Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Realising and accepting my feelings didn't make my life as your pet spider any easier. While I craved the close contact with you, it was very frustrating at the same time. What chance of winning your affection did I have as a spider? And did I want to win your younger self's affection at all, knowing that I would have to leave again soon? Would the feelings I thought I had for the complete version of you – the mixture of young and older Severus – would that feeling change when I came back and met the older version of you again, hopefully on the way to recovery? Would you even remember me? And how would you react to that loathsome know-it-all, that thorn in your side, being in love with you? Would you reject me? Would you despise me? Would you be able to forgive me for invading your privacy as Arachne the spider? I didn't have the answers to these questions; all I knew was that I wouldn't want to give up my hopes, that I would want to explore these feelings with you, the older version, because you are the complete Severus Snape, the result of the many different Snapes of your past. And yet, I felt that this was unfair to your younger self, that your younger self had a right to be seen individually, to be treated as an independent entity. I was very confused.

You, on the other hand, appeared slightly softer. You talked to me more; you stroked me more frequently. I could only hope that the person, Helena, might have induced these changes as it certainly wasn't my spider self. So what would I do if you, your younger you, returned my feelings? I had no idea what to do. Once again, I cursed the inventors of time-travel devices, understanding more and more why the danger of losing one's mind through extensive time-travel was so real. I presumed that I wasn't the first person who had fallen in love with someone in the past and had to deliberately stop myself from pondering on the reliability of the reality as I knew it. I wondered just how often the past had been changed by time-travellers... and then I shook myself and reminded myself why I was here. Dorcas Meadowes would be dead in less than a week, and I still had no clue about the artefact that would be used as the Horcrux.

On Tuesday, our evening was once again interrupted by a knock on the door. After your call, another seventh-year Slytherin student entered, a wild smile on her face, eyes shining fanatically.

"May I speak with you, Professor Snape?"

"What is it, Miss Yaxley?"

"It is known in our House that you have good relations with some families who are very supportive of the pureblood movement that's stirring up the Muggle-loving fools at the Ministry. I would not be surprised if you supported that movement yourself. Am I wrong?" She looked at you with shining eyes.

"Politics should be left out of students' affairs, Miss Yaxley. As Head of House, it is my duty to support you in your academic endeavours. If my advice is needed outside school matters, I shall give it, but this should be an exception, not the rule. You should focus on your N.E.W.T.s and nothing else. "

"Oh, but Professor, we don't live in an ivory tower. This is our world; we have to shape its future. But that's not why I'm here. I wanted to ask your permission to be absent for some special occasions. Only at times that don't interfere with classes and study, of course. But I feel that I have obligations that go beyond school... and I have acted on that feeling." She beamed at you, and you glared back.

"You have joined the Death Eaters."

"Yes, I have."

"You see me very surprised, Miss Yaxley. I would have expected you to focus on your schooling. You could have joined any organization of your choice after your N.E.W.T.s."

"If you had been our Head of House last year, I might have consulted you, sir. As it is, I made the decision last summer, together with my brother. I just thought you should know."

"Thank you for telling me this. I will not forbid you to leave school when you have... ah... other duties. However, if you will heed my advice, then you should stay out of the more, ah, physical assignments for the time being. I am a bit surprised that you have been recruited so early, as you are not fully trained yet."

"It meant a lot to my father, sir. He is a strong supporter of the cause. He is very proud that my brother and I were granted the honour to join. I don't think he will object to my heeding your advice, though. He thinks proper purebloods should have the best education they can get. And since he has a seat on the board of governors of Hogwarts, he works towards promoting the best education for those who should count in the wizarding world. The proper education."

"I am glad that you and your family put so much weight on proper education, Miss Yaxley. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, sir, that was all. Thank you, sir. It is a pleasure to have you as our Head of House."

And with a proud smile, Miss Yaxley left.

As soon as she had closed the door, you jumped up, and I had to brace myself against the wave of anger that radiated from you. You went to the window and hit the frame repeatedly then you returned to the fireplace, Flooed the Headmaster and told him about the young Death Eater in his school. Afterwards, you paced your living room for hours before you finally sat down on the sofa where you fell asleep.

The next day, your good mood seemed to have vanished completely. You scowled and sneered, glowered and growled, belittled and berated... and the mixture of violence and hopelessness you radiated almost drove me away from you. As it was, I spent more time in my cage watching you than I did sitting on your shoulder or in your pocket. The emotions you radiated were so strong that I wondered how you could have so much control over your outward appearance, how you could use Occlumency so efficiently that even a strong Legilimens like Voldemort couldn't find out what you were feeling, how anyone could think of you as cold and unemotional. And yet, that was what you looked like: calm and unmoved.

Saturday was almost here, and I looked forward to meeting you in Hogsmeade again. I also dreaded that weekend since Dorcas Meadowes must have been murdered around that time. You put me in my cage as usual on Saturday afternoon, and once you were gone, I left the dungeons and went to Hogsmeade to wait for you there.

You didn't come. I spilled the drink of the third guest in a row and snapped at my employer, paced around nervously, almost losing control over the stack of glasses and mugs that was floating behind me when I was clearing the tables. The evening dragged on endlessly, and when the pub finally closed, I told the barman that I couldn't continue to work there any longer. I told him that I would keep the room but would be too busy with preparations for my journey to be relied on to help out in the pub regularly. Then I rushed back to Hogwarts, down to your quarters – and you weren't there either.

You must have been summoned outside the normal routine. The same questions went through my head again and again. Were you present at Dorcas Meadowes' murder? Did you have to participate? Were you in danger? Midnight came, and you still weren't back. Nervously, I left the cage and literally climbed the walls of your rooms, not knowing what else to do.

The night was at its darkest when you finally returned. You were deadly pale but full of nervous energy, muttering something under your breath and pacing up and down in front of the fireplace. You radiated so much anger that I didn't dare approach you.

Finally, you took a handful of Floo powder and called out to the Headmaster. It took a few moments before he replied, but once he saw your face, he didn't ask questions but came to your rooms instead. Trying to calm you, he offered you chocolate, but you refused harshly, almost rudely.

"I have no time for this, Headmaster. There was a general summons. The Dark Lord is very happy. One of the Order has been killed. The witch Dorcas Meadowes."

"Dorcas? Dorcas is dead?" The Headmaster's face turned chalk white, his eyes glazing over until they were a dull, bluish grey. He sank onto the nearest chair, his whole figure shaking.

"He killed her himself. He summoned us for a general meeting, boasting about it, mocking the primitive and transparent attempt to deceive him – to give the appearance that the Potters were still residing where they had been a week ago – Is that true, Headmaster? Was Dorcas Meadowes a decoy?" You glared at Dumbledore, who listened to you with a dazed expression.

"I... No... I didn't know... I would never have approved of something like this..."

"Is that so?" You growled. "And why, then, did Miss Meadowes pretend to be Lily Potter and wear a red-haired wig?"

"Did... did you see her?"

"What was left of her, yes."

"Heavens help us," Dumbledore lamented. "She was one of the Order members who was assigned to protect the Potters... I can't – no, I won't even finish that thought. Lily Potter would never have agreed to such a scheme. Not even for Harry. Not Lily. Dorcas must have come up with that idea herself. She was a strong witch, very skilled... "

"It would take an exceptionally strong wizard or witch to hold their own against the Dark Lord. I think you are the only one who could, Headmaster..."

"Dorcas could have dealt with four Death Eaters at once and still have time to help out a friend in distress. But if Voldemort came for her..."

"Let's go into the Pensieve, Headmaster, then you can see for yourself. I don't quite know why, but this death was a great triumph for the Dark Lord."

I shuddered. I had been sitting on your desk listening, enraptured by your account of the event that had brought me back in time. But now I needed to be close to you – to see the scene for myself. I quickly scurried towards you, ran up your back and settled on your shoulder. And I arrived just in time because you had already extracted the silvery memories, and they were swirling in the Pensieve. A moment later, we were in the scene.

"You saw it? Well, yes, you would have."

"In a sense..."

Voldemort stood in the centre of a group of Death Eaters who had formed a circle around him. You led Dumbledore to one of the masked Death Eaters who had exactly your height and stature; it must have been the Severus of your memories. Each of you stood on either side of your memory-self and watched how Voldemort slowly spun around and looked at the assembled group. His red eyes were gleaming; a horrible smile was twisting his face. Low cracks and pops indicated that there were still more Death Eaters arriving. When finally all was silent, Voldemort addressed his followers.

"I have called you today, my Death Eaters, to witness how Lord Voldemort treats his enemies, for he has many. You, my faithful servants, fight these enemies for me. Hardly anyone can withstand my formidable Death Eaters, so I usually need not concern myself with these enemies.

"However, every now and then, there is a witch or wizard of exceptional skill who is a worthy opponent for your master. Today, I had such an opponent. A woman who fought bravely: a witch who belonged to the Order of the Phoenix; a witch who cherished the illusion that she could deceive your master with her actions – that she could mislead me.

"This woman was shown the error of her ways."

With a snap of his fingers, a dark, human sized bundle appeared at Voldemort's feet. I stared at it and saw to my horror that what I thought was dark fabric was a cloak soaked with blood. Voldemort stooped down to the still figure and pulled the hood off its head. Then, he lifted the head with one hand. The rest of the body remained on the ground; the head had been severed. With his other hand, Voldemort groped for something at the figure's middle and, when he found it, lifted it up. It was a slim, fragile looking human hand. He straightened up, and with loud laughter waved the head and the hand towards the Death Eaters, spinning once full circle while he did so. Some of the Death Eaters shied back, some leaned forward to get a closer look, some hissed, others laughed.

I don't know if spiders can vomit... more than their digestive juices, that is... but spider or not, all I wanted to do was to get rid of my stomach's contents and then hide somewhere. A glance at you and Dumbledore showed me that you must have had similar feelings; you were both deadly pale, all expression wiped from your faces. You were staring at the scene as if forced to do so by Imperio.

When Voldemort had completed his circle, he lifted the head to his face and started to talk.

"Little Dorcas Meadowes. So lovely, so strong, no Imperio could stop her. Instead of trying to save her life and beg, she mocked me. ME! Then she attacked me with such fury and skill that it made me wish she had been one of mine. Oh, how I would have rewarded her....

"Instead, I had to cut her hands off to stop her from hexing me. Such delicate hands!" He lifted the pale hand to his lips and kissed it.

"And did she beg for mercy? No, not our formidable witch, Dumbledore's little pawn. She spat at me, bleeding prettily all the while from her arm stumps. It was almost a pity to end her suffering, but look how surprised she was when the Killing Curse hit her... Those beautiful eyes, all wide and surprised. I just had to cut the head off, too, to maintain symmetry." He threw his head back and laughed, throwing Dorcas' head and hand to the floor.

"This is how Lord Voldemort treats his enemies," he repeated in a low, smooth voice. His face twisted into a horrible grimace. He laughed again and took something out of the pocket of his cloak. "And it was the work of one among you who made your master's triumph possible."

He approached one of the Death Eaters who stood almost opposite from where you were standing. The Death Eater's identity was concealed by his hood and mask; I had no idea who it could be. He was a bit chubby and of medium height and fell to his knees when Voldemort approached him.

"You have served me well. Take my most precious treasure. Guard it and take good care of it until I ask it back from you." He handed the item to the Death Eater. All I could see was a flat, shiny something. The shine was metallic, golden – maybe a plate, or a badge. I couldn't see it very well. My heart nearly stopped. Could this have been the Horcrux? But where was it now, and who was that Death Eater?

While I was still wondering, you and Dumbledore had left the Pensieve. You were both still very pale and sat down without speaking. After a few minutes, you summoned your bottle of Ogden's Old and two glasses, and without asking, poured a generous amount for each of you. You both downed the alcohol in one gulp, and you refilled the glasses.

"What was that all about?" Dumbledore finally choked out. "Does he always boast about his murders like that?"

"Yes, he does," you replied. "He only kills his best, his strongest enemies himself. His servants deal with the less important ones."

"And who was that Death Eater – the one who was rewarded? What did he or she do to be singled out? Perhaps that was the spy in the Order? And what was it Voldemort gave him? Do you know?"

"From the way the Death Eater moved, I'd say it was a man," you replied pensively. "But his height, his stature – there was nothing unusual about him. There must be at least a dozen wizards among the Death Eaters who would fit that description. I do not know what he did to deserve such a reward. I doubt that it was the spy; the Dark Lord does not want to draw attention to his spies. I may be wrong, though. – However, the activities of Order members are always of interest to Death Eaters... Maybe he found out that Dorcas was guarding the Potters."

"That's possible. And the item, did you see what it was? He called it his treasure..."

"It must have been something from his past... I have seen scenes like this before. In fact, he gave me his old inkwell when you accepted me as a teacher, but he didn't present it to me in public."

"Yes, I remember your telling me about it. It's just an old inkwell; there is nothing special about it."

"It was once used by the Dark Lord – and that should be reason enough to make it a treasure for any Death Eater."

"You are probably right, Severus. – And now I must go and tell Dorcas' family about her death, and the Order... Merlin, I thought I would never have to see things like that again after Grindelwald was defeated..." Dumbledore buried his head in his hands, his shoulders slumped. "And I shall impose the importance of going into hiding upon the Potters once again. This was too close. The Potters must go into complete hiding, and soon." His voice broke.

You stood up and walked over to him. For a moment, I thought you would press his shoulder, but you just stood there and looked down at him with an unreadable expression on your face.

When Dumbledore finally looked up again with dull reddened eyes, you helped him to his feet and led him to the fireplace. "Get some rest first, Headmaster," you said very gently. "You can't help anyone when you break down. You need to get some of your strength back."

"So should you, Severus. You look just as pale and sick as I feel."

"I'm a Death Eater. I'm used to such sights," you said, but your voice lacked conviction.

Dumbledore just nodded sadly and left through the fireplace.

When he was gone, you went to your bathroom and took a long shower. Then you went to the window and stared outside until dawn.

The next few days followed the same routine as always, but I just went through the motions without knowing or caring what I did. My mind worked frantically. I had to get away from here and find out what the Horcrux was. I wondered why Dumbledore hadn't made the connection later when he learned about Voldemort's efforts to become immortal... If he had made the connection, the item would have been destroyed, or at least mentioned by the time Harry got involved in the Horcrux hunt. But he hadn't, and the ball was back in my court. Either I found out what it was and destroyed it or nothing would change, and the events of the evening of the confrontation would unfold just as they had before.

Perhaps I could get a message with a clue to Dumbledore somehow? A message that would alert him to the fact that there were seven, and not six, Horcruxes? I was still pondering that possibility, thinking through the pros and cons and constantly confusing myself with the different actions and their potential outcomes. I hardly noticed that it was Tuesday again when you took me out of my cage in the afternoon and walked to the trophy room.

Filch was there, overseeing yet another detention of the two Gryffindor students who had tried to catch me on their first day at school. They were busy polishing old House Cups, Quidditch Cups, and Medals for Magical Merits. Filch gleefully pointed out each dull spot they had overlooked, each speck of dust that was still attached to the shiny trophy.

You strode into the room and greeted Filch. Then you watched the two students. "Your last detention... for now. My, my, isn't that delightful."

They glared at you and continued their work.

"Let's see... In your first detention, you were cleaning bedpans in the hospital wing. The second comprised spreading dragon dung in the greenhouses for Professor Sprout. The third had you polishing all the telescope lenses in the Astronomy Tower, and now you are here in the trophy room. Four different locations in four weeks, and Filch showed you the way. I really do hope that you have learned to find your way around this school, now. There is almost a year left, after all; we wouldn't want you to get lost again. Isn't that true, Arachne?" And with a smirk, you stroked my leg. I started to hiss softly, which made the two students cringe and step as far away from you as they could without running away.

With a gleeful chuckle, you spun on your heels and swept out of the room to your next class. I was in your pocket again, thinking about the five weeks I had spent in your company and wondering what to do about the Horcrux. The sight of the two Gryffindors polishing the trophies had lightened my mood considerably. I laughed and remembered how Ron had had to polish trophies in our second year after he had been hit with the slug-vomiting charm and had to serve detention with Filch for that stunt with his father's car. Ron had vomited slugs all over Tom Riddle's Special Award for Services to the School and had to clean that shield several times...

... ... ...

Ron had vomited slugs all over Tom Riddle's Special Award for Services to the School.

Tom Riddle's Special Award for Services to the School was a flat, burnished gold shield.

A flat, shiny, golden item. Just like the item that was given to that Death Eater by Lord Voldemort.

Lord Voldemort aka Tom Riddle.

When I had arrived at that conclusion, I could hardly wait to get out of your pocket and back to the trophy room. The shield would be there, undamaged, in 1992, our second year. That meant that no one had destroyed the Horcrux between now and then.

Voldemort had won the award when framing Hagrid for opening the Chamber of Secrets. The Chamber of Secrets that could only be opened by a Parseltongue. Tom Riddle was a Parseltongue, and he was the heir of Slytherin. The Award had been an item of triumph for him.

Everything fell into place now. Voldemort had always used items for his Horcruxes that had a special meaning for him. Nagini was an exception, being alive and not an item of triumph. However, she certainly was meaningful to Voldemort, having sustained him for so long. But mostly, he had used items that had belonged to the founders – like Slytherin's locket and ring, Hufflepuff's cup, Ravenclaw's wand, or items like the diary that spoke of his triumph as the heir of Slytherin. This award had been given for the same event... Now, if that wasn't meaningful, what was?

After you went to bed that night, I left my cage and the dungeons, transformed and hurried to the trophy room. The trophies were sorted chronologically; one of the first I recognised was James Potter's Chaser badge, proudly displayed with the badges of the Gryffindor team that won the Quidditch cup in 1974. With a feeling of satisfaction, I saw that you had been awarded a Medal for Magical Merit in your seventh year. Lily Evans had an award in Potions... There was an award in Charms for Molly Prewett in 1965. How interesting... Amelia Susan Bones had won a Medal for Magical Merit in 1950... I was getting closer. There... Tom Riddle's Medal for Magical Merit... and nothing else. An "Accio Tom Riddle's Special Award for Services to the School"didn't bring the shield forward, either, which didn't really surprise me. Riddle must either have taken the award with him when he left school, or retrieved it later, and nobody noticed. And somehow the award had found its way back to Hogwarts by our second year, or earlier... How and why?

It was as if a veil had lifted from my eyes – Wormtail must have done it. Wormtail, who constantly betrayed his friends' hiding places. Wormtail, whose height and stature fitted that of the Death Eater who had been singled out the night of Dorcas' death. Wormtail, who lived at Hogwarts for years as Percy Weasley's, and later as Ron's pet rat. He had hidden the Horcrux in plain sight.

I had to sit down. Why hadn't I made the connection earlier? I had known that Pettigrew was the traitor in the Order when I was watching the Pensieve scene about Dorcas Meadowes death. But I had been too frightened, too shocked by what I had seen there... I hadn't been in a state to think logically then. But I could now.

This was almost too easy. I had achieved my goal, fulfilled my task. Since I couldn't destroy the Horcrux here and now but knew where it would be in the future, all I had to do was to go back to my time, report to Minerva, destroy the Horcrux and find a way to get Harry's soul separated from Voldemort's... and then? Would I have to kill Harry in the process? Quite possibly. And you? I had come back in time to prevent your death as well, but that course of action would have done nothing for you at all. I simply couldn't go through with this.

I could think of an alternative, but Minerva had advised me not to risk it... I could return to the future, but before the confrontation took place. Maybe I could prevent your getting hurt this way; maybe I could prevent Harry being possessed by Voldemort this way... Shouldn't your lives be worth the risk of meeting myself? I thought it was worth it and decided that I would do it.

And that meant that I had to leave you.

My eyes stung, and my heart was heavy when I returned to the dungeons and Transfigured myself into Arachne. Once again, I crawled to your bed-side table and watched you while you slept. And I made a decision. I would stay with you until the end of the week. I would wait for you at the Hog's Head. Perhaps you would show up. Perhaps I could talk to you again, tell you that I had to leave and say good-bye. And the spider would simply disappear...

Saturday night came; I went to the Hog's Head, chatted briefly with the barman and then sat down in a quiet corner.

I didn't have to wait long until you arrived with your colleagues. You all went to the bar, and when the barman served your drinks, you looked around with a frown. When you finally saw me, your eyes lightened up, and I gave you a small wave. You said something to Kettleburn, nodded at the other teachers and came to my table.

"May I join you?"

"I'd be delighted."

I smiled at you, feeling stupid and insecure. I didn't know if I could hide my feelings from you, or if I even wanted to.

"I've had word from my aunt," I blurted out. "I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Oh..." was all you said. You stared at me with glittering eyes, a frown creasing your forehead.

I swallowed and summoned my courage. "Would you like to have dinner with me? I've so enjoyed talking to you these past weeks – I'd like to spend my last evening here, in your company."

You took a deep breath, frowned some more but nodded. "It would be my pleasure. But you must allow me to buy you dinner – no, I insist!" You added when I protested.

I accepted, and we headed off to the Three Broomsticks where we found a quiet table in an alcove.

We talked animatedly again about Potions and Charms, Yetis and Kappas, and magic in general. We never spoke about politics or the reign of terror that held Wizarding Britain in its grip. We talked and laughed together, and talked some more, but eventually there was no denying that it was late and that the evening would have to end.

"I shall walk you back to the Hog's Head," you said, and I thankfully took your arm, enjoying your warmth and the feeling of being close to you. We walked without speaking, and when we reached the Hog's Head, I looked up to you, blushing crimson, and asked, "Would you, uhm, like to have a cup of coffee?"

Your eyes widened, and you swallowed and cleared your throat. "Yes, coffee... ah, would be acceptable."

I blushed again, took your hand and led you up to my room where I Summoned two cups of coffee from the kitchen. I turned to you to give you one of the cups, but you put it back on the table and took my hands instead. I noticed with surprise that your hands were shaking slightly.

"You know and I know that you didn't ask me up here to drink coffee," you purred with that irresistibly smooth, velvety voice of yours.

I swallowed, drowning in your eyes. "You found me out," I tried to joke, but my voice failed me. All I could produce was a croak. I stepped a step closer to you, transfixedly staring into those bottomless black eyes and gently stroking your knuckles with my thumbs since you were still holding my hands.

You stared back as if you saw something in my eyes that no one else had ever found there before. Your expression changed from confidence to longing, to wonder, to insecurity, to amusement, and back to longing. I couldn't understand how I could ever have found your eyes emotionless or empty.

You didn't reply to my quip; you merely lowered your head and kissed me.

It was a soft and tender closed-mouthed kiss that apologised for being forthright, and at the same time, asked for permission to proceed. When I kissed you back in earnest, your lips opened slightly, and your tongue probed carefully.

I opened my lips and let your tongue in, letting my own tongue explore your mouth as well, savouring the feel and taste of you. I marvelled how someone could be so expressive with his lips without saying anything. And then I stopped thinking altogether.

The kiss deepened, tongues explored and entwined, lips sucked on lips, hands grasped at hair and necks, bodies were pressed together until I was certain that you could feel my tight nipples through the fabric of my robes and smell my arousal, just as I could feel your erection between us.

"Come to bed," I panted when we broke the kiss to catch our breaths.

"Are you sure?" you asked in a shaky voice.

"We don't have time for games." I smiled up at you and pulled your head down for another kiss.

We finally did make it to the bed. Our increasingly passionate kisses were only interrupted by our frenzied undressing until we lay on the bed, skin touching skin, both impatient for more contact.

Despite the frenzy, our joining was simple, deliberate, and very intense. You made love to me with devotion and full concentration, and I gave myself over completely. Our coupling was tender, filled with sadness, almost desperate, and deeply satisfying.

"I wish times were different and my life wasn't filled with obligations," you whispered. "Then I could ask you to stay."

"I wish the same," I murmured. "Then I could stay."

We didn't sleep that night. We made love again and again, and only when the sun came up did you kiss me tenderly one last time and say softly, "I must leave you now."

I smiled, trying to put on a brave face, but I felt the tears starting to fall.

"Heavens, how beautiful you are," you said, wiping the tears off my cheek with your thumb. I leaned into your hand and kissed your palm.

"Liar," I whispered, knowing full well how flushed and dishevelled I must have looked. Sleekeazy's and sweat had stuck my hair to my head, and yet I felt how wisps had come loose and curled into a frizz. No one in their right mind would have found me pretty.

You only shook your head, wiped a few more tears off my face, turned around and left.

"Now do you believe that I didn't plan to seduce you? That I acted on impulse and gave in to my feelings?"

"Thank you."