1. Prologue: The Effect of Losing Time by Orlaith
2. Journeys and Messages by Orlaith
3. Travelling Through Time and Over Seas by Orlaith
4. Fallen Heroes by Orlaith
5. The Ride of the Fianna by Orlaith
6. Demise of an Elf by Orlaith
7. Desperate Measures by Orlaith
8. Broken Vows by Orlaith
9. One Last Adventure by Orlaith
The door thudded again. This was simply one time too many, and as he pulled one greasy black lock from his eyes Severus Snape called:
“Enter!”
A student entered, black robes billowing out behind her. She had a cascade of black shoulder-length hair which was a nest of disarray. A sea of crème-like skin contrasted with her soft brown eyes. Her eyes flashed around the stony office, sulkily looking at row upon row of potion ingredients and books. The rigidity of this office was unbelievably practical, down to the geometrical patterns on the rug concealed behind the dark ebony desk. The desk itself a formidable attribute to the Potion Master’s terrifying demeanour “ at least when he was telling students off within its jauntily straight confines.
“Dad, I flooded the common room again.”
He buried his face in his hands. The summer holidays had never been so taxing, and they had only just begun. Slowly he looked up, wondering how this clumsy child had been his making. Yet she was every bit as Slytherin as himself, and in her quieter moments reflected the genius that had been passed from generation to generation of the Snape family.
“Cassiopeia Snape, why do you continually shame me? Must I clean up all your mistakes? No.” He looked up at her. “I will inform the house-elves to steer clear of the Slytherin common room. You will clean it “ without magic. Now go before I have to elect for a harsher punishment.”
He turned back to writing the script on his desk, scrawling spiky black letters in perfectly straight lines from left to right. He was aware that his daughter hadn’t left yet, but knew that her anger would burst and she storm out.
“I wish mum were here. At least she knows that accidents happen,” she snapped.
“Yes, well your mother is off on some whimsical adventure in ancient Ireland again, isn’t she? She won’t be back until she understands the motives for that godforsaken battle," he said irritably.
“Jealous, father? Or just your usual dull self? Why did mum marry you? You are so… so “ insufferable!”
She turned around and left, slamming the door behind her. Cassi was every part her mother's child as she was his, and he burst at the seams with pride. But he wondered “ were children supposed to be this embarrassing? He sent a message to the elves to leave the mess to his daughter and continued with his work.
Cassi Snape immediately sought out Professor Binns, who as a ghost was able to enter the Slytherin Common room and as he was rather fond of her mother, Sorcha, was more than happy to help. His ghost status only helped in removing the water, somehow he vaporised the watery mess and by doing so restored order to the common room. Cassi bid him her thanks and watched as he vanished through a wall. She sighed. Her father was ever so hard on her and her mother “ well, her mother was a loose cannon, but she wasn't, was she?
Her stomach grumbled noisily. Painfully even as she doubled over, collapsing on the vacant green couch. She ran her hands over her tummy, rubbing it as if to take away the discomfort it caused. Her mouth dropped open as wave after wave of pain shook her body. Then it stopped. She leapt up, again right as rain. Clearly something was not right. She left the common room at a run “ perhaps her father had elected a harsher punishment after all.
The thudding on the door made it apparent that his daughter had indeed returned. Why did she keep this up? He was really quite busy. This time however she didn’t wait for his permission to enter, instead Snape roared:
“WHAT!”
As she stepped in to the room it was obvious just what the problem was.
“Dad “ I’m vanishing!” she gasped. Indeed a transparent hole loomed at the very centre of her body.
“What have you done now?” he growled. She’s drunk one of my potions, he thought in agony. But rebuked himself “ she was old enough to know better.
“Father I swear!” she gasped. “What’s happening?”
“I think I know,” he answered blandly pointing at the back of his perfect door. Writing appeared to be scrawled upon it. It read:
Had things changed so much that their daughter was being unborn?
“Glacialis!” he cast over her. Frozen, she could not be unmade. He stormed over to the fire place into which he threw a handful of glittering dust.
“Albus!” he called, and when the solemn face of the wizened Headmaster of Hogwarts finally appeared, he shook his head and mumbled.
“She’s done it again; Sorcha’s lost her Time Turner.”
The Headmaster chuckled. “Then retrieve her you must. I’ll keep an eye on Cassiopeia for you.”
This time it was the Potion Master's turn for a laugh. “No worries there, Professor Dumbledore “ she was disappearing, I had to freeze her. Your castle is safe.” The relief was apparent on Albus Dumbledore’s face.
“Thank goodness for that. Good luck, Severus “ bring her back safely.”
“Of course.” He bowed and turned from the now empty fireplace. Walking around the office he gathered the few things he might need “ wand, cloak, time turner, a small potions supply and sighed. This is what love did to him. Then he laughed, Sorcha would regret this…
Sorcha Snape awoke to the thudding of rain upon the small tent she had been gifted. Being a witch and travelling with an ancient army, the Fianna, entirely impartial to the idea of magic, was useful. Magic had given her much favour with the army’s leader, the one time Irish hero: Finn Mac Cumhail. He had taken to her advantage easily, granted her a spot near his own, and had given her the tent as an offer of good will. Being included in his early morning meetings was a bit of a downer, but of course, was something to which she had become accustomed.
She had been gone six months.
It was during the last battle, after which she had been ceremoniously borne upon a crowd of triumphant soldiers because of her successful espionage of the enemy camp, that she had managed to lose the only important thing she had brought with her “ the Time-Turner. She was going to ask Finn if she could be excused for a few months; she had to try to find Hogwarts, which may not even have existed at this point. If she didn’t, any hope of seeing her daughter, Cassiopeia, and her temperamental husband, Severus Snape, would be gone. Interesting as she found this period, she wouldn’t care to be here for another six months.
She had studied Finn Mac Cumhail’s history in detail. She knew that he had just passed his most famous hurdle: saving the life of the High King, Cormac Mac Art. Often battles had lasted days. Finn’s army was simply unbeatable. It was with a heavy heart that she rose this morning, the rain still pounding, though somewhat peacefully on the waxed canvas. She dressed in the plain woollen leggings and slipped a light cotton shift over her head. She fastened the string that tied it together and grabbed her cloak, pulling the hood over her head before she stood, and drew the weapons belt about her waist sorely. Her muscles were painfully tight. Fully dressed, she left the tent.
The camp was beginning to stir. Although the sun had not yet risen, spots of dancing flames from campfires were dotted around, and dark shapes were moving silently around the ocean of tents. Illuminated by the first rays of dawn’s light, her destination stood out. The Command Tent was a glowing beacon of righteousness in a field of lost souls. She stumbled sleepily to its entrance and was welcomed by the nods of the leading officers and finally by Finn himself.
“Good morning, Sorcha,” he greeted, bowing his head to her. He sported a mass of tangled red hair that, although bound in plaits, frayed outward in all directions, but still hung in his lengthy beard. He was powerful in every turn. She had always found his manners impeccable. Often times, she found herself wishing Severus was as courteous as this ancient gentleman. In turn, Sorcha bowed lower than her host, showing the proper respect she owed her temporary liege.
“Good morning to you, Finn. I trust you slept well?” she inquired. He smiled, brushing a stray lock from his hardened, but charming, eyes. He was the picture of masculinity; it drove her rather wildly into fits of lust. Sorcha’s eyes trailed over his broad shoulders, to his powerfully muscled arms working for menial causes at that moment. It triggered thoughts of battles and the distant sight of Finn swinging his broadsword. She stopped quite suddenly, it would not do to be tempting herself with the forbidden fruit. The only cure was the stern remembrance of Severus. He would be furious to see her giggling like a school girl, mooning after a man centuries dead. Indeed, he might even laugh, how pathetic she must seem!
“I did, Sorcha, thank you,” he replied, a voice bouncing with an under current of laughter.
“The camp will stay centred here, at least until the next moon; the weather will not be so wet. I think we’re better grounded “ unless… you could do something about it?” he asked almost cheekily, or as cheekily as a war-hardened man possibly could. Unfortunately Sorcha had travelled to a point in time where the great Finn Mac Cumhail was a few years her junior, he felt almost like a grown up son to her. Had their ages been more similar, she was certain that she would have succumbed to temptation.
“I’m sorry, Finn. I’m still weak from all that scrying, it drained me. Besides, I need to discuss more… pressing matters.” Finn raised a bushy eyebrow.
“Privately,” Sorcha added, looking at the expectant glances thrown her way. Finn held the tent flap open as she stepped outside.
“You know I am not from Erin.”
“With all due respect, my lady witch, you simply could not be. It’s your eyes, they give you away.” Sorcha laughed with him. “I, however, grant you the title of Honorary Fianna.” She grinned as he clasped her hand.
“Thank you,” she beamed, “Its nice to know I’m welcome somewhere.” Her voice had a hint of dismay to it, thinking of how Severus always hogged the blanket in bed.
“I have lost the device that will take me home,” she said shortly, “I’m afraid I must leave you for a short time to leave a message for someone who may be able to bring me home.”
She looked Finn in the eye whilst saying, “I need your leave to go and do this.” He looked most displeased. The mood between them had suddenly gone admittedly sour.
“How long will you be gone?” he asked stonily, like a chieftain disapproving of a young soldier running off to be wed.
“A month, maybe more,” she replied glumly, knowing she was going to miss the fun here in the camp.
“Do you have to go alone?”
“Not necessarily, but it might be quicker than taking one of these dunderheads “” she stopped, suddenly pained by the reminiscent vocabulary of her future husband. “Than taking one of them with me.” As she gestured to the flock of people sleeping in their tents, he laughed.
“Would I be too great a dunderhead to accompany you, Sorcha?” he asked in a playful growl. This time, she was the one who laughed.
“You would come?”
“I would enjoy the peace of it, I would pledge to you my protection; I would not forgive myself to lose one as valuable as you, after the help you have afforded me.”
She smiled. “I welcome you on my travels; I just hope they aren’t as impossible as my head tells me.”
“Nothing is impossible, Sorcha “ we leave at sundown,” he said as he left. She sighed; Finn Mac Cumhail was never one to take the back seat.
~*~
Sorcha spent the day healing wounds and mending bowstrings, sharpening blades and carving good luck charms with her magic. Many of the Fianna were saddened that she would be leaving. There was a wizard amongst their number, whom she had tried to train, but without a wand, and being a weak human and not a powerful Elf, his skills were limited. He could levitate, blow things up, and make loud noises, but that was truly the extent of his power. Had he been born a few centuries later, he would no doubt have attended Hogwarts. Now, as the sun slowly sank beyond the trees to the west, she packed away her sleeping roll and her supplies, which she hoped would last them for the duration of their journey. If not, well, she didn’t want to think on that.
The camp site seemed melancholy as their departure came closer; the songs sung around the campfires were of lost loves, of walking the road of the dead, and of those who would never return. Sorcha wondered, did they think they would not see herself or Finn again? She of course knew that Finn would return and she knew she would get home; it was written in myth. But she knew that it could change…
Slowly, as she gathered all her possessions, which amounted to very little, rolls of parchment and the like. Her pack seemed considerably smaller than that of her companion as he met her at the entrance of her tent.
“Ready?” he asked brightly.
“Almost, will you hold this?” she said shoving a wooden flute into his hand whilst she made room enough for it between the folds of her bedroll. She stuffed it bluntly in the middle and closed the buckle she had fashioned upon her pack, then slid it on her back. She shrugged her shoulders twice and stood up straight.
“Let’s go.”
They both set off east, away from the camp that had been their home for the past two days. As they passed the cesspits, they both knew they wouldn’t miss it as much as they had thought.
On the third day of travel, Sorcha was so tired that she didn’t bother to set up camp. She slammed her back against the nearest tree and dozed off, wispy hair in disarray framing her exhausted features. Finn, who was more used to travel like this, silently set about making a fire and began to chop vegetables into a pot of boiling water. Sorcha didn’t eat meat; in fact, he noticed strangely that Sorcha didn’t eat much at all. She’d often left the vegetables of the stew, only drinking the cloudy broth.
Finally, the smell of something warm and tasty brought her around. She wiped her eyes and removed her pack, her back stiff. She shivered; it was certainly colder here, even if it was drier.
She stretched painfully, and cursed. She wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight. She heard Finn chuckle.
She glared at him. His blue eyes strangely alive, he looked at home beneath the trees.
“Enjoying yourself?” she grumbled, sitting down before the fire. She hoped the warmth would ease the pain in her muscles.
“I am,” he said handing her a bowl of stew. He watched as she drank down the broth, the vegetables left behind. He frowned.
“Why do you do that “ always leave the vegetables?”
She looked up, eyes still puffy from sleep.
“I can’t digest them. They’re much too hard; boil them for another few hours and I could.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not like most people,” she sighed wearily.
“No?”
“I’m an Elf.”
“Ah,” he replied as if he understood. “What’s an Elf?” he asked finally.
“An Elf is not much different than a normal person, we’re generally more slender, have more acute senses and have a strange connection with nature, which I’ve never been able to understand.” Seeing this did not help much, she added: “We’re creatures of the past, there are few of us left.”
He merely nodded and went back to eating in silence. “If we boil the vegetables the rest of the night, you could eat them for breakfast. It’ll be a little more substantive than just the liquid,” he said timidly, reminding her of the age difference.
“Thank you,” she said. “That would be nice.”
He did indeed leave the vegetables boiling, and as he fell asleep, Sorcha found she could not match his peaceful state. Instead she looked through the thick canopies of the trees above and snatched glimpses of the stars, so different from the constellations she had learnt in the distant future upon the Hogwarts battlements.
Then she thought of Severus. Her heart sank; she hoped to the high heavens that Hogwarts had been built already. If not, it would be a long and lonely wait “ but one she would endure. Long life was both a gift and a curse. She wondered how much trouble Cassi had caused in her absence, and how Severus had dealt with it “ he was often harsh. Then another thought struck her. She would be likely meeting the founders of Hogwarts, if it existed. She wondered if she murdered Slytherin it could save a lot of trouble in the future, but then those stern lectures from Dumbledore came to mind. She wondered if she had already changed anything else. When she finally slipped into sleep, the fire and the pot of vegetables had gone cold.
Two weeks on, they finally reached the sea. Finn had not asked where they were going; he had faithfully followed her lead, and above all else kept her moving. They rested after Sorcha explained that they would have to walk across with the help of some magic. In fact it was likely they would be here a few days, as she worked up the power needed to walk on water, but it would work; she had done it before. They took turns keeping watch at night, after Sorcha picked up the scent of blood nearby, though the most trouble they encountered was a stray rabbit.
Sorcha found that her watch passed slowly, she closed her eyes as memory began to slip. Time was changing, the future was changing, she could feel it. She clung fiercely to the thought of Severus and Cassiopeia, hoping against all hope that things had not changed with them. She listened to the waves and remembered how she had tricked Severus into visiting the giant squid with her, and the months he’d spent parading around Hogwarts with only his underwear visible. And Dagnarus! Her heart pounded painfully; she would not forget her Lindwurm, though knew he was in good care. Hagrid had been ecstatic having been charged with his keep. Tears sprung to her eyes, but she kept them there. If Severus knew she was crying, she’d never hear the end of it…
It was in the morning that Sorcha really believed she was losing herself, when Finn rather daringly had asked a grumpy Elf: “Do witches walk everywhere? Can’t they just transport themselves somewhere else?”
Feeling truly foolish she grabbed the flute and made a Portkey of it “ if it worked they would be back at Hogwarts in minutes.
Yes, it seemed to work. The unpleasant sensation of having a meat hook thrust through your navel and dragging you into a swirling vortex unsettled even the most accustomed Portkey users; Sorcha counted herself lucky she was not part of that number. When finally she and Finn were cast forcefully upon uneven ground and thrust into darkness, Sorcha despaired. How could Hogwarts be here if there was nothing but dark and twisted trees about them? She thumped against Finn’s chest and sobbed openly. She wasn’t going home. Finn solemnly led her distressed form in a southerly direction and tried to keep her from dark thoughts with idle conversation, but not once did Sorcha reply.
It was steadily getting darker beneath the trees; time was passing at a pace they could not measure. Yet still they worked their way through the vast forest; Sorcha could feel her memories of the future slipping away. She could feel her very existence falter. She collapsed from the sheer shock of it all. Too weak to stand, Finn carried her until finally he came to an abrupt stop. He gently laid Sorcha upon the ground before shaking her awake.
“Sorcha! Sorcha, you must wake,” he pleaded. She sobbed as a reply. “Sorcha, I have found your destination.”
This time she sat bolt upright.
“Hogwarts,” she breathed, relief flooding through her. She blacked out, exhausted, leaving Finn to watch over her as she slept.
Nerves flooded through her body as she walked beside Finn Mac Cumhail up to the great castle. It was exactly how she remembered it. As she looked upon its familiar turrets, floods of memories engulfed her. She stepped through the doors.
It was different somehow; the decoration was cosier, more comfortable, and it seemed more like a home than a school. She watched everything as she walked toward the Great Hall. The doors opened themselves to a hall full of young people crowded around a single, but massive table. Hogwarts had once been united. It struck Sorcha as a wonderment that Hogwarts had been thus, and she glanced around at the faces that now looked at her, sceptical and cold.
“Forgive my intrusion,” she said switching to the English dialect; she had been speaking in the Gaelic tongue whilst in Finn’s company. “I seek your aid.”
Four people rose immediately and swept towards her. “Somewhere a little more private,” a wizard with messy brown hair said cheerfully. The four ushered Sorcha and Finn from the hall, leading them away. It surprised Sorcha when they entered Dumbledore’s office. It was so different. It was empty.
The book shelves were not there, the desk was also gone, and the cupboards and trinkets were non-existent in this skeletal room.
“What is this room?” Finn asked in his own tongue. It surprised Sorcha when a sharp looking witch with dark hair and piercing blue eyes replied in the same language.
“It is safe.”
“Allow us to introduce ourselves,” a green robed wizard proclaimed, though arrogance marked him as Salazar Slytherin. “This is Helga Hufflepuff,” he motioned towards a blonde woman, petite for certain, grey eyes, and a kindly expression.
“This is Rowena Ravenclaw,” he said, indicating the dark haired woman who looked at her shrewdly.
“This,” he said distastefully, “is Godric Gryffindor,” as he waved at the messy haired wizard.
“And I am Salazar Slytherin,” he finished crisply. She looked over his features: startlingly blue eyes, pristinely dark hair a thin mouth and “
“You’re an Elf?” Sorcha asked in disbelief.
“Yes. I might ask who you are and what you are doing here?” he prompted. No wonder he started on Pure-Blood mania! Elves always had a pompous air of self importance, simply because it was from them wizards had descended.
“I need your help. I’m from the future. I came back for the purpose of study, but my time-turner has been misplaced. I would ask your permission to leave a note for someone in the future, so I might return to my own time.”
The four turned inwards speaking in inaudible tones to one another. Finally they turned.
“You may leave your note. But you must leave the castle when it is done. You risk much of your own time line by being here,” Ravenclaw noted. “We will leave you now.” They simply left, distancing themselves from the danger of time travel.
“Come,” Sorcha said, grabbing Finn’s hand. She ran to the dungeons to leave her note.
The room she went to was empty. In fact, the castle was considerably bare in comparison to her day. Sorcha was coming to the belief that all of these rooms had been designed with their future occupants in mind. Passing the Potions classroom in the dungeons enforced that fact. All that was there was a desk, Severus’ desk, the very same one, but it drew her inside. She went and had a look around; the classroom was spacious when not encumbered by work benches, cauldrons, children, and potion fumes. Yet it still had the feeling that its emptiness could only be filled by the Potions Master who had not yet been born. She was smiling as she left the room. She walked down the corridor to the place she now called home, at least when she was in the right time frame.
Severus Snape’s office was also naked. The book shelf concealing the entrance to their small apartment behind was in place, full of books, though they were different than the books she knew. The office seemed dull without the sickening potion stores, pickled… things, and that wicked undercurrent of malice that could only be caused by Severus Snape himself. She turned to the back of the door, which was conveniently located directly in front of where Severus’ future desk would be. She raised her arms slowly, then wiped them before her face. As she stood back, black lettering began to shine on the door. It read:
Satisfied, she and Finn left the castle. With any luck the next time she’d see it would not be for a good few centuries.
A/N: Thanks are due to Redvelvetcanopy for her wonderful direction as my beta! I do hope you've enjoyed this, please review!
Severus Snape had made several probes into the past but to no avail; the message still gleamed upon his door. It surprised him that in the past, the room itself was still as empty as the day he had moved in. He was beginning to think that this room had been designed with himself in mind. Yet with each hundred year turn of the Time Turner, he felt his patience with this whole drama wearing thin. Was Sorcha really worth this? Well, he had no desire to face her as a thousand year old witch, that was for certain. He knew she would wait for him if he didn’t come; and if she had to wait for him to be born and grow up, she would throw the worst of her clumsy sorcery at him. Perhaps worse, history would be completely altered.
Each twist of the Time Turner plunged him in to utter darkness. The routine of ‘Turn “ “Lumos!” “ Moment of disappointment “ Turn…’ was frankly irritating him to the high heavens. But as long as those words were scrawled over the back of his door, he would continue, as if searching for a delinquent student who had vandalised his property. It seemed like an age before the words finally vanished, though it struck him that at any point in this century she could have marked the door. Of course Severus Snape was no fool, he cut down the lengths of time systematically, in half, and then half again, until he finally reached the year the message had been written.
He looked at the shimmering black words and traced a potion-calloused hand over them; a slight curl of the Potions Master’s lips indicated that he was reminiscing the finer points of his relationship with the clumsy elf. Sorcha was one of a kind, and she was his. Suddenly snapping back to his task, he immediately made to Apparate. Though, it soon became apparent that he had forgotten one of the fundamental attributes to the castle itself; he couldn’t very well Apparate from within its walls. Carefully he opened the door, creeping as silently as he could into the dark and empty corridor. The echoing corridors all appeared quite empty. Severus Snape escaped the castle and grounds unseen. As soon as he could, he Apparated away from his position quite near to the castle, and out of sight of those whose futures he could alter.
He found himself Apparating to places that in his own time were built up, densely populated areas. Yet here, they were green, there was nothing, and it was quiet. It hadn’t registered in his mind that he had, in fact, never been to Ireland in any time period. It was unlikely he would be able to Apparate to a place he did not know, even if he could Apparate over seas. He had not considered how long this would take him upon leaving Hogwarts some thousand years into the future.
He had upon him only his wand and his few supplies, but they would be of little use in crossing water. He knew of few people who could walk on water, and unfortunately, he was not among that number. Severus Snape would have to travel by boat, and he knew the very place to find one.
He remembered the small village well. Manorbier was on the south-western coast of Wales, a place he had often visited as a child. It was well known to most wizarding families, as they had houses there, away from prying Muggle eyes and bitter persecution. He knew for a fact it would be there now; the village had grown close to a castle, one said to be a thousand years old. He Apparated onto one of the nearby bays, and watched the sea sweep in and out. It was the same and yet different. The land as he knew it was visibly bigger, as if it slowly shrank over the centuries. Many of his fondest memories had been here, away from the brutality of his father, and into the peaceful seclusion of never ending green. And yet, it held painful memories too. This was where his beloved mother had died.
He pulled away from his mind and began to walk through the long grasses, back towards land. The tide was coming in and of all people, Severus Snape did not need to be told twice about the dangers of raging water; vivid memories of Sorcha hoodwinking him to visiting the Giant Squid, who lived in Hogwarts’ lake, floated languidly in his mind. He was rather content to stay put on land, where sea monsters couldn’t reach him.
He walked for most of the day, still garbed in his black robes and fluttering black cloak. It was one of those rare days where the sun shone in Wales, and yet was pleasantly cool. He should have reached the castle that day, but the terrain was far different to that he recalled. The soils were soft beneath the soles of his shoes, the relief of the land was far less even than he was used to, and quite possibly, he just wasn’t as young as he had been. He found his thoughts often wandering to his roving wife. She had said that Elves had once lived in Wales, near the mountains in the north; however, he had no desire to walk much further than he had to. The sun was beginning to set and Manorbier’s great castle was still far off.
Tired and still not certain as to how he would bargain his way across the sea, he settled down beneath the stars, recognising none of those he had learnt so long ago upon the Hogwarts battlements as a student. He frowned suddenly, realising his lack of a bed. So, somewhat disgruntled he curled up beneath his great black cloak and slept. The morning could not be more welcome.
He awoke to mass prodding, and a voice shouting:
“Da! Da, I’ve found someone!”
Still in the cloudy clutches of sleep, Snape struggled to come to terms with what was happening. He leaped up immediately as something solid penetrated the ground next to his head.
“Who are you?” the man grunted, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. The man frowned untrustingly at Snape in his black attire, crooked nose and black eyes. Snape could hear Sorcha’s voice in his mind saying, “The greasy hair probably doesn’t help either.”
Snape surveyed the man before him. He was very tall, shaggy brown hair curled down past his shoulders, and his face was speckled with dirt as if he had been working intensely for many hours. He met the man’s eyes, puddles of grey in his hard face, which was lined faintly with the lines of pressure and age. His clothing was simple; he was clearly not a rich man. Snape chose to speak.
“My name is Severus Snape. I am looking for Manorbier Castle “ perhaps you could help me?” he said through clenched teeth, unsuccessfully hiding the irritation of being awoken so barbarically.
“Snape?” the man asked, pulling his shovel from the damp soil. “You’re one of those damn bastards atop the hill?” he asked, pointing behind them at a somewhat shabby, but once grand, house on the top of the hill. So the Snapes had once been overseers.
“No, the name is just coincidence, I assure you. I’m looking for passage across the sea.”
The man laughed. “No offence, Sir, but dressed like that you’ll be mistaken for Black Guy, and there ain’t a soul around here who’d trust that god-forsaken murderer. You’ll be needing some diffr’nt clothes,” he said. Looking at Snape’s hair, he added, “Probably a good scrub too. I can help you there, then set you off to the castle, alright,” he finished. “Come on then.”
Severus Snape, confounded by the man’s bluntness and hospitality, followed behind in a daze. Of course, it could have been a trap, but Severus Snape, being who he was, knew he could handle anything.
It wasn’t a trap. Snape frowned at the sight of the dwelling. It was little better than Hagrid’s hut. Yet, he was in no position to complain “ he had nowhere else to go. It seemed to be made up of crudely cut stones, but was no doubt one of the better homes in the area.
“Merrie!” the man called, walking through the door. When he got no answer, he roared, “MERRIE!”
A young woman walked out of one of the side rooms, looking irritable in a brown dress that did very little for her. It could have been made from potato sacks. Again in his mind’s ear he could hear Sorcha scolding him, “That is no way to speak of your hosts “ look what an insufferable fool they’ve been kind enough to put up with.”
“Yes, father?”
“Draw up a bath, brought back a friend.”
She scurried off. “Don’t mind her, she’s growin’ up “ you know what kids are like.” The man chuckled. “I never gave you my name, did I? Gwyddions my name, this is Tom, my son,” he said, motioning to the boy who had prodded him awake.
“Do you not have a wife?” Snape enquired.
“’Fraid she died giving birth to Tom here, but not a day goes by I don’t think of her,” he answered solemnly. “Enough about me, you’ll need some fresh clothes. Don’t have much but, they’ll do,” he said, changing the topic. He walked into another room. “Sit down,” he called back. It was only then that Severus noticed the boy was gone too.
He remained standing all the same, and as Gwyddion re-emerged with a set of clothes, so did his daughter, who announced the tub was full and that he should find it around the back. He voiced his thanks to the pair and left to wash. It was truly wonderful to be keeping clean. He washed his hair with the scrap of soap the girl had left, but he knew that it would soon be back to its slick state. He dried himself with a simple wave of his wand and dressed in the clothes he had been given.
Severus had to admit they were a close fit. He walked around to the front of the house, and was suddenly aware of a hushed argument between father and daughter.
“None of that funny stuff, Merr, I’m telling you “ the man is of high birth, if he finds out you can do that stuff, you’ll be burned as a witch, you hear me?”
“Yes, Da, I hear you. I won’t be lightin’ no fires, promise.”
“There’s a good lass, be on with you. Is there anything we can spare for the man’s journey?”
“I’ll see to it, Da,” she whispered back.
It was at that moment Severus chose to enter the hut. It was awkward indeed, as they both looked at him. Gwyddion was on his knees in a flash.
“My Lord, please, she’s just a kid, she don’t know what she’s doin’. She’s no Witch,” he pleaded.
“I am not a lord,” Severus began, realising the mistake he’d made, though initially he’d thought he could help, it became apparent, he had neither the time nor resources to train her. “I am a Wizard myself,” he admitted.
Gwyddion and his daughter both were taken aback. Relief painted wildly across their faces. The man slowly stood. “Then, why did you not say something before,” he said with a laugh, trying to ease the mood.
“It’s not something you openly discuss where I come from,” Snape retorted. “As much as I would like to offer your daughter aid, I have other more pressing matters, and not enough time in which to do them. I must cross the sea,” he said.
Some exchange went on between the pair; Snape wondered what was going on. Finally Merrie stepped forward, “I will take you,” she said confidently.
“You will? How?”
“I can walk on water,” she said.
“You have a wand?” he enquired.
“A wand? No, Sir, I just do magic, it’s easy,” she said, looking utterly baffled.
“When can we go?”
“In the morning,” Gwyddion answered. “Meredith, start about dinner.” He looked to Severus, “Are you willing to lend a hand? I’m no magician “ that was my wife, the roof has a leak, you see.”
“I will do what I can.” Snape exited the house and went about his task.
The entire household sat before the fire that night, the flames dancing happily in the grate. The small hut seemed so much more inviting when there was nothing but night on the other side of its walls. Meredith put on an extraordinary show in the fire itself; a tale of dragons and knights, trolls and giants rolling about in the flames: steady streams of smoke puffing out from the bloody battlefields, and outbursts of flames where dragons fried potential vanquishers. Snape wondered what it would be like if his life were so simple as this. Then curiosity piqued by talk of battles, he asked the only thing he could remember about Sorcha’s travels through time.
“Have you every heard of the Fianna?”
Meredith’s eyes widened.
“But of course! They are the most famous army to ride the land, their stories travel far,” she rushed, “were I so lucky as to marry Finn MacCumhail!” She sighed in longing. “He is so…” she spoke wistfully, reminding Snape of his own monstrosity of a daughter.
“Do they not have a Witch in their company?”
“Of course, they say that she is not from this world “ that she is one of the great Celtic gods made into flesh “ her deeds are unmatched by any,” Meredith whispered dramatically.
“Does she have a name?”
“But of course, Sorcha the Sly, they call her. She oft spies on the enemies of the Fianna, striking their enemies at the heart before the Army descends upon them. Why do you ask?”
“I have heard many stories of her also,” he lied.
“She is brave,” Meredith sulked. “No woman has such an honour, to ride in battle as she does.”
It was not long before they retired leaving Snape before the hearth. He slept deeply, dreaming of his wife… Sorcha the Sly indeed!
He dreamt that Sorcha was his mother, and he was but a small child smoothing down the rough woollen shirt on his chest as he complained.
“I liked my other clothes,” he stomped.
“Don’t be ridiculous “ imagine what people would think seeing you with that great black cloak of yours flying out behind you!”
She looked at him sincerely eyes full of love and compassion, “Severus, they’d think you were Lucifer come to claim their souls…”
Certainly that had woken Severus, tearing him from sleep as forcefully as a sledge hammer. He stood and exited the house, sitting on a log unbroken for its use to feed the fire. He didn’t feel himself “ being around a more conventional family than his own, left him somewhat jealous. He did, of course blame Sorcha, but it was hardly her fault he was as receptive as a brick wall. The sun was beginning to rise in the east, he watched as its fiery rays chased the stars from view and heralded their path west to the sea, to Ireland and to Sorcha the Sly. He would never put this one to rest…
The rest of the house woke not long after himself and was a carnival of hurried preparations. Once they were packed with supplies, they were off, traipsing across hills and fields, each greener than the next. The sun beat down, but was soon replaced by great grey clouds; it would undoubtedly rain. As the smell of salty water came ever more distinguishable, Severus regrettably acknowledged that they would get very wet as they crossed to Ireland. The coast was like he had never seen it, the waves were low, washing silently up on the shore rather than crashing, as would befit the type of storm he expected.
“We’ll need to go quickly, the storm will come before sundown,” Meredith said, surveying the clouds. In the distance “ very far in the distance “ Severus could see lightening; he wandered vaguely if wizards could look through time as they did space. But dark thoughts of that imbecile Trelawney came to mind, and he mentally laughed off any prospects for divination.
The small party stood uneasily, and as Gwyddion and Tom, said their farewells to Meredith, she hugged them both fiercely, and was grateful for their promise to wait for her here upon her return. Severus turned uneasily; never one to successfully give thanks to anyone, no matter how deserving, he frowned then bit his lip, and then furrowed his brow. Eventually sticking out a rigid hand and firmly clasped Gwyddion’s own.
He could feel his heart swelling in his chest and a lump rising in his throat. Severus Snape blamed it on his nerves, after all “ it couldn’t be humility… could it?
“Thank you,” he said, trying hard not to make matters worse. He was grateful, but shows of gratitude were not his specialty.
“Say nothing of it. Glad we could help. T’was nice to meet you, Severus Snape “ Good luck to ye,” he said smiling. All at once the nerves left him and he felt markedly relaxed.
“It has been a… pleasure. I am grateful,” he replied, just as Sorcha would have put it: “As burned out as a stone cold campfire. Have a heart!”
They separated swiftly, and for that Severus Snape was thankful, but if he thought walking on water would be easy he had another thing coming. Meredith, though undoubtedly a stronger witch than he was wizard, had difficulty stabilising her magic. Unlike Sorcha, who would only solidify the air above the waters surface in patches, Meredith made the water’s surface a thick film and it far larger patches than was perhaps necessary. It felt as if they were walking through a marsh, and one recently flooded at that. Severus was rapidly doubting he would ever see land again, but all the same protected them from the spray of waves which some how filtered over Meredith’s barrier.
Another ten minutes and he had had enough of the squelching feeling beneath his soles. He didn’t blame the girl, after all, for an untrained witch without a wand, she was doing rather well, but if she could just ‘do magic’ perhaps he could suggest Sorcha’s method for easier travel. He managed after many near falls, to reach her, the noise of the waves as they grew in size and ferocity made communicating near impossible.
“MEREDITH!” he roared. “MEREDITH!” She turned around carefully.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” she said, Severus seeing, rather than hearing the words.
“Try this “ imagine the air above the water is a solid platform.”
She nodded, and Severus felt the barrier of the water’s skin break. As he fell he could just make out Meredith’s face, stricken with shock and terror as he slipped from her sight. His chest racked for breath as the chill water engulfed him. The water taking him under, stealing his breath, as each watery claw of waves dragged him further down and away from life.
But Severus Snape was not dead. Looking rather like a drowned rat, wearing what he was coming to call ‘peasant rags’, he furiously wondered how Sorcha could ever travel like this. However if it made him anymore sympathetic towards her, such notions would really never see the light of day. He felt like a corpse, nothing but dead weight as he tried to lift himself to a seated position, he flopped back down, as helpless a baby “ he was hallucinating too, the merry tinkle of Sorcha’s laugh echoed around in his head as if some great bell had been struck from within.
“Don’t try and move, you nearly drowned,” said a soft voice he recognised.
“Meredith?” he choked, sounding far more feeble than he would ever let anyone hear again.
“I got you out of the water, and I imagined that we had reached the far coast, the way I had seen in like, from when I sat on the beach before,” her teeth chattered, no doubt she was cold and tired just as he was. “Then somehow we were here, on the shore.”
“You Apparated here,” he mumbled rolling onto his back, but even such small movement caused him to lag with fatigue. “That’s what wizards call it when they transport themselves from one place to another with magic,” he finished.
He could make out her head nodding, but she said no more.
“I had a black case with me, is it still here?” he enquired.
“Yes it is, and the sand-timer too, I managed to grab it before it floated away,” she said softly. He heart hammered “ he had almost lost the Time-Turner!
“Open the case there should be a green bottle “ take a sip, and pass it to me.” She did as she was told and passed on the bottle. It contained a Revitalising Draft and would give them strength enough to move away from the shore and set up a fire to keep them warm. Meredith returned all his belongings to him, and he thanked her weakly for the trouble she went to regarding the Time-Turner. When she asked why it was so important, he replied that it was his only way home. Silence fell over them as the built up a fire not far from the beach. They slept soundly, trusting their safety to chance.
Sorcha watched the flames dancing idly in the makeshift stone fire pit. She chewed on a piece of seaweed she’d found as they had returned on the Irish side of the sea. As she watched the flames, she attempted to do something her father had instructed her as a child; he had claimed that through fire, one could see through distances. Though he had been vague in his tutorage, Sorcha knew it to have purpose; distance could be applied to almost anything. Though in her youth she had never managed to grasp any of the Elven magics, it had often been placed on the fact that she was too young and far too inexperienced. Sorcha however, put it down to her laziness: she had no purpose for these magics at the time, and therefore could not gain the desired effect.
She turned to watch the sleeping Commander of the Fianna “ the legendary Irish Army, honoured with incredible feats “ and was struck by a blow of familiarity, followed by a prick of sadness, which sunk her heart in seconds. Here she felt a sense of belonging, yet she knew this was not her home, and she did not want it to be her home. The flame sprang to life and immediately Sorcha swung her gaze back to its flickering depths. She could see something in its centre, someone she knew very well…
“Cassi,” she whispered. But she didn’t move. Her daughter was motionless; she looked faint, as if she were disappearing. “Oh, Cassi, I am so sorry.” Her voice cracked. When she looked closer, Sorcha could see that her message shone on the back of Severus’ office door, but worse - she spied a gaping hole in her daughter’s centre.
“Cassi!” she cried aloud, startling Finn, who rolled up, long knife in hand, poised perfectly to strike.
“Peace, Finn. It’s just me,” she announced miserably. He raised an eyebrow, somewhat disgruntled by the unsavoury awakening, and indicated that she should explain herself.
“The future fades like fog on plains,” she confessed. “Please, sleep, you are in no danger.”
Finn MacCumhail looked at her shrewdly, and then returned to his bed roll, he was asleep within minutes, his soft snores drifting as far as Sorcha dared to let them. She hastily threw up a sound absorbing barrier and fell asleep herself, though dreams and nightmares alike were bitter.
She woke to the smell of tea the next day, and a rare smile played on her lips. She had only brought a small supply with her from the distant future, and used it sparingly. In this case, Finn’s intuition had proved spot on. If there was ever a time for a cup of tea, this was it. It was just a shame there was no milk, really…
“Morning,” she said softly, still a little broken from the image in the fire. “Sleep well?” she asked.
Finn merely shrugged and handed her a wooden cup full of the tea. She drank it down greedily, not wasting a drop. “We should reach the camp in three days,” he announced. “I know these trees well.”
In truth it was the best bit of news she had heard since leaving behind the alien Hogwarts from this time. At least back at the camp she would have plenty of things to occupy her time, and if Severus was coming and following the Fianna to find her, he would not have a difficult job.
This forest now whispered to Sorcha, and despite having been the same that they had passed through before, its voices whispered in her ears, though in a language she had never heard before. She suspected Finn could hear them too, though when she brought up the subject, dismissed it as “being a druid’s job to listen to trees.”
The days became hotter as the season went further into summer and travelling became most uncomfortable. The packs they carried, though significantly lighter than when they had first set out, sagged against their backs, the humidity lay thick upon them, the only solace being in the occasional stream and the prospect of their near return to the camp.
When they finally did rejoin with the camp it was a matter of hours before they were on the move again. Because his army had stayed in the same place for well over a month, Finn was anxious to be on his way and he laughed good heartedly and commented that he led a bunch of lazy men. Quietly, Sorcha agreed; the men sitting round the fires were markedly relaxed, and not the hard, frightening men she’d left behind. Sorcha had laughed herself silly when one man commented that the Fianna were as ferocious as ever, but a swift whack on the bottom with the flat of Finn’s sword had knocked him down, satiating the amusement of all nearby.
Sorcha saddled up and followed drowsily on her great mare; she sighed and snorted. Well, at least she didn’t have to walk…
Sorcha had taken up acting as scout; she had been ahead of the Fianna for many days, watching for beacon or any kind of alert for her Army’s attention; she also hoped to steal a glance should Severus come her way. She watched as a lone figure drew closer looking about aimlessly, as if lost. The man jumped from his horse and walked slowly away from it coming ever closer to her position, hidden in the branches of a tree. She imagined if he saw her she would look quite the fool. Without a second thought to it, she leapt down, landing only a few metres from the man.
“I seek Finn MacCumhail. I am close, if you greet me, witch,” he said suddenly.
“Your name, if you will?”
“Would you grant your name to a witch?” he spat.
“Most certainly,” Sorcha replied with a laugh. “It is good to see you, Taistellach. Finn awaits you not a day behind me,” she said calmly. Taistellach was Finn’s personal messenger, he and Sorcha had spent many a night in conversation, so as best to advise their Chief.
“I have news from the High King, have you eaten? I’m well provisioned for a journey that will end by nightfall,” he said.
“I will join you,” she said with a smile.
Indeed, the provisions would have lasted a normal soldier, let alone a messenger such as Taistellach, a month. They sat away from their horses and ate, watching the featureless land around them. Little conversation passed between them.
“You journeyed well?” she asked.
“The Kings court is ripe with rumours as ever, though I doubt an outlander such as yourself would care for the goings on there.”
“Enlighten me,” she goaded. Taistellach, messenger of Finn MacCumhail, surveyed his strange companion, not with distaste but uncertainty.
“The King’s daughter, Gráinne, is said to have refused the hand of many more suitors “ in truth that isn’t new. There is unusual weather along the coast, though I suppose Finn will consult with you regarding that. I have summons also, the High King wishes to see Finn.”
“He does?” Sorcha replied, curiosity piqued. “Do you know why?”
“Not a clue,” he replied. “I’m not in that circle, I should be on my way, Sorcha. When do you report back?”
“Sundown. I’ll ride back in a few hours, you go on ahead. I have a strange feeling about this place,” she surveyed aloud, in a tone of mystery. Taistellach looked over her a little unnerved; Sorcha had a habit of changing airs with deft subtlety.
He packed away what they had not shared and mounted up. He looked over at the Elf, whose gaze was now fixed upon the horizon. Before he could stop himself, he asked, “What do you see?”
She pointed at a distant spot on the empty horizon. “I doubt you can see it, there’s some kind of movement, and I’m sure there’s someone on horseback, the dust cloud suggests that they are moving quickly. They’re coming this way.” Sorcha was still fixated on this.
“I don’t see it,” Taistellach replied thickly. She placed a hand upon his thigh, he writhed a little under her touch, which he surmised was far too intimate.
“There,” she said, directing his eyes to the specified point. Indeed he was able to see the dust cloud, and the slight darkened out line of a rider.
“I’ll report it to Finn. Get back before it comes too close. This could be trouble.” He reined in and turned, galloping away speedily. Sorcha felt that same dreadful foreboding she had the night that she’d seen her fading daughter in the fire. Taistellach was entirely right - this would be trouble.
Sorcha raced into the camp at great speed, her glossy black mare, splattered with fresh mud, created by the down pour that had alarmingly began. Not that anyone was discouraged by the rain, men walked about on duty, swords unsheathed, peering menacingly at her as she sped by. Shivering slightly beneath her sodden cloak, she hastily leapt from her saddle, landing heavily in a puddle of thick sludge, pain shot up her right leg, but she continued urgently. Staggering forward, into the glowing Command Tent, she gasped in little more than a whisper, “Fachen. Coming straight for us.”
Finn who had watched her entrance, ran from the tent raising a warning. He announced that Fachen, monstrous beings often with murderous intent, were headed straight towards them, and that the word should be spread. No one wasted any time in arming themselves “ it appeared the whole of the Fianna were ready for the threat.
“How many, Sorcha?” Finn asked, re-entering the now busy tent.
“The horizon was thick with them, I surmise, somewhere between fifty and seventy.” She looked up darkly. “They are led by a man.”
Finn narrowed his eyes in confusion. “What man can command monsters?”
“Man? I don’t know. It’s a wizard, I am certain. We were followed back from Hogwarts,” she whispered.
He raised his hand in anger, a gesture to which Sorcha drew back from in fear. He looked away eyes clenched, jaw clamped fury etched into his face. It took minutes before his anger abated, yet he was still unable to look upon her. “Deal with the magician. Leave the Fachen to us,” he said as softly as he could, though he still trembled in rage.
“Of course, Chief,” she answered formally. Sorcha left almost in tears.
Sorcha sat atop her mount, in front of the army; she would lead them into battle it would seem, as Finn remained in the tent, talking with Taistellach regarding the King’s summons. The Fachen were vividly visible to Sorcha with her Elf eyes, but even so, the soldiers themselves could make out their dark blurs through the rain. Their feathers seemed to stick out at odd angles, and the hand that protruded from their chests unnerved her, its peculiarly angled leg made its movement almost humorous “ but if anyone sought to laugh at these creatures the third eyes in the centre of the beast’s forehead dissuaded them. For within the eyes depths, deaths mesmerising gaze was said to be found.
She only hoped that they had the advantage in numbers and skill. Whilst inside, Sorcha panicked desperately over the inevitable battle with the wizard. So preoccupied was Sorcha, that when hit by a solid wall of air, she, along with the front line of the Fianna, toppled from her horse, which trampled animatedly before her terrified eyes. She preferred her role as the witch of the Fianna, who worked behind the lines at disposing their enemy. Though undoubtedly skilled with a blade, which she hurriedly drew, the blood was not her scene. The Fachen and their master came. Liadan recognised the wizard instantly.
It was Salazar Slytherin.
She stood quickly, watching as he dismounted gracefully, brushing himself off with gloved hands. It was as if the world had gone still and she and Salazar were the only living beings. Yet behind her the battle flared, the screech of men and monster alike, weapons ringing deadly steps, and the stench of death. She watched horrified as a man was clawed to death, torn to shreds by the bloodied claws of the feathered Fachen.
“Elf, will you not look upon me?”
She swung her head back to her opponent; surveying him in all his terrifying majesty for any sign of weakness. There was none that she could ascertain, but steeled her resolve and faced him.
“I do not wish for a duel, sir,” she said. “I would treat with you if only you had asked it of me.”
“You would have, really?” he said, sneering openly. “You don’t trust me, and you have good reason for that. Would you care to explain?”
Sorcha thought quickly “ he wanted her to speak of the future. His future! She had never once practiced truly powerful offensive spells, and she hesitated as she spoke the curse, ‘Crucio,’ in her mind, it was a small voice, but she was so afraid, that it worked.
He shook with a strangled expression for seconds before he forcibly threw the curse off. She staggered backwards at his blast, though felt nothing of the spell.
“Tell me. Now,” he threatened. She could feel the air constrict about her throat, crushing her windpipe, slowly. “Elven magic, I find, works best when battling your own kind. I can’t imagine where you were raised though, if you cannot repel a simple air cluster. Filthy, disgusting “”
He looked at her strangely, before he realised what was happening. Loosening the air about her neck as she did when walking on the air above water, she had used a trick her father had used on her repeatedly. He had often made her sink into the ground, as a punishment, by using what moisture there was in the air to dampen the ground. For Salazar, she speeded up the process, his shoulders were beneath the ground in mere seconds.
“I can’t tell you your future, Salazar.” Her expression looked convincingly sorry. “You see, I’ve only ever studied the Fianna, for historical purposes. Hogwarts never… caught my fancy,” she trailed off.
He Apparated and appeared further back. “If you won’t talk, perhaps I can make you.”
She saw the flames materialise from his palms before they got far, throwing a barrier between the fire and her army, she had been so aware that the flames had only affected the Fachen it hit. She smiled smugly.
The soldiers, having over come the Fachen, now began to circle around the two magicians. Their eyes locked as the pair stood perfectly still, as if anticipating the others next move. Sorcha knew that at best this was guesswork; her father had found it highly amusing that she couldn’t even anticipate what his next move would be in a chess game. This she thought was quite different. But she was right. Lightening shot from the bulbous purple clouds overhead, and Sorcha merely drank in its power, which she hurled at the wizard before he realised what she was doing. In a pained scream, a blindingly bright, pulsating figure was swathed in light. She stepped back with the army, knowing that what he did next could be the end of her.
Salazar Slytherin was doubled over on the ground, head bent so that he couldn’t see the expectant faces around him. Of course, she was waiting for him to deliver his move, but he didn’t think he could do it. At least “ not with magic. He unsheathed a dagger from his belt, without anybody seeing, or else they would have cried out. She would be expecting magic, and was proven right when he stood and threw the perfectly aimed dagger at her chest. He mustered what strength he could and Apparated away from the scene.
Sorcha’s hands flew to her chest immediately, eyes wide in shock. Her lips trembled, as if recognising the coursing feeling of pain centralised in that one place. Utterly confused and not quite grasping what had happened, she fell to her knees. Blood seeped over the fingers she held fast over the wound before wrenching the blade out. She crumbled and dropped the dagger, a tear dropping from her eye. She was never going to see Severus again, nor Cassi. Her mind went blank, and she knew no more.
Severus Snape awoke with a start. Gasping as he held a shaking hand to his chest, he looked down to see what was wrong. He could see nothing, yet he could feel as something warm trickled down his chest, from a point just above his heart. He moved his hand in a circular movement over the offending area before his face fell. There was nothing wrong with him; he knew that he was feeling Sorcha’s pain, as he had done so only once before.
He looked about at the unfamiliar settings. Opposite him lay the girl, Meredith, who had brought him here. But she was all he could remember of this place. They were camped in a small forest clearing, though the sound of water was close “ he recalled their near death experience crossing the sea, and all of the previous night’s events. They must have slept through the day, as the sun was setting to the west, and an agitated gloom was settling upon them.
The trees leered above, swaying menacingly to and fro, goading him into their depths. Sheer fatigue convinced him not to follow. The pain in his chest stopped abruptly. He froze, blood draining from his face. What did this mean? He sagged backwards. She couldn’t be dead. She wouldn’t give up that easily “ even to a fatal wound! He would continue his search, even if it proved fruitless, and even if he returned only with her body.
He struck the morbid thoughts from his mind and picked up a log. He was quite hungry and upon realising there were no supplies of food among their meagre luggage, knew what he had to do. It would hardly be a feast, but he pointed his wand at the earthen bounty and transfigured it to a leg of pork. He got a fire started and conjured a suitable device to roast the pork, all the while Meredith lay asleep. He imagined that her energy after such a massive drawing of raw magic would nearly have killed the girl, untrained as she was.
When she finally stirred then came awake, the food was ready. Both ate ravenously as the moon watched from overhead. It was time to make arrangements for the next part of the journey. Severus had no clue where to begin his search for Sorcha. He spoke with Meredith, whom he hoped would give him some insight as to where the Fianna could be found.
“Severus, it’s difficult, you see. The Fianna aren’t about t’stay in one place now, are they? They protect the whole of the coastline. If you seek the army, then I would go to the hall of the High King “ there will be much talk of the Fianna’s whereabouts there.”
Severus found himself wishing he’d listened to Sorcha more often. He was sure she’d mentioned the where the High King lived, and the places that the Fianna normally held camp. But he’d never paid a bit of attention to what he called ‘Binn moments,’ those times where she sounded awfully alike Professor Binns.
“Where would I find the King’s Hall, Meredith?” he asked, more forlorn than he sounded.
“The King’s Hall is in Meath. Not far north from here.” She sighed. “Severus, why are you so interested in the Fianna? I can’t begin to think why you would want to meet with any of them. You are no soldier.” Meredith had clearly been interested in this matter for sometime, perhaps hoping she would be caught up in his adventure. He looked at her ragged form; she had saved his life from the sea. The truth was little in return.
“If you cast your thoughts back to the night in front of the fire, you will remember I asked you about a person whom might have been associated with the Fianna,” he answered stiffly.
“Sorcha the Sly!” Meredith said excitedly.
Severus snorted; it really was quite a hilarious name, especially for one so clumsy as Sorcha.
“Yes,” he laughed. “Sorcha the Sly. She is my wife,” he finished shortly.
Meredith looked at him thunderstruck. To her he must be the least attractive person she had ever seen, the possibility that one of her heroes could be married to so… greasy a man was beyond her comprehension. She frowned.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” Severus said. “No, no one ever does.” He seemed sullen, broody even as he always did when people doubted his marriage to Sorcha. “I will continue on my journey in the morning. Will you be going home?” he asked tonelessly.
“If you need a “”
“No.”
“But I can-”
“I mean, no. I will not be here any longer than I have to. And you “ you must go home to your family. You’re needed there. You will do as you are told, girl,” he said through clenched teeth.
“You don’t control me,” Meredith replied fiercely.
“Then do as you will, but I will not be responsible.” Severus was reminded again of his own daughter, Cassiopeia, who somewhere in the distant future, was fading into nothingness. And now he knew why; her mother was dead or dying.
“I’ll follow you,” she said petulantly.
He shook his head; his summer was not getting any better. Still, Meredith ranted. “You’re clearly not used to travelling in the wild. I can help you “ you know there might be dangers here that only I can deal with!” He could hear only vaguely over his roving thoughts.
“SILENCE!” he roared. The girl shut up immediately and the forest around them sifted into complete silence. Not even the rustle of wind through leaves broke the tension.
“There are ways of forcing you to return. But I would rather not use them. Don’t say a word,” he added, as he recognised the parted lips readying to spring a verbal attack. “You will not come. That is final.”
They both stared into the flames for a long time, but its depths offered no story this night, only an infinite emptiness.
“What are you?” she whispered, though Severus chose not to reply. “You see that empty space in the sky there?” she said, when the fire was low, reduced to little more than embers.
Her finger pointed at a vast blackness in the sky. “That’s where I will be one day, watching as the world grows up.”
With that, Meredith curled up in beneath her cloak and was asleep in minutes. Severus attempted the same thing, but was unnerved by what he had just witnessed. He couldn’t be sure, but he was almost certain that the girl had just pointed to where a familiar star was housed in his own day and age.
Cassiopeia.
He felt terribly alone that night, as he felt both his wife and daughter slipping further from his grasp.
He awoke the next morning as alone as he had felt the previous night. Meredith had vanished, and he could only imagine that he had successfully pushed her away. He quickly checked that all his possessions were intact and sat for a short while, face in his hands, observing the wreck he had become. His clothes were dirty, a mottled pattern of greens, greys and browns dashed across their coarse threads. He though that certainly he looked the part of a lost traveller, one who had not seen a bath for decades, let alone a week. He stood gingerly, placing his wand horizontally in the palm of his left hand, and said, “Point me north.”
He watched it spin furiously, finally settling, pointing that north lay behind him. He spun around to survey his path. His eyes closed slowly as he drank in the disaster before him.
He faced the depth of the forest. Great claw-like trunks protruded from the hard packed earthen ground, the trees were short but vast, harbouring a thickness of branches and leaves overhead which obscured the sky from view completely. The way forward was dark.
Severus Snape knew that this was the only way to go. He suddenly wished he had thought this entire journey out a little better. He could have at least planned where he would go and how he would get there. There were many things he could have done in his own time that would have proved logical in his travels. But he was here now, and as he trudged onwards, he paid no heed to the shadows which silently followed him as he entangled himself in the ancient forest.
He travelled through the lowest canopy of greenery slowly. The sheer density made it near impossible to move quickly, and prolonged movement cost him dearly “ he found that after mere hours of walking, his energy was completely sapped. Progress was slow, morale even less so, and the motive seemed to loosen with each step Snape took. He refused to believe Sorcha was dead, yet if she was, this would be for naught.
Still he traipsed forward, checking every so often on the direction. There seemed to be no break to the trees which stood everywhere. Indeed so thick and clustered they were that he began to wonder how they grew in such close confinement. The forest was ever dark, time slowed to the point he had lost all sense of it. But he was positive he was not alone.
As fatigue gloated supremacy over his weary body he found the nearest clearing, which was pitifully small. He curled up as there was barely enough room for him to lie down straight. The whispers were definitely there.
He had thought them only a figment of his imagination, as what little light faded from the depths of the forest, anything seemed possible. But the blanket of darkness settled thickly and the minuscule whispering seemed all around, close and far. But there was one whisper that he recognised.
“Amadán, Severus. Don’t let them touch you. Don’t listen to them.”
“SORCHA!” he cried aloud. “Oh, Sorcha, I need your help. I should have listened.” Then coming to his senses, he asked, “Amadán? What are they?”
“Faeries, they can paralyse you with a mere touch, the pain for you will be immense.”
He knew that she referred to it being because of his years as a Death Eater for Lord Voldemort.
“Severus, I’m dying. Help me, Severus.” The whisper was chained with sobs.
He burst awake, and immediately lit his wand. When his eyes finally adjusted to the new brightness, he spent minutes staring silently ahead. It was then that he could see the tiny reflections of sparkling wings, no bigger than his thumb. Sorcha had always joked that his eyesight was keener than that of an eagle, and indeed now he conceded her point. He could see excruciatingly straight features, pointed to the edge of their small frames, grey skin, but startlingly green eyes all focused upon him. He had never taken Care of Magical Creatures, or even taken an interest in the subject, he had no clue as to what these creatures would do.
“Don’t move, we have these back home too,” said a familiar voice behind him. “Golau Carchar!”
The faeries charged, searing forward like loosed arrows, little more than a blur until they came into contact with the bars of light that had been thrown up about them. Screeching and hissing noises erupted about them, some dramatically fell to the floor, whimpering and claiming injury via tiny gestures of their arms.
“Is it us, or them that is imprisoned, Meredith?”
“Them… I hope.” The young woman looked uncomfortable, flinching slightly at the glare the Potions Master now levelled upon her. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to go home.”
“I told you not to follow.”
“Actually, you “”
“Confound you, child! I’m certain you had the impression I did not want you here!”
“Well, yes, but-”
“We’ve been through this,” Severus said impatiently. Then he reasoned; she did have her uses, and she was easily more experienced in the magics of this ancient realm than he was. “Very well.” He finally accepted that she would be of better use with him.
“I want to try something. Place your arm upon my own,” Severus instructed. He focused on a mere possibility of a destination. But his determination to be there did not falter, and he and Meredith re-materialised on the northern most point of the forest.
So this was Meath.
Severus had to admit that he expected more. The greenery around them was bathed in the milky light cast off from the moon. There was no life here, only the rustle of unkempt grass left to fend for itself where wind tore through its thick blades. This was Meath, the place that he knew the truth would come to him. Where were the people? He had always imagined that people flocked to power centres, yet here there was no sign that this place was even recognised by people. Perhaps they were just too far from the High Kings court.
“Can we not just do that, I mean, what you just did to get to the High King?” Meredith spoke timidly, as if recognising his mood had changed.
“No,” he replied shortly. “I have no guess as to where it might be located, unless you could enlighten me.”
She shook her head and looked down. His lips locked in an expression of great annoyance, he cast her a fleeting look of tolerance and began to walk. The roughly spun material of his trousers chaffing against already irritated skin. He froze and turned to the stationary form of Meredith, whose eyes were wide with some unknown knowledge.
“What? What is it?”
“The faeries are loose,” she muttered. “But I tied it off well, I know I did,” she pleaded, almost.
“They are far from us. We need to move now.”
Meredith nodded and followed him in a daze. They walked all through the night, the mood silent but somewhat lighter, than the previous few days. The pain in his chest had returned in fluctuating bursts. He was certain that someone was attempting to heal Sorcha, but the wound must have been warded with Dark Magic, or the healing would have stuck. He feared that he would be too late.
Meanwhile, Meredith had, in Severus’ opinion, lost her mind. She danced and skipped in his wake, singing and speaking to some unseen follower. He had not thought to ask her of what she thought she was doing, he grew tiresome of her unfaltering energy and what he once perceived as a witch in her late teens, he now saw as a child not much older than ten.
“Severus!” she gasped. “Severus, the Fianna ride! Can you hear it?”
Indeed the ground had become riddled with mild tremors, which, he thought were the likely result of horses. But it could be any mounted company “ why was Meredith so certain it was the Fianna? A lone rider appeared moments later. He called something, though Severus was at a loss to understand the language.
“Bog leataobh! An Fianna marcaíocht!”
Snape looked to Meredith, who said lamely, “Move aside, the Fianna ride.”
It was clear to Severus that they did not mean to stop. He and Meredith ran in the direction to which the messenger had waved them. A last glance at the rider, who nodded to Severus, showed the direction the Army headed “ and their own path. If he could stop them, he could heal Sorcha, but he knew that he couldn’t stop them “ he had little success in Gaelic as it was.
Another rider with two great hounds racing in his wake sped past. Though upon the horse Severus noticed two people were mounted. One held the reins in one hand and with his other he clasped the second person to him. It could only be his wife, Sorcha, whose limp form paled under the cold of the moon.
“Wait! WAIT!” he called helplessly, for over the hoof beats little could be heard. “I CAN HELP HER!” he screamed. But no one paid him any heed, he spoke a tongue they did not understand and he hardly posed a threat to a soldier mounted on horseback.
“Let me help her,” he whispered, defeated.
He stood motionless as the bulk of the army rode past. He did not know the feeling that brewed in his chest, for he had never felt it before. The mix of jealous anger and grief threatened to overwhelm his person. But he steeled his resolve and gestured that they should continue.
“What’s wrong?” Meredith asked, with great caution.
“Do the Fianna normally ride though the night?” he sneered.
“No, they don’t, Severus,” she snapped. “Focus your passions elsewhere - I’m trying to help you.”
He stormed ahead not paying attention to her words. He must find Sorcha before it was too late.
Finn Mac Cumhail sat beside a bed which cradled the infamous Sorcha, Sorceress of the Fianna. He chastised himself for his foolish reaction to her news that they had been followed on their return from their travels. As he watched her skin pale with each passing hour, he felt certain that death stalked her; and regret flooded him as painfully as if he had been run through. He had ridden day and night for two days, hoping that she could be treated at the High King’s hall. But he had been mistaken. She was dying swiftly.
“Forgive me, Sorcha. Forgive me.” The great Finn Mac Cumhail mourned her even as she still had breath. He did not eat or sleep, as if every moment were precious. He knew full well that her ears were beyond hearing, and her eyes beyond sight, yet he continued to speak to her.
But Sorcha Snape was closer to death than life.
The mood in the High King’s hall was greatly depressed. The brightly adorned windows were curtained, shutting out the happiness of the world “ it was as if the hall faded as did its dying guest. A day had passed since the Chieftain of the Fianna, Finn Mac Cumhail, had arrived with his Sorceress, and rumours had spread through the court like wildfire. That he had ridden day and night for the past two was generally accepted as a truth, but why he had done so was a mystery to all.
Many claimed that Finn had professed his love for the Witch “ he certainly hadn’t left her bedside. Others stated that he had cast her out of the army and that she had been attacked; upon finding her body Finn had realised his mistake and attempted to heal her, but failed, riding hard to the King’s Hall in hopes that she could be healed there. But the High King himself had afforded great efforts in her healing, but to no avail. Many accepted that the truth would unravel itself.
He had searched her packs to see if she had any potions that could help her, but the King’s own Wizard, who had attempted a great many healings on Sorcha, had said that those they found were too weak. Finn found his mind wandering to their past dealings, finally resting upon an instance in which she had given him a letter…
“Finn?” she had said, after a particularly exhausting battle against a band of mounted brigands. Both he and Sorcha had remained awake that night; Finn because he was wounded “ only a small gash on his leg “ but Sorcha because she was haunted by this, her first battle.
“Yes, Sorcha?” he replied warily, staring into the dancing flames of the campfire before him.
“How do you live like this?”
He thought for a moment what she meant. Did she mean how did he cope with killing others? Or how did he cope with the knowledge that he might not live to see another day? He surmised that the question was between one of the two, so he answered both.
“I live to serve, whether my King, or my Gods, and if the men who I fight are killed, it is by their will that destiny is fulfilled.”
“You do not feel guilty, or regret that you are taking them from the people they love?”
“I do not dwell on it; I trust that their commanders are as good as I try to be. If a man dies as a soldier of the Fianna, their families are well kept. I cannot thank the families enough for the service of those who have been lost.” Sorcha remained quiet, accepting his words. “And knowing that tomorrow I might be one of those lost makes me appreciate more the people I love, and the life that I lead. No, I would not change it for the world.”
“Have you ever… thought about preparing for the worst?”
“Forgive me, but I do not understand.”
“I mean- the people you leave behind “ do you not wish to reassure them during the grief they would feel at your passing?”
“I had never thought to, no.”
“Today, I thought I would die, Finn. I have never seen so much blood in my life. I could feel them as they died, Finn, I could hear each man scream as he fell “”
“Sorcha!” he whispered harshly, silencing her, but unable to purge the imagery from his mind. He watched as she wept and it seemed that the sky cried with her as a fine spray of rain fell sorrowfully from above. He staggered over to her, collapsing with an arm about her shoulders, pulling her close to his body. “See here, my Lady, death is natural,” he croaked.
“Not this death, Finn. It is a waste.” He could appreciate her words, but he did not believe them. “If I die, Finn, would you do something for me?”
“Sorcha, you won’t die, I won’t let you.
“I may yet, just do me this. Make sure that my body is buried beneath the trees, deep in the soils of a forest.” His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he fought back his own tears. She had been with the Fianna only a short time, but he could not imagine fighting without her. “I would ask one more thing from you,” she said soberly, “At the northern most reaches of the land of the Scots, across the sea, there is a great castle, Hogwarts. I would have you leave a letter there, to be kept there until it can be found by the man I love.”
“The man you love? You are married?” Finn choked, not quite sure why this news shocked him. He dug his fists into balls, containing any chance of irrational behavior.
“Yes, his name is Severus Snape, and perhaps I’m being ridiculous, but I would regret not saying goodbye.”
“If he loved you and you were on the brink of death, then perhaps he would risk the distance to find you himself.”
“That doesn’t sound like Severus to me. Perhaps you’d understand if you knew him. I would like it if you’d meet someday…”
That letter now sat in his lap. Finn had never met Sorcha’s mysterious husband, but he felt that if ever he would, it must be soon. When he had mentioned that this Severus had been in love with Sorcha, he knew that Sorcha believed that it was true, and she might have thought it uncharacteristic of her husband, but he would come for her. Perhaps he was already there. In his mind Finn was certain that this was the case.
“Will he come, Sorcha? Can he help you?” No response came from Sorcha’s nearly lifeless body.
Knowing that there was nothing he could do, he stood and left the room. The corridor was deserted and lit by torches to ward off the gloom, despite the early hour. Three men stood by the door to Sorcha’s chamber. “Taistellach!” he called to his soldier, who was talking to the King’s guards. “Have half the men ready to ride in an hour, there is someone we must find.”
Finn Mac Cumhail attended the King upon his request. He was fully garbed in his leather armour, and the sword at his belt swung furiously from side to side as he raced up the corridor. The great oak doors to the Golden Hall were shuttered, the squire standing to the side indicated only one thing; he was to be formally announced. This was, at the very least, inconvenient. He had to be swift! His men had already mounted their horses when the summons arrived, and Finn was anxious to depart. Impatience overcame him, and he strode forth and pushed the doors open, the old hinges groaning as the door slowly open. The court was already in session, and a great many people sat before King on the throne.
As if entering for the first time, Finn looked at the hall in detail. The extravagance angered him. He had seen the subdued nature of the corridors, curtained against the light, respective of the Elf who lay dying; but the Golden Hall appeared exactly as it was named. Sunlight poured through the great windows, whose sills were carved lovingly from the same honeyed oak as the hall itself. Great green and gold streamers of many shades fluttered down from the roof beams, swaying contentedly in the sunlight, to and fro in the light breeze that danced through the room. The room was divided by a centre walkway paved with green carpet. To each side were a number of tables, seating the great Lords and Ladies of the King’s court.
Finn traversed this miniature road, pacing his footsteps to abate his steadily rising anger. He approached the dais upon which the throne sat, the great ebony chair whose wood was twisted into the braids and weaves that were so popular in this part of the world, upon which snake like strands of gold leaf glinted, daring Finn onwards whilst the life of his friend dwindled.
“Finn, how do I find you?” The Great King stood and opened his arms to his most trusted chieftain. Finn glared at his Liege Lord.
“You find me,” Finn began, “You find me at a bad time, your Majesty, I must be brief, I am mounting a search for a man who might be of aid to Sorcha.”
“Another Wizard? But there are none!” he said, his tone now rocking in false humour. “They all serve me.”
“Forgive me, my Liege, but you are mistaken. I cannot stay. I meant only to come to inform you of my departure.” Finn turned on his heel and made towards the door.
“Finn!” the High King roared, “How dare you turn your back on me! Do not defy me! Your Witch is not worth this effort!”
Finn’s eyes widened for the shortest of moments, before he turned around and bowed. “You are not yourself, your Majesty, I must take my leave. Forgive me.” Excited whispers followed him out the towering doors and stayed in his ears as he rode south.
The sun was setting and still the Fianna had found nothing. Many of the Fianna still searched the plains, even more desolate than when they had first ridden out. One by one, riders returned to their camp at the eastern point of the forest, Finn himself arriving in the early hours of the morning. He paced the perimetre of the camp, looking frantically from the trees to right and the open stretches of land rolling out west. Never did the bleakness of the night engulf the fields in such a thick shroud of darkness as it did so this night. He could see nothing. Blind to the world and to Sorcha’s salvation, he returned to his campfire, broken. The flames taunted him, dancing seductively before his eyes, as if celebrating the demise of Sorcha. She hung thickly in his mind, indeed, he could think of little else.
“How many men are still out?” he asked absently, to whomever was nearest.
“Just one, Chief. Taistellach. He returned a little before sundown, saying something about the journey to the Golden Hall, and departed immediately. Should I send out a Quad after him?”
“Nay, he is able… I have failed her, Darragh. I told her that she would not die.” As his commander buried his face in his hands, the young soldier, Darragh, respectfully left him to grieve.
Finn had not realised that he had drifted into an uneasy sleep. It seemed that his face still remained in the dark curtains of his hands, but he leapt up as if there had been a call to arms. The entire camp was alive with shouts and eager activity. A horse galloped hastily towards him. Dashing to the side, its rider reined the beast in, causing it to draw back on its hind legs, screaming unappreciatively.
“Finn,” Taistellach breathed excitedly, “I’ve found your man; I’ve found Severus Snape.”
“Take me to him.”
The messenger nodded, slowing the horse and changing the route to the outskirts of the camp. The tents were being taken down, so that their frames stood like eerie skeletons; there was something entirely wrong to this scene. Finn spent a full minute surveying the surrounds; something was wrong. The trees to the east clawed higher than he remembered, swaying in a breeze he could not feel, and their green was darkening, as if they died with speed.
“Taistellach, a moment.” He looked the messenger squarely in the eyes, his facial expression flat. “I feel cold, my friend.” Taistellach dismounted immediately, not breaking eye contact.
“I will fetch you a cloak, my Liege.”
“One from our last battle, methinks.”
“Of course.”
As Taistellach vanished into the skeletal forest of tent frames, a groom rushed forward to take the horse, leading it away, whispering all the while to calm it. He knew the cause of the shift in feeling: Severus Snape. Though uncertain as to whether he would meet him, Finn’s mind cast about for past mentions of the mysterious man, and he recalled a fleeting description of the man who had captured Sorcha’s heart…
“If you must know, Diarmuid, he is not a man you would care to ‘do battle’ with.” Sorcha had joined the men in celebration around the campfire one night. Her face lit up with a surreal sense of joy and her words slurred; it was clear to all her companions that she was drunk. “In fact, he’s not much of a man you’d care to do very much with,” she said, laughing and causing the cup of ale, mostly full, to tumble from her hands and onto to the floor. “He may not be much to look upon, but his mind is sharp, and he’s fiercely loyal.”
“So how did he catch your eye, Sorcha? Does his hair shine like the sun?” Diarmuid roared merrily in reply.
“Hardly. His hair comes to about… here,” she said, slicing her flat hands at shoulder level. “Its black, and a bit greasy, if you ask me. His eyes are as black as the darkest night, and his nose is crooked - hooked, but endearingly so.” Her face fell at this point. “He’s grumpy and hard working, strict, and... and I’d have him no other way.” Her eyes at this point were distant, clouded over in the memory of him. Unable to stifle a yawn, she stretched out, falling on to the soldier next to her in a deep sleep.
It had been that night that he’d found that Elves couldn’t take their ale. A small smile played on his lips at the recollection when Taistellach returned with a young man jogging in his wake. Hastily stuffing a thick woollen cloak into Finn’s hand, he murmured, “This is Connor. He was in Sorcha’s file during the battle.” Finn nodded, indicting that he would manage from there on, and then gestured forward.
“Show us to Severus Snape, my old friend,” he said. Taistellach moved forward, whilst Connor and Finn fell in behind. “I haven’t time to explain, but if I am right, you will have met this Severus Snape before,” Finn said without looking at the young officer, who took Finn’s meaning.
“Things are not as they seem, Chief,” Connor remarked.
“Precisely.”
The walk to the outer regions of the camp was long, as if he were marching to his doom. Finn could appreciate the men who looked to him, only to turn away after a glance. The air was alive with nervous tension; it was precisely that he could sense the atmosphere so palpably that made him certain that he was right in his suspicions. The last tent standing was the one he would enter momentarily, and as approached he drank in his surrounds. The camp was nearly packed up and all that remained were the empty rings of stone and wooden logs that had served their purpose the night before. Horses were being led from one place to another in an anxious speed; it would never be soon enough that they left this place. Two soldiers stood guard at the entrance of the tent, pulling back its flaps to allow him entrance. The beige canvas rippling madly served as though warning the famed commander who passed through them.
“You are not Severus Snape!” The words escaped his lips as soon as he laid eyes on the imposter.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Connor,” Finn said, turning to the young soldier, “Have you seen this man before?”
“No, sir.”
Finn smiled; he would not be able to prove this point without Sorcha, her uses were becoming apparent even when she was not there. “You are Salazar Slytherin, sir. We have met before.”
The man smiled thinly, but widely. “I have only heard of you from Sorcha, my wife.”
“I’ve only ever seen him smile on one type of occasion, Finn. When he catches a student he dislikes doing something they shouldn’t be. As far as I remember, he didn’t even smile on our wedding “ it was more of a half smile “ that’ll be the most you get.”
“You insult Sorcha with this false claim of wedlock. You should know though, I am immune to magic of any kind,” Finn remarked shortly, watching the smile falter for a split second, then fix once more upon the man’s face. Finn locked gazes with him, for moments the pair stood, staring intensely at one another in a silence both bitter and expectant.
“I may not be her husband, but I know how to save her life.”
“You would as soon as kill her than save her! I’d be right in saying that you have hidden Severus Snape from our sights by magical means?”
“Well then, only you can save her now, Finn,” Slytherin laughed, a perverse pleasure shining on his pale features. “But your time is short, and you’ve tarried long,” he whispered. “Goodbye.” A crack erupted through the tent and Salazar Slytherin vanished. Furious with Slytherin’s escape, he spun on his heal and stormed from the tent. A plan formulated in his mind.
“Taistellach “ why did you ride out again, for the second time?”
The messenger looked down as he thought. “When we rode to the King’s Hall, we passed a couple “ a woman and a man. The man, there was something familiar and… different about him “ also he called out as you passed “ though in a tongue I could not understand.”
“Ride with me. We must retrace our path to find them. Bring us horses! Diarmuid, you have command, take the men back to Meath.”
“Yes, sir!”
“I don’t know whether or not I’m looking forward to meeting Severus Snape, Finn,” Taistellach joked, “I can’t imagine what the man who married Sorcha must be like.”
Finn smiled. “If it’s any consolation, neither can I. She says he doesn’t even smile.
The two men quickly rode east, two tiny specks of shadow against the rising sun, on a mission that was becoming quite desperate. Finn knew that if he did not find Severus Snape soon, it would all be for naught; Sorcha would be dead by sundown.
The way forward was a steady ribbon of mud. Severus Snape scowled as he trudged painfully slow through a field of knee deep sludge. The greenery that he had seen only the previous day had vanished beneath the hooves of the mounted army. The sun beat down on them, blinding them for the most part, to the way ahead. If the path the Fianna had left had been thinner, Severus and his companion, Meredith, would have walked beside it “ not on the mushy track; as it was, the path of the army was two fields wide. He had not slept but continued forward, knowing that time was short enough as it was. The forest still loomed behind him and the merest of glances backwards infuriated him to no end. In his mind, Severus Snape was going nowhere fast.
In fact, his already short fuse had blown numerous times in the past few hours, and for so many reasons which flew about his mind like owls in the Great Hall. Not one to blame himself for anything, it automatically switched to Sorcha, who angered him even now; how could she die without him there? Stubborn as he was, he knew he’d never forgive himself if she died. The atmosphere was so lax that it only contributed to his heated state of mind. Storming ahead at a ridiculously energy consuming pace, he silently fumed, his arms swinging rigidly back and forth, willing the world to reflect his emotions. For a moment, his mind lingered on what he was feeling; impatience - certainly, despair “ perhaps just a little fear? He hated to admit it, and did so only begrudgingly, but he was afraid. He was lost in time and space and his wife was somewhere, dying, and he couldn’t save her; he wanted so desperately to save her.
He stopped suddenly, surveying what he could of the luminous path ahead. It glowed with the sunlight, and though he could not see the muddy trail properly, he knew it was there. If time was short, he needed to use it more sensibly. But how could he travel faster to the Kings Hall?
There was one way.
They had opted for a magical wedding ceremony, despite Sorcha’s Elven heritage. The joining in matrimony of a witch and wizard was hardly a light affair. Indeed, ‘till death do us part’ was literal in most wizard marriages. Unlike its counterpart, creating a Horcrux, the magic of the marriage ceremony bound two souls as one. What if Severus separated their soul? His stomach roiled at the thought of it. It would require something… someone dying. He was sure he could find her this way, but whom would he sacrifice?
Meredith.
Even as the thought entered his mind, he knew it was impossible. He chanced one guilty glance at her and was again reminded of a lingering familiarity about her; ever since the night she had pointed to his daughter’s star, he had felt most uneasy around her. Her features were perhaps the opposite of Cassi’s, but in a way so reminiscent of his daughter that the two seemed too alike to be mere co-incidence. He would have to make use of her raw magical powers as much as he could, for he was quite unaccustomed to the type of magic his request would require.
“Meredith?” he began, turning on his heel to face her. “Can you feel for… life? People - people near by?”
A quizzical expression flashed across her face, but she replied, “Yes, of course. Why?”
Always asking questions, he thought irritably. “There is a way I can find Sorcha, but I need someone else’s assistance.”
“Why?”
“That is none of your concern.”
“You aren’t telling me the whole truth, are you, Severus?”
“Must I confide in you everything, Meredith?” he spat. She took a step backwards, but overcame the initial fear of standing up to Severus, raised her eyebrows and set her own terms.
“Yes, if you want my help.”
Meredith knew immediately that her stand had been a mistake. Severus’ eye’s flashed and his lips curled into a sneer, then, without warning, his facial features froze; eyes and jaw clamped shut, his shoulders slouched and for a minute Severus Snape stood absolutely still.
NO! Sorcha’s voice thundered in his mind. Find another way, she pleaded softly, desperately.
“HELP ME!” he roared loudly, shaking the ground beneath his feet minutely. Meredith, unsure as to whom it was Severus addressed, trembled slightly, afraid of him, but more afraid for him. She dared not think how he would react should his wife die. In such a short time, the weather had turned from sunshine to thick and dark clouds, threatening a downpour soon. She looked about quickly; there would be no shelter, the flats rolled on for miles, and the trees which could still be seen behind them were too far off if they wanted shelter.
“There are many lives behind us, a few are ahead, and they come closer,” Meredith spoke softly, all at once trying to calm the frantic wizard. When Meredith looked upon him, Severus appeared to be quite composed; she could tell nothing of his emotions from his face, but when he turned and continued to walk in the wake of the path left by the Fianna, it was clear that he was losing his patience, and it was being replaced by blind despair. Meredith followed without a word, running to keep up with his frenzied strides.
They did not stop. Indeed at times Meredith thought that Severus would break out in a run, but she was beginning to become accustomed to his logic; running would tire them sooner than walking briskly. But she was already tired, and it was barely past mid-day, they’d not eaten since early that morning and it was clear that Severus would not permit a stop. Giving herself a mental shake, she picked up her pace and levelled with Severus.
“Severus? I’m really sorry; I didn’t mean to frustrate you back there. I just… wouldn’t want anyone else hurt.”
“Very well,” he said shortly, walking, if at all possible, faster.
“But, Severus! I would like to know what the plan is, I’m here to help, remember?”
“Yes. I do.”
Now the conversation was irritating her! How could anyone be so gruff? Meredith began to feel that she was being used only when it suited Severus, and though that is precisely what she had agreed to, she still felt like she was selling herself short.
“Severus, I can do more “ I can help, if you just-”
“You cannot help me in this. How far away are these people?” he said, voice completely empty.
Meredith closed her eyes and felt the world about her go cold. In the distance, she could feel two great shapes of warmth coming closer, closer… they were scouts… and they had to be looking for them!
“Severus, they’re looking for us!”
Severus narrowed his eyes into mere slits. “Do they mean to harm us?”
In truth, she could not tell, but by their speed the prospects were not at all good. “They’re moving fast. I don’t know,” she said, feeling that she’d once more come up short in proving herself to him. He continued on his way, speeding up his walk once again. Curiously, she watched as he pulled a thin strip of wood from his sleeve, holding its thicker end in the palm of his hand. A cold flush of premonition flushed over her, causing goose pimples to rise all over her body. If he’d meant her harm, he would surely have done it by now. No, if he were planning violence, then she’d be more worried if she were one of the two people who approached.
An hour had passed and she watched as Severus grew ever more agitated. All the while, Meredith was losing control of her fear; every step was a struggle, her legs threatened to buckle beneath her they shook so badly, and her eyes were constantly swollen with tears, which she wiped away secretly, hoping that Severus - in his few backward glances - did not notice. The two life forces she’d felt distantly before, were now close enough that she could ascertain precisely what they were: two men, both mounted on horses. However, she kept her suspicions to herself; if she voiced them, he’d surely not tolerate her presence.
Severus ploughed on. They were making good progress, and if luck were with them, the people Meredith had sensed would catch up with them soon. It was mid afternoon now, and Severus’ heart and mind throbbed in quick time, urging him to move ahead if only to keep pace with their steady beats. Beads of sweat rolled freely down the sides of his face, which he left, trying to set his mind to what he was about to do. He had helped in the making of a Horcrux many years ago, when he had first joined Voldemort’s ranks. Of course at the time he had not known what he was party to, but he had pieced together all the information in the end and had realised that he was one of a handful of wizards who knew how to create one. The difficult part, he imagined, would be controlling the two halves of his soul. Murder had ever been a difficult accomplishment, and Severus had never come away from it with confidence; but if it would save Sorcha, then he’d kill the entire Fianna if it were necessary.
So they continued, and the weather had completely turned. A soft spray of rain plagued them now, so thick that the view was almost completely obscured; Meredith followed the dark outline of the man in front of her, but at times he was fully invisible and Meredith would race ahead until he was again returned to her sight. It seemed a little pointless when Meredith finally remembered her talent with water, a transparent dome formed around them causing the rain to roll casually to the muddy ground around them, as they were both absolutely sodden. She then tried to make the ground they walked upon more solid, but had only a small success. Though Severus had said nothing, she felt rather proud that she could do something to speed things up, and on some level, she knew he was grateful.
Meanwhile, Severus was beginning to doubt himself. He had promised his wife that he would never use the Dark Arts again… but if it saved her life? Yet if Meredith was right and these people were looking for them, then they must know of Sorcha, and he surmised, must be a friend to her. Would she forgive him for killing her friend? But then, how did he know that they were friend or foe to her? Someone had delivered upon her a lethal wound, but who?
“Meredith?” he called backwards. He could hear her footsteps squelching across the muddy terrain and closer to him; he stopped and waited for her to catch up.
“Severus,” she said shortly, “How much longer can we keep this up? If we do not rest-”
“My wife is dying. She will be dead soon. You may remain here if you wish, but I will not let her escape me.”
At his moment, Meredith thought him oddly possessive of his wife, yet it was utterly plain that he would do anything for this woman. Meredith thought she’d like to her very much. She merely nodded her acceptance, and made to move forward, but Severus caught her arm.
“Do not stop me.”
“What?” Meredith choked, half surprised at his words.
“You know what I must do, and I ask that you not endanger yourself by getting in my way,” Severus said slowly, pronouncing every syllable clearly. Meredith held her breath and nodded vigorously, sighing in relief as he marched ahead.
Time passed and yet time did not pass, what felt like hours were mere minutes, pressing brutally on their tired bodies, but they still went on, whilst the strings of hope snapped one by one. Surely, Sorcha would be dead before they reached her. Meredith plodded on, her eyes closing as she walked, her physical body only kept going by the necessity to help Severus; her senses seemed to relax one by one… except for the magic. The heavy clumping of horse hooves against the ground rang out like a beacon in her mind, they were very close “ and this terrified Meredith more than she dared to admit, even to herself. Should she tell Severus? Before long, he would know anyway. Meredith held her tongue.
Time flew by quickly now, which served only to unsettle them both. Meredith shook with nerves; Severus from the cold and from fear. They stopped. Meredith closed her eyes in dread; he would know she had kept the information from him. However, when she opened them once again, he seemed more alert; he could hear the horses. And although Meredith could hear Severus’s name being called, it was clear that Severus could not.
“Severus!” she cried, but in little more than a whisper, urging her voice to be louder, she screamed, “SEVERUS!”
But he paid no attention; the strip of wood she’d seen him holding earlier was now in his hand, pointing towards the shape of one of the riders, blurred beyond distinction by the rain. He cast a quick glance at Meredith, a warning glance, telling her to be still. She stared wide eyes, and blinking the rain, which now poured torrentially, from her eyes.
“Severus, they’re calling your name!” she cried pleadingly. He did not even blink as a wall of red light shot from the end of the strip “ his wand “ Meredith could not contain her scream, the man fell from his horse as if a corpse, the horse reigned back and ran from the scene at speed. Meredith wept uncontrollably, stumbling after Severus as he ran to the fallen soldier. She could not help but wonder where the other rider was…
Severus crouched over the man, wondering vaguely what his name was, trying to think of another way. But there was none. Since his teens, he’d carried a dagger on his person, and it remained pocketed in his right booth. He pulled it free and moved to hold the man’s head in his lap, carefully placing the tip of the blade just bellow the jaw line. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and hesitated. Everything happened a moment too late. Two curved blades flashed before his eyes and settled against his own neck. The man spoke in a language foreign to Severus, it was when Meredith translated that he realised his mistake.
“You are Severus Snape, no?”
“I am Severus Snape.”
Meredith’s timid voice then translated his next line. “Your wife, Sorcha, is dying “ we must ride hard to reach her before it is too late.”
“Take me to her,” Severus said fiercely, standing up and feeling the bite of steel against his neck.
The man whom he had spoken with was now quite visible to him. Severus was almost positive he knew who this man was, his beard with many braids, and wild red hair marked him as the man whom much of Sorcha’s research centred around.
“You are Finn MacCumhail?” Severus asked bluntly.
The man nodded and whistled loudly. Two horses approached Finn’s own and a vacant one, no doubt belonging to the man whom Severus had stunned. The great Chieftain spoke briefly with Meredith who then instructed that Severus and she were to mount the empty horse. He watched curiously as Finn hauled the second man up on to his horse and climbed on easily behind his limp figure. Finn looked at him sharply, and said in heavy accent:
“You follow.”
Meredith seemed to have recovered herself and as soon as Severus had mounted, followed suit. As Finn raced off, Severus realised just how grateful he was that his wife had taught him to ride well. Reining the horse in, he felt Meredith tighten her grip around his waist; the horse plunged into pursuit of its master. As they rode, he hoped only that time was on their side.
Sorcha Snape was quite aware that she was dying.
Though her husband, Severus, was near, she had lost the strength to communicate with him at all. Despite having experienced numerous types of healing only recently, none had been a success. Now Severus really was the only one who could heal her. Yet even as she thought of her husband, she could tell that time was against their unlikely partnership. Twice already she had felt a pain unrivalled by any she had felt before; it was not exactly a physical infliction, but rather one impressed upon her soul. As the pain ripped through her subconscious being once more, she was certain what was happening.
Sorcha’s soul was being torn from her body.
It was consuming every fibre of energy, emotion, and conviction to force it to remain in her earthly body. But even now, when the pain had passed, she was quite separate from her body as it were. She could feel herself outside but indefinitely attached. There were so many memories she had felt, and though young for an Elf, (indeed, Sorcha herself was nearing seventy) she truly felt that her life was complete. It was strange, she mused, that as her life faded it drowned her all at once.
She remembered the moment of her birth, and a little before even then. The first ten years of her life she had remained beneath the Elven groves, secreted with the remnants of her kind, but her father had been banished, and her mother had remained. But Sorcha, being overly fond of her father, had chosen to leave with him. They had lived amongst Wizards ever since. She had attended Hogwarts aged eleven, and made few friends there; but she had met Severus there too. They had been in the same house, Slytherin, and naturally had despised each other. Sorcha never exactly regretted being sorted into Slytherin, but she had come to realise she was better suited to Ravenclaw. Then Sorcha had left Hogwarts, not entirely sure what to do with her life, but with a love for History that no one who’d been taught by Professor Binns could comprehend. Working for Gringotts as a Curse-Breaker for four years had given her the funds to finance studies at a Muggle university, studying Nordic Mythology, which she thought was all well and good, but the magical perspective was better. She’d spent the next few years researching Celtic history, and settled on the history of Finn MacCumhail. Applying for the Time Turner to actually go and experience history, had initially been half hearted and little more than a joke; when the Ministry had approved her request, and offered her more than enough financial backing, Sorcha had travelled widely (through time). Then she’d returned to Hogwarts to teach, but finding the task was near impossible, due to a certain Potions Master, she had remained only to research the History of Hogwarts.
She’d married Severus after a furious and somewhat humiliating four years. Even though they still had their clashes, they were few and far between and usually well thought out. It was comforting to know that beneath his surly mask, Severus had a sense of humour. Cassiopeia had been born three years after their marriage, Sorcha had been slightly disappointed that Cassi had not inherited her Elven prominence, but had loved her all the same.
It was at that moment that Sorcha realised something: her life was complete, she could let go…
Severus Snape fell from the horse.
His heart had frozen in place and his lungs seemed unable to draw air. The rain continued to pour down on him, and with each tiny pellet splashing upon his face and hands came the realisation that she was gone “ that Sorcha was dead. Immediately he discarded the thought, she was still there, or else he would not be aware of her. But then, he wasn’t entirely sure that he was aware of her. The horses had ridden on, and Severus found he was quite alone for a few moments. Soon the squishing sound of someone running towards him through the mud could be heard. Severus looked up in disbelief as Finn towered over him. The Chieftain was utterly soaked, though he looked as if he had endured far to many storms of this type to care very much; the long braids and rings that hung in his hair and beard flashed and contrasted with the flat matt of un-bound hair. If anything could be said or his state of mind, it was from the expression upon his face, initially he had squinted, but as his gaze swept over Severus it became quite apparent why he’d fallen from the horse; Finn’s eyes widened in horror, lips parting in a silent expression of loss, for this was a grief he had never expected to feel. For minutes the two men stayed still, feeling the desolation and emptiness of their situation, the unspoken emotions they felt were reflected by the downpour that soaked them all.
It was Finn who came to his senses first, stepping forward and taking Severus by the arm, though Severus only snatched it away, glaring at the man, his face radiating a formidable rage. Instead Finn gestured pointedly for them to return to the horses, and though Severus did so grudgingly, he had already reverted to his own plans.
The walk back was one of the longest he’d ever experienced. Dread rested heavily on his shoulders, pressing him to the point where he stumbled, staggering back to the horses. He stood by the horse, clutching the reigns in his right hand, his left hand was flattened over the horses side… he felt lost, but knew he had to do this. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled… she was watching him “ there was still a chance. He closed his eyes and slid his wand from his wrist, whispering, “Forgive me, Sorcha.”
In a flash he turned about, but looking about he could feel the magic crackle upon his skin, he could see Finn MacCumhail, sitting astride an invisible horse… but of course, Meredith must’ve spun some weave of magic, because he was blind to all life around him, the floor was a mass of brown, and only Finn was available.
“Meredith, I cannot lose her,” he said bitterly, closing his eyes and using Legilimency to find her thoughts… he found her, her thoughts focused upon the fallen messenger, Taistellach, and what Severus planned to do “ she was utterly terrified, she struggled to hold on to the magical weave she had cast, she feared seeing Severus commit murder. He put aside the doubts Meredith’s thoughts had spun in his own mind and carried on, heart hammering erratically against his chest. Finding the thoughts of someone unconscious was no easy task… the lines of though were short, jumping incoherently, a message undelivered “ he had found the messenger, his thoughts skipped on…
“Sorcha!” Severus gasped, the image of his wife, deathly pale laying upon a wooden pallet struck his deepest fears, he panted, gulping back waves of pain, he pushed the image a side and forced his eyes open, certain of his target. “Avada Kedavra!” he hissed… the flash of green light shot from his wand and everything came back into his vision.
Meredith had moved.
“No!” Severus gasped, eyes widening in horror as her face froze, green light consuming her. She crumpled to the floor, his heart followed her, dropping instantly from grace. He dashed to her and collected her in his arms, wiping her sodden dark locks from her face and wiping away the mud, pale streaks of flesh were visible where Severus’s fingers had brushed her cheek. She was cold, her skin pale and chilly as ice, he clamped his jaw firmly shut, breathing heavily through his nose. He fought the tears furiously as he continued…
If he could still save Sorcha, then it would be fine.
He shut his eyes sifting through the memories of many years past… his youth, his education, the many years he’d spent as the Potions Master at Hogwarts, but he was searching for a different memory, a dangerous memory he’d not even shared with his Pensieve. Indeed, the few years he’d spent in the service of the Dark Lord were his most guarded thoughts, but there was one memory that he’d locked away so completely that releasing it would be most difficult; Severus Snape possessed the knowledge required to make a Horcrux. He had witnessed the creation of one shortly after he’d left Hogwarts, the incantation, more like a chant, whispered in the wind that swept past his sodden ears, he trembled, the cold and imminent loss seeping through his flesh into his very bones… it could be so simple… he just needed to focus, remembering that a wand could only do so much in a ceremony of Dark Arts of this scale. Raw magic would be required to flow through him.
“Sorcha,” he said, forcing the messenger’s vision of his wife dying in his mind’s eye. He drank in every minute detail of the room, the heavy green curtains, drawn across a window of thick muddy glass, the white plaster upon the walls, the oak wooden floor boards, roof and wall beams. Sorcha, laying upon a wooden pallet, the frame laced with thick patterns of gold leaves, but the focus had to be upon his wife. Feeling his heart pound, his thoughts lingered over her closed eyes, her eyelashes seemed to have darkened, contrasting starkly against the ghostly white of her once crème like skin; his jaw clamped shut, but was unable to halt the forlorn moan that escaped his throat as he saw that her lips were purple fading to blue, she had been close to death for so long… but she would be the vessel for the other part of their soul, he could already sense that her body was empty…
He pressed his hands over Meredith’s forehead and heart, and began to whisper the incantation, with each word, the world around him seemed to change.
“Locus is secui a meus animus in a vas teneo, infractus tamen idem eadem idem, duos secui a idem eadem idem nomen.”
Severus could feel as the lives of the plants around him were drained of their life force, he seemed to absorb it; the extra power pulsed through his body. Physical contact with Meredith allowed him to feel his soul enough to sense that it had indeed been torn, the sensation burst within him, the rip seemed ferocious. Gasping for air as his soul burned for its crime, Severus once again turned his thoughts to Sorcha… she was the only one who had cared enough, even if she showed it in peculiar ways… Severus repeated the incantation.
“Locus is secui a meus animus in a vas teneo, infractus tamen idem eadem idem, duos secui a idem eadem idem nomen.”
This time the sky responded, the rain stopped momentarily, a guttural roar shook them and lightening cracked from the heavens, infusing the earth, and through it, Severus himself, with a power that buzzed through the very essence of his existence, he shook from the thrill of it all. He arched his neck to receive more, but when nothing came, his head dropped once more to Meredith, he breathed heavily and remembered her sacrifice. Once again his thought returned heavily to his wife, would she forgive him for this?
“Locus is secui a meus animus in a vas teneo, infractus tamen idem eadem idem, duos secui a idem eadem idem nomen.”
The incantation was becoming heavier, the words more difficult to repeat, though he suspected this was to be expected, the power that had thus far been granted had a mind of its own, it was difficult enough for Severus to harness it. A wave of rain washed around him, soaking his skin, bathing him in its own elemental power… curious, how such a powerful type of Dark Magic relied on the elements for its outcome. Severus recalled that as an Elf, Sorcha was tied to the earth, the first element to lend its aid…
“Locus is secui a meus animus in a vas teneo, infractus tamen idem eadem idem, duos secui a idem eadem idem nomen!” he gasped, his voice near to failure.
Yet as the words escaped him he felt the breath he’d spent stir around him. Severus’s jaw dropped as the wind ripped through him, the pain causing him to scream from the agony it caused, but it spoke o him too, it would carry his soul to the vessel, that much he knew, and it awaited his command. The image of Sorcha was enough to tire him completely. “Sorcha Snape,” he whispered, the world collapsed and he knew no more.
It should have ended.
The sensation that Sorcha experienced in the ethereal shape she took now was very new to her, and though she could feel the constraints of life slipping away, she could feel them pull at the same time. Her memories were still there, but their significance was fading. She cleared her thoughts, such as they were and calmed herself. But something was terribly wrong with her, even now. Whatever she was began to feel heavy, and certainly she couldn’t move “ what was happening? It was at that point that she realised she should never have given up… Her soul was one with his, and he was pulling her back… he’d severed their soul! The sense of responsibility had returned, and she fought to return to her body.
Even with the magic Severus had cast it was a struggle, her body was dying, it wouldn’t be able to house her soul much longer “ if she managed to return to her physical form at all. She could feel Severus somewhere south, he was not far, but he was unconscious… and he grieved, her heart sank… he had broken his wedding vows, but their marriage was broken now anyway. He would come, if he knew there was still hope. A final effort saw her melt back into her body, and with the remained of the power delegated from Severus's magic, she whispered his name, hoping that the connection between them existed still.
“Severus?”
Severus Snape’s eyes snapped open the moment he heard her whisper through his mind. He had a task, and it was beyond important that he carry it through. The difficult part “ making a Horcrux “ was over, but it had left him drained of energy, and merely sitting up caused ripples of fatigue to wash over his body. But he could feel her now, he knew exactly where she was, and how difficult it was for her to remain within her body. He looked around him, the sun shone now, and the ground, though thoroughly soaked, was once again green and the sky blue. He looked to his companions, a tall, muscular built man, with matted red hair, twisted into braids staring directly at him not quite sure of what had happened. To his right a thinner man roused from his slumber, shaking the drowsiness gently away, he pushed himself up, standing taller than the other man, but he was notably darker, the braids he wore - thinner, and his skin pale. It was hard to believe that these two men had been the centre of his wife’s attention for many a year “ Finn MacCumhail was ever a fascination, and Taistellach even more mysterious that Sorcha could fathom. Severus staggered upwards, shaking from the cold and wear as he came level with the two Fianna, he matched their gazes evenly, and nodded. Finn bowed his head in understanding, watching as Severus closed his eyes, mind fixed on Sorcha, and remembering his need to be by her side.
With a loud ‘Pop!’ he Apparated away, collapsing on a wooden floor with a great thud. The room took a moment to settle into focus, though he could feel the bed pallet next to him which only confirmed that the location was the same as the one he had seen in the messenger’s memory, and the faint pulsating rhythm of Sorcha’s life forces slowly ebbing away… he was certainly in the right place. He pulled himself up with the help of the bed frame, and looked around the room, steadying himself for the magic he was about to perform. There was a very strong chance that it would not work and he would lose Sorcha anyway, but this was not a battle he was prepared to lose.
The first thing he noticed about the room was that it was far too dark, and while that had ordinarily been a preference of his own, he knew that Sorcha would appreciate a little sunshine. With a swift wave of his wand he drew the heavy emerald curtains apart and flinched at the sunlight which instantly flooded the room, it only highlighted the desperate situation he faced. He knelt on the floor beside his wife and placed a hand over her forehead; it was cold, she was cold, and she was barely there. He undid the top few buttons of her shirt and shifted it over the wound he knew to be located on her shoulder; it was heavily poulticed and the veins around it were darkened, not by poison, but by magic. Carefully he peeled back the dressing and stared at the wound, whispering incantations to measure its potency “ indeed the magic used was not so complex. He could break the curse easily, but it was healing her body after that which would prove difficult. Her body was incredibly close to death, but he’d anticipated the worst and had bought with him a small potions supply…
He fumbled in the pocket of his jacket, finding the small ebony case and drawing it out with a trembling hand. Taking a heavy breath he calmed his nerves and removed the curse, for a moment the room became stiflingly hot, but the loosed magic dissipated with the heat. Sorcha sighed, capturing Severus’s attention, he quickly unfastened the clips of the small case and ran his finger over the four remaining phials of potions; she would probably need them all. He pulled out a deep purple potion that seemed to glitter darkly in the shadows. This was not an easy potion to make under any circumstance, it took a full year to brew and most of its ingredients were extremely rare. In fact, it was one Sorcha had taught him, an Elven healing potion that required the presence of an Elf for it to be made… Sorcha had spent such times reading whilst sitting next the cauldron, as he pulled the vial from the case the faintest recollection of her frown at his ‘stupid time wasting’… he could hear her saying: “We could always do something else,” but he’d always brushed her off. Now his ‘time wasting’ would save her life, he allowed himself a small smile, satisfied with the appreciation that she would never put into words. He prised her lips apart carefully, pouring the purple liquid into her mouth, rubbing her throat gently to help her swallow. Sorcha’s entire body shook in one great wave… but the wound was still there, though less inflamed than only moments before, though the improvement was obvious, there was colour in her cheeks and her over all appearance was far more alive. He drew out the second vial from the case.
A simple potion that would ease breathing, white and smoky in colour, it seemed rather eager to be put to use. He uncorked the vial, and let the liquid free, for a minute it spun in circles between Severus and his wife, as if debating which of the pair needed its aid the most, it finally spilt just between Sorcha’s nose, a miniscule gust of potion shooting up either nostril. Sorcha heaved a great breathe, a sigh of content, or so Severus would thereby think. He watched as her chest rose and fell, listening to the soft inhale and exhale of breathe for a minute, revelling in his own success, and on some level in relief at the restoration of his wife’s life force.
The third potion he had bought was a simple strength potion, it would give her enough strength to undergo healing through an incantation. The fourth potion he drank himself, Sorcha didn’t need more heat than she already had, and Severus was beginning to tremble from his rain soaked clothing. For the moment, Severus had done all he could.
Sorcha was aware the exact moment she re-entered the realm of the living.
For a moment her eyes remained closed, trusting her ears to hear the slightest sounds, despite the relative silence she could hear the slow and heavy breathing of someone close by, and the faint clutter of a door banging shut somewhere near; her nose to smell the subtle scent of wet grass creeping through the gaps of the window, a trace of the distant forest lingered - and of course there was Severus, though his scent had slightly altered, she couldn’t mistake her husband. Sorcha then set her mind to the task of seeing to herself, she’d been wounded badly and it had been left long to fester. Whatever Severus had done had helped, but the wound remained. She opened her eyes.
The room swam in and out of focus, the blurs of browns greens and gold finally settling to their rightful places. The room was filled with moon light, reflecting the tiny flakes of gold inlaid in some of the furnishings. The table to her side held three empty vials, and a candle, which she focused upon and lit, further illuminating the room. Finally her eyes came to rest upon the figure slouched at the foot of her bed. Smiling slightly, she moved her legs - it had the desired effect.
Severus’s head snapped up, he frown in confusion looking his wife straight in the eyes. In silence they reached some kind of connection, an unspoken feeling of relief and gratitude. Sorcha smiled, the love between the two of them had never been obvious, but it existed none the less, and Severus had never been one to make public show of affections. He merely stood and drew out his wand, dutifully healing the wound at her shoulder. Sorcha relaxed as the wound closed, and slipped a cold hand into Severus’s, she squeezed it gently, realizing that there was something much greater causing him grief; she sought his eyes, but he kept them down, when eventually he looked to her, he spoke softly, “Forgive me.”
A lump formed in her throat, as he continued. “I traveled through time to find you, I was entirely unprepared, there were many things I had not contemplated. I sought help from a family of wizards somewhere near Manorbier in Wales. Meredith guided me over water to this place, and still I could not find you. I made a Horcrux in you. I took a life to save yours. Forgive me.”
Sorcha was chilled to the very core of her being. “The girl… Meredith?” Severus nodded. Sorcha thought fast, in essence she had nearly killed Severus in that their souls - bound by marriage - would have died with her. He had saved two lives by this girl.
“How can I make this right?” he asked tonelessly.
“I don’t know,” Sorcha sighed, biting her lip in concern; she placed a cold hand over her husband’s, causing him to look up and into her eyes. “We’ll find a way, Severus. You’ll see.” He shook his head and frowned bitterly, standing back from her and moving towards the door. “Where are you going?”
“I wish to be alone.” His voice echoed in her mind, causing her heart to pound uncomfortably. He wrenched his presence forcefully from her mind and swept through the doorway and out of sight. Sorcha closed her eyes and thought about how or who could help Severus now...
“Little one, when one has the advantage of time on their side they should utilise it, but consider carefully all the paths available. Time is not an easy thing to comprehend.”
Sorcha looked up at her father through a child’s eyes, her own eyes in fact, as they had been when she was much younger. His brown hair sat unbound, behind is back, to some point near his elbow, his pointed ears twitching at the sound of the river that flowed noisily beside them. His lip curled in pride at his daughter who seemed to be thinking much on his words.
“Father, does time mean the same thing to us as it does to normal people?” she asked curiously, furrowing her brows in thought.
“That would depend what you meaning time takes in the situation it is placed.” He smiled at her, encouraging further questions.
“Maybe... if someone from the future visited you, how would that affect an Elf?”
“Well, Sorcha, Elves have a different understanding of the future, many of us would claim to be aware in someway of an anomaly in time,” he replied, though his tone was slightly dull, he’d never been one to act in the usual arrogance of Elves.
“Father? How can we change time?”
Sorcha’s eyes opened immediately “ she knew what she must do.
Several days had passed and still Sorcha and Severus remained in the past. Sorcha was near to full health and indulged in the company of the court scholars and record keepers. Severus, sullen and broody, remained out of sight, and more often than not away from Sorcha. Finn and Taistellach had returned the previous day with Meredith’s body. Sorcha had kept vigil that night and had wept for the girl, steeling her resolve to right things. They had made arrangements to leave within the week. Sorcha, requesting that she might pursue one last historical lead sought out Finn, whom she found tending to his horse in the stables.
“I am glad you’re well, Sorcha,” he said, not even turning to look upon her as she entered. “I must admit, I thought you spoke of your husband in jest before all of this.” He looked to her and smiled.
“He grieves for the girl. Killing isn’t his forte.”
“I could tell. I have a feeling that we will not meet again after you leave?” It was a question.
“Probably not,” Sorcha replied quietly, the feeling that her time here was nearly over sinking further into her mind. “What would you say to one last adventure?” she said smiling, knowing that Finn wouldn’t turn down her last request.
“When do we leave?”
“Right now. Give me your hand.” He held out a leathery, calloused hand which Sorcha held between her own two for a moment, examining the scars of battles past, many of which she remembered him making. A brief wave of grief washed over her at that moment; it became apparent that she would not be there to tend to future wounds, or to be a part of future adventures. The lump that formed in her throat seemed fit to burst, and as she looked in to Finn’s reserved eyes, she clamped her jaw tightly to halt tears. Pushing aside her cheerless thoughts, she went on.
“You might find this slightly uncomfortable.”
His eyes widened sharply as a squeezing sensation came over the pair of them, starting at their very centre’s and pulsing outwards, lines of colours streaming before their very eyes, as if they were passing through places at such speed that only the colours ran with them, changing as did their location. When they finally arrived at their destination, it took some time for Finn to regain his senses, all the while Sorcha stood to his side supporting him as his body finally stopped swaying and he stood quite still.
“Where are we?” Finn asked, looking around at the tall trees. They appeared in some kind of clearing, though beyond the ring of nothingness was a vast array of gnarled and thick trees, twisted so that it did not seem that there was a way out.
“We’re in an Elven forest, to normal folk, it’s known as Arianis but it’s only really spoken of in legend. I was born here,” Sorcha replied softly. “We should move if we stay too long we’ll be caught by a patrol… that won’t hold in our favour.”
As she stepped forward a path cleared itself before here, trees untangling to reveal the way forward. They walked some way before the sound of rushing water reached them, walking out on to a plain of wild grass the source of the noise became apparent; a small river roared merrily before them, but there was no way across, and no clear way around. Finn watched as Sorcha knelt and picked what few pebbles she could from the ground. One by one she threw them into the river, as if to find something; only when a smile raised the corners of her lips did Finn see its cause “ a silver bridge, twisted into floral patterns showed the way across, a single pebble on its path.
At the other side, a beach of silver sand met them, and Sorcha turned to him. “You must leave your weapons here,” she said, unsheathing here own knives and placing them on the glittering sand. “If you do not, you cannot pass.”
Slowly Finn stripped away his blades, a thin wire and a small black vile, placing them on the beach as Sorcha had done. Finn cried out as they began to sink in to its depths. Looking back to Sorcha she nodded and turned, asking, “Can you see them? Can you see the gates, now?”
Squinting, Finn looked beyond Sorcha, lips parting in an expression of awe as two enormous wooden gates appeared, open wide, almost as if to welcome them both. Finn looked at Sorcha, unable to comprehend her connection with this place. Such rigid, perfect, and cold beauty seemed a polar opposite of the woman stood before him.
“We must find my father, Finn. He will know how to make thinks right.” Sorcha said this second part almost inaudibly, but Finn came too her side and gestured that she lead on. The streets were silent, despite the few who walked them, Finn and Sorcha marking a stark difference between the pale, ethereal creatures that called this place home. There were no buildings as such, but trees alive, grown to resemble houses, and serving their purpose grandly. For a time they walked in silence, until Sorcha stopped.
“We are here… I have to go on alone, wait for me?”
Finn nodded, watching her approach a smaller dwelling, existing in the hollow of its trunk, she disappeared within and Finn waited.
“Who goes there?” a voice cried from below.
“My name is Sorcha, I seek Niam.”
A tall Elf appeared before her; long brown hair, though tied back, stuck out at odd angles, not dissimilar to Sorcha’s own wispy hair, and his eyes, blue, were almost the exact shape of her own. Sorcha took a deep breath; he had not changed, then.
“I am Niam.”
“You once told me that time is understood differently by elves. That it is acceptable to alter time if we understood what it meant to do so.”
“I am sure that we have never met, Sorcha,” he said smiling, looking at her as though he were also drinking in their physical similarities. “Though you have the look of a Zandantius.”
“Most people would say I looked like my father.”
“Then I shall look forward to hearing so when you are born.”
Her eyes watered violently. “You also told me that most elves would claim to know of anomalies in time.”
He nodded, saying, “It is a strange sensation having you stand before me, though I’d not recognize it for a time anomaly normally.”
“I suppose, that when we do finally have the conversation I speak of, you’ll be thinking back to this one.”
Niam laughed heartily, “Of that I have no doubt. You are troubled, Sorcha, how can I help?”
“I’m sorry… I’ve not seen you for a while, and seeing you here, now, no doubt makes this more difficult. I miss you more than you could know,” she rushed, breathing fast. “But that isn’t why I’m here…” It took a while to relay the entire account of what had happened, Meredith’s sacrifice and Severus’s reaction being key, and to ask her father if there would be a way to make it right. The silence that followed was absolute, Sorcha watching as her father was engaged in deep thought. When the corners of his mouth twitched, a smile came to her own, and he spoke.
“Elves have always thought to meddle in the affairs of humans and wizards, for some reason we like to feel that we are in charge sometimes... there is a spell, one that might work, if we can travel back to the precise point this girl was killed we may be able to bind her to Severus, so that when ever you so chose to have children, your first will be her reincarnate.”
“That could work,” Sorcha breathed, thinking it over quickly. “We could do that!”
“I think, Sorcha, that it would be best if I did it alone.”
“But… I “ won’t you need help? What with the timing and all, I co”“
“No, Sorcha, he would not want you to witness this, would he?”
For a moment she thought, her father was right of course, it would only shame Severus to know that Sorcha had seen his desperation; he would not so easily forgive that. “No, father, you’re right,” she admitted. “How do I thank you?”
“Thank me?” He laughed, and as he relaxed, he said, “You already have. Now go…” He engulfed her in a bear like hug, and let her go. Watching as she set off towards the gate with Finn. When they arrived back at the King’s Hall it became apparent that leaving this time period behind had never seemed so difficult.