A Merciless Affection

Obligatory Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe, with its characters, situations, and master plotline, all belong to J. K. Rowling (and her designated rights-holders). The verses that accompany this chapter were written by Richard Farina (more info in the post-chapter notes).

Chapter 33: All That You Dreamed I Could

For I will take you out by the hand

And lead you to the hunter

And I will show you thunder and steel
And I will be your teacher

Severus carefully placed the Pensieve between them, as they sat at the little table in front of the fire in his chambers at Hogwarts. With the tip of his wand, he drew a silver strand of memory out of his temple and let it fall into the stone bowl, where it swirled slowly and sinuously. Snakelike, Sarah thought. Which was only too appropriate.

._._._.

Severus had been summoned sooner than they supposed. On Friday night, he'd had to leave her alone in the flat to answer the burning pain on his forearm. He had not been at all pleased to go. His fear that Lucius or another confederate might try to use the opportunity of his absence to get at Sarah was realistic enough that she'd sat on the bed with her wand drawn the whole time he was gone. Worse still (from her perspective) was his refusal, once he'd returned, to tell her anything that had happened.

"I do not want your experience with the Pensieve biased by anything I might say. When you go before him, you will not know in advance what will occur or what the outcome will be. This trial with the Pensieve will be of very little use in preparing you to meet the Dark Lord if you go into it with assumptions about what you will see."

"You're not glum enough for it to have gone really badly," she'd pointed out, annoyed. On the other hand, he did not seem especially pleased either.

"No assumptions, Sarah. We'll go back to Hogwarts tomorrow instead of Sunday. You'll know soon enough."

And now it was Saturday afternoon, and she was about to find out.

And I will show you grotto and cave

And sacrificial altar
And I will show you blood on the stone

And I will be your mentor

"Before you begin," he said, "prepare yourself as if you were, in fact, being brought before him. Wrap yourself in the necessary identity. I want to be able to look in your eyes first, and see nothing that should not be there."

She drew a deep breath. She had been practicing all week. Compartmentalize your mind, he had instructed. And so she had done: just as she kept one identity for the classroom, now, each time she cast a Dark spell, she was careful to do so as her father's daughter. Just as the part of herself she called 'Sarah Darkglass' had never been moments from death in the Hogsmeade graveyard, the part of herself she called 'Sarah Darkglass Snape' had never accepted the change in her circumstances after her mother's escape. It troubled her, to be able to do Dark magic without flinching. But as long as it was only as her father's daughter that she could do so, and as long as she could fold up that identity like a robe when she was finished with it, just as she did her classroom self, she could feel that there was still a core of something good and true and real inside her.

"Sometimes," she'd whispered to him one night, "I feel as if I'll go mad, being so many people at once."

"Focus on the moment, Sarah. Only on the moment. I know how difficult it is, but you mustn't think of it as you are doing. You mustn't try to hold all of it at once."

Sarah brought the mantle of the necessary identity around her. This Sarah was as excited as she was frightened at the prospect of seeing the Dark Lord for herself. My father was his loyal servant, she assured this self, and he will likely look with favor on me. She lifted her eyes and met her mentor's.

"Legilimens!" he said. She felt him probing through these thoughts--every twist of the probe brought an answering thought that must satisfy him.

"Now," he ordered, "the Pensieve."

Sarah touched the tip of her wand to the eddies of silver light. The picture cleared. Severus Snape was stepping forwards from a small, rough semi-circle of wizards to bow low. As if she were, in a strange sense, mimicking his motion, she lowered her face into the Pensieve.

And death will be our darling

And fear will be our name

She found herself in the room she had been looking down upon: a drawing room, her instincts said, so thoroughly draped with heavy velvet curtains it was impossible to say where the windows actually were, if there were any at all. The room was lit very dimly, especially around the edges, so that it was difficult to tell even what dark color the curtains might be. Only a few candles in ornate stands and the flickering of a fire in a large fireplace provided what light there was. At one end of the room, a low dais had been set up, and a fancy armchair, which gave every appearance of having been modified to its present grotesque baroque configuration, stood upon it.

Seated in the chair was a being who could be none other than the Dark Lord himself. Sarah was somewhat prepared by the description Harry Potter had given to The Quibbler, but the reality was monstrous enough that her persona faltered. She tried to plug the breach with fear, giving it a tinge of awe that was not difficult to manufacture.

The Dark Lord was almost skeletally thin, and his face was whiter than any skull. Horribly long, equally white fingers caressed the head of a huge snake, the body of which was curled around the legs of the chair. There was something odd about the man's skin, as if--should it be seen in a brighter light--it would prove to be a bit scaly. And where a nose ought to be, there was a flat bulge with two thin slits, like the nostrils of a snake. Red eyes with cat-like pupils, almost glowing in the dimness, studied the man who stood before him. Sarah moved carefully to one side, as if she were taking the furthest place on that side of the semi-circle of Death Eaters. It provided the best vantage point.

"Now, you assured me, Severus," the Dark Lord said, in a high, cold voice, "that you would provide a fuller explanation of your...involvement with the Darkglass girl. You see, Lucius did bring her to my attention first. Really, Severus, it disappoints me to think that you would put your very useful position at Hogwarts in jeopardy."

"My Lord, there will be no danger of discovery," Severus replied, still bowing deeply. "Provided that no one in the Circle betrays me." He shot a fairly obvious sidelong look in the direction of Lucius Malfoy.

Sarah spared a glance to study the Death Eaters present. Most of them were only vaguely familiar--faces that had been plastered on the front page of the Daily Prophet a few months ago. There was only one woman among them: a dark-haired vixen...or at least she had been once; there were remnants of beauty, hints in those heavily-lidded eyes that she might still be capable of seduction, but the bloom had passed, and the evil of her choices had imprinted as harsh a look upon her face as upon any man's there.

Others in the circle, she knew. Lucius Malfoy, for one, of course. But she also recognized her uncle, Franklin Nott--a stoop-shouldered man whose unassuming demeanor gave little hint of his true character. And another of her father's former friends stood there: Mortimer Mulciber, whom she remembered chiefly for his tendency to pat her on the head during his frequent visits, back when she was still very small, before the Dark Lord's fall. She hadn't known his name (or remembered it, at least) until she read of his escape from Azkaban.

The Dark Lord laughed...a horrible sound that laid bare all its hearers to its mockery, whether they were its target or not. "I have already informed...certain of my devoted but foolish servants," his red eyes swept the room, and Sarah quailed slightly, even though she knew she was not really there, and he could not really see her, "of the displeasure I would feel if your situation were compromised. Of course," his eyes returned to Severus, "you would do nothing to bring that displeasure upon yourself, would you, Severus?"

"No, indeed, My Lord. I assure you, there has been no reason for suspicion among the students or staff. If I find that Lucius's son has dared to spread ugly rumors among his Housemates, I shall put an end to them immediately upon my return to Hogwarts. It is fortunate," Severus said, with another glance over at Malfoy, "that the boy went home for the holiday, so his father will be able to correct him before can make any further...mistakes."

The look on Lucius Malfoy's face was venomous. He burst out, "Master, there would have been no concerns for Draco to bring to my attention, had the Darkglass girl not been so indiscreet herself."

"My Lord," Severus interrupted, inclining his head further toward the Dark Lord, "I fear you have been presented with a false impression of the girl's encounters with Draco. The boy appears to have developed an unfortunate dislike for Miss Darkglass, undoubtedly due to House rivalry. He was already threatening to spread rumors about her--rumors for which, I must add, he had no proof whatsoever--when she felt compelled to make it clear to him that it would be wiser not to cross her."

"Yes, yes," the Dark Lord said impatiently, waving the long fingers of one bone-white hand as if in dismissal. "I see that both have made regrettable mistakes in dealing with one another. But I have no time to waste unraveling competing versions of a petty argument between children. Tell me of the young lady herself, Severus. Is she loyal to me? As loyal as she suggested to young Malfoy?"

"She is loyal, My Lord."

"And how did you become aware of this, Severus? Nott assures me that she has not revealed her loyalties to her family. Yet you say she has been reclaimed. I see, from what Lucius has revealed to me, that you must, in fact, have played some role in that."

Sarah saw a small, vicious smile crease the corners of her husband's mouth, and she knew that Lucius must have handed Severus exactly the tool he needed.

"I have indeed played a role, My Lord. The girl, as Nott may or may not have told you, was taken into hiding by her mother. Malcolm, it seems, did not make the wisest choice of a wife. He was unable to dominate her into acceptance of our cause, and in the end she slipped free of him, taking his daughter with her. And then, from what the girl has told me, she betrayed her husband to the Aurors."

There was a low murmur around the room. None of them, perhaps, needed to fear such a close betrayal, but they all knew enough about treachery to be astonished that someone not in their own camp--"she was a Hufflepuff?" was one of the murmurs--was capable of engaging in it so heinously. Sarah wondered how many of them had known her mother at school.

"I see. Is the woman still living?" the Dark Lord asked, in a cold tone that suggested that, if she were, she would soon be no longer.

"Apparently she experienced a degree of...remorse." Severus twisted the word. Sarah found her own gut twisting along with it. "She took her own life."

Now there was laughter, none of it very loud, except for the female Death Eater. Sarah felt her persona slipping again, and struggled to remember her resentment at her mother's weakness in having taken the poison her father had sent as his last gift.

"And the girl?"

"Sarah Darkglass was already at Hogwarts before her mother's death. She has been under the guardianship of her mother's sister. She was sorted into Gryffindor House and, to all appearances, had forgotten her father and his family as entirely as they had forgotten her."

"That did not prove to be the case?" The Dark Lord sounded a bit impatient.

"No, My Lord. Apparently the rumors of your return last summer brought her thoughts back to her true heritage. She found it difficult, of course, to resume her study of the Dark Arts while living with her aunt. Once at school, however, she sought out a mentor."

"She had no business going to you!" Franklin Nott burst out. "Why would she?"

"Indeed," the Dark Lord agreed. "Your true loyalties are meant to remain a secret at Hogwarts, are they not? Was that not our agreement?"

"Yes, My Lord. But she did not know my loyalties when she first approached me. She had very few resources: obviously she could not learn the Dark Arts from anyone in Gryffindor, and the students in Slytherin House have always viewed her as a blood traitor. Dolores Umbridge, however useful her presence at Hogwarts may be to our cause, originally gave no impression of actually being willing to teach her subject. That is, as I have reported, changing. However, that is beside the point. Miss Darkglass knew, by common rumor among the students, of my interest in the Dark Arts. She approached me because she felt she had no other option."

"That is absurd!" Franklin Nott said. "Why would she not come to her own family, in preference to...to Snape? Especially since she would know where we stand!"

"Perhaps you can best answer that for yourself, Nott," Severus said, his voice dropping to deadly silkiness. He addressed the Dark Lord reverentially again: "My Lord, none of those who rightfully had an interest in the girl have ever attempted to reclaim her for our cause. When Nott reported that his brother-in-law had been martyred--killed by the Aurors who were attempting to arrest him for his loyalty to you--was even a single word spoken about Malcolm's daughter?"

"Why did you say nothing, then?" Lucius Malfoy broke in. "What game are you playing at, Severus?"

"Silence!" the Dark Lord ordered. "Lucius, I wish to hear Severus's explanation without these continual interruptions." He returned his fearsome attention to the man bowing before him. "Severus, you would have done better to tell me of the girl when Nott revealed her father's fate, would you not?"

"Yes, perhaps, My Lord. But her training has been sufficiently irregular that she begged me to help her achieve some greater level of competence before she was brought to your attention."

"She wished to...impress me? Or was it you who wished to impress me?"

"Master, I shared in her desire to make her a more effective servant before her presentation to you." Severus kept his head down.

"I see." There was a note in his voice that suggested that he saw everything. "I will examine her now. A mistake with the sapling may spoil the tree. Since her father died in faithful service, it is for Lord Voldemort to judge what the girl's future will be."

"Yes, My Lord." Severus bent even lower. "When shall I bring her?"

"I understand that this is the Easter break at Hogwarts. I daresay it would be easier to slip her out of the school now than at any other time. Particularly if she has not been at school this week to begin with." The red eyes shot meaningfully toward Lucius Malfoy, as a wicked smile bent the corners of the thin mouth. "I want her here tomorrow night at midnight, Severus."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Dear God," Sarah gasped. She half expected every eye in the room to find her, but no, this was only a memory; it wasn't real. Yet. Her persona was in tatters, however, and she shrank back against the wall behind her, trying to pull herself back together, praying the scene would end as soon as possible.

"However, Master," Severus went on. "I shall need a Portkey. The girl's Apparition skills are not what they should be. It would unfortunate if she attracted the attention of the Ministry by splinching in coming here."

"Unfortunate indeed." The Dark Lord sounded displeased. "Wormtail!"

"Yes, Master?" A fellow who was rather sorry-looking, in every respect but the silver hand that gleamed at the end of one arm, came out from the shadows on the other side of the Dark Lord's chair.

"Bring me an object suitable for a Portkey."

Wormtail ducked out of the room through an entrance hidden behind one of the ubiquitous curtains.

"If I may speak, Master...?" Lucius Malfoy began.

"You may not," the Dark Lord said testily. "Tomorrow night, when I have seen her for myself, I will entertain your thoughts. Not before."

Wormtail returned with an ornate silver spoon. The Dark Lord took it from him.

"Very good. Portus!" The spoon glowed briefly; when it faded, the Dark Lord extended it toward Severus. "It will operate only at midnight tomorrow precisely. But if I determine that you or she are thinking of betraying me, Severus, I will cut your heart out with it."

._._._.

The memory ended less than a minute later, as the Dark Lord dismissed Severus and several of the others. Sarah found herself sitting at the table, one hand clenched tight upon its edge, the other locked so hard around her wand that it was shaking.

"Tonight?" she asked. Severus looked as if he'd been expecting her reaction, and had intentionally steeled himself against it. "Why didn't you tell me that yesterday? You should have given me some time, damn it!" A shower of sparks flew from the tip of her wand--an unconscious effect of her distress.

"Don't shout at me, Sarah!" He jerked himself to his feet, and wrenched her wand from her hand, his level of anxiety finally showing through in his anger. "It would have done you no good to brood over it. There was nothing I could have done to prevent it. And there was no time to prepare you any further, apart from this viewing of the Pensieve."

Sarah stood up--she knew it would be of no use to ask for her wand back until both of them had calmed down--and began tightly pacing a short line between the table and the fireplace. "What do we do?"

"What we have to." He reached out a hand and stopped her, and said sharply, "Look at me, Sarah."

She knew what he expected to see. She took a breath, then blinked. As she raised her eyes to meet his, she knew he would be satisfied, but it gave her no joy.

"You will survive," he said, his grim face showing just a hint of pleasure at her ready response to his challenge. "And if we are very fortunate, you will never have to do this again."

She closed her eyes and lowered her head.

"One thing more," he said, grasping her by both arms. "Don't provoke him into using Crucio on you. If you show the least defiance of his will, he may do so, in order to test your reaction. Do whatever you must to prevent that from happening. Say anything. Do anything."

"Why are you so afraid of him hurting me?" she said, sensing something more behind his words. The silence that answered her was one she knew all too well. It meant that he was about to tell her something he would rather not.

"You have no idea how agonizing it is to be hit with that curse. Yes, you would almost certainly survive it, but...." He paused, then suddenly drew her close, and whispered, "I cannot be sure the child would."

"No!" she whimpered against his chest. "You're just trying to frighten me so I won't mess up!"

"If it serves that purpose, well and good." He held her tightly, as if he expected her to try to pull away. "But don't become so frightened that you do something stupid. Fear must harden into resolve. Otherwise, it makes you weak. And you are not weak, Sarah. Sweet Merlin, you've survived being with me."

Sarah snorted a very faint laugh. "And I suppose you are as terrible as the Dark Lord?"

"At moments. At close quarters, as you should know yourself. And I have a few students who would assure you that there's very little difference between us."

"I see a great deal of difference," she said. "For one thing, you have a nose." She burst out giggling at her own joke; the sound took on a slightly hysterical tinge as she thought, How can I laugh at a time like this?

"I am very much aware of my nose," he said, the meager hint of teasing that had been in his own voice a moment ago dissolving instantly into sullenness.

"I love your nose."

"Hardly."

"I do! It makes you look like somebody of consequence. The Dark Lord must envy you it every day of his immortal existence."

"Is it wise," he asked sharply, "to be laughing at him now?" Now, he clearly meant, mere hours until she was to appear before him. "Or are you simply laughing at me?"

"I'm laughing to keep from going insane. I didn't mean to be insufferable. Or to tease you, if you can't bear it."

"I don't care for being teased," he said crossly. But still, he held her close.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Please tell me what to do. Give me something to do."

However unwise it might be, her eyes strayed to clock. It was nearly five--time for dinner, although she didn't think she could eat right now. Especially not down in the Great Hall with Professor, or rather, Headmaster Umbridge looking out across the tables. Sarah had Portkeyed here from a dark alcove instead of her room. Even if she were missed--which was highly unlikely--no one would know where to look for her.

Severus had followed her gaze, and said, "You need to eat."

"I'm not going up there. I would throw up, with Umbridge watching me, and thinking about...tonight." She shuddered.

"It's because of tonight that you must eat. We need to foster a certain sense of your magical weakness, to discourage the Dark Lord from making you a Death Eater. But fainting before him may prove to be too much for his patience. And it might well reveal what we wish to keep hidden."

She drew a sharp breath. "Should I go to Madam Pomfrey for that girdle now?"

"No." Severus shook his head. "A magical artifact like that would draw his attention instead of deflecting it. It is safer simply to wear loose robes--I think your school robes would be best, to emphasize that you are still a student--and avoid thinking of the child as much as you can, short of actually using Occlumency."

That was becoming harder to do, with that tiny butterfly-fluttering in her womb occurring unexpectedly. She knew that Severus had been disciplining himself not to think of it; Severian had become simply 'the child' to him, which tugged painfully at her heart, even as she realized the necessity: the last thing Severus would want was for the Dark Lord to know how much she and Severian mattered to him. As it was, there was no knowing how the Dark Lord would react to the revelation that she was carrying his spy's child. He had been sufficiently angry at the possibility that Severus might lose his position at Hogwarts that it was safest, for now, to try to avoid overtly suggesting that danger any further. But to hide something, by Occlumency, that would soon become all-too-evident might raise questions in their master's mind about what else they were able to hide from him.

"I want you to watch the memory in the Pensieve again. Pay close attention to his reactions to everything that is said, to every move or gesture that anyone makes. Do it once more; then we'll eat." He let her go, urging her toward the table.

Reluctantly, she seated herself again. He held out her wand.

For I will show you silver and gold
And I will bring you treasure
And I will wave a widowing flag

And I will be your lover

Somehow, Severus had persuaded the house-elves to bring up a tray of Sarah's favorite foods. She hadn't even known that he had noticed what those were. And after they ate, he came into the Pensieve with her. They experienced the memory over and over, while he drew her attention to certain details, and made sure she knew the names and tendencies of every person in the room.

"You're not the only Gryffindor here." He pointed out Wormtail. "Peter Pettigrew," he spat. "One of a gang of Gryffindors who bullied everyone who got in their way."

Watching the little man grovel before his master, Sarah wondered how he had come to be there. The common wisdom at Hogwarts was that only Slytherins were ambitious enough to pay the steep moral price of taking up with the Dark Lord. Admittedly, the membership of the Inquisitorial Squad gave the lie to a Slytherin monopoly on evil ambition. But she would never have picked Wormtail as a Gryffindor. She asked, "What happened to the others?"

He drew a deep breath. "One is dead, another went to Azkaban." Appropriate fates, she supposed, for any companions-in-evil of the little man. But Sarah had seen how Severus glanced away for a moment, and sensed there was something he was not telling her, although she knew enough to leave the matter alone.

._._._.

For the sake of maintaining their secrecy, she went upstairs before curfew, and pretended to go to bed. All her year mates (and the fifth years as well, she noticed) were studying in the common room. She said a general hello, to draw a little attention to herself; she wanted to be sure that at least someone knew she was supposed to be in her bed.

"You look a bit knackered," commented one of the Weasley twins. They were playing wizard's chess, rather than studying.

"I am. I've had a long day," Sarah said, which was no more than the truth. "I'm going to sleep."

Angelina, at least, had heard her. "G'night."

"Good night."

Sarah trudged up the stairs, but once there, she became a picture of industry. She seized her nightgown and a set of school robes, and set up her spells. She had been gone less than twenty minutes when she popped back into the Potion master's private suite.

._._._.

Finally Severus was satisfied that she had learned all she could from the Pensieve. It was after ten. Less than two hours to live? Sarah wondered.

He must have been thinking the same thing, because he took her to bed and made love to her as if she were made of glass.

They cleaned up and dressed in an anxious silence. The closer the hour drew to midnight, the more grim and fearsome his expression became. Preparing himself, she knew. She shut her eyes and did the same.

I am Malcolm Darkglass's daughter. My father was a loyal servant of the Dark Lord. My father died for that loyalty. I must come forward to take his place. My father would be pleased with me. I must not disgrace him.

"It's time, Sarah."

She opened her eyes. Her teacher, lover, husband, mentor drew from his pocket the ornate utensil she had seen in the Pensieve. She silenced the terror in the back of her mind that screamed, the Dark Lord touched that, and closed her hand around the silver bowl of the spoon.

And I will go to ravage and kill
And I will go to plunder

And I will take a fury to wife

And I will be your father

And night will be our darling

And fear will be our name