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The Name in Red

Chapter 30: As One.

She felt herself torn from her body. There was a blinding flash of white light, and then she could feel nothing but the horrible, wrenching pain. It only seemed to last only briefly. She felt it begin to fade into nothing but a dull throb in her core, until it disappeared entirely. Her ears might have been popping or ringing. She could have sworn that her eyes were wide open, but she could see only whiteness. Now, she could feel absolutely nothing.

If it were possible, she would have breathed a deep sigh of relief. The pain she had been experiencing only moments before was indescribable. Her very body had been ready to tear itself apart, or so it had felt to her. Now, however, she very much doubted that she had a body at all anymore. She felt a sort of euphoric lightness, floating along in an empty, almost colorless void, free of all sensation aside from her own thoughts.

Her weightlessness was abruptly interrupted when she felt a body rematerialize underneath her, and she dropped quite heavily onto what she assumed was the ground. She realized now that her eyes were shut, and when she opened them, the yellowish-white surface on which she rested was nearly indistinguishable from the rest of her new surroundings as she glanced to her left and right. This all changed, however, when she glanced up before her. She leaned back onto her haunches.

She was kneeling before what appeared to be an enormous gateway of wrought stone, tinted in a sort of blackish green. There were several large steps leading upward to it. Its massive doors were currently open, and whatever she could see beyond its precipice was dancing and swirling oddly, like a heat mirage. She blinked at it several times before she realized that she was not alone. Upon the gate's steps was standing a dark, hooded figure. She could not see its face. Whatever it was, it appeared to be unnaturally tall, and unusually thin.

She blinked rapidly several more times before testing the limits of her new body by lifting herself to her feet. When she did, she could not resist the urge to look down at herself. She gasped audibly, and it echoed infinitely in her hollow surroundings. Her body appeared much the same as it always had been, but as she examined her arms, they were completely normal. The strange crimson stripes had disappeared. She turned her right arm over so she could see her wrist; the strange eight-pointed mark had vanished as well. She grinned with delight. Although she was unable to see for herself, her eyes had also returned to their usual shade of dark brown.

After her momentary elation at seeing her returned-to-normal body, she looked up again, and the grin faded from her face. She examined the tall, hooded figure standing a small distance before her. Her eyes narrowed, and her brow furrowed slightly. A small, concerned pout spread across her lips.

"Hello?" she ventured tenuously, listening as her voice echoed infinitely in the void. "Where am I?"

There was a slight pause before the figure responded. Its voice was highly-pitched, slightly crackly, and sounded otherworldly…

"The Gate," it replied simply. It did not move at all.

Although she could see nothing beneath the figure's hood, she knew that it, whatever it was, was staring directly at her.

"Who are you?" she pressed.

There was another, longer pause.

"The Gatekeeper," the figure finally replied. Then, it spoke no more.

She raised an eyebrow high. That hadn't exactly been a profitable line of questioning. She thought for a moment before opening her mouth to speak again, but just before she could, her words fell silent in her throat; the dancing, swirling image beyond the gate swam into complete clarity before her eyes. She could see a pale-skinned man with lank, black hair, dressed in equally black robes, lying on his back on the grass of a forest clearing.

Her eyes widened terribly and her pupils constricted in horror. If this new body of hers had a heart, she would have sworn that it sent a terrifying jolt of adrenaline through her. Now she remembered. She remembered what had happened. Initially, she'd had no idea what she was doing in this strange place. Now, however, she remembered. She remembered it all. She had regained control of herself. She had attempted to kill as many of her assailants as she could. She remembered the horrific pain, and how her body felt as if it were tearing apart at the seams.

Then, she had attempted to split her soul, and bestow half of it upon Severus, who had fallen victim to the Dementor's kiss…

"Severus!" she shouted, and she attempted to spring forward toward the gate, but her feet felt as if they were glued in place. She could not lift them or move an inch. "Severus!" she shouted again, her right arm shooting out toward the gate before her. It was no use; she could not move at all.

She grimaced and gritted her teeth, baring them, staring with malice at the strange, hooded figure. Perhaps it had something to do with this, whatever it was.

"What's going on here?" she screamed, her voice shaking with the futile effort that her body was putting forth to move her.

"You cannot go back," the figure spoke, sounding utterly disinterested, and watching dispassionately as the girl struggled to move forward from where she stood.

"Why the hell not?" she shouted, still trying with all of her might to move her uncooperative legs forward. Her eyes were now locked on Severus' form. She had to reach him. She knew, somehow, that if she could just reach him, if she could just get through that gate, everything would be fine… everything would be alright… she just had to reach him… she just had to get back through the gate…

"You cannot go back," the figure spoke again, and its strange voice sounded more stern than it had previously.

Sarah faltered. She could not move an inch. She could not make any forward progress. She could not get any closer to the Gate, or to Severus… instantly, she felt weak, and her hands fell to her sides. Her knees were threatening to buckle under the weight of her body, which suddenly felt extremely heavy. Wherever she was, she was stuck here. Just as the Gatekeeper said, she couldn't go back…

"No, no," she whimpered. She grabbed her right knee with both hands in a futile attempt to get her leg to lift off of the yellowish, nondescript ground. When it wouldn't work, her arms fell limp to her sides.

Her eyes fell upon the Gatekeeper, who, for the first time, moved; its robed, sleeve-clad arm shot straight up, and with a great rumble, and the deafening scraping of stone on stone, the Gate's enormous doors began to inch slowly shut.

"No!" Sarah shouted with renewed fervor, her entire body trembling visibly with her efforts to move. The Gate was closing now. If it were to shut completely, she somehow knew that she would never be able to go back. She would be stuck here forever, wherever here was…

She roared in frustration. If her body had been real, she knew that by now, she surely would have been feeling certain bones cracking, and pulling out of their sockets… It seemed futile, but she had to try.

"STOP!"

She suddenly stopped trying to move when a clear, deep, powerful voice rang out all around her. The Gate's enormous doors scraped to an immediate halt, and the Gatekeeper's hooded head snapped in the direction of the voice while its arm fell to its side.

She craned her head to her right. A tall man dressed in sweeping robes of midnight blue stepped out of the void, materializing before her. He had a long, flowing silver beard and the hair to match it. Upon his long, crooked noise rested a pair of half-moon-shaped spectacles. Behind them was a pair of sparkling blue eyes.

"Stop, stop right there, my friend," the man said calmly, smiling in a good-humored sort of way as he approached the Gate, holding out one of his palms for emphasis.

Sarah's jaw dropped. She had never before seen him in body before. She had seen him only in his portrait which hung above Headmistress McGonagall's desk. He had an aura of immensely commanding presence about him that surely would have cowed anyone, Sarah thought, even the haughty Gatekeeper. When he approached her more closely, she stammered. She could not think of anything to say. She knew that his presence in this place should have heartened her, but it also filled her with dread… this man that she knew as Albus Dumbledore was most assuredly dead. If he were here, then that must mean…

"Am I dead?" Sarah asked meekly, her voice a mere whisper. She was now staring up into the kind, wizened face, which to her surprise, smiled back down upon her.

Dumbledore laughed amusedly.

"That is always everyone's first question, isn't it?" he said, laughing softly. "There are so many other, more profound questions one might ask in this place, and receive an answer to," he smiled.

When the concern did not fade from the girl's face, he chuckled again.

"I apologize," he said, "No, no I do not believe that you are dead, but you do need to rejoin your body."

Sarah's features rearranged themselves slightly, although she did not feel much relief at all.

"What is this place?" Sarah asked, looking around.

Dumbledore looked contemplative for a moment before replying.

"Hmm, it always seems to take a different shape for every individual, doesn't it?" he replied simply, examining their immediate surroundings.

Sarah stammered audibly. So far, Dumbledore didn't seem very good at answering her burning questions…

When he saw the girl's distress, he laughed again and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry," he said.

As soon as Dumbledore touched her, Sarah felt her entire body relax, like some enormous weight had been taken off of her. She lifted each of her feet from the ground in turn; she was no longer stuck. She was no longer immobilized. She straightened up.

"If I'm not dead…," Sarah began, but lost her train of thought when her eyes once again focused on the hazy, swirling image visible through the gate, of Severus lying on his back in that far-away Forbidden Forest clearing.

"I saw what happened," Dumbledore said solemnly. "You were very brave to attempt that."

"Did it work?" Sarah choked out, turning back to the old man, searching his piercing blue eyes desperately for an answer. They twinkled brightly as a broad smile spread across his face.

"Look for yourself," he replied, motioning back toward the Gate.

Sarah immediately looked back through the Gate. There, on the forest floor, Severus was stirring. He began coughing like a man who had very nearly drowned, gasping for air.

Elation shot through her and she almost jumped off of the ground in delight, but her newfound joy quickly faded when she remembered where she was, and why she must be in this place.

"What about me?" she asked, turning back to Dumbledore, whose expression became thoughtful.

"I cannot say for sure," he replied honestly, "As I have told your friend Harry on more than one occasion, these are realms of deep magic which are hitherto unknown and untested. However," he pressed on more loudly when the girl's expression became grave, "I can venture a guess."

Sarah nodded in eagerness.

"You acted quite wisely, actually," Dumbledore continued, "Your soul was in such an overwhelming state of power and instability that, had the state persisted, it surely would have been destroyed, most likely in unison with your entire physical being."

Sarah listened silently.

"You split your soul, however," Dumbledore said, "And in doing so, it seems you mitigated the damage. You then attempted to fuse half of it into Severus' being, and force the other half back into yourself. I do not believe that your body was destroyed. The sheer shock of such an action, however, probably caused you to wind up here. It is not every day that a witch has her soul split in half, you know. One body alone could not handle such a burden as yours, but perhaps two-,"

"I'm not dead, then?" Sarah asked quickly and hopefully, interrupting him.

"Your body remains," Dumbledore said, "There should be no reason why what I see before me – you, your soul – should be unable to return to it. Nor do I think you will ever need to have such a concern again, I'm afraid," he finished gravely, and he turned his own gaze toward the Gate.

"What do you mean?" Sarah asked.

Dumbledore turned back to her.

"You now have the most intimate bond of sharing a soul with this man," he said, motioning toward the Gate, "An instance such as this has never before been documented in the history of magic as we know it. I believe that, while he lives, you are also tethered to life, and vice versa."

"Does that mean that I-," Sarah began, but was interrupted when the Gatekeeper, who had thus far remained silent during their exchange, spoke up.

"Enough," the strange voice spoke up. It raised its arm and Sarah once again became immobilized.

With a wave of Dumbledore's arm, however, the spell lifted a second time.

"You know the rules," Dumbledore spoke with confidence, "You cannot keep this girl."

"You have no authority here," spoke the Gatekeeper. Its gaze was locked directly on Dumbledore. Whatever lay beneath that shadowy hood, Sarah knew she did not want to see.

"Run," Dumbledore whispered suddenly, just loud enough for Sarah to hear. He raised his arm again and thrust it directly toward the Gatekeeper.

Sarah did not know what was going on, nor did she care; she did not hesitate for a moment. She sprinted as fast as she could toward the Gate's great opening, beyond which lay the man she loved. As soon as she moved, its enormous doors began slowly scraping shut once again. Behind her there was a great racket from where Dumbledore and the Gatekeeper stood apart from one another, the infinitely loud sound of powerful magic crackling…

Her entire body… or was it even her body at all? Dumbledore had said something about her soul… her entire being was burning in strain with the effort she put forth, dashing toward the Gate as quickly as she could. Her legs feeling as if they were ablaze, she sprinted up the steps toward the enormous doors. She reached them just as they were about to close shut. There was only a slight amount of space to spare between them. Both of her hands shot out, grabbing each door, and she began pushing with all of her might.

To her complete and utter surprise, the doors screeched to a halt when she began trying to pry them apart. Every muscle was taut. She could feel the incredible force of the doors pushing into her body, trying to close…

"No!" she shouted, her teeth gritting and her eyes shut tight as she pushed against the doors of the Gate. "No!" More sounds of calamity and chaos issued from behind her, but she dared not turn about to look as Dumbledore faced off with the Gatekeeper. She knew that her only focus must be to get beyond the Gate's doors.

She faltered, her entire body shaking violently against the might of the stone doors. She fought with all of her might, struggling to keep them open, even the tiniest bit; her eyelids sprang open, and once again, she caught a glimpse of what lay beyond the gate…

There was Severus, lying prone on the floor of the Forbidden Forest clearing, coughing and stirring, alive, and aware… she knew that she had to get back to him.

"No!" she shouted again, with every ounce of conviction in her being; she dug her feet into the ground and pushed as hard as she could, trying to force the doors to remain open.
"No!" she bellowed. Although she did not notice, her voice echoed powerfully all around her. Tears began to well up hotly in her eyes as she fought. "No! Send me back! I love him!"

She thought only of Severus as she made one final push with the last of her strength, with every fiber of her being…

"SEND… ME… BACK!"

There was another white-hot flash of light, and she once again felt the sensation of becoming disembodied… she could see and hear no more… she knew nothing.

When Harry came around, the world about him was deathly silent. He was lying on his back, his glasses askew, and his chest throbbing painfully from his fresh wounds courtesy of Fenrir Greyback. With one quick glance to his right, he could see Ron, Hermione, and Ginny in a similar state of disarray. They were all lying in varying states of dishevelment next to the large, fallen log, behind which they had taken shelter during Sarah's terrifying display of power.

Harry gasped audibly, and with a jolt, he shot upright. He realized what must have just happened. Hermione had explained it to all of them while it had been happening. Sarah had just attempted to split her soul. A dark sense of dread filled his heart, and Harry felt paralyzed for several seconds. He knew all too well how souls could be split to inhabit inanimate objects in order to preserve their master, but splitting a soul in order to preserve the life of someone beloved? Attempting to split a soul and endow another living human being with the spark of life? As far as Harry knew, something such as that had never been attempted before. He could not imagine how Sarah could have come to have the knowledge of how to split her soul, or how such an act could possibly be successful.

When feeling returned to his extremities, he leapt to his feet.

The clearing before him was silent and still. Some distance away from him, he could see Snape lying on his back, stirring slightly. A few yards away from Snape lay Sarah. She was lying on her stomach. She was completely still. Further away from their forms lay the bodies of two men who were now unrecognizable, though Harry knew that they must have once belonged to Vincent, the vampire, and to Yaxley. Several yards away lay the sliced body of Runcorn.

Harry sprang forward, leaping across the fallen log and running as quickly as he could to the spot where Snape was. From behind him, the crunching of fallen twigs and branches let him know that Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were also springing into action.

When Harry reached Snape, he fell to his knees, and his hand shot fort to his neck in order to find the man's pulse; he recoiled, however, when his hand was batted forcefully away by the man who lay before him. Snape coughed and sputtered as if he had almost drowned, all the while forcing Harry, who was looming above him, away. Behind Harry, muffled footsteps made themselves apparent as Ron, Hermione, and Ginny appeared around him, peering down at Snape's form.

"Is he—is he-," Hermione stuttered, but Snape silenced her.

"I'm not dead, you silly girl," he spat, sitting up with extreme effort. For some reason unbeknownst to him, his entire body felt weak and drained. He had almost no strength whatsoever left in his muscles. This did not surprise him, however, as he had just endured a fierce battle with a magically adept vampire.

When he reached a sitting position, he nearly doubled over. His head was throbbing in a pain so intense that he had never felt anything akin to it before. Somewhere inside his chest, he could feel something stirring. It felt odd, as if there were a small creature inside it struggling to escape because it did not belong there. Without noticing what he was doing, he began massaging his chest with his right hand. To the untrained eye, it might have appeared as if he were experiencing chest pain.

When he was able to survey the carnage which lay before him—the mutilated bodies of Vincent, Yaxley, and Runcorn—he rounded suddenly on the boy kneeling next to him. His deep, black eyes widened in horror. He remembered something, vaguely… he remembered the freezing embrace of a Dementor, its cold, scabby hand gripping his neck in its icy tendrils, tilting his head upward. From that point on, he remembered nothing.

"What happened?" Snape demanded. Thus far, he had not glanced to his left, where Sarah's lifeless body lay.

Without speaking, Harry's bright green eyes made a path over to the girl. Snape's gaze immediately shot over in that direction, beholding her for the first time. She was lying face-down in the grass. The clothing she wore was nearly torn to shreds. She was not moving.

Snape's first instinct was to spring to his feet and rush over to her, but he soon found that he could not stand up under his own power. He struggled for several seconds before he felt Harry's strong grip on his right shoulder, and the Weasley boy's grip on his left; with a great heave, they righted him onto his feet and helped him make his way over to the place where Sarah lay. Hermione and Ginny followed sheepishly behind them, deeply afraid of what they might see.

Snape, standing only with the support of Ron and Harry, looked down upon Sarah in silent horror. Several moments passed before anyone dared speak.

"What happened?" Snape asked, his normally deep, commanding voice sounding oddly hollow and shaky. "To both of us?"

The strange new presence in his chest continued to stir violently. He almost felt as if he were going to be sick to his stomach to relieve himself of the strange sensation.

Both Ron and Harry found it uncomfortably disconcerting. They shifted nervously under his weight, eyeing Sarah themselves. They had no idea what had become of her after the great white flash had occurred.

Luckily, Hermione was the bravest among them. She stepped around them and came to kneel on the other side of Sarah's body. She looked down upon her sadly.

"A Dementor got you," Hermione whispered, her own voice extremely shaky. "It got you. When Sarah saw, she lost control, she—she-,"

Hermione sobbed into her sleeve and sniffed loudly. No one else dared speak. Snape, enraptured, was hanging on her every word, and did not dare to look at Sarah's body again.

Hermione attempted to regain her composure and went on speaking.

"She lost control," she continued. "She attacked everyone. Then she—she-," Hermione hesitated again, struggling to find the words to describe what she had seen. Harry, Ron, and Ginny were all looking at her, straining to fight back the tears that were forming in their eyes. Thanks to her, they all knew what had happened, but none of them dared speak it. "She tried to split her soul," Hermione finished, looking up into Snape's stricken face, the tears now streaming liberally down her cheeks.

Ron jerked involuntarily, consumed with the urge to go and comfort her, but he did not move. Along with Harry, he was supporting Snape's weight.

"She—what-?" Snape asked, his voice empty. His normally pale features had already drained of whatever color they had left. He looked as white as a ghost. Without warning, he shrugged himself out of the support of Potter and the Weasley boy. Unable to support himself under his own power, he fell to his knees beside the girl's limp form. As he drew closer to her body, the stirring of the strange presence within his chest intensified tenfold, and he knew the Granger girl's words very well might be true. It felt as if the new soul fragment within him was swirling eagerly as it came closer to its original body, probably eager to rejoin it once more…

"No," Snape said feebly, his arms outstretched as he came to embrace her body. He was shaking.

Hermione's face was now buried in her hands, and she was sobbing freely; Ginny was wiping her eyes on her sleeve, and both Ron and Harry were staring determinedly up at the darkened sky above them, their own eyes obviously filled with tears.

Suddenly Ron snapped to attention once again. None of them protested, or so much as looked at him, when he suddenly ran toward the edge of the clearing.

"No," Snape said again. He was trying with all of his might to not let his body shake in agony, but it was no use. He had no strength left. He was shaking like a feeble old man. Hermione and Ginny both looked away in utter sadness when thick tears began to stream down his own cheeks.

Harry, however, could not look away. The sight of Snape's tears only caused his own to intensify. Here was a man who he had once thought to be an inhuman monster, a cold-blooded murderer with a heart of stone; yet here he knelt, weeping openly over the lifeless body of the young girl whom he had grown to love.

Snape gritted his teeth in desperation. There must be something he could do for her. There had to be something. Anything. Perhaps if he saw the extent of her injuries, an idea would come to him. Tenderly, gingerly, using all of the strength he had left in his body, he turned Sarah over onto her back. He let her fall limply onto the grass once again when Harry, Hermione, and Ginny all gasped at what they saw.

When she had lost control, they had seen her body ablaze, the strange markings on her arms, and the newly formed ones on her face, glowing quite brightly, along with the strange brand on her wrist. Now, however, she appeared quite normal. The skin on her face and forearms were smooth and unmarred, bearing no traces of the strange, glowing stripes. Snape grasped her right arm and brought her wrist under his eyes; the brand had vanished. It was simply gone. Gently, he set her arm to rest beside her body.

Then, Ginny dared ask the question that was present at the forefront of all of their minds…

"Is she— is she alive?" she asked shakily. Her question was followed by a large gulp and a loud sob.

Snape stared down at the girl's limp body. He had been dreading this moment. He had not yet checked for a pulse, or checked to see if she was breathing. He could wait no longer. Whatever the answer was, he had to know.

Slowly, his right hand reached out for the girl's neck…

Meanwhile, on the very edge of the clearing, Pius Thicknesse had regained consciousness. When he opened his eyes, he was astounded at the fact that he was still alive. He had never seen such raw power. The last thing he remembered feeling was a blazingly hot blast which seared his back, and a deafening bang. Now, however, everything around him was silent. He was lying on his stomach. He dared not make any sudden movements or he knew he would surely be spotted. He knew the fight must be over, or else he would be hearing the continued chaos. The fight must have ended one way or another. Now, his primary goal must be to escape.

His eyes widened greedily when they came to rest on his wand. It had been disarmed from him, and was now lying only mere yards away. His mouth twisted into a wicked grin, and he began slowly belly-crawling his way toward it, his right hand outstretched.

"Gaaack!" he gulped in pain when a foot came stomping down upon his outstretched wrist, crushing it into the dirt. When he looked up, there was a tall, red-haired man staring down at him, a grimace of hatred painted across his face. His wand was pointed directly between his eyes.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you, mate," the red-haired man growled lowly.

Thicknesse did not dare to move again.

Snape's fingertips reached Sarah's neck and pressed down firmly. His expression was inscrutable as he searched for a pulse. Several seconds passed, and his own heart nearly stopped in the process. He did not let up the pressure.

When nothing happened, Hermione began to sob again. Harry looked directly upward, and he felt Ginny latch onto his arm.

Snape, however, would not give up. He continued to stare down into the girl's face intently, his fingers pressing firmly into her neck, searching for a trace of life.

Please, please, please, he found himself chanting within his head. Please, please, please….

Aside from the strange new sensation stirring inside his chest, he also felt his heart wrenching in agony when no pulse presented itself to his fingertips. He shut his eyes tight when he felt hot, shameful tears welling up within them once again.

Please, I'll give anything…

He found himself praying wildly to whatever spirit or deity would listen.

Please, let her live…

He did not let up the pressure on her neck, even though every moment that passed dampened his hopes infinitely. He knew at that moment that he would gladly give his heart, his soul, his very being, to bring this girl back to life again, just as she had given her own soul for him…

Suddenly, without warning, Sarah's entire body spasmed; all eyes were once again on her. Snape, whose fingers were still pressed firmly into her neck, leaned forward even closer.

Then, faintly, beneath the sensitive nerves of his fingertips, he felt the girl's heart stir softly, pumping a small amount of blood which he felt through the artery in her neck. At the same time, she also gave a small, visible intake of breath.

"She lives!" Snape exclaimed, though the tears did not stop flowing from his eyes at the miracle.

Hermione had stopped sobbing and stared at Sarah in disbelief, and Ginny's grip on Harry's arm had slackened. Harry, however, had no time to rejoice in the news when he saw Pius Thicknesse marching toward him. He sprang into readiness, his wand in his hand, pointing directly at the man's chest. It took him several moments to relax when he saw that Thicknesse's hands were raised skyward in a pose of surrender, and that he was not holding a wand. Ron was walking directly behind him, his wand pointed squarely into the man's back.

"Good," Harry spat, lowering his wand slightly, but keeping it pointed at Thicknesse all the same. "We'll need someone to testify to the Wizengamot about what happened."

Thicknesse did not speak.

"Quickly," Snape said, concerned only for the girl's well-being. "We must get her back to the castle."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all glanced at one another. Sarah was unconscious, and Snape could not yet walk under his own power. It would take more muscle than all of them currently possessed to transport them all safely back to the castle, all the while keeping Thicknesse under guarded escort.

"Ginny," Ron spoke up, his voice forceful, taking charge, "Come with me. Wand out. We are going to take this scumbag to the dungeons."

Nodding vigorously, his little sister jumped to her feet and, despite her injuries, whipped out her wand and trained it on Thicknesse, taking point beside him.

"Hermione," Ron continued, "You stay here with Sarah and Snape. We don't know what else might be lurking in this place. All right?"

Without speaking, Hermione nodded to her boyfriend and took out her own wand once again. She remained sitting beside Sarah and Snape, but made it clear that she was now on sentry duty.

"Harry," Ron said finally, turning to his best mate, and looking him in the eye sincerely. "You run for help. It's going to take a few more hands to get these two back to the castle."

Harry nodded once and lit his wand. Without delay, he turned toward the edge of the clearing from which they had emerged earlier and dashed into the deep woods with all the speed he could muster. The claw marks on his chest throbbed with every step, but he did not care. If Sarah was indeed alive, he was filled with the overwhelming desire to get her safely back into the confines of the castle. If he could just do that, he somehow felt that she would be alright.

His lungs burned. He ran faster and harder than he had ever run in his life.

Some time later, when he finally emerged from the forest, he doubled over briefly. After a few quick pants, he resumed his run, but soon slowed to a trot and then stopped completely. The centaur Firenze, as if waiting for Harry's emergence from the trees, was standing on the castle's snowy lawn.

"Firenze," Harry panted, his breath coming out in great puffs of steam against the cold night air, "I need your help." Harry continued to pant, looking up into the centaur's clear, blue eyes which seemed to glow slightly in the starlight.

The centaur smiled faintly.

"I know," he said simply, his tone somewhat casual. He did not seem concerned at all. He then glanced skyward. Harry could not help but direct his own gaze upward as well. The night, it seemed, had become incredibly bright and clear. Harry thought that he had never seen so many stars in his life.

"Well?" the centaur asked, looking back down at the boy before him.

Harry, momentarily distracted by the sheer beauty of the night sky, snapped back into reality. Somewhere, deep in the forest, Hermione was waiting with Sarah and Snape. Ginny and Ron would be making their way toward the castle this very moment, keeping Pius Thicknesse under armed escort.

"It worked?" the centaur asked, gazing down at Harry with interest.

Harry, momentarily stymied, did not immediately respond. He only gazed up at the centaur, panting heavily.

"What?" Harry spat out confusedly.

The centaur gave another faint smile and then turned his gaze skyward once more.

"The stars tell me many things," he began. "A few moons ago, I witnessed two brightly-shining stars dancing closely together. After some time, however, one of the stars was suddenly extinguished. The other star, in its lament, grew quite large, and to my surprise, rent itself in twain. It replaced its companion with half of itself. I had never before seen a star behave in such a way." He stopped speaking and pointed up. "There," Firenze said, "Happily together once more."

Harry craned his neck in an effort to see what the centaur was speaking about, but to his untrained eyes, the millions of glittering stars were indistinguishable from one another.

Harry then blinked, trying to make sense of the centaur's tale. He gasped suddenly as awareness dawned on him.

"I'm not sure," Harry said, straightening up. He was finally starting to catch his breath. "Sarah hasn't woken up yet. Snape seems fine."

"Well," Firenze said, looking back down at the green-eyed boy before him. "Let us go fetch her then, shall we?"

Several hours later, the hospital wing was extremely dark. It was that strange, early-morning quiet time in between the dark of night and the first light of the dawn. Pius Thicknesse had already been thoroughly bound and chained, and locked inside the school's ancient dungeon. All parties had agreed, however, not to contact the authorities until Sarah could be moved back into the safety of the Room of Requirement.

The hospital wing, by usual standards, was quite full. Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Ron, all having suffered some scuffs or another, had each been forced into a separate bed by an unbelievably irate Madam Pomfrey. Hermione, Ginny, and Ron were still at rest, but Harry, of course, had long ago left his, much to Madam Pomfrey's chagrin, and had come to sit in a chair beside the bed where Sarah lay. His chest had already been thoroughly dabbed with the foul-smelling ointment. It had stung terribly. He had also dragged a second chair over to Sarah's bedside, but it currently sat empty.

Snape, who had also initially been forced into a bed by Madam Pomfrey, was pacing back and forth restlessly at the foot of Sarah's bed. He had very quickly regained his strength. Madam Pomfrey had given into his assertions that he was just fine following several cursory examinations in which she had indeed failed to find anything outwardly wrong with him. After consenting to imbibe a pepper-up potion as well as a blood replenishing potion (Madam Pomfrey, too, it seemed, was under the impression that Snape looked abnormally pale), he had begun his pacing.

Harry did not speak. He sat quietly and enjoyed the newfound silence. Just a short while ago, the hospital wing had been completely full of commotion. Madam Pomfrey had been positively irate when Snape demanded that all of their blood be tested for Porphyric Hemophilia. Snape did not deign to answer her many loud inquiries, or her threats to summon the headmistress. Snape helped the witch swiftly prepare the potion required for the test. When all of their blood had tested negative, including a sample taken from the unconscious Sarah, Madam Pomfrey had disappeared into her private quarters in a huff.

Now, Harry could not help but notice the way Snape was nervously clutching at his chest as he paced back and forth in front of Sarah's bed.

Snape no longer noticed that he was performing this manic activity. The fact that he was pacing back and forth rapidly and clutching at his chest like a man suffering from cardiac arrest was completely unknown to him. Aside from the regular glance toward the unconscious girl, he knew nothing outside of his own racing thoughts, and this odd new feeling inside him.

Could it really be true? he asked himself, clutching at his chest once more. Inside it, somewhere near his heart, there was a presence, the sensation of something alien yet familiar, fluttering frantically inside him like a caged bird. Did Granger really know what she saw? Could the girl have split her soul? He barely noticed the way in which the fluttering presence would stir even more wildly each time he glanced at the girl lying unconscious in her bed. Could it be? If it were, then it would mean that the new presence residing within him, endowing him with the very spark of life, was no longer his own soul, but half of Sarah's…

Snape didn't even pretend to be able to fathom the consequences of such a reality.

Even so, he had no patience with which to ponder it. Now, he was only concerned with the question that was weighing heavily on all of them. Sarah was alive; but would she awaken?

He also thought of his Patronus, and how it had changed. He did not have to imagine why.

Snape stopped in his pacing abruptly when he heard faint whispering. Up until now, the hospital wing had been mostly silent. As far as he knew, Granger and the Weasley children were currently asleep from exhaustion. It wouldn't have surprised him much if Madam Pomfrey had forced a sleeping draught down their protesting throats, either. Potter, despite his injuries and weariness, was steadfastly keeping vigil next to the girl's bedside. When Snape's eyes fell upon him, he saw that Harry had been the one who spoke. He was leaning in close to the girl, whispering softly. Snape strode over immediately. Harry looked up, alarmed.

"What are you doing, Potter?" Snape asked at a whisper.

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry replied, trying his best to sound sincerely apologetic. Perhaps Snape thought that he had been interrupting Sarah's rest. The last thing he wanted to do at the moment was to strike up a row with this man. "I was talking to her. I thought that -," he paused briefly, searching for the right words. "I just thought that if she heard a familiar voice… it might help her find her way back."

Snape did not reply. He only looked down at Sarah's unconscious form sadly.

"Now sit down," Harry whispered, "You're making me nervous with all that pacing and twitching. It's not going to help anything."

Snape straightened up momentarily, slightly affronted, but quickly gave a resigned sigh. He was normally not one for taking orders from Potter, but he had to admit that the boy was right. He took a seat in the second chair next to the girl's bedside. Snape could not help himself as he began to wring his hands together.

Several moments of silence passed before either of them spoke again.

"Maybe you should try it, sir," Harry suggested.

"Try what?"

"Talking to her. Maybe if she hears you, she'll come back."

Snape regarded Harry, his expression almost unreadable. He then took a deep breath. At this point, it was worth trying anything. All he wanted was for the girl to wake up again.

"Very well," Snape whispered back. He stood, sliding his chair even closer to the bed.

Then, he leaned in close to her. The slight feeling of awkwardness that he felt about talking to the girl in such a way while being observed by Potter quickly faded when he took in the girl's sweet scent, and realized that he would be lost if he were never able to feel her touch again, or see her smile, or hear her laugh. He sighed. As far as he was concerned, he was alone with her.

"I don't know if you can hear me, Sarah," he began, his voice slightly louder than a whisper but still quiet enough not to disturb Ron, Hermione or Ginny. Taking another deep breath, he spoke again. "Please wake up. I love you, I -," he hesitated slightly before voicing his revelation for the first time, "I need you."

Full of hope, he remained close to her for a few minutes, but when she did not stir, he straightened up again in his chair. When he remembered that he was seated closely next to Potter, he felt suddenly vulnerable. It was an extremely uncomfortable feeling when mixed together with the strange fluttering presence inside his chest.

Snape gave another sigh, relaxing in his chair. His eyes were glued on the girl's unconscious form. Lazily, his gaze drifted to her left hand lying limp beside her body. There, the small silvery snake was visible, curled comfortably around her ring finger, its shining emerald eyes glinting dully in the dim light of the hospital wing. Without thinking, he reached out and grasped her hand with his own, as if to hold it tightly.

What happened next nearly caused Harry to jump out of his chair.

Snape suddenly felt an intense jolt when he joined hands with Sarah. He straightened up violently in his chair, his entire body rigid. The strange presence in his chest thrummed intensely, sending waves of what felt like mild electrical energy pulsing through his body. With much effort, he unclasped his hand from the girl's, trembling slightly as he fell back in his chair, crossing his arms tightly over his chest in a vain attempt to calm the fluttering soul and keep it from bursting out of him.

An instant later, Sarah's relaxed body became rigid as well. Her back arched up off of her bed. Snape, his extreme discomfort forgotten, sprang to his feet, and Harry could not help but do the same. When her body relaxed once more, she stirred slightly and gave a soft whimper.

"Sarah?" Snape asked softly, full of fear. She was awake now, but there was no guarantee that Dumbledore's prediction had not come to pass. There was no guarantee that her mind had not been broken…

"Severus?" the girl asked in return, but she did not open her eyes.

Snape then breathed perhaps the largest sigh of relief that he had ever before breathed in his life; he could not help himself when he leaned over the girl's bed in order to embrace her tightly. When they were close, he could once again feel the fluttering within his chest intensify. He hid his face in the dip of her neck in order to kiss it, but mostly in order to hide his tears from Potter. When he straightened up again, be swiftly wiped his eyes across his robe's sleeve. Harry watched the display, smiling.

"I saw it," Sarah whispered meekly.

Snape looked down at her, expecting to see her looking up at him, smiling. Instead, she had not yet opened her eyes.

"Saw what?" Snape asked. When the girl did not reply, he looked to Harry, who was staring down at Sarah. The boy looked sincerely contemplative.

Harry had a good idea of what Sarah might be talking about. He had spent a short amount of time there himself, after all. That fact was something that had never really discussed with anyone at length, or dared to think much about. He knew very well where he had been.

"What did it look like for you?" Harry asked softly. If she had indeed been there, she would understand his meaning.

Snape looked between them, perplexed.

"A gate," Sarah whispered. "It was a gate."

Harry nodded slowly and understandingly. Perhaps, at first, it presented itself to everyone differently. He did not trouble himself with pondering it any further. He would not even try to understand or unravel the mysteries of the next world.

"I saw him," Sarah spoke up again, and her voice sounded louder and more heartened, though her eyes remained closed. A small smile spread across her lips. "I saw Dumbledore."

"Did you?" Harry asked, unable to stifle a delighted snort of laughter. Is there anything that man can't do, even in death? Harry thought jovially to himself.

He then glanced over to Snape, who was looking thoroughly confused. Wordlessly, Harry attempted to convey to him that it would be best not to press the issue at the moment. Harry was quite confident that Sarah knew roughly where she had been. In time, no doubt, she would share her secret with him.

Snape gave a tiny nod, and then looked back to the girl. She took a very deep, slow breath.

"So tired," she whispered.

"Then sleep," Snape told her, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. "Just promise me that you will wake up again."

The girl gave another smile.

"I promise," she breathed, and before she could take in another breath, she was asleep.

The next day brought a flurry of activity to the castle. After Sarah, with Madam Pomfrey's approval, was moved back into the safety of her room, Harry immediately sent an emergency owl straight to Kingsley Shacklebolt. It was difficult to measure just how thoroughly shocked the Minister was to be led down into the dungeons of Hogwarts by Harry Potter, only to find his Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement imprisoned there. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny (also with Pomfrey's approval), had accompanied Harry, and all of them corroborated the same story: Thicknesse along with five wanted criminals, a few of whom were supposed to have been dead or in Azkaban, had been plotting a Ministerial assassination and overthrow for months.

Harry did not have much choice but to confess that he, along with Sarah, had been responsible for breaking into the Ministry and Gringotts, as well as confessing Sarah's attack on the Ministry. Kingsley was initially conflicted about the appropriate action to take; he was, after all, Minister for Magic, and it was his sworn duty to uphold the laws. At Harry's behest, however, he consented to be led up to the Headmaster's tower where, after a long conversation with a certain Headmaster's portrait, he agreed to make it public that Thicknesse and his cohorts had been responsible for the infractions. This was, as Harry realized, the truth, of a sort. Thicknesse had ultimately been responsible for the plotting that caused them to take such actions in the first place.

Harry also could not stop himself from asking Kingsley if he had known anything about the role that the Ministry had played in Sarah's past. Kingsley assured him that he hadn't the faintest idea before that moment. If other Ministers had known of it, it must have been a tightly-kept secret suitable for the Department of Mysteries. That was, after all, where a certain Death Eater had found out about it.

Following this, Thicknesse was immediately placed in the Ministry's custody and was escorted from the premises.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were all standing in the castle's entrance hall as the Minister and his entourage, as well as a well-shackled Thicknesse, left. Harry felt a great wave of relief wash over him when they disappeared from sight down the castle's snowy lawns.

"Do you reckon Madam Pomfrey will hunt us down if we don't go back?" Ron asked loudly. His voice echoed off the bare stone walls.

Ginny snorted.

"Shh, you're going to make it really easy for her to find us," she said.

Harry could not help but crack a smile. All of them began to laugh; it was the same sort of mirthful laughter that frequently infected them at seemingly random moments following Voldemort's downfall. The immense feeling of euphoria that followed danger's climactic end was always somewhat similar to a drug.

"Come on," Harry said at last, a smile still playing on his face, and struggling to stifle his laughter, "Let's go back to the common room."

"What about Sarah?" Hermione asked.

"We'll go see her later," Harry replied as they all began to slowly make their way in the direction of the common room. "I reckon she needs some time alone with Snape."

None of them spoke again as they made their way up through the castle's corridors. Each of them was silently pondering the immense ramifications and consequences that sharing a soul could mean for Sarah and Snape. They both appeared to be just fine, however, and this was the thought that comforted them as they neared the Gryffindor common room, and the warm, welcoming fire that awaited them there.

It was past midday, and Sarah was still asleep. Snape was yet again seated at her bedside, but in the much more comfortable atmosphere of the girl's own room. He watched over her tirelessly. As each hour passed, however, he was becoming more and more concerned that something was wrong; the girl had promised him that she would wake up again, but she had already been asleep for an inordinate amount of time. With effort, he managed to push these thoughts out of his head. Perhaps splitting one's soul was a momentously exhausting effort.

As he relaxed in the comfortable chair he had dragged to her bedside, he was still absently groping at his chest. The thing inside it, however, seemed to be calming down, as if it were growing more and more comfortable there. Thankfully, he did not have to wait much longer before the girl finally began to awaken.

When Sarah's eyes opened, Snape could not help the wide smile which spread across his lips when he saw that they were brown.

"Good morning," he told her, drinking her in.

With a yawn, Sarah brought herself to sit up in bed. She was blinking rapidly and began to rub her eyes. When she looked around at Snape and realized that she was in her own room, she looked somewhat perplexed, as if she could not believe it. As far as she could tell, there was no pain in her body. She seemed, dare she think it, just fine.

"I'm alive, then?" she asked Snape, who was still grinning quite broadly as he gazed into her deep, brown eyes, "I'm alright?"

"Better than alright, I believe," Snape replied, his grin transforming into more of a pleased smirk, "Take a look at yourself," he finished, eyeing her over.

Sarah continued to look perplexed for a moment, unsure of what Snape meant. Then, she followed his eyes down to her arms.

Her eyes widened suddenly. The red streaks had vanished. Turning her right arm over to expose her wrist, she saw that the strange mark had vanished as well. She quickly looked back up at Snape, her expression a mixture of thrill, surprise, and elation.

"My eyes," she said hurriedly, and she looked about ready to leap out of bed and dash over to her bathroom mirror, "What color are they?"

"Brown," Snape replied, and he could not help himself as his grin spread again, "And no, I did not apply a charm to them."

Sarah's face instantly became alight with a huge smile. Snape's grin transformed into a satisfied smirk again as he looked back at her. He looked confused, however, when the girl's expression of delight suddenly melted away.

"Severus," the girl said suddenly, and her voice sounded slightly hollow. She looked anguished, and terrified, "I'm afraid I might have done something terrible."

Snape looked back at her, tilting his head slightly as he attempted to understand what she might mean. After a moment, he spoke.

"No," he said sternly, and his gaze became hard and serious, "Do not feel guilt over those men. They were evil and deserved the fate which you gave them." Then, to his surprise, the girl shook her head back and forth rapidly.

"No, it's not that," she said, still looking terrified. She was afraid for many reasons. What if what Dumbledore had told her was indeed true? How would Severus react upon learning the truth? With haste, she threw her bedclothes off of herself and leapt to her feet, causing Snape to stand up along with her.

"We need to talk to Dumbledore," she said quickly, and rushed toward the door. After she flung it open, she began making her way to the Headmaster's tower at an outright run.

Snape trailed after her as quickly as he could, his black robes billowing so characteristically around him.

When Sarah reached the corridor that lead to the Headmaster's tower, she was surprised to find that the gargoyle, who normally guarded the door, was standing aside.

"They're expecting you," the creature grumbled, obviously quite displeased that it had been instructed to allow people to pass without providing the password.

Sarah, with Snape at her heels, rushed up the spiral staircase and did not bother knocking on Professor McGonagall's door. When both of them burst into the office, they found Professor McGonagall seated at her desk, looking in their direction expectantly. The portrait of the man with whom Sarah wished to speak was directly above her, smiling down at them.

"Well, come in, then," Professor McGonagall told them. She was looking slightly disheveled and harassed. Earlier in the day, Harry had failed to warm her of the Minister's emergency visit. While Kingsley had chatted with Dumbledore's portrait, Harry was forced to fill her in on all of the events that had transpired the previous night.

At McGonagall's behest, Sarah and Snape slowly made their way into the office, coming to stand before the huge desk, their necks craned upward.

"I know why you have come," Dumbledore announced as he gazed down at the girl, his half-moon spectacles perched halfway down his long, crooked nose.

"Well?" Sarah asked, still looking terrified. Her voice was shaking audibly. "Is it true, what I've done? Is it true, what you told me?"

Dumbledore nodded solemnly.

"It is true, just as surely as I see Severus standing before me," Dumbledore said, eyeing the tall, dark man with his piercing gaze, "The only possible explanation for which is that you split your soul in half, and successfully imparted half of it to him. You successfully fused your soul into his very being. I was overjoyed to learn that you found your way back to your body, by the way," he twinkled, but his smile faded when he saw how stricken the girl looked.

Snape looked stricken as well upon learning that it was indeed true. The reason that he still held the spark of life was due to half of Sarah's soul residing within him.

Sarah looked as if she were about to be sick. After all, from what Harry had told her, she remembered well the horrific damage that soul-splitting had inflicted upon Tom Riddle, and the terrifying consequences that such an act held.

"I've done it, then," she whimpered. Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes. She did not dare look at Snape, for fear of his reaction. "I've irrevocably damaged both of us."

"I do not believe that to be true," Dumbledore cautioned her. He was wearing a faint smile. He knew exactly what the girl must have been thinking.

"But I've—I've-," she stammered, having a difficult time actually bringing herself to say it, "I created a Horcrux, and it's-," she fell silent, terrified to acknowledge the truth.

Dumbledore chuckled. Both Sarah and Snape looked upward instantly. Snape's hands were balled into fists. He no doubt found the man's nonchalant reaction to their situation infuriating.

"In a manner of speaking, yes, but also, no," Dumbledore said.

Sarah and Snape remained silent, waiting for the old man to explain himself.

"You forget what a Horcrux is, my dear girl, and what a Horcrux means," Dumbledore began. "A Horcrux is created purely out of greed and selfishness by someone who is willing to end the lives of others in order to insure the extension of their own. It is something born of evil, and no good can come of it. Performing such a heinous action, such a sin against the order of nature, corrupts the body as well as the soul. You, however, performed no such action."

"But, those men," Sarah interjected, blinking back tears and looking away from Dumbledore, "I-, I-,"

"You did not kill in cold blood. Killing, in either instance, is not something to be taken lightly, and it certainly leaves a mark upon a person either way. There is, however, an important difference," Dumbledore said.

Sarah looked back up at him.

"Your actions were born of love," he said, "You acted to protect your friends, who were in mortal peril. When you saw the man you love struck down, you acted for him, and him alone. Correct me if I am wrong, but at the exact moment that you split your soul and attempted to restore his life to him, you no longer cared about whether or not your own continued."

Sarah remained silent, and a few tears streamed down her cheeks. It was true. All she had wanted at that moment was to bring Severus back, even if she lost herself in the process. She briefly glanced at Snape in an effort to wordlessly communicate that this was indeed the truth. In response, he moved closer to her and took her hand in his own.

As he did, he felt the presence inside him stir happily, filling him with a strange, comforting warmth. Little did he know that the girl felt the exact sensation. Both of them were momentarily distracted when Professor McGonagall, still seated at her desk, gave a sniff and a soft sob. She was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

"You did not create a Horcrux, Sarah," Dumbledore continued, "You created an unbreakable bond of love."

"We can each live like this?" Snape asked, "With only half a soul?"

Dumbledore chuckled again.

"You don't have half a soul," the old man said, smiling, "You have a whole one. You just happen to share it with this girl."

Snape's eyes narrowed slightly, and he smirked. Dumbledore sure did have a knack of never completely answering his questions. As he squeezed the girl's hand tightly in his own, however, he had the unshakeable feeling, somewhere deep inside him, that everything was indeed going to be alright.

"But what about the other thing you told me," Sarah pressed, "Is it true that we-, we can't-,"

Dumbledore's expression of joviality faded slightly as he gave another solemn nod. This particular consequence of their situation was, after all, a serious one.

"That is, I believe, true," he affirmed. "One of the consequences of your actions is that, while one of you is alive, the other cannot die. You will recall a similar situation in recent history with your good friend Mr. Potter. This time, however, it seems to be more of a blessing than a curse."

Both Sarah and Snape remained silent for several moments, letting the gravity of the truth sink in. Standing there together, hand-in-hand, they felt no fear.

"And the other consequences, Dumbledore?" Snape asked after the silence.

"Of that, Severus, I do not know," Dumbledore replied honestly. His tone was deep, but the bright smile had returned to his face as he regarded them both together. His bright blue eyes sparkled. "There is no precedent for this in the known history of magic," he said, "The two of you will just have to explore the consequences together."

When Dumbledore had finished speaking, Sarah and Snape turned to one another. Snape took her other hand, clasping both of them in his own. His deep, black eyes were fixed on her brown ones. He doubted that he would ever be able to look at her enough. He might, in fact, be relieved to have an eternity in which to do so. The girl smiled back up at him.

"I think we can handle that journey, after what we have just been through," Snape said, and for what must have been the umpteenth time that day, he could not help but grin.

THE END