Chapter Eighteen

On trembling legs, Snape staggered down the stairs, using the handrail to keep his balance as immense fatigue battered at him. So exhausted! Seeing her had been the last straw. It had taken too much out of him to stifle the incendiary memories exploding in his head at the sight of her. Merely knowing of her existence had been an effective stopper, and seeing her had effectively blown the cork away, releasing the pent-up thoughts and recollections. Blood whistled in his ears, and his vision blurred; with a lurch in his chest, he stumbled and slid ungainly down the last few steps. Gasping, sweating and cursing, he gripped the newel post while his heart pounded and his head swam. When did he last sleep? When did he last feel energised and at ease?

It was difficult enough keeping up with the day-to-day duties as teacher and Head of House, but with the added stress of playing spy and ad hoc potion-maker, it was now more than a strain. Without the Time-Turner, he would have blown a cauldron before now. Inhaling steadily in an attempt to clear his head, he swayed on the bull-nose until the hairs prickled on the nape of his neck.

Slowly turning his head to peer into the unrelenting gloom of the hallway, he saw a shadow shift, and then Sirius was stepping closer. Snape stiffened; he would not show weakness... especially not before the mutt. But it was just so... hard. Every muscle cried out for rest; his bones ached out their pleas for respite, and his brain was smothered with exhaustion... Whatever Black wanted, he hoped that it would be quick.

~X~

The thought of Ophelia with the Dark Lord had rattled within his skull since Snape had mentioned it all those months ago, and with each passing day, the incessant noise had drowned out all other notions. Held within his quaking grip were the fast corrupting memories of a little girl giggling in the sunshine, of a child snuggling against him ready for sleep and an excited new student flourishing her own wand, grinning with glee and kissing him on the cheek. Knowing that he would never get any answers from either Veronica or a corpse, he had swallowed everything that he had left and summoned Snape to save the woman's life.

Something had flared within him when he had seen the blood pouring from her slack mouth, and he was now past the point of feeling shame that he had acted out of intense curiosity rather than affection. Even Snape's sneer as he turned to address him in the Floo had done nothing to dampen his desire to know exactly who he had loved. Perhaps the flicker of concern in Snape's obsidian depths had penetrated his need for enlightenment to leave a lingering inquisitiveness, but his main focus was on picking at his wound, seeing how deeply she had hurt him.

~X~

Snape stepped off the stairs; he did not want to be trapped at their foot while Sirius gathered his wits to say whatever inane thing was scuttling round in his head. Frustrated and tired, Snape scowled and tried to step around the silent and still wizard, but a hand darted out and gripped his bicep. Startled at the contact, Snape instinctively grabbed the wrist of that restraining hand: it was pitifully thin between his fingers. Sirius leant forward, and Snape caught the aroma of stale whiskey on the man's breath as he breathed over his face.

"I have better things to do, Black," he snarled out. His lips drew back in disgust, and he wrenched the hand from his arm.

Not waiting for any response, he turned on his heel and yanked the heavy door open, preparing to Disapparate from the porch.

"Wait!"

Snape paused, one hand gripping the door handle and the other clenching into a tight fist; he was trembling with fatigue and desperate to flee and collapse. He heard his rapid and shallow breaths, felt his heart flutter uncomfortably fast, and it was alarmingly difficult to focus.

"I don't have the time or patience, Black." He knew that he had spoken, but his lips felt numb and the words seemed to struggle to form in his mouth... He felt almost intoxicated.

"I... need to know," Sirius said softly, hoping that if he kept his voice quiet, then maybe the hint of begging would be lost in transit.

"Know what?" Snape snapped back.

"Was she a Death Eater?"

The question sent a thrill through him, and his exhaustion fled like clouds beneath a scorching sun. How often had he asked himself that question? Turning to fully face Sirius, he examined the carefully blank face and the tense body, and for that instant, he felt some kinship with the troubled wizard. Their feelings for Ophelia bound them together...a very weak bond, but one that was inexplicably abiding...and he wondered if they both had seen one face of a little girl, neither knowing her completely.

It was so tempting to thrust a dagger into the heart of the man who had tormented him as a student at Hogwarts and declare that his sweet cousin had been a vile viper close to the Dark Lord, lapping up His poison like Mother's milk, but he was just so damned tired.

Yet, even if he wished to, he could offer nothing to soothe the wizard; he had assumed that Ophelia would take the Mark just like the others, but neither she nor the Dark Lord had mentioned it. Her status was as unclear now as it had been then; only the sight of her unblemished left arm gave them some hope that she was free of the Dark Lord's influence. The Mark in itself proved nothing though; it could be branded on the weakest sycophant and never ruin the skin of the most devout follower.

"She bears no Mark, but she loved the Dark Lord; of that, I have no doubt."

There was something in the coolness of his eyes and the way the tension fell away from his previously rigid frame that made Snape uneasy. He knew that he was a bastard...few would dispute him...but Snape was also a sensible bastard, and in Sirius, he saw a man slipping down a steep slope towards a personal hell. Pushing his resentment aside, Snape resolved himself to talk to Dumbledore about Sirius' behaviour and suspected inclinations. Leaving Sirius staring into the darkness of Grimmauld Place, he exited the house, and without a sound, he Disapparated.

~X~

Grimacing at the time, he tugged the Time-Turner free from beneath his shirt and twisted it for an extra six hours worth of time; catching sight of his earlier self slipping out of the door to start the school rounds, he slouched off to his bedroom and collapsed upon the smooth bed, but sleep teased him mercilessly, and instead of the rest he craved, his mind whirled.

He knew that Sirius and Ophelia had met regularly; she had let slip snippets while they had worked together, and it had always seemed that she was different with Sirius, more playful and wild than when she was working and laughing by his side. But it suited him; she was perfect company, and he had derived a great deal of comfort from her presence. And then it had crashed down. He knew why he had felt some connection to Black; he too had felt close to her, only to have his impressions shattered.

It had been futile. Trying to sleep naturally had only made him feel all the worse; he should have relented and taken a sleeping draught, but that would have carried the risk of belatedly answering his Master's call, should the Dark Lord have need of him. Working had only increased his frustrations as he slashed red ink across the parchments that purported to being coursework, and after a series of terrible submissions, he gave up and retreated to his armchair. Grumbling under his breath, he sipped his coffee and returned to the earlier musings that had kept sleep at bay.

~X~

The flame under the cauldron sputtered loudly, and their heads snapped round; moving simultaneously, they descended upon the expanding mass spewing from the cauldron. Where the foaming liquid touched the struggling fire, plumes of evaporating potion billowed out, filling the small room with a purple, stinking haze. Casting spells to contain the vapour, kill the flame, and clean away the dark green mess that had poured over the work bench, they both thought about why the potion had failed; this potion could not fail.

A dark look passed between them, and then Severus stormed away towards the notes festooned over a workbench. His frame vibrated with reined-in fury, and from across the room, Ophelia could hear the rapid and heavy puffs of air whistle through his nose. Giving the cauldron one last scour, she carefully stepped over to him where he was bent over, his finger stabbing at the sheet of paper outlining the method that should have worked. Long, black hair curtained his face, but she could see his lips curled back and twitching as he mouthed his frustrations. Tempted to touch him and offer comfort, she was surprised at the reticence she felt...she never hesitated to hold Sirius or Regulus: what held her back here?

A sudden movement startled her from her musings, and she watched open-mouthed as Severus began to grasp at the papers and hurl them into the air. Despite his fury and effort, the sheets danced and whirled in the air gently, as if mocking his venting, and they fluttered whimsically to the floor, whispering as they slid over each other.

"It should have worked!" he snarled out. Shaking his head and repeatedly clenching and unclenching his fists, he struggled to control his anger and desperation. It wouldn't have been difficult to predict this weeks ago; she had seen that the workload was straining him, and as such, she had made herself available to help him as much as she could... Besides, she needed access to Malfoy's basement to obtain her own supply of ingredients. The Dark Lord had demanded a range of potions, from simple Healing Draughts to various poisons, and in case Severus had had time to sleep during that request, he had also made it clear that he wanted some potion to defend his followers from Veritaserum.

"The purple fumes suggest that the Belladonna somehow..."

"I know what it suggests, Ophelia!" he snapped out viciously.

That hurt! The flash of pain across her pale features was clear, and the way she turned her head to hide it twisted the knife a little deeper into his chest. Gripping his hair and tugging harshly, he inhaled slowly and stepped over to her.

"I'm sorry" he muttered.

When she failed to look at him and accept his apology, he inhaled shakily and mentally berated himself for his stupid, angry outburst. Placing his palms on the bench, he steadied himself and stared down into the empty cauldron. Behind him, he heard the soft susurrus of the papers being gathered together, and he turned to watch her. Even after working with her for the last two hours, he had not noticed how tired and pale she was. The skin that had always been smooth and delicate now looked grey and fragile; her hair that had been rich and shimmered, even in the gloom of his lab, was drab and lifeless. When had she stopped glowing? Frowning, he studied her more closely. Her frame was slighter, the robes hung loosely on her, and he noted with rising alarm that her hand was less than steady as it reached out to slide a sheet towards her.

A thought erupted. Regulus was looking less than healthy recently. Had they argued? Was the sudden depression and poor pallor due to disharmony in their relationship? Licking his lips, he pondered if he should involve himself. He certainly considered Ophelia a friend, and her pain made him feel a sympathetic ache, but he knew that he was sadly lacking in the ability to offer comfort.

The notes were collected, ordered and placed in a neat pile on the bench by the time he reached some tentative decision. Gathering his thoughts and confidence, he pushed himself away from the bench and called out to her.

"Let's go for a walk."

She frowned and turned to him. "A walk... as in outside?" she asked with an impish smile. "Won't you combust in daylight?"

A chuckle rumbled in his chest and he extended his hand as an encouragement. A flicker of nerves made his stomach roll at her apparent reluctance, but then a warm wave suffused him as her cool hand slipped into his.

"Have you done a Side-Along Apparition before?"

"No," she answered warily.

Another, darker chuckle rumbled and he tugged her closer. "Then I suggest you hold on!"

As the spell took hold, the sense of compression was immense, and her arm around his waist was almost bruising while his hand was crushed in her grip, but whereas the spell was smothering, her tight embrace was... pleasant.

The grace with which she usually conducted herself was snatched away, and she stumbled; he instinctively steadied her and felt her breath brushing over his cheek. That tight grip of hers intensified, and he heard her panicked inhale.

"Severus," she hissed out, fear tingeing her voice.

"Don't worry," he whispered back. Some small part revelled in her panic; enjoyed knowing that a thrill of fear danced down her spine, and another part basked in the feel of her, the way she cleaved to him and her rapid breaths teased his skin. The larger part, however, wondered why he had been so blind to Ophelia, and he fidgeted nervously now that he had been made aware that she was no longer a child...when had that scrawny eight-year-old morphed into a sixteen-year-old woman? "It's always dark in here."

"Dark!" she snapped out. "The lab is dark! This is pitch-black!"

"No fear of sudden, inexplicable combustion then," he said softly into her ear, wondering at the shudder he felt run through her. A sudden urge caught him, and in the utter darkness, he tipped his chin down and carefully turned his head until the fine hairs at her temple tickled his cheek

"Hmph!" she snorted. "I was teasing. I know that you're a workaholic and not a vampire."

While she spoke, he inhaled; the scent of her was subtle, but he caught the tang of lemon and the faintest hint of thyme. A stray strand of hair fell beneath his sensitive nose, and he was momentarily swathed in the sweet scent of violets. He inhaled again, but that sweetness abated, and he was left with the aroma of lemon, thyme and her skin.

It was unnerving to be so... unnerved by her. He had been drawn to women before, harbouring thoughts and desires about them, but he had never been in a position to extend them beyond the confines of his own imaginings. Sighing softly, he moved away; it would be folly to ruin the friendship they had, especially considering that he was so confused about his feelings.

"Shield your eyes," he said firmly. "Lumos!"

Through her eyelids she saw a flash of light, and as the light beyond intensified so her field of view shifted from black to magenta. Squinting, she cautiously opened her eyes, and as they focused so her breath was snatched.

They were in a cavern, the walls of which were lined with ancient crystals spiking out and branching into delicate finger-like structures. But that wasn't what made her knees weaken so that she had to cling to Severus. The light from the tip of his wand struck the crystals, and through them, the light was diffracted, splitting into its component colours until it was like standing in a constantly shifting rainbow.

Next to him, she gave a great shuddering sigh and placed her head upon his shoulder, and he eased his hand from hers so that he could hold her around her waist.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

~X~

A magical fire had replaced the spell, and they sat on a large crystal; exactly how they had managed to end up sitting as they did eluded him, but he was so very contented. One leg rested flat along the smooth, cool, crystal surface, and the other was angled, resting against another crystal which ran parallel and slightly higher; Ophelia sat between his legs with her back resting against his chest. Around them, the colours shifted like they would in an aurora, and despite the chill of the cavern, they were more comfortable than either of them had been in years.

"How did you find this place?" she asked, still evidently in awe of the cavern.

She had turned and tilted her head up to address him and some errant strands of her hair had become snagged on his collar; as he answered her, he brushed those tendrils free and smoothed down her hair.

"Believe it or not, I botched a Disapparition, and instead of moving so many yards along, I moved so many yards down."

She giggled. "I have no difficulty believing you," she whispered playfully.

As a punishment for her cheek, he tugged on her hair, and then it seemed that he was going too far; in what context, he couldn't be sure, but having her in his arms no longer seemed wise. Licking his lips, he eased his hand away from her hair and raised the arm that had been wrapped around her waist, and his hand shifted away from where it had so nicely cupped her hip. He hardly dared to breathe, didn't dare to move; her body seemed too warm against his, and he... he needed her to move.

"Ouch!" she squealed out before twisting in his lap to peer accusatorily up at him, her jaw dropping in indignation.

Oh Merlin! Don't move! Don't look at me like that! Don't smell so good... don't touch me... don't part your lips like that... dear Gods!

"I bet you pulled the girls' hair at school too," she whispered in mock disgust; her tongue darted out to moisten her top lip. "Do you know what they say about boys who pull...hey, Severus, are you okay?"

His hands had darted out to grip her waist, and he gently but quickly pushed her away; she held his forearms for balance as she slid smoothly across the crystal's surface, and the mock anger morphed into genuine concern.

He released her, but she refused to let go of him, and he growled out as he pondered how to get his right leg to the other side of her.

"What's wrong?" she asked, and he could detect a mix of anxiety and anger in her voice.

"We should get back to the potion," he hissed back.

Rearing back, she released her hold and folded her arms across her chest. "The potion?" she demanded sceptically. "I'm not buying that. What got up your nose?"

She knew that he hated that term, and he knew that she had the tendency to infuriate on purpose in the hopes that anger would make him more loose-lipped, but he wouldn't bite...not today.

"As I recall, it was some purple vapour," he said as sanguinely as he could, and he was gratified to see her eyes narrow and her delicate nostrils flare as her tactic failed.

"I don't want to go, not yet anyway."

"Tough," he mouthed at her before lazily flicking his wrist.

"SEVERUS!" she screamed, her yell echoing around the cavern.

In the dark, he felt her frantically waving arms connect with his own, and then she was crushed up against him, trembling and hiccupping as she fought back tears. Various emotions warred within him as she mumbled against his chest: alarm at her distress and, more disturbingly, a liking of her distress. A thrill tingled along his nerves as her fingers dug into his back, and his breath caught in his throat as her slick cheek pressed against his neck. Oh, how he wanted to stay locked in the dark! Such selfishness shocked him, and he restored the magical brazier. In her relief, she slumped against him, her breath coming in heaving gulps.

"Not partial to the dark?" he said in what he hoped was a consoling tone, but obviously, he had not made enough effort.

"Fuck!" he yelled out as her teeth clamped painfully down on his neck.

He reflexively reached out and grabbed her hair in an attempt to pull her away from his worried throat; his fingernails bit into her scalp as he tightened his grip. It hurt! Her teeth hurt, but he was swamped with other emotions; they'd never been this potent and unquenchable. Soon, he would have no desire to stop.

"Ophelia!" he snapped out. "This must stop!"

Perhaps his tone had conveyed more than he hoped; she relaxed her jaw and eased back from him. Her face was blotchy from her weeping, and her eyes were downcast as if in defeat...he groaned. What is it with me? Confused and befuddled, he rubbed at the slightly swollen skin where his neck joined his shoulder. It was tender and he prodded at it, the dull ache intensified into pain and he winced, but then he did it again. His confusion escalated into panic...just what was going on with him? Even though he wanted to continue tormenting that mark, he forced his hand to his lap and looked back at her. Her dark eyes were focused intently on what must be a reddened crescent shape on his neck, and he couldn't quite fathom the expression in them. All he felt was the heat of his emotions cool and a rising dread that he had ruined what they had.

~X~

The silence was broken by the merest of drawn out sighs and the creak of a chair. Stifling his gasps, Snape arched back into the cushions and pressed a trembling hand against his open mouth, using his knuckles to stopper the threatening whimpers when the coiling sensations in his gut peaked. Twisting his head to the side and squeezing shut his eyes, he worked what his recollections had spawned, and just as the memory flashed into his mind of Ophelia's teeth pressing into his neck, he inhaled, convulsed, tensed and then collapsed, her name escaping from his mouth in a relieved groan.

It had been a very long time since he had thought about Ophelia, and even longer since he had indulged in his darker whims, but there had always been something about her that had incited such dubious passions. The afternoon in the cavern had been as close as he had dared come to expressing himself in such a way to any woman, but it had left deep marks upon him. And it must have affected her in some subtle way too; his healing chant had worked too easily, and she had responded to him without doubt or question... It had taken all his remaining strength to smother his own response to seeing her and her quiet obedience.

~X~

Are you happy? hissed a snide voice in her ear. Did you think that killing us would help?

It was becoming easier; thinking, talking, even coming to this meeting place was no longer the struggle that it had once been. She was also more aware of the world beyond Veronica's skull; she was hearing voices, catching snippets of terrified and desperate conversations.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Veronica responded, the confusion and concern clearly evident on her face and in her voice.

Ophelia stepped back and studied the woman standing quietly in the darkness, looking so tired, so bereft as her world was caving in. Could it be that her grip was slipping; could it be that their roles were shifting? Was Veronica the one now imprisoned with only memories for company? Sympathy was something she couldn't afford to let develop, so she crushed it, quickly and adeptly. If this was her chance, then she had to take it.

I can hear them, those out there doing this thing to you, she said softly. They fought hard to keep you alive. She was disappointed by the lack of response and felt a flicker of annoyance; she could deal with denial and anger, but this silence was impervious.

Aren't you even wondering who they are and why they're doing this to you? she demanded waspishly. I know that not long ago, you were screaming out those very questions, begging for answers.

Veronica tried not to listen, but she couldn't stop the words from mixing with the cacophony of thoughts that collided and colluded within her. The traitorous thoughts were generating more compelling arguments to give in and discover the truth...whatever that may be. But her mind stuttered and trembled at the concept. Some deep rooted fear stretched itself, meandered through the notion of surrender and strangled it, exerting its thought-numbing will, and keeping her set in her task: to keep Ophelia bound.

You will give in, she spat out, her anger and impatience almost overwhelming her. Can't you feel how much stronger I am? How easy it is for me now? How they are helping me? Me!

Veronica finally looked at her. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice heavy with despair.

Ophelia, panting as the rage coursed through her, stared at the woman standing morosely and looking at her with eyes bordering on beseeching. She wanted to keep hold of that anger, wanted to feel the heat and power of it. She wanted it to keep the idea strong that she didn't care about Veronica, that she had no feelings towards the woman who had held her. Despite her intent, it slipped from her grasp, withered and died. They had existed side by side, shared subtly in each others pain and joy, they had worked together to protect those they had grown to care about...it was impossible not to feel some deep kinship. Those Muggle doctors with their terms and ideas had polluted Veronica's mind, had twisted the bizarre relationship that they had cultivated. Ophelia had been classified as a pathology, as a neurosis, as an aberration to normal thought; it had been easy for Veronica to listen and believe.

Could she blame Veronica for choosing the easy way? The doctors had been thorough in their techniques and had delved deeply and excavated ruthlessly; they thought they had found dross, but had unearthed gems. Her life, their lives, had become awkward as the few, extant memories had surfaced and with them, the magic. In the face of such nightmares and terrifying abilities, Veronica had done what she had thought best. Ophelia sighed as the last vestiges of anger evaporated.

I am Ophelia Black, she replied gently. And I am no part of you. I was here a long time ago, made to forget; begged to forget. You filled the place that was left, grew in the spaces between those instincts and feelings that we all have. I let you; for so long, I left you to grow, content that who you were and had were better than anything I could be or have. She sighed again and tugged on the ends of her long hair. I don't understand why I'm here... I shouldn't exist. Her voice was quiet and hollow, as if she didn't dare to delve into the emotions surrounding her confusion. But now, someone wants us, wants me. Her eyes latched onto Veronica's; there was no anger or malice, no hate or pain...just fear. This is dangerous, Veronica. You have to believe me; what they're doing is getting the memories back, and they will come whether you want them to or not. We have to work together or we are both lost.

It was the first sign of weakness that Ophelia had ever displayed, and Veronica watched on with mystified awe. Could it be that the thing she had feared for all these years was as fragile and as afraid as she was?

NO!

To think such was madness! Utter madness! The thing was a mental hiccup, a demon that her damaged mind had created to help cope with the strangeness of such complete amnesia; the doctors and counsellors had shown her the truth of the matter, they had aided her to smother that unnecessary and unhealthy aspect of her fractured psyche. Ophelia was nothing more than a delusion and a viscous, deadly one at that...to trust her would be the annihilation of all that she had worked for. Ophelia was nothing better than a monster borne of the train wreck that had scarred her and ripped away her memories. Even listening to her was a treachery against the years of healing and a deadly omen, portending the descent that had deposited her in that hospital! All those years suffering....

Ophelia stepped back. There was an edge in Veronica's harsh gaze that seemed too shockingly familiar; the same sharpness that she had avoided looking at when she was at Hogwarts was reflected in those eyes. Flicking out her tongue, she moistened her lips, wondering what had caused the shift from troubled worrier to flinty warrior. Frustration slipped into fear, and Ophelia felt overwhelmed at the prospect of convincing a woman as tenacious as she that she needed to just surrender.

The pressure of Veronica's will was pushing her back to the dreaded darkness that she had inhabited and endured for decades, and even as she struggled against the force, she screamed out her pleas and begged for understanding.

Not back to the dark!she screamed. For the love of Merlin!