---

The Toad’s Shadow

Chapter Six

The next morning, the majority of the students, along with a good portion of the staff, left on the Hogwarts Express to return home for the break. The Great Hall was practically deserted for breakfast when Sicily strode in, dressed in jeans and a red V-neck sweater. She had pulled her curls back into a ponytail: simple and relaxed.

She was thrilled to see no sign of Umbridge; the witch had left early that morning to return to the Ministry, where, no doubt, she was kissing up to Fudge, and most likely would return with several more annoying Educational Decrees.

Sicily saw the empty seat beside Snape and walked towards it.

“Good morning, Severus,” she said as she took the seat. He looked pleasantly surprised that she was in such close proximity.

“Good morning, Silvian,” he answered as he raised his tea to his lips. He knew McGonagall and Dumbledore were watching and listening; amazingly, he found he didn’t care.

“Anything new?” Sicily asked, motioning towards the Daily Prophet beside his plate.

“The usual,” Snape replied, pouring her a cup of tea and handing it to her; he was certain he heard McGonagall sputter into her own cup.

“Complete rubbish?” Sicily asked with a smile, her thoughts confirmed by a nod from Snape. “Are you free this afternoon, Severus?”

McGonagall’s jaw was now hanging open, and Dumbledore was openly watching them, breakfast momentarily forgotten.

“Yes, I am. Why?”

Sicily smiled, finishing her French toast. “I was wondering if you would join me for a walk around the grounds.”

“I would be delighted to.”

It was Dumbledore’s turn to sputter.

“I’ll finish my grading and meet you in the entrance hall about four?”

Sicily sipped her tea, leaning back in her chair. “Perfect. It’s a date.”

She smiled when Snape rose and left, then turned back to the remnants of her breakfast: the last of her sausage and a blueberry scone.

Dumbledore leaned over, saying in her ear, “Have you any idea the magnitude of what you’ve accomplished?”

“Not yet,” she replied, hiding her smile behind her tea cup.

---

Four o’clock came, finding Sicily leaning against the wall, waiting for Snape to join her. He soon strode up, cloak and robes billowing behind him. Sicily had pulled on her black jacket over her sweater, and when she saw him approaching, she began to put on her black gloves.

They walked through the snow that had settled over the grounds in a pure white and glittering blanket. Silence stretched on between them, each enjoying the other’s company as they strolled past student-made snowmen families and widely skirted snowball fights.

Sicily had buried her hands into the pockets of her jacket as they walked along the lake’s edge, watching a few students who had remained at the school expertly ice skating.

“So,” Sicily began, breaking the silence, “Can I ask you a few questions?”

Snape halted and turned towards her. “Depends. Are you doing this for Professor Umbridge, or to satisfy that annoying curiosity of yours?” he asked without his usual venom and with a very unusual smile.

“My ‘annoying curiosity,’” Sicily answered.

“Then, by all means, go ahead, Silvian.”

She smiled at him as they began their walk again. “Do you have a home other than Hogwarts? I know Trelawney, as well as a few others on staff, doesn’t.”

“I own a small house in northern England, near Manchester. Nothing special or fancy.” He glanced over at the woman striding by his side. “What about you?”

“Oh, I have a manor near Great Ayton, in Middlesbrough. I live out on the moors. It’s quiet and peaceful, and not many people are around to bother me.”

“You don’t care much for people, do you?” Snape asked, tugging his cloak tighter around his shoulders as the winter wind steadily began to rise.

“I’ve always been a little shy, I guess,” answered Sicily. “I just prefer to be left alone; one thing I hardly ever get.”

“Is it your family’s manor?” Snape asked, deciding not to pursue her last comment.

“No,” Sicily said, shaking her head. “My family owns a villa in southern France. Both my parents were born and raised in France, and Mum wanted to go back. She got the chance when my grandparents passed away, leaving Da the estate. I bought the manor simply because I didn’t want to live near London anymore. People... well, people...” Sicily stopped, struggling to find the word she wanted to use. She hated to say, people try to kill you in London. “People harass you that close to London. So, I moved where it’s hard to find me.”

Snape didn’t ask the woman any more questions, simply answering those that she posed. He was curious as to what had forced her to move so far away from London, when her job at the Ministry was in London. He resisted the urge to sigh; he had somehow managed to discover more questions that he wanted answers to.

After nearly an hour of polite, surface conversation, Sicily and Snape re-entered the warmth of the castle, stamping snow from their shoes.

Snape glanced at Sicily as she slipped out of her jacket and draped it over her arm; she looked beautiful with cold-reddened cheeks and frost-dusted eyelashes. She was so beautiful; Snape couldn’t fathom why she wanted to spend her leisure time with him. He was just glad she did.

Sicily turned to him, just as they began to descend the stairs leading to the dungeon corridors. “Severus, would you like to-“

“Madame Sicily!”

They both turned to see Filch scurrying towards them, wheezing terribly.

“Madame Sicily, an owl came for you. It's from Professor Umbridge.” The caretaker held out a roll of parchment to Silvian, who took it from his grasp and dismissed him with a nod and broke the wax seal, then began to read. She suddenly sighed, letting the parchment roll back up with a snap.

“I’m sorry, Severus, but I have to go to the Ministry. Who knows how long I’ll be there,” she said, frowning. “I may not be back until late tonight. I was going to ask you if you wanted to have dinner with me this evening, but-“

“Why don’t we make it for tomorrow evening then?” Snape offered, extremely pleased that she had invited him to dinner, just with her. Plus, it would be a wonderful to spend Christmas Eve with company, unlike usual; Snape usually spent it alone, hidden away in his office.

Sicily smiled cheerfully at him. “Yes, I’d like that,” she said, a little breathless.

“So would I, Silvian.”

“Seven okay?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful,” said Sicily. “I’ll see you then.” She hurried back up the stairs to Umbridge’s office, taking the steps three at a time, unaware that the Potions Master was watching her.

---

Sicily trudged down the stairs from Umbridge’s office, completely exhausted, so much so that she could hardly walk straight. It was eight o’clock Christmas Eve morning, and she had been at the Ministry all night.

Things were a mess. She had been called in, for all things, to investigate why Arthur Weasley had been at the Ministry after hours on the night he had been attacked. Why did it matter? He was a Ministry official; he had the right to pull overtime if he wanted to. Sicily believed she should have been investigating why, how, and by whom he had been attacked. Whoever had done the deed hadn’t used magic, of none she could trace. Sicily had read the file St. Mungo’s had sent over; they claimed a very large, venomous snake had caused Mr. Weasley’s injuries. Yet, she hadn’t found any evidence at all leading in that direction either. Sicily had checked with the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures; they hadn’t had a giant snake in their custody or watch care for three months. It just didn’t make sense.

But at the moment, Sicily didn’t care about any of it. She just wanted to sleep.

Entering her chambers, she fell face first onto her bed, not even bothering to remove her boots, and fell instantly asleep.

---

She could hear herself screaming, struggling against the searing coils of pure white, blinding flames binding her to the chair. Stephen was down, and the man with the silky voice was holding her head, forcing her to watch.

Stephen was yelling, but she couldn’t understand what he was saying over the howling laugh of the man striding towards him.

The man gripping her face leaned close, whispering in her ear, trailing a thumb along her neck. “Don’t worry, Miss Sicileon; I’ll be gentler to you than my friend will be to your brother.”

She was screaming, trying to wrench her head from the man’s grasp, trying to drown out Stephen’s screams of pain, trying to cease the flow of terrified hot tears streaming down her face.

---

Sicily jolted awake, on the verge of screaming. Cold sweat was rolling off her skin, soaking her curls and the front of her sweater. She wiped the tears pouring from her eyes with the back of her shaking hands.

She looked at the clock, seeing it was almost six-thirty. Sicily stiffly lifted herself from her bed, kicking her boots off as she headed for the bathroom; only a cold shower would relieve her of her headache.

Sicily threw her clothes into the corner, avoiding the mirror; she hated seeing herself after she had been through one of her worst episodes. Indeed, it hadn’t been as bad as in the past -no body aches or fever - Sicily assumed it was the draught still in her system that weakened the effects of her flashbacks even when she failed to take the potion.

She stepped into the shower, turning the tap to straight cold. She stood beneath the icy torrent, leaning her forehead against the green tile, letting the cold water flow over her. After twenty minutes of shivering, Sicily turned off the water and wrapped herself in her green cashmere robe.

Sicily opened her wardrobe, staring at her clothes for several minutes before choosing the full-length emerald velvet dress. It had long, full sleeves, yet hugged her shape. The neckline was modest, no doubt, and would hide her scars. She had just dried her hair with a couple of blasts from her wand when a knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” Sicily called, pulling her hair back with an emerald and silver serpent clip.

“Silvian?” she heard Snape call from the sitting room.

“Just a moment. Make yourself comfortable.”

Smoothing her dress, touching her hair and strengthening ever so slightly her Glamor with a tiny wave of her wand, Sicily deemed herself presentable, and turned to enter the sitting room.

She couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Snape sitting on the sofa, legs stretched comfortably out in front of him.

He turned to her as she joined him on the sofa, his eyes taking her in.

“You look stunning, Silvian.”

Sicily could feel herself blush. “Thank you, Severus.” She had the feeling that it was truly something to receive a compliment from the Potions Master.

They summoned a house-elf to bring dinner to Sicily’s chambers then chatted amicably until the holiday fare arrived. As they enjoyed the excellent meal, they both reverted back to their customary silence that had grown to be surprisingly comfortable.

After the house-elf had returned to clear away the empty dishes, they began talking once again.

“What did Umbridge want?” Snape asked, stretching an arm behind her along the back of the sofa.

“To figure out why Arthur Weasley was at the Ministry the night he was attacked,” Sicily answered, curling her legs beside her, one knee resting slightly on Snape’s thigh. “Apparently no one cares why he was attacked, or how, or who did it.”

“And?” Snape asked, watching her face closely; it was important to the Order to know how much the Ministry knew.

“Nothing; but his medical file states it was a snake. Yet, I couldn’t find a single way a giant snake could possibly have been in the Ministry.” She rubbed her temples. “I needed a good nap, but I’m afraid I didn’t get one.”

“The potion stopped helping?”

“No,” Sicily answered, smiling sheepishly. “I fell asleep before I could take it.”

Silence once again fell between them, punctuated occasionally by the fire popping.

“Silvian?”

She had leaned her head back against his arm, her eyes closed. “Hmm?” was her reply.

“May I ask you something?”

“Yes, of course, Severus.” Sicily opened her eyes, giving him her full attention.

Snape swallowed, trying to figure out exactly how to ask her. “What... what exactly do you see... I mean, in your nightmares, or flashbacks?”

For the longest time, he thought she wasn’t going to answer, and then, “My brother’s murder.”

Snape felt like he had walked into a wall of bricks. “Silvian, I’m -“

"It’s okay,” she said, stopping him. “I think it will help if I talked about it. I haven’t told anyone exactly what happened, not even my parents.”

She took a deep breath and began.

“It happened two years after I finished school. I went into the Ministry to be an Auror at first, just like Stephen. He was the one who trained me. Our parents had moved back to my father’s family estate in France, so Stephen and I were renting a small cottage a short distance from the city limits of London. One, night, as we walked into the house after work, we were attacked. I was magically bound to a chair, and Stephen was Petrified. The two men who attacked us were Death Eaters; Lucius Malfoy and Fenrir Greyback. Malfoy forced me to watch Greyback murder my brother, then began to torture me. They left me for dead, with the Dark Mark over the house. I woke up in St. Mungo’s two months later.” Sicily blinked back the tears brimming in her eyes. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off her chest; he now knew, and she wouldn’t have to hide that heartache constantly anymore.

Snape slid his arms around her shoulders, pulling her tight against his side. She slipped her hand across his chest, resting her head on his shoulder.

“That’s why you changed your name?”

“How did you know I had changed it?” she asked, tilting her head to look at him.

“I found you in the school’s archives.” He smiled down at her. “You look almost the same. So, that’s the reason?”

“Yes,” Sicily replied, enjoying the sensation of feeling his voice in his chest as well as hear it. “They believed me to be dead, and I wanted to keep it that way. So they would leave me alone.”

“Why didn’t you become an Auror?” Snape asked, rubbing small circles on her shoulder.

“I did, but I was arrested, heavily fined, and fired three years later.”

“Why?”

Sicily sighed, inching closer to Snape. “I used the Unforgivable Curses while on duty, and was finally caught. Though, the punishment the Ministry dealt me is nothing compared to those flashbacks as well. Your head doesn’t forget what killing someone looks and sounds like.”

Snape suppressed a shudder; he knew exactly what she meant, for he had many of the same types of flashbacks, a terrible result of his Death Eater days.

“Two years later, the Head of the Department of Mysteries died, and I was hired. A year later, I was made Head of the Magical Forensics Squad as well.” She paused, wiggling in his arms to get a better look at his face. “Now, can I ask you something?”

Snape nodded.

“Were you... truly... a Death Eater?”

He removed his arm from around her, and rolled up his sleeve. Sicily stared at the Dark Mark forever branded black into his skin. She reached out and ran her fingers across it, then quickly pulled back, shuddering.

“His signature,” she muttered. Snape realized as he pulled his sleeve back over the greatest mistake of his youth that she had read Lord Voldemort’s magical signature.

“What is it like?”

“Black,” Sicily answered, her nose wrinkling as she concentrated. “And terribly powerful.” She reached for his arm again, pushing up his sleeve once more. Her fingertips brushed over his skin delicately, tracing odd and seemingly random patterns over the black mark. “His signature is black, completely black. It’s not a true signature; it’s been corrupted, how I’m not sure. He hardly uses elemental magic, or at least he had not used any for a year before casting this spell; the Dark Arts rarely are elemental in origin, though I’m unsure of what they mainly consist of. In a signature this powerful and distinct, it’s almost as if darkness is a fifth element. The weave is odd; both tight and angular, with extremely sharp corners, but at the same time, it’s soft and delicate, with gentle curves and waves. It’s almost as if... yes, the weave changes, constantly in motion. There is no glow index at all. He used very powerful binding spells in forming the mark, something like an Unbreakable Vow, but not as severe.”

She became quiet, still running her fingers along his arm. Snape watched her tilt her head side to side, moving her lips slightly.

“Amazing,” she murmured.

“What?” She had him intrigued, plus he didn’t want her to remove her hands from his skin.

“His signature; he uses it like a one-way connection. Somehow, it’s almost... alive... it recognizes copies of itself. That’s how the summoning works. Signatures are supposed to fade over time; his hasn’t. Amazing.”

She replaced his sleeve and he put his arm around her once more.

“It’s amazing you can gather all of that from the lightest touch,” Snape told her, drawing her closer to his side.

Sicily chuckled, almost to herself. “I don’t have to touch a subject to sense signatures,” she said. “I just wanted an excuse.” She reached up, slipping her arms around his neck, smiling at him.

“You don’t have to make excuses, Silvian,” Snape said as he wrapped both arms tightly around her, pressing her against his chest. He gently touched his lips to hers.

Sicily’s stomach felt like she had just dropped off the side of a cliff; the same sense of the bottom of her stomach suddenly falling out swept over her. Her mind went blank, and it felt as if time had stopped along with her heart. Her lips parted, inviting a more passionate kiss; and she got it.

She pulled him closer to her, deepening their kiss, cupping a hand along his neck. He ran his hands along her spine and the small of her back, sending shivers of pure energy rippling through her body.

Snape pulled back, slowly ending the kiss, still holding Sicily tightly. She slowly opened her eyes, staring straight into his, telling him without words that it had been perfect. They sat, just holding each other tightly, gazing into the fire or with eyes closed for the longest time.

The clock on the mantle began to chime the midnight hour.

“Silvian, I should go,” Snape said quietly, not making any motion to leave or release her.

Sicily held him tighter. “Please don’t.”

Snape knew if he didn’t leave then, he never would, though it didn’t make letting her go any easier. “You need your sleep.”

“Stay.”

Her one word command convinced him. “Alright,” he replied, growling slightly at himself for allowing her to influence him so easily. “But only a little longer.”

Sicily smiled. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

Snape squeezed her slightly, resting his cheek against the crown of her head. “Only a little longer.”

---

Sicily woke to the chimes of her clocks announcing six o’clock Christmas morning. She was warm and comfortable, though she couldn’t understand, in her still sleepy fog, why her pillow was breathing... what?

She pried open her eyes, and saw the fireplace. Why was she on the sofa? She never slept on the sofa, even for a nap. And her pillow was still breathing...

Then the previous night flooded back into her mind. Sicily smiled; Snape’s “only a little longer” turned out to be all night. She shifted slightly so she could see his face; he too was sound asleep, arms still wrapped around her. The hard planes of his face were relaxed, no longer frozen in a deep scowl or a menacing frown; in fact, he looked remarkably and surprisingly handsome, in a dark and dangerous way.

She couldn’t help but envision what her mother would think of him. Oh, she could just hear her now...

Sicily hated to wake him, but he really did need to return to his own chambers to finish sleeping, so no wandering student would see him leaving hers; she couldn’t resist silently snickering as she imagined the face on the student who witnessed that, for they would no doubt jump to some, well... interesting conclusions. And the student would most likely be a Slytherin heading for breakfast.

She raised up and kissed him lightly, then again when he didn’t stir. His black eyes opened a little with the third kiss. “Morning,” he muttered, his normally silky voice a slight husky with sleep, as he stretched his long frame. “Happy Christmas, Silvian.”

“Happy Christmas. Now, go. Before Umbridge catches me.”

Snape laughed, and Sicily found it was a pleasantly surprising sound. He stood, pulling her up with him. “And she’d yell, wouldn’t she?”

“And I’d hex the toad.”

One final kiss, and Snape silently slipped into the corridor.