Dark Magic

Insomnia

The days following the trial, Severus and I would return to Spinner's End, where I would pack my things in preparation for the new term. Each night, I continued to be haunted by nightmares; some with Voldemort, some Cedric and others my greatest fear; losing the remaining people in the world I cared about more than anything. It was torture, but it was penance I felt was well-deserved; when I would wake in the night, I had created my own mantra to cope. The bedcovers would muffle my sobs well and I would stare into the night sky and count the stars until sleep overwhelmed me, once more. Even that, however, would come to be futile, and I would have to learn to adapt my method.

The morning before the new term was due to start, would become the worst night of all; for I awoke with a start at 3am, no amount of star-counting or self-assurance that those nightmares would never come to be would suffice. Deciding some tea may help, I tried to sneak from my room and to the kitchen, settling the kettle onto the stove and beginning to boil some water. It was mere moments before the floorboards above me began to squeak, a figure traversing the stairs as Severus entered the kitchen; eyes tired yet he remained in his usual, black robes. I wasn't sure he owned any pyjamas, for I had never seen him wear any.

"Can't sleep?" His eyes filled with understanding as I nodded, taking a seat at the dining room table. Severus took over, beginning to prepare himself a mug in the darkened room.

"What does he have you do? When you're with him?" The words slipped my lips before I had a chance to even process them, the questioning having eaten away at me over the weeks succeeding his disappearance. I could practically see his entire body become tense; his eyes entirely focused on the pot as he poured the boiling water into our cups. It was as though he had anticipated this yet remained entirely unprepared with his answer. Would he lie to me? Again? I wasn't sure I could bear it. A sharp sting surged through my left arm which I tried to hide, watching him take the seat opposite my own and extend one of the mugs to me.

"Nothing, at the moment. The Dark Lord is unsure where my loyalties lie. He is testing my boundaries. Seeing how far I will go to prove that I stand on his side. But I fear I am being kept in the dark, at the moment. He's planning something, although I'm not sure what." I searched his eyes, knowing in an instant he was now telling the truth.

"Did you ever try to remove your mark?" I queried, my eyes flitting momentarily to the place where his own tattoo lied. Almost instinctively, his right hand reached over and began to rub where it sat, under his ebony sleeve. "Indeed. I must have tried everything. I'm not sure what spell The Dark Lord utilised, but it appears to be irreversible." He sighed.

"Does yours ever sting? Or burn?" I asked, hoping I wasn't giving too much away. Severus, however, did not appear suspicious at my words. "It does, but only when I am being summoned."

The words I had long feared escaped his lips as I shut my eyes in attempt to force the stinging sensation away. A small sip of tea removed the sudden dryness in my throat. To my dismay, this did not go unnoticed by the Potion's Master. "You've felt it before, haven't you?" His voice cracked at the notion as I avoided his dark eyes, hoping the question would be forgotten but such a request was pointless.

"Emerald." His plea forced my eyes to finally meet his, pained and desperately searching for the truth, "How many times?"

My breaths shallowed as I shook my head, "I'm not sure." An exasperated sigh emitted from him at my answer, as he stood to leave the room, but I reached across the table and grasped his hand. "Severus, you don't understand...It's constant."

Something dark flickered in his, already obsidian, orbs. Fear. Guilt. Perhaps, a combination of the two. But I found Severus had grown impossible to read since having gained my Legilimens abilities back. His thoughts slipping into my mind now a rarity. Maybe it was due to him requiring such skill when in direct contact with Voldemort. Perhaps, even, his trust in me was waning. Which was an even sadder thought.