Twenty-Three

The plan was simple enough: Celeste would return to her home, and Snape would then contact Davies to tell him that the girl they sought had come back to Manchester. And when the Death Eater showed up on the scene, Snape would hit him with the Killing Curse, administer the Draught to Celeste, and deliver her to Voldemort, sadly informing the Dark Lord that their supposed "Muggle" had powers of self-defense no one had suspected, and that she and Davies had died simultaneously. Very neat.

Of course, as with most plans, there were probably a hundred things that could go wrong with it, but Snape wouldn't let himself dwell on those. He had enough to occupy his mind without letting it run down those pathways.

At first Celeste had been reluctant to return to Manchester, but eventually Snape managed to convince her that it was for the best. "Better to keep Voldemort's focus there," he told her. "After this is done, you won't be returning, and if he has no way to connect you to anyplace except Manchester and Wales...."

After a moment she nodded, her face pale and grim. By that time it was late in the afternoon; she'd spent the morning withdrawing funds from the local branch of her bank so that she could transfer them into another account that had been set up under the new name she'd taken for herself. The rest of the day had been occupied with finding her someplace new to live.

"Selena Jones," Celeste had said that morning as they discussed the plans for her future. "I thought that up for myself as my 'secret identity' back when I was in school. There was something romantic about having an alter ego, and it's close enough to my own name that it doesn't feel quite so strange. Is that odd of me?"

He'd lifted his shoulders. The name didn't matter, as long as it couldn't be traced to Celeste Jenkins...which of course it couldn't. The identification Celeste carried with her would be Charmed to carry the new name, as would all of the papers she still kept in her home in Manchester...school transcripts, medical records, anything else she might need to support a new identity in a new town.

"Of course we can't do much about the computer records, I suppose," she remarked. "But since those are notoriously unreliable anyway, as long as I have the paperwork to back it all up, I think I should be all right." Her tone had been too deliberately cheery; Snape got the impression she was trying to occupy herself with the minutiae so she wouldn't have to stop and think about what lay ahead for both of them.

After they'd taken care of as much as they could, Snape Disapparated the two of them back into Celeste's home in Manchester. They appeared in her kitchen; he couldn't recall if the drapes in the front room had been drawn or not, and had guessed it was better to Apparate into a room that couldn't be seen from the street.

Nothing seemed to have changed, although the place had a fusty, closed-up smell that caused Celeste to wrinkle her nose. "Makes me want to open the windows," she said, then added, after Snape gave her a warning look, "but of course I won't, Severus, so don't bother to glare at me like that."

Although her tone was light, Snape could see the tension in the delicate lines of her jaw, the wariness in her eyes. Somewhere in the depths of the previous night, he had awoken to hear her weeping silently into her pillow. He'd reached out to her then, held her close, until once again their bodies joined and she clung to him with a despairing intensity that moved him more than any words could. And afterward he'd finally felt her body relax, her breathing smooth itself out into the deep rhythms of slumber, and was glad that he'd been able to offer her some solace at least. He wished he could say the same for himself. Sleep had eluded him after that, and he lay wakeful through the night, worrying at the details of his plan, trying to find any weak points that Davies might exploit.

Even though Celeste had slept more than he, she looked tired as well. No help for it, though -- they must proceed.

"Go on to your room," Snape told her. "There's only one entrance, and I'll make sure to Apparate downstairs when I return with Davies. That way we can control his movements a little more closely."

She nodded. "Will you be very long?"

Difficult to say for certain. In his pocket Snape carried a two-way mirror; Davies had its mate. It was the easiest way for the two of them to keep in contact, although Snape had always taken care to keep his carefully muffled so that the Death Eater couldn't inadvertently eavesdrop on his doings. As soon as he left Celeste, Snape planned to return to London and meet Davies there, then tell him that the girl he sought had been spotted back in Manchester. Then it was just a matter of getting the man to return to Celeste's home with him.

And after that, Snape thought, I'll put an end to this, the end that Davies deserves. He'd already secreted Celeste's wand in a hidden pocket in his over-robe. Obviously it wouldn't do to use his own wand to hit the Death Eater with the Killing Curse. Whatever instinct had led him to retrieve the wand from her room at Bodalwyn House had served them well.

"Not long, I hope," he replied, after a pause. "Go ahead and finish getting as much of your things together as you can manage, but make sure you leave no evidence of having done so."

Again she nodded, then stood on her tiptoes and gave him a quick, fierce kiss. "Be careful, Severus."

I always am, he thought, but only reached out to touch her cheek briefly before he Disapparated, returning to a shabby little alleyway in Southwark that had served him well in the past. Once he was certain no one had noted his presence, he drew the two-way mirror from his pocket, and directed his next words to it. "Davies -- I think I've found her."

Within a few seconds, Snape saw the Death Eater's face materialize in the somewhat scratched surface of the mirror. "You have? Where?"

"It appears she's returned to Manchester. Perhaps she really did just go on holiday."

Davies' blue eyes narrowed in suspicion at that comment, but then he appeared to shrug. "Makes no difference, if she's really returned. You're sure it was her?"

"Yes. I overheard one of the men at the local pub saying she'd just gotten back this morning." No doubt Davies wouldn't question that story -- the man spent a good deal of his time gathering information in a similar manner.

"Where are you?" the Death Eater inquired, seeming to squint as he tried to make out Snape's surroundings.

"In London," Snape replied immediately. "Meet me here, and then we can proceed to Manchester together."

This was the weakest part of his plan; Snape had no guarantee that Davies wouldn't immediately take off for Manchester and attempt to capture Celeste himself. However, Voldemort had instructed that the two of them should work together, and if Davies acted on his own, there was always the chance that the Dark Lord would call him out for his disobedience, even if the man actually did manage to bring the girl to him. Snape could only trust that Davies' fear of Voldemort would exceed his desire for personal gain.

After a pause, Davies said, "Right. Let me see where you are."

Snape couldn't allow any flicker of relief to cross his features, but he felt a slight slackening of the tension in his neck and shoulders as he lifted the mirror to give Davies a good look at the alley in which he stood. He thought it would be adequate enough to allow the Death Eater to Apparate there.

As it was, for only a few seconds after Snape had done so, Davies appeared in the alleyway, giving a furtive look in either direction before he straightened and lifted a ruddy eyebrow at the Potions master. "Real garden spot, Snape," he remarked.

"It suits my purposes," Snape replied smoothly. "Ready? You do recall the particulars of Miss Jenkins' front room?"

"Like it was my own," Davies said, with something of a smirk.

Snape didn't have time to interpret that expression, because immediately the Death Eater Disapparated, and Snape hastily followed suit. It wouldn't do to have Davies appear in Celeste's house too far in advance of him.

But when Snape materialized in Celeste's front parlor, he saw no evidence of the Welshman. Frowning, he turned to see if perhaps the man had instead Apparated in the hallway or foyer. Just as he began moving toward the front entry, he heard Celeste's scream from upstairs.

Cursing, he immediately Disapparated and reappeared upstairs in her bedroom, only to see her backed into a corner, with Davies advancing on her, wand out.

"No trouble, girl," the Death Eater said. "I don't want to hurt you -- we just need to talk."

Celeste's face looked white as death against the deep terra cotta color of the bedroom walls. However, Snape was relieved to see she had the sense to stay still, the only evidence that she had noted his arrival a quick flickering of her gaze in his direction.

"The way you talked to my friend Fiona?" she challenged.

"And how would you know about that?" Davies asked softly.

The Death Eater was so focused on Celeste that he apparently hadn't noticed Snape approaching from the rear. Snape already had Celeste's wand out, the words of the Killing Curse clear in his mind. He hadn't uttered them for more than twenty years -- and had hoped he would never have to do so again -- but a black rage rose up in his mind as he saw Davies reach out toward Celeste, a murderous fury that this tool of the Dark Lord would dare to threaten the woman he loved. Good. Snape would need all that rage, all that hatred to do what must come next.

"Avada Kedavra!" he cried out.

A bolt of virulent absinthe-green light shot out from the wand, striking Davies square in the back. The man collapsed immediately into a messy heap on the ground, his own wand falling from a suddenly limp hand.

For a few seconds neither Snape nor Celeste moved. She stood there, back still pressed into the corner, as she stared down at the Death Eater's crumpled form. At last Snape slowly lowered his wand.

Celeste seemed to find her voice. "Is he -- is he really dead?"

Snape stepped forward, then knelt next to Davies and turned him over. The man's light blue eyes bulged as they stared sightlessly up at him. Whatever pain he had felt, whatever horror he had experienced there at the last, Snape would never know for sure. All he did know was that he had yet another death added to his account. And yet, this time he hardly cared.

"Oh, yes," he replied. "That was the Killing Curse, the same one which was used to murder your aunt. There's no true way to defend against it." Not that I gave Davies the opportunity, Snape thought. Some might say what he had done was the work of a coward, but he couldn't help feeling that any man who would threaten an unarmed woman deserved to die a coward's death.

Again Celeste remained silent for the space of a few seconds. Then she said, "And he did kill Fiona, right?"

Snape nodded.

An expression he at first couldn't identify crossed over Celeste's features, simply because it was so alien to her normally sunny disposition. Then Snape realized it was a mixture of hatred and disgust. "Then I'm glad he's dead," she said at last.

Finally she stepped away from the wall, and moved toward Snape. He folded her into his arms, holding her close as she burrowed into his robes, her face pressed against his chest. "I was so frightened," she whispered. "He appeared, and you weren't there -- "

"We were supposed to Apparate together into the front room," Snape replied, his own arms tightening around her. "I don't know what he was thinking. Perhaps he only thought we would find you more quickly if we separated."

At first Celeste made no reply, but simply continued to cling to him. After a bit more time had passed, she stepped backward ever so slightly, and stared up into his face. He was relieved to see that at least she hadn't wept; better not to take her in front of Voldemort with any evidence of tears on her face -- not when he would have to convince the Dark Lord that it was Celeste who had managed to hit Davies with the Killing Curse.

She gave Snape a shaky smile. "Well, if that's the only thing to go wrong, then I expect we're doing all right, aren't we?"

"Most certainly." He reached out and took her hands in his. "That was only the first step, though. You know what comes next."

Without flinching, Celeste met his eyes. "Yes. Best to get it over with quickly, I expect."

Once again Snape found himself astonished by her strength. Even he quailed at the thought of what still lay ahead, but she seemed prepared to meet it chin up, resolve unbroken. And once again he found himself uttering a silent prayer to whatever forces directed the universe that he might somehow survive all this and meet the future with Celeste at his side.

Hands shaking a little, he gently relinquished his grip on her fingers, then reached inside his robe and drew out the flask that contained the altered Draught.

Celeste's eyes widened as she looked at it. "Well, it's a pretty color, at least," she said. "And that will really make me look as if I'm dead?"

"Yes. I've tested it on myself -- it's quite safe."

"As if you would give me anything that wasn't!"

What had he ever done to deserve such trust? And yet she did trust him, enough to take an unknown potion, enough to upheave her life once again on the chance that one day Voldemort would be vanquished and they could find one another somehow. He knew he loved her, but somehow his own love seemed a pale thing compared to the utter certainty and devotion that shone in her eyes as she gazed up at him. He couldn't fail her. Not now.

"There is no taste," he assured her, as she took the flask from him. "Drink it all down. You'll merely feel as if you're falling asleep."

"And then?" Calm as she looked, Snape noticed how her fingers tightened around the neck of the flask, the knuckles going bloodless with the movement.

"And then you'll wake soon enough in a new place, with a new name." Through some dedicated hours on the phone earlier in the day, Celeste had managed to secure herself a small flat in Birmingham. They had both decided it was wise for her to lose herself in another large city. The money for the rent and deposit had already been wired over, and Celeste had requested that the landlord simply leave the key under the front mat for her. She'd used the excuse of not knowing exactly when she would make it into town and not wanting to trouble the landlord further, and fortunately he had accepted the story without further question.

"That doesn't sound too frightening," she replied. Moving quickly, as if not to lose her nerve, Celeste pulled the stopper from the flask and drank its contents. Before she had even finished, she sagged, and Snape caught her in his arms before she could collapse on the floor next to Davies. The flask slipped from her fingers and landed with a soft thunk on the rug.

Snape hadn't thought she would feel so light, like a piece of thistledown in his arms. Very gently he laid her to rest on the carpet, then found a handkerchief in one of her bureau drawers and wiped the faint purple traces of the Draught from her lips. Then he retrieved Davies' wand, holding it with a fold of his over-robe so as not to leave any trace of his own fingerprints on it, and fired off another Avada Kedavra! in the direction of the wardrobe. It impacted harmlessly in a shower of green sparks, but at least now it could be easily proven that the last spell to leave the Death Eater's wand had in fact been the Killing Curse.

Transporting the two of them would be difficult, but Snape didn't dare leave Davies behind. Mouth twisting in distaste, he managed to hook the dead man's belt around his right arm, and then lifted Celeste so that she drooped over his other shoulder like a small child who had passed out from exhaustion after a day of hard play. It would be difficult to Disapparate so burdened, but Snape hoped that his desperation would lend him strength. Murmuring the words of the spell under his breath, he turned to the right, fixing the image of the cold salon where Voldemort now held court firmly in his mind.

The room formed itself around him, the shabbily elegant chamber Snape visited sometimes in his nightmares. A chorus of shocked sounds met his ears, but Snape could only fix his attention on the pale shape in the carved chair of black walnut, the skeletal figure who slowly stood as he appeared to take in Snape's burdens.

Davies' weight had cut off the circulation to his right arm, and Snape allowed the Death Eater's body to slide down onto the floor. Then he reached up and carefully gathered up Celeste's limp form, placing her on the threadbare Aubusson carpet that covered the floor.

"What is this?" Voldemort asked at last, his tone quiet venom.

Snape straightened, ignoring the whispers of the Death Eaters who clustered about the room. Only thoughts of anger that he'd been unable to bring the Dark Lord the prize he desired were allowed to fill his mind. He knew he couldn't let Voldemort begin to guess at the despair and fear he wanted to feel at seeing Celeste lying as if dead at the Dark Lord's feet.

Coldly, Snape replied, "The consequences of not allowing me to carry out this pursuit myself, my lord."

The blood-tinted eyes narrowed. "Explain yourself, Severus."

"That," Snape continued, pointing with disdain at Celeste's deathlike form, "is the girl you sought. I found her, and informed Davies of her whereabouts, since you had instructed me to work together with him. Unfortunately, Davies decided to act on his own, and tried to procure the girl himself. I came on the scene too late to stop him, but as you can see, he obviously found out for himself that the girl was no Muggle." Carefully wrapping a bit of his robe around his fingers first, Snape then reached inside the wand pocket it contained and pulled out both Celeste's and Davies' wands. "You might want to inspect these."

Lipless mouth tight with fury, Voldemort snatched the wands from Snape's grasp and turned them over in his pale, skeletal fingers. Then he hissed, "Priori Incantato!"

Immediately, pale ghost images of the Killing Curse erupted from both wands, causing a murmur of shock to move through the watching Death Eaters, until they realized that the echoes of the spells were merely that, and without effect.

"So," Voldemort said, in tones so neutral one would think he cared little about seeing both the girl he had sought and one of his followers dead at his feet...unless one happened to catch of glimpse of the tiny spark of red fury that burned at the back of his eyes, "you're saying that they killed one another?"

"I came on the scene a fraction of a second too late, my lord," Snape said. In his mind's eye he could see the still forms of Celeste and Davies lying prone on the faded Persian rug in her bedroom, their wands still clasped in lifeless hands. The image of course was completely false, but Voldemort didn't know that. "But yes, that is what appears to have happened. Somehow the girl had gotten herself some kind of training. Perhaps the parents, in an attempt to give her some sort of protection." Further than that, Snape dared not go. He knew that Voldemort was aware of who Celeste's parents were by now, but although the Dark Lord knew she had been hidden all these years, of course he would have no idea what sort of magical training she'd received -- if any.

Suddenly Voldemort knelt, and laid his cadaverous cheek against Celeste's breast. It took all of Snape's will to keep himself from striding forward and tearing the Dark Lord away. How dare he touch her like that....

But obviously the dark wizard had only wished to ascertain whether she truly lived. After a few seconds he lifted his head, then placed a pale hand against Celeste's mouth. He waited a moment more, and then a grimace of unspeakable rage crossed over his features. "To be denied my prize, after all this!" Voldemort stood, face still twisted with fury. "Let us hope you do not come to regret your blundering in this matter."

Snape bowed his head and let his mind fill with anger toward Davies for botching the job so badly, for seeking to seize all the glory for himself. "My apologies, my lord," he said, and made no effort to hide the contempt in his voice. "I believe I did say that I preferred to work alone -- "

"Enough!" Voldemort's voice cracked like a bolt of lightning. "Let us not begin to assign blame, Severus, or you may wish you never started down that path." Still fuming, he stared down at Celeste, lip curled in disgust. "You have no idea what her loss has cost me."

"It is a regrettable state of affairs," Snape agreed.

Narrow chest heaving, Voldemort lifted his gaze from Celeste's inert form and fastened the Potions master with a slit-eyed glare. "Since you could not bring her to me alive, I will leave it to you to clean up this mess."

Snape couldn't allow himself to feel relief at the Dark Lord's words. "I am here to serve, my lord," he said.

"Dispose of that," Voldemort said, pointing at Celeste's body. "Make sure she can never be traced back to me."

"Of course, my lord." Kneeling down, Snape gathered Celeste up in his arms, and then stood. A faint drift of her herbal shampoo reached his nostrils, an incongruous note in the overall dankness of his surroundings. "I'm thinking a back alley in London -- her identification gone -- "

The Dark Lord waved a pale hand. "Whatever is necessary to make the Muggles think she met her end there. You will take care of the details...and make sure you don't fail me this time, Severus."

A thin trickle of dread inched its way down Snape's spine. Surely any moment Voldemort would demand to inspect Celeste again, would tear her from his arms and denounce Snape for his duplicity. But a second passed, and then another...and he began to think they might survive this after all.

Perhaps his hesitation hadn't been that noticeable. Snape bowed his head again, and said, "I will take care of it immediately, my lord." Still clutching Celeste against his chest, he Disapparated at once, going first to the shabby Southwark alleyway where he had met up with Davies. If Voldemort had meant to send someone to follow him, better that he should go here, to the exact sort of place where he had told the Dark Lord he would dispose of the girl's body. But no one followed, and Snape crouched there in the gloomy half-light of approaching dusk for the space of a few moments before he realized that apparently they had made their escape without any sign of pursuit.

By this time a little more than a half-hour had elapsed since Celeste drank the Draught. He should administer the antidote, but somehow he did not want Celeste to regain consciousness here in this wretched little alleyway. Instead, he Disapparated to someplace he thought would be infinitely more appealing -- the little glen above Llanilar where he had first confessed his dark past to Celeste.

It was growing cold; he settled himself down against the low stone wall that had perhaps been a fortification a thousand years past. Moving with care, Snape wrapped a section of his over-robe around her, sheltering her against the cool air and the coming of night. Her face looked very pale against the black fabric, and he felt a sudden rush of tenderness as unexpected as it was painful. If only he could stay with her here forever, in this fold of the Welsh hills, where the air smelled of pine and a faint tang of salt. But as much as he wanted this moment to last an eternity, with the woman he loved a welcome weight against his chest, he knew they had so very little time left to one another. With a sigh, he tipped the vial that held the antidote against her still mouth.

She woke slowly, consciousness returning to her features like the gradual light of a winter dawn. The dark lashes fluttered, then lifted. Her eyes opened, their deep green almost black in the gloaming. "So I'm not dead?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Snape's arms tightened around her. "No, you're not dead...although Voldemort certainly thinks you are."

Her mouth curved in the faintest of smiles. "So we did it?"

Yes, we did, he thought. But what kind of victory is it, when I still may lose you forever?

He said nothing of that, however, but instead added, "You will feel faint for a time. But we're safe here...as soon as you can stand, we can go on to Birmingham."

"Birmingham," she murmured, and then her lips tightened. Obviously she was as reluctant to proceed with the last step of their plan as he was.

But at length she informed him that she thought she could stand, and he helped her to her feet. Her hand tightened on his wrist as she sought her balance, but after a moment she was able to let go, and force her limbs to carry her a few feet away from him as she tested her uncertain legs.

Then a Disapparation once again, to the shadows of the bustling New Street station in Birmingham. It was the only landmark in the city that Snape recognized and could Apparate nearby; besides, from there it was easy enough to hail a cab and give the driver the direction for Celeste's new flat. Although the cabbie gave Snape's robes an odd look, he accepted the fare without too many questions.

The ride took approximately fifteen minutes, during which Celeste sat silently in the back seat next to Snape, her hand clasped tightly in his. Neither one of them dared say anything in front of the cab driver, and it was with a feeling of relief that Snape alighted from the shabby old sedan and helped Celeste out of the back.

As promised, the key had been hidden beneath the doormat; Celeste retrieved it and let them both into the bottom flat she had rented for herself.

It had been let furnished, although that seemed a grand term for the shabby couch, side table, and wooden chair he spotted in the tiny front room. Celeste flicked on a light once she had ascertained the drapes were pulled shut.

"Well," she said, after pausing to survey the dreary surroundings, "I suppose it will look much better once it's been given a good coat of paint."

How could he leave her here, to this drab little flat in a shabby neighborhood that seemed all too similar to the working-class surroundings where he himself had grown to boyhood? And yet...how could he not?

"I'll be fine, Severus," Celeste said, and miraculously produced a smile. "Besides, you still have to bring me my things from Manchester." The smile grew a little tight around the edges, and she added, "And don't forget the little red book in my purse. I left my bag on the floor next to the nightstand when we came back from London."

Snape had thought it too risky for Celeste to return to her home, but he could be in and out in literally the blink of an eye. Just that one precious box of papers and personal effects, and she would have enough to continue her new life here in Birmingham.

"Of course," he said. "Settle yourself as best you can, and I'll return in a few minutes."

"I'll be waiting," she replied, and smiled again.

Yes, he thought. But for how long?

There being no answer to that, Snape merely Disapparated to Celeste's bedroom in her abandoned house in Manchester. He saw little evidence of the confrontation with Davies; after all, the beauty (or horror) of the Killing Curse was that it left no trace behind...save for the body of the person it slaughtered. The abandoned flask that had held the Draught still lay on the carpet where Celeste had dropped it, and Snape knelt and gathered it up. It would never have done to leave that behind.

The box with Celeste's papers had been hidden under the tall bed, safely concealed by a hanging bed skirt of embroidered linen. He drew it out, then whispered the Charm that would alter those papers forever. All mention of Celeste Jenkins would be magically transformed to Selena Jones. He hoped it would be enough to protect her.

As she had told him, Snape found Celeste's bulky brown suede bag on the floor next to her nightstand. He gathered the whole thing up, feeling vaguely ridiculous. But it had items she needed, as well as her newly bespelled identification, and he knew he couldn't leave it behind. Then he fixed the image of her new flat in his mind, and left the house in Manchester behind.

In the brief time he had been gone, Celeste had managed to unearth a dodgy-looking teakettle of scratched enamel and a pair of chipped cups. "I thought some tea might do us some good," she said, her tone too bright, too cheerful.

Frankly, Snape thought that tea was quite possibly the last thing he needed right now, but he knew better than to argue with her. Without comment, he set the box of papers on the floor next to the stove, then placed her bag on the kitchen table.

"Celeste," he said quietly.

She looked up then, her hands resting on the ancient mugs she had found. For a moment her eyes met his, and then she said, "No."

"You know we must," he replied. Was that voice his, so calm, so cold?

Her eyes looked enormous in her pale face. "I thought I could do this, but now...." She glanced away, the muscles in her throat working.

"You can. You've survived everything else. And once -- once I'm done, you won't remember any of this. It won't hurt anymore." And that's the worst of the thing, he thought viciously. That we should suffer so, and have nothing to show for it.

For the longest moment she said nothing. Snape waited, watching the anguish tear at her lovely face. He knew he didn't dare speak, for fear of betraying his own agony. Then she swallowed and reached inside her bag, drawing out a smallish book covered in dark red leather. "I want you to have this," she said.

Mystified, he took the volume from her. "What is it?" he asked.

"My journal. I've written down everything that's happened to me. All my memories of you -- they're all in there. I know you must take them from my mind, but if I know they're safe, then I can do this. Promise me you'll keep them safe." Her eyes sought his, obviously looking for some reassurance.

"I'll give it to Dumbledore," Snape told her. "I know he'll look after it for me."

Some unreadable emotion crossed Celeste's features at the mention of the Headmaster, but after a moment she nodded. "All right, then," she said, and took a breath. "What must I do?"

"Let's go back to the front room," Snape replied, marveling that he could sound so calm. "Better for you to lie down on the couch. Then you'll simply awake some time from now, and you'll remember nothing. Nothing except that you've just moved here to Birmingham to attend the university, and are starting your life over after leaving a failed relationship." This was the scenario they'd agreed upon; actually, it wasn't that far from the truth, was it? "But you'll still be you, only with a different name, and a disinclination to discuss your past. And this," he added, reaching into the left pocket of his frock coat and pulling out the ring Dumbledore had given him. "Wear this always -- it will block your magic, keep you from seeing the future."

Instead of taking the ring from him, Celeste extended her left hand. "Could you -- could you put it on me? It's foolish, I know, but somehow it would feel better to have you place it on my hand."

Snape gave her a puzzled nod, then slipped the small band of garnet-studded gold on her ring finger. It was something he had never imagined himself doing; he had never thought he'd find a woman who would want to spend her life with him. He cursed the universe for giving him such a gift, only to take it back from him in the end.

After he'd placed the ring on her finger, Celeste clenched that hand into a fist. "It feels odd," she said, after a brief pause. "As if I've suddenly lost part of my hearing, or sight."

His own abilities had been a part of him for long that Snape couldn't begin to think of how it might feel to have them suddenly stolen away. But it was necessary for her safety, so he said only, "You will get used to it," and led her into the front room, where she lay down on the dingy couch.

Celeste settled herself against the cushion, then stared up into Snape's face. "Kiss me, Severus," she said quietly. "Kiss me one last time."

So he did, bending down to press his mouth against hers in one final despairing caress, his entire body protesting the moment he pulled away at last. Celeste's eyes shut, and Snape then whispered the words of the Obliviation spell, those cursed syllables that would erase every memory, every touch, every word they had ever exchanged. And then he staggered away, breath coming ragged, each step an agony, until he summoned the strength to Disapparate one last time, and he emerged on the windswept road that faced Hogwarts' front gates.

He found he still clutched the journal Celeste had given him. Although by this time night had fallen, a cold full moon blazed down upon him, illuminating the scene with its harsh light. He opened the book at random and looked down at Celeste's strong yet feminine handwriting. The words blazed up at him:

I met the most extraordinary man today....

The pain hit him like a breaker striking a drowning man. Snape almost staggered, then held himself still and made himself take in deep swallows of the cool night air. He had to bear it. He must. He had to let her go. Never mind that ahead lay only danger and long days of hunted despair. At least she was safe. He had to believe that, or all this would have been for naught.

Besides, very soon the pain would be gone. He would go to Dumbledore, and hand over the journal for safekeeping, and let the Headmaster give him the blessed oblivion he so desperately needed. Only a few more moments of pain, and then he would forget her as well...forget that for a time he'd been loved in a way he'd never dreamed he could be. Better to forget, if he couldn't have her.

Snape straightened then, lifting his head to the uncaring moon and the cold wind. Then he turned, and began the long walk up to Hogwarts.

***

Author's Note:This is where the story ends for now. I have two epilogues planned; the one I end up writing will of course depend on what happens to Professor Snape in Deathly Hallows. So far I've managed to stay blissfully spoiler-free, and I'm hoping I can stay that way until Saturday. At any rate, I will post the epilogue as soon as I can after I've finished the final book. Thank you to everyone for reading along and for all your lovely reviews.