Snape Makes a Couple of Discoveries

Chapter Fourteen

Snape Makes a Couple of Discoveries

Snape looked at the page he had been pretending to read for the last hour. As You Like It, one of the plays he'd missed in his early education. Thanks to Tanya, now he could catch up.

But he couldn't concentrate on the words. Tanya was busy stirring the Potion, which, he had to admit, smelled much better than any Veritaserum potion he'd ever worked on. And she didn't need to mature it under the light of a full moon.

She'd finished gathering the vegetation she needed, showing Snape where these things were likely to grow; he taking copious notes. It truly was a marvel, he'd thought. For centuries, wizards had been searching for rare herbs, sometimes risking their very lives to collect them, and here gypsies had been simply concocted the same potions all along, using everyday ingredients.

He stretched out his legs, flexing his muscles. He'd been sitting too long. He stood up, leaning over the cauldron she had on the fire. She smiled up at him. "Almost finished," she said. "It will take a while to cool, but then we can bottle it."

"Good," he responded. "I think we should leave here as soon as we can. I'm getting a bad feeling about being here."

She nodded. "Me as well. Have you noticed that there are no small animals around? There should be squirrels, birds, the odd burrowing mammal. They're all quiet, as if in hiding. I don't think it's us."

"I know it's not us," he told her. "Otherwise they'd be hanging around, waiting for you to pay attention to them." He never took for granted the way animals seemed to gravitate to her, wanting even the slightest consideration from her.

She doused the fire beneath the cauldron, and lay down on the grass, looking up at the early evening sky. "I'm going to fall asleep, I expect. I wasn't able to sleep much last night."

Snape agreed that there was nothing more to do until the Potion cooled. He lay down next to her, but soon he was all too aware of her lying next to him in the open air, alert to every move she made, knowing when she finally fell asleep.

She moved closer to him as she slept, seeking the warmth of his body in the cool evening air. He wrapped his arms around her, offering what body heat he could, but it was an exercise in anguish. He felt ashamed at the way his body so wanted to respond to hers; it felt wrong. She was his student, after all. Well, more his associate; but still, she was so young. He had nothing to offer her. Only his loneliness. She needed to be with young people, needed to experience her young adult life through their eyes.

This brought back memories of his earlier life with the Dark Side, and he tried to force them back into his subconscious, knowing that he didn't want her picking up on them empathically.

As he had feared, he began to detect a low-wave energy coursing through her body. An almost electrical charge flowed into him from her. He knew it was her empathy, or some sort of magic he still didn't understand. He forced his thoughts to more mundane memories, willing her to awaken, yet not willing to break contact.

The feeling intensified, but he also noticed that her breathing had slowed down to the point where he checked to see if she had a pulse; it too, had slowed down. Her body temperature plummeted. He half-sat up, searching her features in the fading light. She was alive, but barely; what was happening?

He tried reviving her; touching her face, trying to get her to sit up. He was completely at a loss. He mentally inventoried all the potions he had on his person; he usually had a few tucked into the pockets of his robes. But dressing in civilian clothes for the trip, he'd neglected to bring anything but what they'd need; empty sample vials would do no good. He wouldn't know what to give her anyway; he had no idea what was happening to her.

He fought to stave off panic. She'd seemed fine when she first lay down; what had happened since then? It couldn't be empathy; that would have stopped as soon as contact had been broken between them. But had he actually broken contact? He forced himself to step back, making sure there was at least two feet of space between them. There didn't seem to be any change.

Maybe it needed more time, he thought. But after sitting back from her for what seemed like an hour, there was no change. He vainly thought of capturing an owl, hoping to send a note to Madam Pomfrey, but also knowing the only owls hereabouts weren't wizarding owls.

His attention was caught by some change in the air. He sensed the difference, but couldn't understand it. There was a presence here that hadn't been here in the last few minutes.

Tanya began stirring, sounding a soft moan, and Snape realized that it was her presence that he'd felt. So where was she a moment ago, when he'd been afraid she'd slipped into some sort of coma?

She opened her eyes, taking in the moonlight. He moved to touch her, to sit beside her, and she shifted her eyes to his, smiling weakly. He helped her to sit up, supporting her obviously weakened body by pulling her back against him. "What happened to you?" he asked anxiously.

"Oh, I just went off for a moment. What's wrong?"

"I thought you were dying." He knew he sounded surly, but for crying out loud, he'd been scared.

She looked contritely at him. "Oh, you don't know about this, do you?"

"Know about what?"

"Astral projection. Out-of-body experiences." At his look of confusion, she added, "Well, that's what the gaje call it, anyway. I let my astral self go off to see what I could find out about that malevolent presence we'd felt earlier."

Snape remembered reading about these projections, but had never put any stock in them. It had sounded like Muggles applying their tired theories to ordinary magic. But apparently, there was something to it, he surmised.

"But you almost stopped breathing. Your heart rate slowed down to near death."

"Aye, it's to be expected. Everything needed to slow down so I could use that energy to project. It's exhausting." He could see, even as she spoke, that it was all she could do to keep talking.

"Are you all right now?"

"I need to sleep. But I can put it off a while longer, I think. We have to get out of here. Let's bottle the Potion and clear out. Let's go to the cottage in Claire."

He started quickly ladling the cooled potion into as many vials as they'd brought with them. "Why not just go right back to Hogwarts? The Portkey is ready any time we are."

"Because we're not finished. I need to go back to where I was, but not until I've rested. I really didn't mean to do this, it just happened. I'll be better prepared next time, and I'll be able to actually get some information."

"On what? What did you find?"

"Voldemort."

He froze, stunned. It was the last thing he'd expected her to say.

"You saw Voldemort?"

"Aye. He's not far from here." She saw his shock, and quickly went on. "He doesn't know we're here. I want to leave before he realizes it. We can take ourselves farther away to the cottage. I expect we'll be all right there."

They finished bottling the potion, and waving her hand, she cleared away what was left. She magically cleaned the cauldron and removed evidence of their campsite. Reducing the sample vials to thimble-size, Snape packed them away into the velvet-lined box he'd brought, and dug in his pockets for the Muggle-type skeleton key that was their Portkey.

"No," she almost yelled at him, "we can't use that yet. Let's just Apparate to the cottage."

He'd better start thinking again, he admonished himself. The Portkey could be used only to return to Hogwarts. Any more slip-ups like that and he'd probably put both of them in jeopardy. As Voldemort was nearby, they couldn't afford any mistakes. He dimly wondered if Dumbledore knew this before sending them here.

They arrived on the front porch of her cottage, and she leaned against the door, gathering her strength to unlock it. He helped her walk inside, and she waved to light the lantern on the table as he positioned her on the sofa. She was almost out, that little bit of effort taking its toll.

"Why don't you just sleep," he said, "and when you wake up, you can tell me all about it."

"But you have to know what's going on," she protested. "If you don't, you'll be worried, and that may be bad, deadly even, for me."

"What do you mean?"

She took a deep breath and forced herself to go on. "You already know that my vital signs slow way down." He nodded. "What's so important for you to know now is that when I'm . . . well, when . . . I'm gone . . . I can't be moved. I mean my physical self cannot be moved. If I were to come back and not find myself, I'll be lost in the astral, searching, all the while using up what little energy I'll have left. When I run out of energy . . . I'll just not be able to come back. Ever."

She looked at him, and he processed this information, knowing she was really making sure that he knew she'd be depending on him to guard her. He looked into her eyes, making sure she knew that he knew how important this was.

"I'll be here when you return," he said gravely. "No one will bother you while you're . . . out."

He saw the relief in her eyes, and felt humbled that she trusted him with what was her very sanity. Life as she knew it.

"So, you sleep, then we'll prepare you for another trip. If you're sure that's necessary."

"It is."

She was almost unconscious again, and he carried her to the bedroom and lay her down on the bed. He quickly removed her shoes, her coat, and helped her get under the heavy quilt. He hovered anxiously, waiting for the signs of sleep. Her breathing had already become shallow, and he touched her arm, looking for the electrical feeling he'd felt out at the camp. There was none. And he could definitely feel she was still here with him. He began to relax.

Moving back into the front room, he lit a fire, and headed into the kitchen to see if she had the makings for coffee. It might prove to be a long night.

But only two hours later, she came into the room looking rejuvenated. She took the coffee Snape handed her and drank deeply. "Thanks, I needed that. Is everything all right? No visitors?"

"Were you expecting anyone?"

"Not really, but sometimes Sean will come over to 'pay his respects' if he sees smoke coming from the chimney. And Bridie stops by now and then to dust. Not at night, though. She has her family to keep her home."

"And what of this Sean character?" He hoped he didn't sound as jealous to her ears as to his own.

"He has this sort of rehearsed speech he always gives me about how gypsies weren't supposed to own property, and how he'd give me a fair price for the cottage and the land it's on, and things like that. I usually just give him a cup of tea and send him on his way. It's become sort of a ritual."

"But he doesn't really harass you?"

"No, not for a long time."

"So, your sleep did you some good, I see."

"Aye, it always does. Wonderful remedy. If we could bottle sleep . . . and I'm not talking about potions . . . then we'd be world-renown."

"So what did you see that put the fear of death into you?"

"There was this small house up on the wayside. Voldemort was there, sitting in a chair in front of a fireplace, drinking brandy or something. He was talking to a man I'd never seen before, but I guess he was some sort of servant.

"Voldemort was different than I expected. He looked just like an old man, no one to be feared, really. Can you describe him? I've always had a different image of him in my mind."

Snape thought. "Well, when he was a younger man, he looked no different than anyone else. Light complexion, dark hair, well-groomed, aristocratic-looking, really.

"When he was at the height of his power, he more resembled something otherworldly. He was more essence than form, and his eyes were a horrible red color, and reptilian. His face was death-shroud white, but he kept the rest of himself, whatever was there, concealed beneath black robes."

"Who's the last of us to have seen him? Harry?"

"Yes, and Dumbledore, as well as a few assorted idiots from the Ministry. At the end of his fifth-year, Harry faced down Voldemort right at the Ministry. He and his followers were trying to retrieve a Prophecy from the Department of Mysteries. He would have killed Harry then, if not for Dumbledore showing up to fight him off."

"Did Harry ever tell anyone what Voldemort looked like after that happened?"

"I don't know. Would he look different, do you think?"

"I don't know about that, but I know that now he looks like any other wizard, perhaps about seventy years old, but with failing health. Would he be about seventy? I never knew when he was born."

"Yes, about that. You say his health is failing?"

"Aye, he looks like a man whose health had taken a drastic turn for the worse. From what I've learned, it sounds like he became mortal again when he drank that potion for his rebirth. But it also stands to reason that all this back and forth to mortality and then immortality, and his drinking of unicorn blood aged him quickly. Now that he's mortal again, he'll face death the same as any of us. It's my understanding that once you've taken unicorn blood into you, you live a cursed life. When he took Harry's blood, Wormtail's hand, and the bone of his late, mortal father, he condemned himself to a mortal life."

"Most wizards live well past their hundredth year," Snape said thoughtfully.

"Aye, but do most wizards have all that dabbling in their systems?"

"You may have a point there," he conceded. "But how can you be sure it was Voldemort you saw? Did the servant call him by name?"

"No, he called him Master. But I knew it was Voldemort. I don't know how to explain the knowledge, but I was as sure of that as I was that I was me."

"Do you really feel you have to go back?" he asked, wondering if it would be possible to talk her out of it.

"Aye. I hope to hear something about his plans. It will be easier now that I've rested. In addition, I think I'm better prepared mentally to do this. It came on me as a surprise earlier."

"So," he drawled, yielding to the inevitable, "what's the best, safest way to do that?"

"I'll just lie down, and you watch the door for our dear Sean Taggery. If he comes in here and can't wake me up, he'll probably think you've done me in. If he manages to have me removed to a hospital and you to a jail cell, I'll be lost forever."

"No worries there," he said. "I can be most intimidating. However, is there any way to call you back, if I need to? If the house catches fire, or if Taggery has summoned the local law enforcement?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I'll just have to hope you'll manage to come back here so you can lead me to my physical self before I simply wear out."

"It doesn't seem we should take the risk," he said softly, hoping against hope that she'd change her mind.

She looked at him, amused. "And why do you think Dumbledore has gone through all this trouble to persuade the Ministry that he needs me? For my wit?"

"You mean," he said in amazement, "this is the skill, the talent he wanted you to employ for the Order?"

"I thought you knew," she said. "All this time, I thought you knew exactly what I was doing."

"I knew no more than Dumbledore was willing to tell me. And that was only the barest facts."

"But I thought you knew before you ever talked to Dumbledore about me. What was it that made you decide to take me to Hogwarts back then, if not this talent?"

"I just knew that gypsies were a force to be reckoned with, that's all. He had been trying to recruit trolls, giants, tried to make sure the goblins were all on our side, but I wondered why he didn't try the gypsies. It made so much more sense, especially seeing as how unfriendly the goblins are, and how stupid the trolls and giants are."

"Perhaps he was afraid of us. Lately, I think he feels he has reason to be."

"I should admit now," he said, not quite meeting her eyes, "that he allowed me into his memory of your hearing. I saw everything, as if I'd been there." He glanced at her, hoping she wouldn't hate him for it.

"It's just as well," she said sadly. "You have to know what you're dealing with, after all."

"It doesn't bother me that your powers are so strong," he said. "I don't believe you'd ever turn on me. On the Order," he qualified.

She smiled at this vote of confidence and lifted her hand to touch his face. He felt held by her eyes, and he wanted to do anything, say anything to prevent her from this astral trip she was planning.

She seemed to read his mind, however, and stood up resolutely. "It won't be any easier putting it off. As it is, I have to hope he's not an early sleeper. What time is it, anyway?"

"Nearly eleven. If he's asleep, you'll come right back?"

"Aye, there'll be no reason to stay. But there's no way of knowing how long I'll be if he's awake and conversant. You won't be able to tell by my physical self what's going on over there."

"Not even if you're in danger?"

"The only danger to me will be the unknown and normally unseen entities in the astral. I'm quite adept at outmaneuvering them, though," she added hastily.

"What other dangers should I know about?" he demanded.

"None. I'm going."

He followed her to her room, waiting for her to protest. But she didn't. She made herself comfortable and he saw her willing herself to relax. She was much more tense than she'd let on, and he looked on in amazement at her self-discipline. Too soon, she was entirely relaxed, and he thought that if he tried to pick her up, it would be like trying to pick up a sleeping cat.

It didn't take long. Snape was aware of the very moment she left her body. Going from feeling as though he were invading her privacy to getting the feeling he was babysitting an empty shell took only a matter of minutes. He sat there, watching her for a while, then went out to stoke the fire. He tried to return to Shakespeare, but couldn't concentrate. He kept checking on her every few minutes, wondering when it would be time to worry.

He stoked up the fire once more, enough to last the rest of the night, fully intending to sit by her bedside, waiting. At least then he wouldn't wear a path through the floorboards traversing from the sofa to the bedroom, and back again.

She was still gone, he could tell. There was simply no presence in the room, save his own. He sat on the edge of her bed, watching her neck for the pulse. She was trembling, he noticed. He put his hand on hers over the counterpane of her quilt, and was dismayed to find that it was as cold as ice. She hadn't mentioned hypothermia; was it an oversight?

Although the quilt was heavy, the room itself was chilled, though not unduly. He wrestled with his mind for a moment, then leaned over to remove his boots and jacket, slipping under the quilt next to her and pulling her body into his arms. As he held her close, running his hands up and down her arms, her back, willing her to take on some of his body heat, he was gratified to feel the shivering begin to subside.

He kept her close, pulling the quilt up until only their faces were free of it, concentrating on sending his heat her way. He had more than enough to spare, and his eyelids were getting heavy. He allowed himself to drift off, knowing he'd awaken if anyone came to the door.

His dreams were of the upcoming war with Voldemort. He dreamed that Dumbledore insisted he infiltrate Voldemort's coven once again. He tried arguing that his duplicity had been discovered by the Dark Lord and he wouldn't be able to gather any intelligence before being killed. But Dumbledore had insisted, so Snape had no choice but to report to Voldemort. Just before Voldemort could say the Crucio spell that Snape knew was coming his way, he felt a protective arm pulling him away from the graveyard where the Death Eaters were gathered.

He came back to himself, realizing that the arm belonged to Tanya. He remembered where he was, and could also sense that Tanya was fully returned to him. She was asleep; his attempts to rouse her amounted to nothing. So, this was now the healing sleep she so desperately needed to restore her depleted supply of energy.

Grateful that nothing harmful had come from her astral foray into the unknown, he relaxed, not wishing to disturb the comfort of holding her in his arms. She didn't seem to mind, and he hoped her dreams were of a much better sort than his had been.

Her arm was back on his chest again, and she'd brought up her knee, causing her leg to fall across him. He started as his body began to react; he tried willing the less disciplined part of him to ignore the feeling.

It wasn't working. He surreptitiously pushed her leg carefully down until it no longer pressed erotically against him. But now her hand was open on his chest, almost stroking, and he could feel her heat through the thin material of his shirt. Would she be able to feel his quickening heartbeat? Gods in Valhalla, was every part of him an erogenous zone?

He prayed for unconsciousness as her hand swept slowly lower and lower, stunning him motionless. By the time he came to his senses and tried to reach for the inquisitive hand, she'd touched him where he never imagined she'd touch him, and the human part of him, the part he normally tried to repress, sprang to attention, seemingly shocked that it was receiving this attention. He muffled a groan, and forced himself to take her shoulders and remove her from his person.

She rolled over, facing the wall, murmuring in her sleep. He lay there, almost gasping, trying to collect himself. It had been a long time since these feelings were a part of his life, and he'd thought he'd succeeded in repressing them.

All it took was one weak moment for those supposedly forgotten feelings to come crashing down on him. He looked over at her, seeing her chest softly rising with her breathing. Convinced she was unaware of what she'd been doing, he carefully left her bed, making sure she was covered completely with the quilt. He didn't want her to wake up before he could regain his senses.

His bout with Tanya's wayward hands had increased his body's temperature uncomfortably, and he stood in her kitchen doorway, hoping to catch the night breezes coming in from the south. He was still hard, and he knew he'd get no more sleep tonight.

He went into the bathroom and examined her fixtures. No primitive culture here, he was glad to note. The shower had taps for hot and cold water, and he turned them on, undressing quickly. He stepped into the spray, trying to drown the memory of her hand seeking him out, but he couldn't do it. He turned the hot water tap until the temperature was almost icy. Grabbing the bar of soap, he began to lather himself up, knowing that the cold shower was as much a punishment for his mind as his body.

As he tended to all his body parts, he couldn't stop himself from lingering over the part of his anatomy that was causing all this turmoil. It was no good, he was only human, and as he stroked, he imagined her hand in place of his own, and his breath began coming faster and faster, until he was panting, groaning, hoping that she'd not wake up to hear him moaning her name.

*****

Tanya woke, feeling as though she'd spent the night climbing mountains. Coffee, she decided. Caffeine and a quick shower. Then she'd fill Severus in on what she'd heard last night.

She grabbed some clean clothes from her closet, glad she'd seen fit to leave some behind. Murmuring something reasonably coherent to him as she headed for the bathroom, she hoped he wasn't one of those alert morning people. Not before her coffee, anyway.

She scrubbed the campfire scent off herself, and shampooed the tangles from her hair. Now this was more like it, she thought. Briskly rubbing herself down with a towel, she dressed, pulled a comb through her wet hair, and headed to the kitchen for her plasma.

He was already there, pouring a cup for her. She inhaled the aroma gratefully, thanking him with her eyes. Uh, oh, he wouldn't look at her. Had something gone wrong last night? She'd come back to find him lying beside her, sleeping, and she didn't have the heart to wake him to tell him any of what she'd learned. No matter, she thought at the time. She wouldn't have been able to keep awake long enough to say much. And so, she fell asleep. Passed out, more like.

But perhaps he didn't understand all that. Maybe he thought she didn't want to tell him anything. "Severus," she asked, "is everything all right?"

"Everything is fine," he answered unconvincingly. "Are you feeling well? Did everything go all right?"

"I suppose so," she said, "he was ranting and raving at his servant; something about how nothing was working out, and it's all that damn Potter's fault." She smiled. "I don't know why he's blaming Harry," she said. "After all, it wasn't as if Harry invited him to take his blood. Or to use his father's bone. I think, knowing the gypsy beliefs, anyway, that the bone might be his downfall.

"I think that because his father was a Muggle, it destroyed any chance Voldemort had of immortality. I mean, after all, how mortal can you get, if not being part Muggle?" She stopped talking and looked at Severus, who looked interested, but still . . . something wasn't quite right.

"Severus," she said insistently, "I don't remember ever seeing that look on your face before, but if it were on anyone else's face, I'd swear it was guilt. Tell me what's wrong!"

He started, and she knew she'd hit the nail right on the head.

He brought his hand up to rub his temples, hiding his eyes, so she didn't know if he had a headache or if he was hiding from her.

"It is guilt," he admitted. "When you came back to your physical self, what did you see?"

Oh, so that's what was bothering him. "Really, Severus," she chided, "I didn't expect you to lie awake all the night, watching and listening for the least possibility of a disturbance. And didn't I tell you I had no way of knowing how long I'd be? You've nothing to feel guilty about, falling asleep. I've done this many a time without anyone watching out for me. I was glad to find you there. You've no idea how much it helped."

He looked thoughtfully at her, not immediately responding. Then, "You don't mind that I fell asleep in your bed?"

She smiled. "Not at all. I'd have felt terrible if I had come back to find you trying to find a comfortable way to stow your length into that torture chamber of a sofa."

"Well then," he said a little more lightly, "suppose you let me grill you with questions about your reconnaissance mission, then we'll test the Veritaserum Potion."

*****

Snape allowed her to believe that it was guilt at having fallen asleep, rather than his lustful behavior of the night. He really wasn't prepared to deal with anything more than that yet. Perhaps one day, he might admit to what had transpired in the night, but the realistic part of his mind told him it probably would never happen. Ignorance is bliss, he thought. But he'd never allow himself to be that close to her again, physically.

They ended up agreeing that Voldemort wasn't the power he once was, and Snape wondered idly who would rise up to take his place? Not Malfoy, certainly. Tanya had seen to that. He wondered if the Ministry would ever see that she'd done a major service, eliminating that particular threat. If they would ever give her the recognition for the heroics she'd displayed by cursing Lucius.

There was some general teasing about who would actually drink the Potion, but she good-naturedly gave in, agreeing that his past research better qualified him to administer a more thorough and debatable test.

Just like the normal Veritaserum Potion, this one theoretically should work instantly. She watched him put three drops of it into her coffee, and cheerfully raising the cup in a toast, she drank most of it down. Snape immediately began to question her.

"What is the name of your sister?"

"Natalia Karovitch."

"And what happened to her in the summer of your seventh year?"

Her face clouded, and she shot him a look of misery. But she answered. "She was killed by Lucius Malfoy."

"And what is your scariest memory?" Shooting blind here, he knew. He didn't know what an honest answer would be.

"The night I learned that my father intended me to marry Samuel Lemke."

This was interesting. "Why did that scare you?"

"Because I knew nothing about the ways of marriage, and Samuel Lemke wasn't the man I would have chosen."

"How old were you?"

"Seven."

Seven! What kind of man would marry off his daughter at so young an age?

"You didn't love Samuel Lemke?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I was afraid of him."

"Explain."

"He was old, very old. Ninety-three at the time. He had a rotting hole in his face where the cancer had run wild. He wouldn't have cared that I was a child; I would probably have borne his child before I saw my twelfth birthday."

Snape was dumbfounded. All this in the same year her people were wiped out? How much could one girl take? He felt more in awe of her now than ever before. To have survived all that and still show a spark in her eye, a lilt in her voice?

"Did you, in fact, marry this Lemke?"

"No, I ran away."

"How did you come to be at the campsite when Malfoy showed up?"

"I returned to say good-bye to Natalia because I would be leaving the next day to live with my grandfather in New York."

Snape shut his eyes against the fates. One more day, he thought, not unlike Harry had thought long ago, one more day and she would have been spared witnessing the annihilation of everything in her life. How differently would her life have played out then? Would he ever have met her? Would she ever have been a part of this wizarding world that kept her, even with their misgivings?

She sat, calmly watching him. Not fearing more questions. Again, he felt that humbling sense that she was so much stronger than he.

"Tanya, I'm afraid of asking anything more. I don't want to hurt you by bringing up memories of something you'd no doubt rather forget. And I don't want to get too personal."

"Severus," she said, putting her hand on his arm. "I don't believe for a minute that you're asking questions out of morbid curiosity. I don't blame you for being curious, but it's different, isn't it? I think your curiosity comes from your friendship with me. It would be horrible if it were someone like Fudge or Umbridge asking these questions.

"As for personal questions, go ahead and ask. I think it's safe to say no one knows me like you do. And even you don't know everything about me. I've lived with secrecy for so long, I actually feel some comfort from knowing there will be someone that knows me as well as I know myself. I'm glad it's you here with this Potion."

He looked uncompromisingly into her eyes, silently giving her one last chance to opt out of this test. Her eyes remained firm.

"Are you in love with Harry Potter?" He couldn't look at her while asking, but quickly glanced when the words had left his mouth.

She raised her eyebrows at the question, but of course, she had to answer. "No, I'm not."

"I thought you two were becoming quite close a while back," he tried.

"I thought we were as well," she ruminated. "But it just didn't happen. I think perhaps we just pushed it too fast, too soon. Seems to me that he was looking for an excuse to stop our relationship from progressing."

"Why do you think that?"

"He became upset because I never told him I had the same scar he had. That seems a pretty lame reason to turn away from me. He also thinks I was too hard on Lucius, although he was in a better position than most to understand what motivated me."

"Potter always thought he was better than everyone else," he sniped. "This is proof positive." Then it dawned on him what she said about a scar. He'd never known about it either. He looked at her, wondering where that scar was. Then he remembered the vision of Lucius' vicious attack on her people, and all the blood pouring from her injured throat.

He hesitated, but knowing she wouldn't stop him, he reached over and tenderly moved aside her pendant, finding the lightning shaped scar hidden there. She calmly watched him, making no move to stop his investigation.

"All this time, even after I knew about the attack, even after I saw you survive Malfoy's curse, it never occurred to me that you'd bear the scar. Why was it so important for you to hide it?"

"After you had told me all about Harry and his fame, I realized people would be staring at me, too, being the new kid on the block, and a gypsy to boot. The scar would only have made it worse. Cowardly, I admit, but simply being different by nature of my birth was hard enough, without enduring curiosity about things that had happened in my past. I didn't want strangers to know so much about me."

"And it's all right with you that I know?"

"Aye."

Said so simply, he felt reassured. "And how do you feel about the Order?" At last, he thought, a question of which even Dumbledore would approve.

"I believe in the Order. I believe in being ever aware of fighting for the good of all. I have no hesitation in doing everything I can for the cause."

He believed her. He'd have believed her even without the Potion.