he swept her up in his arms - smiled for the first time in years it seemed - and he took her hand as he set her down. "Don't ever mail this to me again." He slid the ring on her finger.

"I'd have to mail it from across the room." She smiled back. "I'm never leaving your side again. You're going to be sick of me."

"Never." He took her hands in his. "Sara, there's something I want to show you."

"Not just yet."

It was now that Harry remembered the second figure, the man who still stood silent sentry at the back of the room. His posture unchanged from when he'd first saw him.

Nikolae, Sara thought. Come meet my Harry.

Nikolae wiped his eyes as he made his way to them, moving very quickly, without effort it seemed and without prompt. He slowed as he neared them and Harry took a few steps back, unfamiliar with the strange feeling of dread that came over him in the stranger's presence.

"Harry, don't fear him. Nikolae is a vampire but he won't hurt you."

Harry took one small step forward, tentative and reluctant, fighting the urge to flee. "Hello," he said.

"It is understanding you seek, Mr. Potter. Perhaps I can help you with that, if you'll allow it."

"Yes," Harry replied. "I want to know."

Sara stepped aside and the vampire approached Harry, still fighting the natural desire to back away.

Harry turned to Sara. "You should see Dumbledore now. He's been worried sick about you."

Sara hesitated. "I don't want to leave you."

He hugged her again and smoothed her hair. "You don't have to. They've been peeking around the corner the whole time."

Dumbledore, McGonagall and Hagrid stepped out from behind the wall, awkward and uncomfortable at having been called out. Sara burst into fresh tears and ran to her old uncle with open arms.

Harry turned back to the vampire.

"My touch may feel strange to you. Do not worry. I wouldn't harm one that my Nikita holds so dear. You above all."

"I'm glad to hear that." Harry tried to jest, but the proximity of the vampire had the hairs on his neck standing up. He longed for his wand, still on the table by his plate.

"You need no weapon. Close your eyes. I'll show you everything I know."

Harry tried to relax and it became easier with the visions, flashing through his mind. Sara through a window, holding the lighthouse that adorned the cave, looking back with a questioning that challenged the vampire's courage. Sara standing under a tree after a storm, distrust in her eyes and anger in her words. His old Firebolt slicing the night air and the words "I need your help!" He saw images, knew the thoughts Nikolae had heard in Sara's mind. He felt the blackness Sara felt, the hopelessness. He saw through her eyes a hotel room, felt her apathy, her misery that delved deeper than any he had ever felt. He saw her climb over the rail on a balcony, felt the need for peace in her soul.

Tears leaked from his eyes, unnoticed.

There was a phantom voice in the memories - Nikolae's - and he came to Sara now over a long distance, sensing her darkness and bringing her back from the edge. Harry listened to their discussion, felt the struggle within her, the need to go home, her fear of the past, of the future.

"It was you," Harry said as the hands fell away and his eyes opened again. "You saved her. You convinced her to come home."

"She was lost," Nikolae reflected. "I only helped her find the path."

"You have my gratitude."

* * *

Sara entered the tower, looked around and found Harry waiting for her by the doors to the roof. He held a moonlight rose the way he'd held a white one so long ago, when they were both different people.

"Here we are again," she said. "Look at this place! Nothing has changed."

"Everything changes." Harry smiled. "I just moved everything back to where it was before you left."

She laughed and he gave her the rose. "Not everything, Harry. You're still thoughtful and sweet as ever."

Harry blushed a little. Her spirits had risen, due no doubt to her visit with Dumbledore and the others.

Her smile faded as she noticed two tiny marks on his neck. A drop of blood stained his collar. "What happened? You didn't have this earlier."

"Nikolae. He gave me all the memories he had of you. I wanted to share some of mine in return. It was the only way I could think of without emptying my head into the pensieve."

Sara looked horrified. "He drank your blood?!"

"With my permission. In fact, I had to talk him into it. Don't tell me he never drank yours?"

"It never occurred to me to offer. Besides, he can see my thoughts as I can see his."

"Now he has seen the happiness we once shared." His hand came to rest against her cheek. "His memories were terrible, Sara. I should have come after you a long time ago."

"Be glad you didn't. I never wanted you to see me that way. We'll be happy again, Harry. Now that I'm here and I've seen your face I'm sure of it. Things have a way of just melting away when I'm with you. Nothing else matters." Her smile was troubled. "That is, if you like the new me."

"Would you stop already? Sara, I would love you even if you were some deranged lunatic that ate human hearts for breakfast."

"Close, not a bad guess." She grinned and remembered the rose. "I'd better put this in some water."

"To hell with water. There's a million more where that came from. I'll stop giving you flowers, I think. You always leave to get a vase."

"Fine, no water, but I've been wearing these clothes forever. Let's change. We can sit by the fire and talk for a while. I just... I need to be close to you."

For some reason, Harry felt awkward at the thought of changing clothes in the same room with Sara. He wasn't uncomfortable by any means, but she had just walked through the door an hour or so before after a long and difficult absence. He smiled as he took her hand and followed her to the dressing room anyway.

They turned their backs on one another as they went about dressing for bed, though Harry glanced over his shoulder and noticed a strange mark just below the small of her back. It looked like a spider and he couldn't help but ask.

"Sara? Did you get a tattoo?"

"Not by choice, if that's what you mean," she answered, her voice low, her eyes downcast. She pulled his old shirt on and turned around to face him while she buttoned it.

He took over the task for her. "Tell me about it?"

Sara sighed, unable to look in his eyes. "It was Lucius. He cursed me the black widow before he died."

"We'll find a way to get rid of it," Harry promised, lifting her chin to see her sad eyes. "It's in the past, Sara. Everything's new now. Different."

"Tell that to Draco."

"Draco is better off without his father. Yes, he's upset about it and that's understandable, but you did yourself and the rest of the world a favor. Why are you wearing this ratty thing?"

She regarded the grayish and fraying men's shirt she'd worn every night for the last two years and smiled. "Habit I guess." There was something troubling him she saw, something he wouldn't ask. "Harry, what are you thinking? Tell me what's on your mind."

"I don't want to offend you."

"Believe me, you can't."

"It's just something Snape told me last year. I didn't believe a word of it, but I guess I want to hear it from you." Harry fidgeted for a moment and then wrapped his arms around her waist. "He said you were seeing other people."

"That's not true."

Harry breathed relief.

"There was only one. A Viennese pianist. There was something about him I couldn't place, something that drew me. I found myself wanting to spend time in his company and we had lunch a few times. Then, finally, he tried to kiss me and I turned my face away. It was then that I realized the source of my attraction."

"Which was?"

"He looked like you," she said, her voice breaking from holding back a flood of emotion. "I had never felt such guilt and shame. I left the city at once, without explanation."

"I know what you mean about guilt and shame. There was a time when I thought I should move on with my life. I'd lost hope of ever seeing you again and I was desperately lonely. During that time there was someone there for me." He paused, finding it hard to explain himself. "Did you read my journal?"

"Yes. And I forgive you everything. Your words, Harry. They were so beautiful and full of pain. It kills me to think of your suffering. I wish there had been another way. I would never hurt you if I could help it."

"I don't blame you. You did what you had to do and now it's over. Let's try to put the past behind us now. You're here and that's the only thing I care about." He hugged her to his chest. "I love you. Stay with me tonight and every night thereafter. Never leave me again."

"I won't, Harry. It's why I couldn't see you. I knew when I saw you again it would be forever. Or as long as you'll have me."

"Forever it is."

* * *

"It's been so long since I've felt your touch." Sara sighed as they lay entwined beneath the coverlet, her hands tangled in his hair, the old dress shirt discarded on the floor with his pajamas.

His words were muffled as he kissed her face, her neck. "I thought about you all the time," he whispered. "I remember everything about you." He found her lips for a passionate kiss before drifting back down, his hands caressing her body, her skin like silk beneath him, trembling ever so slightly, her breath warm and captivating against his shoulder. "I missed you so much, Sara. I could never feel this way about anyone else. You are all that I love. You are my life."

Her hands slid down his back as her eyes fell closed, her every sense alive and electrified by the nearness of him. "I could never explain how I missed you. Every moment of every day was consumed by thoughts of you. It was all I could do not to run straight back to you so I could breathe again. I'll always love you."

He kissed her again and her breath came soft and uneven, the need to be closer overwhelming as the passion grew between them, their hands drifting with desire and affection, their words lost in the sensation of each other...

* * *

Author Note: This was probably the hardest thing I have ever written. I don't usually have so much trouble conveying my thoughts, but the emotion I envisioned for the last half of the chapter simply did not come through onto the page. Sara's homecoming was a huge task and I think perhaps I set my goals too high? Please REVIEW and let me know how I did! I would really love to hear anything you have to say. Thanks for reading!

NOTE: Inspiration for the title, as well as lines marked * were borrowed from the Gary Oldman film "Immortal Beloved".

The line "You...are...beautiful, my friend." was borrowed from Anne Rice's "Interview with the Vampire" as spoken by her character Armand in the film adaptation.

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