The Last Sanguimagus

Sarah dreamt.

The dark waters swallow her whole, but still she clings to her wand and her knife. Words form around her, hollow words with ragged letters that she does not recognise. They fold upon themselves and transform into silvery fish, wriggling and twitching in the water. There is a light below, and she moves toward it. Her lungs hurt. She breaks through the surface and swims awkwardly to an island made of discarded things. An orange moon touches everything with fey light. Someone sleeps on the shore, the waves slapping him carelessly. She can see a thick mane of blonde hair. "I have my knife. I have my wand." She says it again. He does not stir. She cannot bring herself to touch him. "My knife is sharp." There is a sound like parchment tearing. The air tastes like bitter wine. He is still and silent. There is a sound like teeth on a broken harpstring. "I know your son." He moves suddenly, and she is not surprised to see a green flash. She knows that she is dead before she falls back into the waters.

***

Severus noticed that Sarah's seat was suspiciously empty during breakfast. A glimmer of unease began to take hold. She must have wanted to sleep in, he thought to himself. She's been late to meals before. He tried not to think about it. Last night's events would have exhausted her, certainly, and he could understand if she wanted to skip breakfast.

He returned to his classroom. The stack of work on his desk was formidable. He had parchments to mark, potions to test, detentions to arrange. All he had done for a week was brew and obsess over the antidote, and everything had piled up. He concentrated on doling out liberal amounts of red ink and succeeded in thinking of nothing except the uses of boomslang skin for a few hours.

But then she was absent for lunch as well. Severus began to worry as he half-listened to Silas telling some longwinded story about triplets and Squibs that grated on his nerves. Minerva had a long-suffering look on her face.

Sybill, oddly enough, showed up halfway through the meal. She smiled graciously at the rest of the teachers and poured herself some tea. Silas greeted her heartily and began to retell the story. Severus gritted his teeth and left as quickly as he could. Silas was bad enough. Silas with Sybill and a repeated tale about a triumvirate of sibling witches and their magically-challenged offspring could only be excruciating.

Draco stopped him as he strode past the Slytherin table. "Father wishes to invite you to a special soiree," he said, loudly enough that most of the Slytherin table looked their way. "To celebrate his homecoming."

"Ah," he replied, though inwardly he groaned. Trust Draco to try to use this piece of information to inflate his social prestige. The first years within earshot were staring in wonder. If he reacted too positively it would send out the wrong signals to the rest of the Slytherins. If he reacted too negatively... "I shall await his owl." And a headache as well. Lucius could be called a friend, to be certain, but there would be others there, and Severus would have to practice his Occlumency all evening long.

Draco smirked. "He is sending them out today, sir."

Severus inclined his head ever so slightly, and strode out into the entrance hall. Deserted, including the hall leading to her rooms. Sarah is not my responsibility, he told himself angrily. I am not her keeper. His feet, however, nearly began to walk in the wrong direction. He stubbornly forced them to the dungeons.

The classroom looked messy to him, and it was a source of annoyance. He began to put things to order. He inventoried his rare components. If he was going to brew the potion for Sarah again he had to restock. The counter-potion had to be refined, and he was low on some of the key ingredients. He was about to apply another locking charm to the door of his supply cabinet when he suddenly had a vivid flash of her lying on the floor of her room, looking very much as she had years ago when they had left her for dead. He could not suppress a shiver.

He swore soundly and stalked up the stairs to the entrance hall. His robes billowed out behind him as he entered the corridor and knocked on her door impatiently. There was no answer. He knocked again, and his unease increased tenfold when there was no reply. His mind would not dispel the dark images of her bloodied, battered form splayed in the dirt. He opened the door himself and entered her office. Empty. The door to her room was closed, and he rushed towards it and burst in, his heart hammering in his chest, irrationally expecting the worst.

She was standing near her bed, clad only in undergarments, her hands entwined in a charcoal grey set of robes. As he stood there awkwardly, his face burning in acute embarrassment, she used her good hand to draw the robe over her head, working her left arm into it carefully. She seemed paler than usual.

"I--you were not at breakfast. Or lunch." He flushed at the clumsiness of his words.

"No, I was not," she agreed tonelessly. Her face was blank, unreadable.

"I thought, perhaps, that you were--not faring well after last night's treatment."

"I am as well as I can possibly be under the circumstances."

"Ah. Then I will leave you to your privacy," he said, regaining his mental balance. You are a fool, he told himself savagely.

She nodded then, and he walked to her office door and opened it. Outside stood Potter and both of the Weasley pests, all staring at him as if the Dark Lord himself was leaving her rooms. He scowled at them. They were wearing Quidditch robes, begrimed from practice.

"We're here for help in Talismans," said the Weasley girl, a little too innocently. He narrowed his eyes at her. Definitely lying. But what else could they want?

Sarah came up behind him. "Come in," she told the students. He turned to look at her, taking in her bare feet on the cold stone floor, the lightweight robe, her too-thin body, the dark circles under her eyes..."Good day, Severus," she said.

"Good day," he replied stiffly, and he left for the sanctuary of the dungeons, where he fervently hoped he would not think of her again.

***

Harry was surprised. Professor Tanner looked pale and dishevelled. She had always seemed so composed before. "Er...we were just finishing Quidditch practice..."

"Yes?" she said flatly.

"And I realised that I hadn't arranged the next DA meeting with you," he said in a rush.

"We were hoping that it could be Tuesday," said Ginny, "because we have Quidditch practices for the other nights."

"That is considerably less than seven days' notice," said Tanner.

Harry flushed. "Yes, I know, but we don't always have the time to--"

"There is nothing on my timetable for that evening," she said. "I do not foresee any problems with holding it then."

"Thank you," said Ron.

"Er...Colin said that you missed breakfast and lunch," said Harry, feeling a bit nervous at asking such a question of a professor.

"I don't understand why my dining habits would be of interest to you," she said evenly.

"We'll just be leaving, then," said Ginny brightly.

After the door had shut behind them, Ginny turned to Harry in disbelief. "Why did you ask her that?"

Remembering that Professor Tanner had heard them through the door before, Harry began to walk down the corridor with them. "I just...she looks awful," he said.

"Sort of...wrung out," added Ron.

"Well, I'm back out on the field," she said decisively. "I promised to help Dennis with a few of the Quidditch moves."

"Bye," said Ron. She turned and left.

"Let's go find Hermione," said Harry. Ron nodded.