Sorry for the long lapse in time. I’ve had semester exams, holidays, and major writer’s block that interfered with my attention to the story.

Read, review and enjoy!

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The Murderer’s Shadow

Chapter Six

Landon Matthews strode into Sicily’s office to look for a report that Croaker needed. Suddenly, he stopped in mid-step. “Boss, what are you doing here?”

Sicily looked up from the Carla Adams case file to her Potions Technician. “Working, as my job requires.”

“But, the Minister ordered you to stay home.”

Sicily reached for a reference book on the shelves behind her desk. “If he can’t find me, he won’t know I’m here. And if you won’t tell him, you won’t get fired.”

Matthews laughed loudly. “Point taken, boss.”

---

Sicily looked up from her desk as Tonks led a small and shaking little boy into the dimly lit office. “This is Madame Sicily, Jack,” Tonks said. “She needs your help to find your mom.”

Jack nodded, staring wide-eyed up at Sicily. He hugged his teddy bear tightly.

“Come on in,” Sicily said, trying hard to smile and keep the coldness out of her voice. “Have a seat, Jack.” She patted the chair she had pulled next to hers. “Thank you, Tonks, I’ll call for you when we’re finished.”

She waited until the Auror had left the office, then stood to close the door. Sicily held the doorknob tightly, letting the cold edges of the silver bite into her fingers. She was about to make a child relive the worst night of his little life.

“Jack,” she said as she sat down in her chair, “can you tell me what happened the night your mom disappeared?”

He his his face behind his teddy bear. “No,” he whimpered.


Gently, Sicily prodded, “Why not?”

“They’ll come get me.”

“Who will come get you, Jack?”

He sank lower into the chair and whispered, “The bad people.”

Sicily resisted the urge to strangle the boy in frustration. “Can you tell me what the bad people looked like?”

Jack shook his head.

Sicily had promised Scrimgeour that she would try questioning him through normal means before resorting to Legilimency. And she felt she had kept that promise.

“Okay, that’s fine, Jack. Now, I’m going to look at your memory. It will help me find you mom, alright?”

Jack simply hugged his teddy bear tightly, resting his head between the animal’s ears. “Okay,” he squeaked.

Sicily pulled her wand out of her robe pocket. “I need you to relax.” She pointed her wand at the boy’s nose. “Legilimens.”

Memories began rambling before her eyes. Sicily ignored them and focused on the one she needed. She had to focus hard; he had pushed it into the back of his mind. Forcing a little power through her wand, she neared her goal. Sicily could hear the screams of Carla Adams.

Then, Jack began to cry as he fought in desperation. He began to scream in terror as Sicily caught a glimpse of the front door flying open and splintering.

Sicily’s concentration broke as the boy let out an ear-piercing wail of terror. The images before her eyes dissolved instantly.

Damn, she thought. So close...

Carla Adams had been taken by force, which meant no magical signatures; only upturned furniture and a few blood spatters on the carpet.

And Jack Adams had been Sicily’s last hope of finding the woman alive.

---

Autumn faded into winter. Between their careers, Snape and Sicily did little more than correspond to each other through rather lengthy letters. The Potions Master would occasionally use the Floo in the evenings to deliver Sicily’s sleeping draught, but usually, he found the manor cold, unlit, and empty. With an onslaught of disappearances and murders, Madame Sicily was always on duty.

One evening, when the moors were harshly gripped in the icy clutches of a violent winter storm, the Potions Master transported into Sicily’s living room through the fireplace by means of Floo powder. “Silvian?” Snape called into the cold, dark room. The wind howled against the house, causing the structure to creak and moan. Hail rattled against the tall windows. Snape illuminated the tip of his wand as he listened to the silence filling the manor. “Silvian?”

No answer.

Snape cautiously crossed the living room, the hallway, and entered the kitchen. By the pulsating light of his wand, he placed the vials of draught in neat rows beside the woman’s teacup inside the cabinet.

He left the kitchen, and scanned the hallway. The front door was still locked tight. He could see the shadow of her heavy winter cloak hanging beside the door. “Silvian?” he called again. Once again, no answer.

Snape proceeded up the stairs, his heart rate beginning to rise. Where is she? he thought. Haunting possibilities began running through his mind as he stepped onto the second floor landing.

Snape slowly opened the closest door, prepared to attack anything that moved suddenly. The wind outside raged with cold fury, almost squealing as it drove the blizzard forward.

He was greeted by an ornate bedroom dimly lit with a silver glass bauble upon a stand on the dresser. The foggy mirror reflected the faint light across the expansive space. The room was so frigid it made Snape’s own chambers in Hogwarts’ dungeons cozy and stuffy. Snape wondered how Sicily could possibly sleep without freezing.

As Snape stepped further into the room, extinguishing his wand with a whispered, “Nox.”

“Silvian?” he whispered into the gloom; he couldn’t tell if the woman was in the massive Victorian mahogany four-poster or not.

He edged closer, his eyes finally adjusting to the semi-darkness. Snape saw Sicily’s long and curving form nestled beneath the bed linings and thick fur blankets. He moved to the side to allow the bauble’s light to fall on the woman.

Her face was still taut, clenched and filled with worry. Lines stilled graced the corners of her mouth and eyes and forever kept her eyebrows from meeting. Even in sleep, the woman couldn’t let go of her worries in reality.

Snape knew the past week had been terribly difficult on Sicily. The body of Carla Adams had been found horribly mutilated in the Wessex countryside. Cory Adams, Carla’s husband and one of Sicily’s most efficient Unspeakables, had committed suicide three days later, leaving their four-year-old son Jack in the guardianship of Carla’s parents. The funerals had been conducted earlier that morning.

But, as Snape gazed down at her, he could only think of how beautiful she was. Not just on the outside, but she was beautiful on the inside as well. Her strength to do a job that most would balk at made her glow. Her strength to continue living after losing her brother and half of her physical beauty only made the scars she bore the more beautiful in Snape’s eyes. Her Slytherin ambition gave her a fire that made her irresistible, and her secret golden heart that cared deeply for the people that came into her life made her more desirable than any other woman Snape had ever met in his life.

He smiled at the sleeping woman, still in her black and silver dressing robe. Her black lace night gown seemed to flow over her like her curls flowed over her shoulders, the lace and locks seemingly becoming one, almost melting into each other.

Snape bent, softly kissing her on her scar-ridden cheek before conjuring a single garnet red rose and laying it upon her pillow.

---

Sicily woke as the clock on her night stand began to sound. She groaned as she stretched, knowing it was three-thirty in the morning. Her eyes opened slowly, instantly seeing the rose beside her head. Her face broke into a sleepy smile. She picked it up as she rolled onto her back. Inhaling its fragrance, Sicily touched its soft petals to her lips.

She rose, gathering her black velvet robe around her, and made her way downstairs to the kitchen. Opening the cabinet to retrieve her tea cup, Sicily saw the neat rows of draught vials; Snape had indeed been there the previous evening.

Sicily hated the fact that she had missed him; she had been so exhausted both physically and emotionally that sleep had come early.

She set about heating the milk for her morning hot chocolate in the cold kitchen. She didn’t bother rekindling the fire; she would be gone within an hour.

Sicily sat, reading the early edition of the Daily Prophet; she found that half of the second page was filled with pictures and the article covering the funeral of the Adams couple. Sicily scalded her mouth on the hot chocolate with the first sip; she slammed the cup down, sloshing the hot rich liquid across the table and onto the newspaper. The clock standing in the corner chimed four o’clock. Sicily sighed and stood, leaving her still steaming cup sitting upon the table, the spilt hot chocolate soaking into the picture of her standing near the casket of Unspeakable Cory Adams.