Part XXVII

Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.

All my gratitude to my beta AmyLouise. Many thanks to all my kind readers and reviewers.

*************

Part XXVII

Neville Longbottom stood once more under the frame, arms folded over his chest and eyes narrowed in concentration. In that rigid posture, lips tightened in a concerned expression, he had listened in silence to what Snape was reluctantly exposing. The portrait watched the figure standing so straight before him and thought that, indeed, a bizarre reversal of roles had just happened. The timid, clumsy child he had scolded so many times in his previous life had grown into a stout man whose keen gaze was making Snape feel very uncomfortable.

"You should have spoken immediately. I thought you trusted me," Longbottom finally said, shaking his head. "Your intention to find a remedy does you credit, but unfortunately..."

"... I'm only a portrait," Snape bitterly continued, completing the sentence. A bit embarrassed, Neville nodded and lowered his eyes for a moment. Then, he looked at Snape again, and his expression hardened. He cleared his voice.

"What you told us about this infection is really frightening, Professor. Are you sure that no documents about the cure are available?"

Snape nodded with a deep sigh. He hadn't said a word about Lucius Malfoy, but Lucius aside, he hadn't omitted any other information. So he was surprised to see that Longbottom hadn't already thought of a connection between the illness and the people who had been incarcerated in Azkaban. But perhaps Longbottom was only keeping his considerations to himself...

And then a new idea suddenly hit Snape: it was possible that somebody else amongst the patients in St. Mungo's had been a prisoner. In that case, Lucius' responsibility would be greatly reduced... But on the other hand, the chances of a vaster diffusion would be definitely increased. The portrait felt a chilling fear run in his fibres while dozens of frightful possibilities crossed his mind.

In the meantime, Longbottom had unpredictably declared, "Now that everything is clear, I would like to thank you, Professor."

Snape made a surprised gesture. To be thanked was the last thing he had expected, but Neville was sincere in his assertion and explained why immediately after.

"Living in St. Mungo's, my parents could easily get this infection...my mother in particular, as her health has always been poor. I'll go to the hospital right away, and I'll talk with the medical staff."

He paused and watched Snape intently. "As you asked, I won't reveal the source of my information, but I will take all the responsibility...and therefore the acknowledgment...for this discovery."

Doubt tinged his voice. "Still sure that this is what you really want? No credit, no merit?"

Again, Snape nodded in silence, feeling horribly guilty. He had thought he could find a cure by himself...he, a mere picture!...and now his arrogance would be punished. Soon all hell would break loose: Malfoy Manor would be investigated, the truth would be discovered, and Lucius would spend the last moments of his life with a new, even more atrocious suffering added to his physical pains. The portrait clenched his fists in helplessness. Was he perpetually condemned to betray those who had trusted him?

In the meantime, unaware of those grim thoughts, Neville had inclined his head to watch the small figure that had waited patiently at his side, and that hadn't uttered a word till that moment. His voice softened in affection and concern.

"I'm sure that Professor McGonagall would gladly join me in this announcement; nevertheless, I would not recommend she visit St. Mungo's now, right in the middle of this dreadful epidemic."

Minerva McGonagall silently shook her head. She was sitting on a chair, and Neville was standing close to her, towering protectively over her curled figure. The old woman was looking even more fragile in that position, and her face was a chalky shade. Too high above her to notice her expression, Neville concluded his speech, expressing his opinion more like a nephew than an employee.

"So, Professor McGonagall will stay here. I'm sure we all agree on this." Again, his gaze enfolded the old witch in an affectionate glance. Then his eyes narrowed. "However, Professor Snape, there is still one thing I would like to understand. You have given us very precious information, and of course, we are very grateful... Yet, there is still one piece missing to the puzzle. And to me, that lonely piece is extremely important."

Snape stiffened, waiting for the worst. Which happened immediately.

"How did you get to know?" Neville simply asked, and his round face took on an incongruously severe expression.

A thick, silent pause followed.

"I can't answer this question," Snape finally replied with an effort. "I am bound to a promise, and..."

"It doesn't matter, Severus!" Minerva cut him off, a spark in her eyes. "There is no need to break any of your oaths; your words have only confirmed what I already suspected."

The portrait paled, and Neville turned to watch the headmistress in surprise.

"Old people are very perceptive," the witch explained with an ironic smile. Then, keeping her gaze on the shocked man in the portrait, she ordered, "Please leave us alone, Neville. I will talk to you in a few minutes; wait for me before leaving for the hospital."

Alarmed at the implications that the use of his given name seemed to suggest, Neville hesitated, studying the different expressions of his two companions. Then, in a few measured steps, he left the room. Slowly, Minerva got to her feet.

"So, this is why you were so reluctant to speak yesterday?" She asked quietly. "Did you want to protect Lucius? It couldn't be otherwise, after your surprising trip and the even more surprising words we exchanged on your return."

Defeated, Snape lowered his head. Now the folly of his actions was shining in all its glory before his eyes. In the end, he had behaved as inconsiderately as he had accused Draco of doing, as they both had acted in the name of laudable, but misguided, feelings. How could Minerva still believe him? Why wasn't she hexing him out of her sight?

As if perceiving these questions, Minerva watched the crushed man for a long moment. Her voice became a whisper.

"Were you ready to sacrifice all those infected people in the name of your friendship? I imagine a human life must seem irrelevant to a painting whose colours have been created to last for centuries."

Instantly, Snape jerked up his head and tried to speak, a desperate expression on his face, but she silenced him with a gesture.

"No, you don't need to excuse yourself. I know you were worried, at least about me. You asked if I had met Lucius at the feast, and I saw panic in your eyes. Still, you didn't say a word."

She paused and let her words sink into him like a stab. "Your silence could condemn an entire world, Muggles included. Did you realise what you were doing, Severus?"

His heart twisted in pain.

"No!" He finally cried, and as always, the tumult of his feelings made him inarticulate. "I wasn't going to... I wanted to help! I'm trying to help! This is why I asked for Bernardi... because I wanted to..."

He trailed off under her compassionate gaze.

"I'm sure you had your reasons, Severus," she murmured. "I can only pray that your plans may be successful, whatever they are." She took a deep breath. "And now, I think it's my turn to thank you for your information."

An unnatural silence followed those words while Snape watched the old woman in confusion. Slowly, she raised a hand, as she used to do when she wanted to touch his frame. But this time, strangely, she kept it lifted.

"You see," she whispered with a bizarre, tremulous smile, "I had begun to wonder what was happening to me... and finally, I've received an answer."

With mute, immense horror, Snape saw that three of her fingers had become white and rigid. Straightening herself with touching dignity, Minerva stared back at him.

"I think that I will have to make that trip to St. Mungo's, after all," she declared lightly. A tear trickled down on her cheek. She wiped it away with a quick gesture and spoke, her voice firm again, though heavy with emotion.

"I'll miss you, Severus. But I'll wait in hope. Whatever happens, I know we will meet again."

*************

It was late afternoon, and the weather was cold. Looking out of the window, Snape noticed that snowflakes had started to fall in light, erratic carousels. Winter was arriving earlier that year, he considered absentmindedly... And then, unexpectedly, a startling noise awakened him from his concentration. The children had come back from their trip to Hogsmeade, and Snape could hear their happy laughter and voices while they swarmed in the corridors.

Suddenly, his sadness and desolation felt even more unbearable. That anguishing wait was corroding his fibres. What was happening at the hospital? He prayed that his information would help them find a remedy soon. Five centuries had passed from the last infection, so the mediwizards MUST have improved their spells in the meantime! How stupid he had been, thinking he could do everything by himself...

His mind relived the sufferings of those last hours. First, it had been Lucius. Now Minerva. His friends, the living memories of his past, his ties with the real world... Were they going to join him in that surrogate existence of paint and canvas? And then, who would be left?

As if answering his question, a knock sounded at the door, and Scorpius came in hesitantly.

"Good evening, sir," he greeted.

"Good evening, Mr. Malfoy," Snape replied briefly. Seeing that child deepened his anguish, so he averted his eyes.

Scorpius, too, seemed embarrassed. He was clearly hoping for news. Or reassurance. Or solace. But Snape was too worried himself to offer words of comfort, so they both stared at each other in silence.

"Did you see my grandfather?" the boy finally asked. His cheeks were red and his eyes shiny, yet the child didn't seem to have enjoyed the trip to Hogsmeade much.

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Malfoy," Snape answered kindly, but with a tone that didn't allow replies. "Your grandfather and I are very grateful. Without your assistance, our encounter would have never been possible."

Scorpius swallowed and tried again. "But now you... you will..."

Snape smiled bitterly, understanding the unspoken question.

"I'm doing my best, Mr. Malfoy," he replied, and thought that, yes, he had indeed done his best.

Scorpius lowered his head at those silencing words.

"Thank you very much, sir," he whispered, and slowly, he went out.

Once more, Snape was alone with his remorse, but his sorrowful solitude didn't last long because, only a few seconds later, the door opened again.

*************

"Hello, Professor."

Albus Severus sat at the desk that was his workbench during Potions classes. He placed a bunch of little coloured boxes before him...obviously sweets from Honeydukes...and looked up at his mentor.

"Were you speaking with Scorpius Malfoy?" he inquired, tilting his head to watch better.

"Yes," Snape replied laconically. A bit of curiosity from the boy was understandable; it was the second time that Albus Severus and Scorpius had crossed paths in that room. But the portrait wasn't in the mood for a chat, so after that monosyllable, he frowned and went immediately silent.

The boy didn't seem to notice.

"Do you... do you like him?" The question sounded suspiciously nonchalant.

Snape shrugged impatiently. "I have known his family for a very long time. His grandfather was a friend of mine, and I taught Scorpius' father along with yours."

Albus Severus fiddled with the cartons on his desk.

"Dad told me that the Malfoys were followers of the dark side," he whispered. "They had the Dark Mark on their arms and were proud of it. Scorpius' father even tried to kill uncle Albus..."

Again, Snape smiled his bitter smile. "As you said, he tried. Actually, I did it."

The boy blushed in confusion. In his haste, he evidently hadn't considered how the story had ended. "Sorry, sir. I... I didn't want... I mean... I... well, I'm sorry."

A long pause of embarrassed silence followed. Then, when Albus Severus judged that enough time had passed, he mustered his courage again and tried timidly, "May I ask you a question?"

Snape sighed. "Has a refusal ever stopped you?" he replied.

The boy smiled nervously and seemed to ponder whether that answer could be considered as an authorization. The response must have been positive because he stubbornly went on. "The two old Malfoys were Death Eaters, yet his wife saved my Dad from the Dark Lord during the last battle."

"Did she?" In spite of his indifferent tone, Snape thought that far too many events had been lost to him. He would have liked to know more. Wasn't it odd that he should be forced to ask a child who wasn't even born when such relevant acts had happened? However, now was not the time for an investigation or a discussion; that conversation needed to be interrupted as soon as possible. But in the meantime, absolutely not discouraged by that apathy, the boy continued impatiently.

"And Scorpius's father pretended he had not recognized my Dad when he was taken prisoner with Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione in Malfoy Manor. That probably helped them to gain time and escape."

"Did he?" This time Snape knew what had happened, though he had forgotten it. Draco. Draco. A confused mix of Good and Bad, with a slight prevalence of Good... at least, till now.

"My Dad told me this!" Albus Severus almost shouted, confused at that disconcerting lack of reaction.

"I see." Snape sighed again. "So, your question?"

"How was all that possible? I mean, if they were Death Eaters, why did they act like that?" The boy waited, eyes wide, and Snape felt himself sink again into memories. But when he spoke, it was not about Malfoys.

"Because no one is completely bad. Because sometimes there is a light that shows us the precipice over which we are about to fall. Because mercy is granted to every man and woman willing to accept it."

"Accept?" The boy narrowed his eyes in the effort of understanding. "I thought that mercy was granted only to those who had repented."

"Sometimes it takes more courage to surrender than to keep fighting."

Albus Severus mulled over these mysterious words for some minutes. Then he raised his eyes again.

"I saw Scorpius with his grandpa at the feast. He looked... I mean, his grandpa looked very tired, as if he were sick. And he had such an arrogant air when speaking with other people! But when he talked to Scorpius, he looked different. He looked... kind. I liked it. Scorpius is lucky. It must be wonderful to have a real grandpa."

Soon he won't have a grandpa anymore, Snape thought. The boy swung unsteadily on his chair, wrapping his arms around his knees as he used to do when he was meditating. The room became darker, and the wind began to howl outside the window. Albus Severus raised his head again and spoke softly.

"We have been at Hogsmeade, today, sir. It was the first time I went there, and I liked it a lot."

His eyes became thoughtful.

"I wish you could go out of your picture, Professor."

*************

It was almost night when Neville came back from the hospital. The man entered the room and curtly greeted Snape with two words. "It's done."

"Minerva?" Snape asked anxiously.

Neville shook his head. "They kept her there," he whispered.

Snape didn't dare ask for more, and the man left immediately after. The portrait felt an acute pain. The truth had been divulged, but would truth really make a difference to the Healers in St. Mungo's? Now they knew what the illness was and how it developed, but a remedy had still to be found, and Snape didn't even want to think what could happen if they failed in their task!

He was still looking blankly at the walls when he heard a well-known old voice.

"I think we have an answer, Severus. May I introduce Cornelia Merryweather to you?"

*************

Smiling his usual irritating, benevolent smile, Albus Dumbledore entered the picture. An unknown girl was walking at his side, and for a moment, Snape felt a pang in his heart. With that long, beautiful red hair, the girl looked extraordinarily similar to Lily. But she was dressed in antiquated clothes, and her astonishing pale eyes were shining with an intensity that Lily's eyes had never possessed. He felt overwhelmed.

"Severus Snape?" she said. Her voice was calm and remote, as if coming from another universe. "I see you are confused. Perhaps Albus should have called me by my maiden name. I'm Cornelia Hobnook, the only daughter of Horatius Hobnook."

Taken by surprise, Snape watched her for a moment, and then he instinctively bowed. It came naturally to him to offer such a sign of respect, though the girl looked very young. Cornelia didn't stop his gesture but looked at him with her peculiar eyes. There was something familiar in that gaze, Snape thought, feeling positively awed. There was something... something crazy...

As if she had perceived his thoughts, the girl gave a nice little laugh and said quietly, "Yes, Luna Lovegood is one of my great-great-grand-nieces. Every portrait in the Ravenclaw tower said that her eyes have an astounding resemblance to mine. Do you think that too?"

Disconcerted, Snape dared watch her in the deep of her pale irises.

"How could you know...?" he began, then he immediately apologised. "Forgive me, Madam Merryweather".

She nodded. "You can call me Cornelia, Severus Snape. And no, I'm not a Seer."

He looked even more confused. She watched him, and for the first time, a mischievous smile crossed her face.

"I can easily read your mind, Severus Snape," Cornelia explained and warned him at the same time. Then she turned grave again. "But I won't do it any more. What I have seen, I've liked."

"Th-thank you, Cornelia," the astounded wizard stammered, feeling a strange emotion enfold his heart. The girl looked so young, yet she radiated an ancient, undefined power. He stared at her in silence.

"Perhaps it's better if I leave you now," Dumbledore intervened. Strangely, he didn't look at ease. He was considering Snape and Cornelia with a sort of envy. His eyes seemed to plead for her attention, but she replied without looking at him, "Thank you for leading me here, Albus."

The old man's lips tightened, and he seemed to struggle with himself. "The pleasure is mine," he finally muttered uncharacteristically and lowered his head before leaving.

"He is not happy," Cornelia murmured as soon as Dumbledore had gone too far away to hear. "But there is nothing I can do to relieve him."

At the wondering look of his companion, the girl explained, "Albus, too, is one of my great-great-grandnephews. I have many great-great-grandchildren in the wizarding world. My descendants belong to many of the most important wizarding families."

It should have been a happy statement, yet Snape noticed that there was no joy in her eyes when she said those words.

They automatically began to walk, entering one of the views of Hogwarts hanging on the walls. It displayed a wonderful view of the hills and the lake while showing the castle far away in the background. It felt strange to be admiring the castle from outside while they were still inside it, Snape thought. Finally, they stopped by the lake. The water was moving incessantly, and murmuring little waves came to lap against the shore.

Absentmindedly, Cornelia contemplated the sight then spoke quietly. "Albus told me that you want to know if there is something left of my father. A picture of him, or of his house. I'm sorry to tell you that there is none. I'm the only picture available in his family, so if you were looking for something specific, you will have to ask me."

She turned to watch him with her enigmatic smile. "But I don't know if I will answer you. Now speak, and try to be convincing."

Challenged by her teasing tone, Snape considered the girl. He hadn't had a chance to say a word till that moment; he had been too impressed to do anything other than watch and listen. And suddenly, he felt a bit uneasy. He had never been good at flirting with girls, and this one seemed a very particular young woman.

"I need your help, Cornelia," he began hesitantly. The reverence she inspired made it difficult for him to say her name. Yet she looked happy each time he pronounced it, so he went on.

"Your father was a great mediwizard and potioneer. I know that he had found a remedy for a terrible disease called Stonicrucium."

Instantly, her eyes narrowed, and her smile vanished.

"Far too many have asked me about that secret. But I'm not disposed to reveal it. My father was condemned by the Wizengamot because of that potion. His colleagues were jealous of his success and accused him of having used Dark Magic. They wanted to lock him in Azkaban with the same criminals he had helped save. My father! The best man in the world!"

Snape chilled. His only hope, so near yet so inaccessible.

"I'm asking for that potion for my friends, Cornelia. They too will be condemned, and by a sentence that no judge can remit. I'm sure your father would understand. He created that potion to help."

"Yes! But nevertheless, he was condemned, and though at the last minute his sentence was commuted to exile, I never had the chance to embrace him again. He retired to France, and a few weeks after his forced departure, I got a terrible fever that nobody could cure... and I awakened as a picture. If my father had been there, he would have saved me! Instead, they denied him even a portrait! That's how much they hated him!"

Snape lowered his head. It was no use fighting against such desperation or arguing against such rage. The girl was vibrating with a pain that even five hundred years hadn't be able to lessen.

He whispered, "Then why would you want to condemn other innocent people to a similar tragic end?"

She watched him in challenge. "My father had appointed me guardian of his formulae. For years after my death, a procession of falsely contrite witches and wizards came to visit my portrait and asked for those potions, saying that they needed them to heal humankind."

She paused and her face took a savage expression. "Liars!"

Her voice seemed to whip the air. "My father had discovered secrets that were potentially too dangerous to be shared, and his medical studies were only a part of this immense knowledge. In the wrong hands, his antidotes could be transformed into lethal weapons, capable of inducing epidemics. In the same way, several of his potions could alter body functions enough to control and expand human life beyond its limits. All those impostors coming to visit me wanted something they prized much more than preserving human health: power, glory, or money. What is your real goal? What could a picture desire? Which use would that potion be to you?"

"I only want to help my friends!"

Her eyes sparkled. "Well, then why should I care? They are your friends, not mine."

She considered him for a long moment, and suddenly, her expression became cunning. "However, it's not impossible that we can make a deal: what would you be willing to offer to help them?"

He felt a shiver of repulsion at that unexpected change, but replied quietly, "Whatever you may deem necessary: there is nothing I wouldn't do for their sake."

"Are you sure? You seem to enjoy their friendship too much for a picture. What if I should ask you to retire to one of the towers and dedicate the rest of your existence to me? I have been lonely for so many centuries! Your company might really represent an agreeable change. Plus, the fibres of my canvas are slowly deteriorating. Your portrait could be a very comfortable new home for me... but that would mean a definitive segregation for you. What do you say: Would you accept to leave your friends and never see them again in exchange for their renewed existence?"

"Your conditions are harsh, Cornelia," he mused in a low voice. But she disdainfully answered, "You said you were ready to accept whatever I asked. Yet, you are not obliged..."

In spite of his forced calm, Snape felt an immense rage, an infinite desperation, an intolerable rebellion. No! Not now! Not now that his semblance of life was beginning to present him with the unexpected joy of having friends again, real friends, who had accepted and loved him exactly for what he was. As in a dream, he saw faces and smiles and voices dance in his mind, until unexpectedly Harry Potter entered his thoughts.

How many challenges had the boy faced, and yet he had had the adamant blessing and comfort of his friends supporting him. Why instead had Snape never been able to find friends, real friends?

Alone in his life, alone in his afterlife, and now, the unpleasant prospect of innumerable, meaningless days. Suddenly, he feared the horror of being buried once more in an unknown place...with the sole company of that bitter, desolate lady. Alone again. Sacrificed again...

Cornelia watched him ironically and crossed her arms with a knowing smile. He shivered again, inhaled sharply and finally resigned himself. He had no choice. The mediwizards would never find a remedy soon enough to save Lucius. And perhaps not even Minerva. His head dropped in submission.

"I'll do what you ask if this means their salvation."

She watched him and spoke again, her voice incredulous and sarcastic at the same time.

"You do really love your friends very much... And yet, what have they done for you? I know those you are begging for. Minerva McGonagall, a spinster whose lonely existence has been spent mainly within these walls and whose supreme aspiration has always and only been teaching. Who would ever miss her?

"And what about Lucius Malfoy? He betrayed his birth and his blood by nurturing foolish and wicked ambitions. But I'm not surprised. I have always regarded his family with aversion. His great-great-uncle was one of those who condemned my father. The nephew proved to be a ruthless fraud whose faults even a hundred years of penance couldn't expiate."

She went near him, slowly, almost seductively. He closed his eyes to exclude her from his sight, but he couldn't cut off her low, passionate voice.

"What did those people do for you? In what way do they deserve your sacrifice?"

"They are my friends," he murmured obstinately, a dull pain corroding his heart.

"I admire your courage, Severus Snape, and I appreciate your words. But you still need to convince me. Why should a picture be involved in what humans do?"

He took a deep breath. "Have you ever loved, Cornelia?"

That direct question produced an unexpected result. The girl gasped, paled, and a rivulet of broken words came out haltingly while she tried to recover her composure, looking human and vulnerable again.

"My husband. He was the only love in my life. But two years after my death, he married again." Her voice finally steadied and dropped in bitterness. "This is how human beings behave. They forget... and forget so easily. But as pictures, we have overcome that pitiable state. Why should we worry about them anymore?"

Snape instinctively clenched his fists and declared awkwardly, "I, too, have loved, and loved totally."

"You don't need to tell me." She could sound compassionate and disdainful at the same time, in a disconcerting mix. "Two times I watched you cry over her. The first time you were mourning her friendship. The second time you were mourning her death."

Snape stiffened in pain. Her cold words had hurt him exactly as if those two episodes had only just happened. He turned his head and bit his lip to keep his emotion under control, so he didn't see the strange expression that was diffusing across her face.

"The girl I loved lost her life because of my fault. To make amends, I swore to protect the lives of all those I could. But now... now I understand that every human being should be granted a second chance."

"Why?" She urged him with a sort of desperation.

A multitude of reasons exploded in his heart along with the desire of confuting that merciless girl and her hateful assertions. And finally truth came out shining, as he remembered the words that he and Dumbledore had exchanged so many years before.

"How many men and women have you watched die, Severus?"

"Lately, only those whom I could not save."

That memory was lacerating. But the feelings it raised were infinitely peaceful.

"Because whoever saves a life, saves himself."

Her eyes widened in astonishment, and a trembling smile appeared on her face. She watched him with the joy of a sentinel who recognises a friend in the dark of the night.

"You are the one, Severus Snape. You are the one I have waited for all these years. "

*************

A test. It had been a test, and he had realised it only now, at its end. Once more, she was looking compellingly beautiful and remote. Forgetting his previous doubts, he felt his soul instinctively submit in renewed trust.

She inclined her head. "I'll tell you the secret. However, there is still a condition." Her eyes twinkled mischievously again. "But not as awful as you seemed to consider my company."

He made an apologetic gesture, but she silenced him with a smile.

"I have been longing for this moment for many years. I felt I was inadequate to watch over my father's legacy, and I craved to find a new guardian, someone worthier than I am. I'll entrust the secrets to your hands... but you must promise me to be very cautious. Those formulae could be a huge temptation for too many."

Her voice urged him. "Swear that you will use them wisely and well."

He took her hands and lost himself in her pale eyes. Her indefinable power once more made his heart twinge in emotion.

"You have my word," he murmured. In that moment, he felt that she could easily have also his life. He would abandon himself in her hands without regrets, his previous fears totally forgotten.

She leant her forehead against his and whispered softly and hurriedly, as if she feared what she was offering.

"My father had a diary in which he used to write his potions. When he left for France, his detractors went to inspect his house, sure they would locate the formulae they had so contemptuously condemned. But they didn't find anything because my father, aware of their intentions, had buried his diary in the basement. I was his only child, and he used to share his secrets with me. That's why I know. Later, the house was destroyed, and a new one was built over its ruins. So the document is still there, in a metal box under the ground, protected by a powerful spell that I alone can break. And I break it now for you."

She paused, looking serene again. Her eyes challenged him tenderly.

"I suppose it won't be difficult for a man like you to find a way to extract the diary from where it lies."

He kept silent, enjoying the delightful sensation of her closeness.

"Go now," she finally said, and for the first time, he saw tears glittering in her eyes. "You have a task to do, and it must be done quickly."

He should have released her hands; instead, he clasped them even more tightly.

"Cornelia," he began, not exactly knowing what he was going to say, spellbound by the many confused emotions whirling in his mind. "I wish... I would like..."

She smiled in tenderness. "No, Severus. Like me, you have given your heart once and forever. We can't change that. What's gone is no longer ours to give."

Her lips trembled dangerously. "I had sworn to make the wizarding world pay for their cruelty, as a revenge for what they did to my father... and... and for what my husband did to me. You changed my mind, and for this I thank you."

Her voice became grave. "But now I fear for you, Severus. Mine was a heavy secret to keep... I hope you'll never regret what I gave you today."

*************

Message:

Oh no, not another OC?! Yes, but Cornelia won't appear anymore in this story, so don't worry about her.