Punishment (M/F Fanfic) Part IV: Illusion and Seduction

[siamese dream]

FINALLY :D The last part of my story "Punishment" is finished!! Here it is with no further delay!! I hope you guys enjoy it...once again, thanks to EVERYONE who read the first three, your encouragement has meant so much to me and has really made it all worth it :) Comments are welcomed and appreciated!
Here are links to the first three parts:

part 1: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=70480

part 2: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=72585

part 3: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=75457

This story contains m/f tickling, a little f/m tickling, and sexual situations and dialogue. All characters in tickling scenes are over 18. I must warn, this story leans more toward fanfiction than tickling... there's a lot of plot before the tickling scene, but I hope the story is enjoyable as a whole. Harry Potter fans, again, this story takes place around Order of the Phoenix....a little forshadowing for Half-Blood Prince etc. in here, and Hermione gets her first appearance, and Harry gets his first mention in this story. There's a few elements of this story taken from other sources... The idea of how dragons create fire is pretty much directly taken from the 80s movie "Flight of Dragons". And the song "I choose my devils" is by Madahoochi.

***

The pair entered the darkened, sleeping Hogwarts castle just as it began to rain. Isabelle could hear the falling raindrops chorusing all around them as they made impact with the stone towers. She was exhausted and distressed, her mind swimming with images of the ordeal she had endured; the Death Eaters, Bellatrix and Narcissa...the horrific encounter with Voldemort...Snape, her hero and possibly her doom; who was carrying her briskly through the stone corridors now, and who had been able to save her life only by offering her up as Voldemort's slave. Stabbing pains originating from the sole of her right foot pulsed upward through her leg; each one a bitter reminder of the unthinkable promise she had made to the Dark Lord, and the mark permanently etched into her flesh. There were so many questions, and so many reasons to be afraid; but at the moment, she was with him, and his prescence filled her with a strange comfort.

Snape rounded a corner and nearly collided with the unfriendly-looking Hogwarts caretaker, Argus Filch. He quickly draped a fold of his cloak over Isabelle's marked foot; but Filch seemed far too astounded at the sight of Professor Snape carrying a young woman clad only in a tattered black cloak through the castle in the dead of night to notice anything unusual about Isabelle's foot.

"Go and wake Professor Dumbledore", Snape ordered; but Filch simply stood there, jaw agape and grey eyes flickering with bewilderment. "NOW!", Snape barked, and Filch scrambled away, squawking angrily as though Snape had kicked him.

He walked on with Isabelle clinging to him, paying no heed to the moving portraits on the walls that had awakened and stared suspiciously at the duo, whispering speculations to one another: "What do you suppose they're up to?", a portrait of a plump woman adorned in pearls and flashy jewelry inquired. "Nothing good, from the looks of it", giggled a young maiden in the adjacent portrait. "Looks pretty good to me", answered a rusty-haired old wizard from a portrait further down the hall, leering at Isabelle as they passed.

They eventually arrived at the room Isabelle had been given for the week in the Ravenclaw wing of the castle. Snape carried her into the room and set her down on the pretty canopy bed, which was cloaked with burgundy wine-colored blankets and drapes.

"Rest now", he said quietly, "I need to speak with Professor Dumbledore. I will return soon."

"But...but what are you going to tell --?" She didn't bother finishing her sentence; Snape had left the room and swung the door shut before she could complete the question. She stayed motionless on the bed; her head swimming, feeling as lost and scared as an abandoned child in an apathetic crowd. She clutched her right ankle, and gingerly twisted her leg so that she could look at the mark on the sole of her foot for the first time. She felt sickened and ugly as she stared at it... the black skull, empty sockets, the serpent tongue that extended to her heel, jutting out and undulating from between the grinning jaws. She threw back the bedcovers and buried herself beneath them, lying on her stomach, pulling the blankets over her head and hiding her face in her arms. She wished with all her heart that she could sink into the mattress and disappear forever. With nothing left to do but wait, she drifted into a restless sleep.

Isabelle dreamed that she was standing before Lord Voldemort. She shrank away from him, until she had backed into an iron barrier, reminiscent of the bars of a prison, or a cage. With nowhere to run, she trembled with horror as he approached, drawing closer and closer... His bloody eyes seared into her and cut two slashes across each side of her face. She felt the warm blood spilling down her cheeks. He coiled his skeletal fingers around her neck and told her he would cut her throat next unless she agreed to be his slave forever. Suddenly she was sitting in an empty classroom, and Voldemort was gone. Instead, she was looking up from her seat at Professor Snape, who scolded her for not paying attention and took fifty points from Ravenclaw; and then Professor Snape transformed into a giant snake that hissed at her and called her "Pretty Pearl"...

She awoke with an abrupt jolt, suddenly aware of the burning pain in her right foot... but there was something more; someone was touching her, someone was clutching her marked foot in their hand and moving their fingertips across the sensitive sole...

"Aack! Get away from me!!", Isabelle shrieked, jerking her foot back. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness and she saw that Professor Snape was seated at the foot of the bed, with a small jar of yellow-green ointment that smelled of mint and eucalyptus. The rain was still falling outside her window...how long had she been asleep? The pain in her foot was growing more intense, prickly and stinging...

"What did you do to it?!", Isabelle cried, staring angrily at Snape. "Ow...It hurts!"

"It will, for a few moments. Just wait."

And sure enough, in a few moments the pain began to dull, and was eventually replaced by a pleasantly cold numbness.

"Oh", Isabelle whispered, running a hand over her injured foot and feeling a bit embarassed for her ungrateful reaction. He'd only been trying to help ease the pain. "I -- I'm sorry, you just startled me is all. Thank you."

"You can keep this", he said, tightening the lid on the jar of ointment and setting it on the bedside table. "If you need more, you can find it in most muggle drug stores. Ironically, this common muggle concoction happens to be the best remedy I've been able to find for the sort of pain caused by the Dark Mark. And it doesn't have any of the side effects of pain-dulling potions..."

She smiled with a sudden mix of sympathy and gratitude, remembering that he too had felt the same pain; he too had been given a mark identical to hers on his forearm.

"Thank you", she repeated, blushing as she thought to herself: Should I really be thanking him for the ointment, or for saving my life? After a somewhat uncomfotable silence, she asked "Will it...the mark...will it always hurt like this? Am I going to be hobbling around for the rest of my life?"

"The pain will fade with time", he answered carefully, "And with distance from the Dark Lord. But understand that this mark is no ordinary decoration. It is a sign that you have been touched by very dark magic, and a connection to the wizard who gave it to you. The mark will reflect his nearness and his power, or lack thereof. When Lord Voldemort lost his power and fled, mine began to fade significantly. Upon his rebirth and subsequent gaining of strength, the mark was restored, and appeared vivid as it had been the day he gave it to me." There was a strange sort of catch in his voice... he looked toward her rain-sprinkled window before continuing. "Of course, you are an unusual case... he marked you on a different part of your body than all the others. I am uncertain if you will be affected differently, because of this. It was something I did not anticipate...I tried to spare you from being marked, but I failed."

"Don't", she said quietly, and looked at him imploringly, although he would not look back. "I would be dead if it weren't for you. I know you tried to spare me... when you asked him not to mark me, and he looked at you...I thought...I thought he was going to..." She couldn't say it.

"Kill me?", Snape completed the statement for her. "He was thinking about it. That's nothing new; he's thought about killing me many times before."

"Why didn't he?"

"For the same reason he didn't kill you: Because I convinced him that you were more useful alive than dead. Voldemort is most certainly a killer, and he is not moved by guilt or compassion; but he is affected by greed -- he wouldn't kill someone if he believes there is something to be gained by keeping that person alive."

She considered this quietly for a few moments, and then said hesitantly "...does Dumbledore know...?"

"Yes."

"What did he say --?"

"The specifics of our conversation are not your concern", he answered sharply; and her jaw clenched. How can it not be my concern?, she thought angrily. I was ordered by Voldemort to spy on Dumbledore... and he tells me it's not my concern?! She felt very tempted to argue, but kept her silence.

"If Professor Dumbledore has anything to say to you, he will say it in person. You only need know that he is aware of the situation; and has asked me to explain what will happen to you."

Isabelle exploded. "Then start explaining!", she cried shrilly. "Whose side are you on, anyway? Am I a dark witch, yes or no?! Am I to defy the Dark Lord, or are you here to force me to carry out his wishes? Because I can't do it! I can't..." She wailed in frustration and overwhelming confusion. With nowhere to focus her emotions, she struck her pillow a few times with her fists, and then hugged it to her tearstained face.

He stayed silent for a long while as she smothered herself with the pillow. Finally, when she had quieted, he said "No more outbursts. If you're going to behave like a child, then I'm not going to tell you anything. I will not answer any questions unless you can control yourself."

Though she had very little will left to control herself after the ordeal she had been through, she obediently assumed an expression of attentive seriousness. Ignoring the terrible nervous feeling in her gut, she answered in what she hoped was an acceptably calm tone: "I apologize. It won't happen again, sir." The last word came out in a mouse-like squeak, and she blushed, aware that she hadn't called him 'sir' since her school days, wondering at his ability to reduce her to a timid little girl in an instant.

Choosing not to acknowledge the 'sir' she had used to address him, he spoke: "Regarding whether or not you are a dark witch... you should already know that you are the only one who can truly answer that question, Miss Pearl. Certainly, you have strong potential in the Dark Arts; and I was speaking honestly when I told the Dark Lord this. Potential, however, does not govern our actions, or the desires of our hearts. Do you wish to serve Lord Voldemort? Do you take pleasure in using the dark arts to harm others, as Bellatrix and many of the Death Eaters do? Is it your desire to use the dark arts to forcefully bend others to your will?"

She stared at him with her pretty brown eyes, absorbing his smoothly-spoken words, and blinked in surprise as she realized that his questions were not the usual sarcasm; he was waiting for her to answer. And he was even looking quite interested in what she had to say.

"No... Voldemort... I can't see why anyone would want to serve a monster like that. I would be quite happy to never see him again as long as I live. And no, I don't wish to harm others. I -- well, er...perhaps I find myself fascinated with the...desires...that drive a wizard to enjoy inflicting...certain torments...upon others...but I don't want to harm anyone..."

She found herself blushing more deeply at this; remembering the way he had tortured her with tickling, and how she had found it maddening, frightening and deliciously exciting all at the same time. How he had aroused her young curiousity in the Dark Arts...how she knew, though she had never quite admitted it to herself, that she had studied the Dark Arts, and the hidden desires of dark wizards, in an attempt to make sense of her own hidden attraction to Professor Snape, and the darkness he embodied; and why she found this darkness so irresistably sensual. But had she ever felt any real fear during her torment at the hands of Professor Snape? No, she thought... no, not at all like the terrifying panic she had felt during her capture by the Death Eaters, Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy. Though Snape had a certain skill at scaring the wits out of his young students, and she was no exception... she knew inside that he would never really hurt her. Unlike Bellatrix and Narcissa, who would have happily torn her apart if it weren't for him. The difference was as clear as night and day.

He interrupted her moment of musing. "You still haven't responded to my last question. Do you wish to use the Dark Arts to forcefully bend others to your will? Answer carefully, Miss Pearl." His voice had a razor-sharp edge to it that made her wince, and she knew why.

The Imperius curse. She had used it against him, in an attempt to force him to make love to her. He had been able to overcome the curse before this happened, but not before things had become rather intense between them. She nervously twirled a strand of her silky black hair around her fingertip.

"I know what you must think of me", she said very quietly. "I truly am sorry... if I could take it back...but it's useless to say that, I suppose. I don't know why I did that. I mean, I do know...but that isn't what I really wanted. I wanted you, but I wanted you to kiss me and...and all the other things...of your own accord. All I can say is that I'm sorry, and I was wrong. No, I don't want to use the dark arts to force others to my will. I regret ever being tempted to do such a thing, especially to you."

Isabelle waited, made vulnerable and exposed by her apologetic words, for a biting response that never came. Instead, Snape said nothing, and in his silence she felt a strange sense that he had not dismissed her words, but tucked them away in some dark corner of his mysterious mind. Then he spoke.

"You are in very real danger. Professor Dumbledore is concerned. I am concerned. There are a great many things you will have to sacrifice in order to save yourself from certain death. And even then, your safety cannot be guaranteed. Are you prepared to follow my instructions, without argument?"

She tensed, and took a deep breath. "Yes", she whispered, and exhaled.

"You will carry on with your lectures this week as planned, and give no indication that anything has happened. At the end of the week, word will reach the press that you have been offered a teaching post at Hogwarts. In the meantime, Isabelle Pearl will disappear. The more distance you can put between yourself and Hogwarts, the better. Tell only whom you must... you will have the opportunity to make your own travel arrangements during the week. If you have nowhere to go, Professor Dumbledore will make arrangements for you.

Voldemort's orders require you to stay at Hogwarts as his spy, and to influence the students towards the Dark Arts. For you to become a Hogwarts teacher would be the most effective strategy to carry out these orders. The Dark Lord knows that this will take time to accomplish... he won't expect you to report back to him right away. While you go into hiding, we will maintain the illusion that you are still at the school, having accepted a teaching position, for as long as possible. However, I am certain that eventually, your disappearance will be discovered and reported to the press. Once that happens, Voldemort may attempt to discover your true location...and if he succeeds, he will destroy you. And there will be nothing that I can do to stop him. That is why it is very important that you keep your true identity a secret. You will need to change your name, your appearance, your career --"

"--My career?" Isabelle cut in suddenly. Outrage and defiance flashed over her features.

At this, Professor Snape sneered; and his tone became distinctly harsh and impatient.

"Yes, Miss Pearl... your career, as it turns out, will make it exceedingly difficult for you to remain hidden from the Dark Lord. Your success as a writer, your fame..." He said the word 'fame' with deep loathing, as though it made him ill. "...These are now your greatest liabilities. The press will want to talk with you once we supply them with false information on your whereabouts and teaching aspirations. They'll want to know if you plan to continue writing. It is already rather difficult to effectively hide anyone from the Dark Lord and his followers...given your status in the media, it will be an absolute nightmare to conceal the truth about you. I fear the illusion will not fool anyone for very long, and your disappearance will soon be discovered. Once that happens, it is imperative that your new identity cannot be connected to the old one. If anyone in the press discovers who you really are, and reports it...well, it will be as good as drawing a map to your house, and handing it to Voldemort."

Dumbstruck, Isabelle stared at Snape for a few moments in stunned silence, before she was able to speak again. Her words came out in a strangled voice:

"And...and what sort of illusion will be able to convince the whole school that I'm still here, when I'm actually not?"

Snape's mouth narrowed, as if he were trying hard not to give away a secret.

"It is a complicated spell...it involves manifesting a physical image of you from memory. This image...apparition...phantom...whatever you may call it, will serve to give everyone the impression that you are still here at the school, while in reality, you are safely hidden in a distant land."

Her dark eyes widened in wonder. "You can do that?"

Snape laughed; an abrupt sound, almost like a cough. "I sincerely hope that I am up to the task. As I said, it will be complicated... this false you...she will not only have to move, but to speak, and interact with others --"

"-- It's like the snakes!", Isabelle cried suddenly.

"Beg your pardon?"

"The snakes...the ones you conjured into your room to...um...play with me. The Heirs of Midgard. This illusion of me...it works the same way, doesn't it?"

Snape didn't answer right away, but she watched a slow fondness creep across his sharp features.

"Perceptive. Yes, the illusion will be somewhat similar to that -- but much more complex, and it will have to be maintained for much longer. I have no idea how long we will be able to maintain the illusion that you are still at the school, and I haven't the faintest notion of how long people will remain convinced that it is you. That is why you must hide your identity in as many ways as possible. And you must not return to Hogwarts. Everything depends on it."

"Severus...", she whispered, and hesitated; afraid to ask the question in her mind. "...When the illusion is discovered...when people learn that I have disappeared...what will happen to you? Won't Voldemort know that you helped me to escape? Won't he...come after you?"

"Let me worry about that", Snape said curtly.

"I don't want anything to happen to you...", she persisted.

"It is not your concern", Snape answered, his tone hardening. "You must not return to the school after this week, no matter what happens."

She didn't say anything else, though her mind was screaming; simultaneously cursing his stubborness, and her own.

"How skilled are you at Occlumency?", Snape asked suddenly.

The question caught her off guard. "What...Occlumency? I...I don't know, averge, I suppose. Why? What does that have to do with anything?"

"When Bellatrix and Narcissa captured you, Bellatrix knew things about you, didn't she? Things that you didn't tell her...things that you didn't want her to know. She read your thoughts, am I correct?"

He was absolutely correct. Bellatrix had seemed to know what she was thinking, as quickly as the thoughts came to her. She nodded slowly.

"Using Legillimency to read the thoughts of their victim, and discover potential weaknesses, is a favorite trick of many of the Death Eaters...and indeed, Voldemort himself. Being well-prepared to block your mind against this kind of attack, using Occlumency, can prove a vital way to protect yourself. 'Average' Occlumency skills will not provide much of a defense from the likes of Death Eaters...but as it is with many things, the best way to improve is to practice. I strongly suggest that you practice Occlumency, as often as you can. It may save your life one day."

"I can do that, if you think it will help...", she repled. A thought suddenly occured to her, and she blurted out "You could teach me during the week! You're one of the best Occlumens in the world, Dumbledore told me..."

She trailed off. His expression was telling her to abandon this line of talk. "I'm sorry", she whispered, turning pink. "How stupid of me to assume you'd be able...you already have so many demands on your time..."

"There's more to it than that...", he said, and hesitated; seeming oddly apprehensive. She had never heard him speak with even a trace of uncertainty before, but she heard it now:

"You and I...we shouldn't be spending any more time alone together."

At this, Isabelle stiffened; feeling that the conversation was on the edge of something raw and potentially painful. But it was too late to turn back.

"Why not?"

"Because...it seems that my influence tempts you into reckless behavior. And...though I hadn't wanted to admit it...you seem to have the same effect on me. The more we're around one another, the less cautious we become. The risk is too great... I already fear that my warning will not be enough to prevent you from returning to Hogwarts, and I will not encourage you into endangering yourself further."

Isabelle's reaction to this was an odd emotional mix... she felt slightly offended, yet amused. She grinned.

"When it comes to you... I have been reckless in my actions. I don't deny it. However, that doesn't mean I would have you assume that your mere prescence renders me incapable of rational thought, Severus." The sarcasm was clear in her statement, but Snape did not seem to share in her amusement. She looked awkwardly at her hands.

Quietly, and in a more solemn tone, she said "I know what must be done...I know that I have to go into hiding, and that after this week, I cannot return to Hogwarts. I accept that. But... you know why I want to spend time with you... why I enjoy spending time with you. I know you do."

Snape replied softly, "I will never be what you want me to be. I'm too old, too dangerous, too involved in the war between Voldemort and those who oppose him... it is too late for me. Soon, I may have no home to return to, and nothing left that bears the slightest resemblance to my former life."

"What do you mean by that?"

"There is too much at stake. We can't afford to be careless anymore... I cannot tell you more than that. I must leave you now... I have already kept you too long."

Isabelle glanced out the window. The rain had faded to a lazy drizzle. The first shy hints of light were beginning to crown in the grey sky. Dawn was approaching.

Snape moved toward the door. She remained motionless as she watched him, her brown eyes glittering. With every measure of emotion in her heart, she thought, Don't leave. But she knew that he would.

And he did, without another word, and without looking back.

***

Isabelle finished gathering a few spare Potions ingredients from storage and set off to meet her class for the day. The guests of the school had each been invited to give lectures during free periods, open for any interested students to attend. Her stride was a bit slower than usual, mostly from fatigue. She looked forward to finally getting a good night's sleep, but first she would have to get through the day without letting on that anything out of the ordinary had happened last night. After getting washed, dressed and ready for the morning, she had made sure to re-apply the ointment Snape had given her to the marked area on her right foot. It had made a surprising difference; she was able to walk with almost no hint of limping. She was very thankful for this...the last thing she needed was for some concerned member of the faculty to spy her limp and usher her off to Madam Pomfrey. The school's healer was quite good at mending broken bones and sprained ankles, but she would have no tricks for erasing a Dark Mark.

Today's lecture would be held in one of the older classrooms that had only seen occassional use for the past few years. She had not been able to bring her mind to rest since Snape left her at dawn, so she had been working in the classroom since the early morning hours, busying herself mixing several potions in containers of varying size, and charting the ingredients and desired results on a wide blackboard. It was quite a different scene than what she remebered of Professor Snape's gloomy, darkened potions classroom: The room was large and open, with a lot of space to move around. Sunlight streamed in through tall windows. Devoid of the unplesantly claustrophobic atmosphere in Snape's windowless dungeon, the only similarity was that Isabelle was very meticulous and organized in arranging her created potions for display in the classroom, something she had learned from years of observing his habits in class.

Upon entering the classroom, she knew that this would prove an interesting experience. Some thirty-odd girls had shown up for the lecture and sat in scattered groups at the desks, ranging from first-years on up. Isabelle took her place at the front of the room, next to a long table which held four gleaming potions in large glass vials, and a row of four smaller vials in front of these. Her blackboard chart stood tall behind the table. The young women seated at the desks settled and looked up at her expectantly. She cleared her throat, feeling just a twinge of stage-fright.

"Good morning! It's very nice to see all of you here. My name is Isabelle Pearl, and I'm very honored to have the opportunity to speak with you during the week. I hope that during our time together, you will learn some useful skills, and also have fun. I've prepared a practical lesson for us today, something I think you'll really enjoy. Now, can anyone tell me what these potions are called?" She guestured toward the arrangement of vials on the table.

Immediately, a hand shot up in the air; belonging to a bushy-haired, bold-looking young Griffyndor.

"Yes?"

"Those potions are known as Glamours", the young woman responded enthusiastically.

"Excellent, you're absolutely right, Miss...?"

"Granger, ma'am, Hermione Granger."

"Very good, Miss Granger", Isabelle replied with a smile. "And who can tell me what Glamours do?"

The young lady's hand was up the moment she had uttered the question. Isabelle felt a little tempted to laugh at Miss Granger's classroom eagerness. She wasn't even a proper teacher, and none of the students would be given marks for their performance. Still, it was fun to play the role...

"Go ahead, dear."

"Glamours describe a variety of potions that are designed to alter the drinker's physical appearance.", Hermione answered breathlessly. A perfect, albeit general, textbook definition.

"Yes, right again, Miss Granger. Now, there are a wide assortment of Glamours, with results ranging from very simple physical changes, to complex alterations of facial features, height, weight, skin color, and so on. Unlike Polyjuice potion, Glamours do not transform a person into the physical shape of another; however, the more complicated Glamours can alter a person's appearance so dramatically that the person would be practically impossible to recognize once the change has taken place. No Glamour can create a permanent change; the results wear off within a few days and the person will revert back to their true physical form if the potion is not taken regularly."

Isabelle passed by the table where her Glamour vials were arranged, picking up one of the smaller vials and holding it aloft. The young women leaned in, exchanging curious looks and whispers over the contents of the vial.

"The potions we'll be working with today are among the more simple Glamours, and they cause a noticeable, but not overwhelming change in appearance." With that, Isabelle un-corked the vial and drank the contents. A murmur rippled through the rows of desks in the classrooms.

Setting the empty vial down on the table, she said lightly, "Now then... who can tell me what I've changed?"

The students peered closely at her, inspecting her; a few in the back of the room stood up and squinted to get a better view.

After a few moments, a tiny brunette first-year girl squeaked, "Your eyes! They were brown -- now they're green!"

"Very good! Sharp eye you have there, well done. Slytherin, are you?"

The first-year girl nodded; blushing at the words of praise.

"Well done indeed, true to your house's legacy, Slytherins are most perceptive. As you all might have guessed by now, the smaller vials on the table cause a change in eye color. Different colors are created by variations of ingredients while mixing the potions. I've taken the green potion -- in the other vials we have potions that will cause blue eyes, hazel, and violet. And on the chart, you'll see instructions on how to create a Glamour for each result. But before we get to that, I'm sure some of you are wondering what kind of Glamour I have here in the larger vials." She grasped one of the aforementioned vials, and again held it up for the class to see.

"Now, this Glamour is a bit less subtle than the one we just saw. When I drink this, it will be quite obvious to all of you what kind of change it creates." Isabelle tipped back the vial and swallowed. A hush fell over the class as they waited for the potion to take effect.

Slowly, a fiery brightness began to spread through Isabelle's waist-length black hair, starting at the roots, and then streaking throughout the strands and down to the tips, overcoming her natural black color until every fine strand of hair had tranformed to a bold, brilliant scarlett. The change was quite dramatic, as was evident by the "Ooohs" she heard from the students as they watched the transformation. The hair color change had also brought out the green her potion had created in her eyes quite nicely, and they sparkled like emeralds. The new redhead smiled at her class.

"Wow", whispered Hermione.

"You look like a completely different person!", another fifth-year girl said in wonderment.

"I want that color! Can you teach us how to make it?", a blond Ravenclaw girl asked, and the rest of the class buzzed in agreement; naming possible colors excitedly.

"You'll all get a chance to make a Glamour of your choice today", Isabelle said; raising her hand for quiet. "Those without cauldrons can share the ones I have in the classroom. On the chart, you'll see instructions for preparing your ingredients, and the necessary variations to achieve the desired colors."

The classroom was alive with activity in the next few minutes as students bustled about, gathering up cauldrons and potions, talking amognst themselves, speculating as to which would be the most attractive hair and eye color to suit their facial features. Isabelle circled the room as they worked, giving tips and advice where needed. It came as no surprise that Hermione Granger was the first to have a completed Glamour in her cauldron.

Isabelle spooned a bit of the potion into an empty vial, and congratulated the girl upon inspecting the contents. "Well done, Miss Granger, it looks like you have a very well-brewed Glamour here for blond hair. Would you like to test it?"

Hermione's face went a little pink as she took the vial. "Well... it is a very interesting potion, Ma'am, but I'm happy with my own hair color...I just wanted to see if I could make it, I didn't really want to change my hair..."

"Perfectly reasonable, you did very well on this Glamour...Would anyone else like to give it a try?"

"I'll drink it!", a sixth-year brunette girl seated in the back of the room declared. Hermione passed the vial back. The brunette drank her potion, and more "oohs" sounded from the class as her dark brown ringlets transformed to a lovely cornsilk blond.

"Brilliant, Hermione!", the former brunette giggled, admiring her golden curls in a compact mirror.

"This is a lot more fun than Potions class with Professor Snape!", muttered a young woman near the front of the room. Suddenly, the friendly classroom chatter had taken a decidedly conspiratory tone, as other girls voiced their agreement:

"He's unfair."

"He's mean!"

"He'd never let us do Glamours..."

"...Or drink a Potion himself to demonstrate the results!"

"Well, there's probably a good reason for that", Hermione spoke up in a reasoning manner. "I mean, his assignments are different... he's more likely to have us making Potions like the Draught of Living Death... it wouldn't be very good if he drank some of it to show us what it does, and keeled over in the middle of class!"

The room erupted in laughter. Even Isabelle had covered her face as she broke into giggles. Hermione had apparently not intended for her remarks to be humorous; and grinned apologetically.

"Alright, girls, that will do", Isabelle said when she had composed herself. "Lets not be too critical of Professor Snape's methods... after all, he is your Potions teacher, I am merely a guest of the school. And remember, not long ago I was a student here, and Professor Snape was my teacher. He taught me everything I know about Potions --"

A piercing shriek suddenly interrupted Isabelle's remarks in defense of Professor Snape. The shriek had originated from a desk at the far corner of the room, where a very pretty blond-haired, blue-eyed Hufflepuff had been attempting to create a potion to turn her eyes green. Unfortunately, it seemed the girl had accidentally followed some of the instructions for the hair-color potion, and upon consumption, her once-golden locks had turned a stunning shade of electric green.

"Mistakes do happen..." Isabelle moved quickly to the girl's side. "Never feel too proud or afraid to ask me a question if you're unsure of your results -- that goes for all of you, girls. It will be alright -- though you're lucky, it could have been much worse..."

Isabelle secretly thought the result wasn't so bad at all. The girl actually looked quite breathtaking -- she now had the look of some exotic and powerful superhero from a comic book; with her fair skin, ice-blue eyes and shocking green hair. But the girl seemed quite frantic; so she rushed to her aid.

She handed the girl one of the Glamours she had made herself from the front of the classroom. "It's blond -- though it might not be your exact shade, it will have to do for now. In a few days the effects from both potions will wear off and your hair should go back to its natural color." The girl drank Isabelle's potion, and sighed in relief as her hair slowly returned to a normal hue.

Isabelle could hear the commotion of other students on the stairwells and in the hallways. Free period was over; classes would be starting soon.

"You are dismissed! Thank you for coming, and have a good day!" Isabelle called over the noise of the students moving through the castle. Several of the girls shook her hand on their way out the door, giving their compliments on her lesson.

She felt good about herself. Her first classroom experience had mostly been a success. It had been fun, too... she suddenly felt a little dissapointed that after this week, she would never see Hogwarts again, or any of the students she had met today. It seemed ironic that she would be pretending to accept a teaching position... if she weren't going into hiding, she might have seriously considered teaching as a career after her experience today. But it was only one day, Isabelle thought. Just think of trying to manage all these kids, year after year... no wonder Professor Snape is always so irritable. She smiled to herself.

***

At dinner that evening, it was apparent that Isabelle's lesson on Glamours had been a smashing success among the female students. The word had spread beyond the girls that had arrived for her lecture... they had copied her formula down and passed it on to other students. The Great Hall was a kalaidescope of new hair colors. A few were even bold enough to change their color mid-meal, creating more rowdiness than usual at mealtimes. The color choices stood as a beacon for some of the bolder students' personalities -- a few girls had taken it upon themselves to learn how to make new colors; bright, bizarre colors that Isabelle had not taught them. She saw that one girl had managed to perfectly replicate the electric-green shade the Hufflepuff girl had created by accident; she saw another young woman with sky-blue tresses; a third with a trendy, hot-pink short style. It was clear who the culprit behind all this was; as Isabelle herself was still sporting the red locks she had given herself in class. The faculty's reaction was mixed -- some of the Professors seemed to find it clever. Others shot disapproving looks in Isabelle's direction. The near-sighted Professors merely seemed confused, Isabelle noted with some amusement. Professor Snape was nowhere to be seen.

Her drowsiness suddenly rushed back to her near the end of the meal and overcame her body. She had not slept soundly for a long while now. Quietly, she slipped away from the Great Hall and retreated to her room.

Isabelle found herself in a darkened, unfamiliar enclosure. She could hear voices whispering evilly to one another; and sounds like chains dragging and clanking against the ground. The room slowly began to come into focus; it was circular, and reached up to a dizzying height. Hundreds of spectators were seated all around her; their outraged eyes tearing into her. Panic began to overtake her as she realized that she couldn't move -- her hands and feet were shackled together by heavy irons, and she was surrounded by four guards with wands drawn at her throat. A man spoke:

"...Isabelle Pearl; convicted Death Eater in the service of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, is hereby sentenced for crimes of Dark Magic..."

"Sentenced?!" Isabelle cried defiantly. "I...I haven't even been tried! What proof is there --?"

"Silence, Dark Witch!", the man hissed angrily. The crowd began to murmur, hostility simmering throughout their ranks, searing Isabelle's ears. "What proof is there, you ask? Foolish girl, what proof beyond this do we need?!" With a quick motion, he had seized her by the ankle, and wrenched off her shoe. The Dark Mark on the sole of her foot was displayed to all.

The crowd all but lost control. Their cries resounded through the circular room, until they were deafening. Isabelle wailed in defeated terror as the angry shouts drenched her thoughts. "Death Eater!! Servant of Evil!! To Azkaban -- to Azkaban with her!"

She was immediately in a place she knew...a dreadful place, an evil place. The stone walls... the iron bars... the lurking, lingering scent of the terrifying creatures who patrolled the cells; the Dementors. Azkaban prison. One of the ghostly Dementors suddenly passed close to her; and she felt herself being drained of all happiness...all light, hope and joy leaving her with her breath. As the Dementor passed by, she felt empty, hollow and utterly hopeless. She was roughly thrown into one of the lonely cells; the iron-barred door slammed shut and locked behind her. She sank to her knees in the tomb-like prison cell. Her eyes locked on a figure crouched low in the corner.

The bent figure stirred and looked up. She was eye-to-eye with Bellatrix Lestrange.

The dark witch advanced upon Isabelle's trembling, cowering form. "You... how I hoped we would see each other again!", rasped Bellatrix; a horrible grin illuminating her features in the sickly light of the prison. In one quick movement, Bellatrix was upon her; clawing and groping at her struggling body obscenely...

It's over..., Isabelle thought weakly. Any sanity the Dementors leave me with, Bellatrix will take it... She shut her eyes, emptiness overtaking her...blurry, red shapes swirled behind her eyelids...

Isabelle jumped as a loud noise broke through her unconsciousness. She was safe in bed. Another dream... she sighed heavily, sinking back onto the mattress, feeling the tension from her nightmare breaking. A second noise startled her to alertness. Someone was knocking at the door.

Her feet slipped into the houseshoes on the floor beside her bed. As she walked to the door, sudden pangs seared through her right leg as her right foot made contact with the ground. The mark was burning again. She limped to the door, and cracked it open, peeking out hesitantly.

It was Graeme. His friendly face flooded her with relief. The nightmare had been quite unnerving. Silly to let a dream bother you so..., she thought; but shuddered with the memory of her dreamed imprisonment.

"Hello Isabelle... I hope I'm not disturbing you. I just wanted to stop by and... Wow!!", Graeme exclaimed suddenly as Isabelle swung the door fully open. "Wow...what did you do to your hair?!"

Isabelle flushed as Graeme looked her over. She had nearly forgotton that her normally-black hair was still flaming red from the Glamour.

"Ah...not much, something I showed the girls how to do in my lesson today. A potion called a Glamour -- it will wear off in a couple days."

"So, this is the person responsible for the amazing technicolor hair-show in the Great Hall tonight!", Graeme grinned impishly. "I should have known... Your eyes are different too. Green. I like it, you look...very pretty." Graeme looked shyly into space at this last word.

"Thank you. Won't you come in, Graeme?" She moved aside. She hadn't counted on keeping company this evening; she needed to catch some much-needed sleep. Still, she was less keen to return to her nightmares...

"They've made these rooms so nice for us during the week, I feel like I should be paying a great sum for my room and board...", Graeme said conversationally, looking around Isabelle's room. He couldn't help but notice that she was leaning on her left foot heavily, trying to keep pressure off her right as she moved across the room and took a seat.

"Hey, are you alright, Isabelle? You're limping."

Isabelle's face reddened; but she turned away from Graeme so that he would not see. She had neglected her ointment before bed, and now the pain in her foot was noticeable to others. "It's nothing", she lied quickly. "A clumsy fall on the stairs late last night... I was half-asleep and I stumbled, twisting my ankle. It'll be fine."

Graeme took a seat across from her. "Actually...I heard something happened to you last night", he said quietly. "It's probably stupid gossip; it was the portraits talking, after all. But they said you had been wounded somehow...and that they saw you being rushed through the castle...by Professor Snape." Isabelle felt like the blood was draining from her face. She tried to keep herself from betraying anything as Graeme spoke. "They said it looked like you had been through an ordeal... you'd been drinking that night and I...I just wanted to check on you. But it looks like you're okay."

"I'm great", Isabelle said through gritted teeth. Those stupid, loose-lipped portraits! "Leave it to paintings to make a big fuss over a silly accident. I fell on the stairs and hurt myself. Professor Snape just happened to be passing by and was in a generous enough mood to help me to my room, that's all."

"You should see Madam Pomfrey, though, if it's still hurting. She's a wonder at mending sprains. I found myself in her clutches practically every week during my Quidditch days", Graeme answered with a grin.

"It's not bad, it'll be okay...", Isabelle insisted. "I'd like to avoid the nurse...she, um...she makes me a bit nervous." It was nonsense, of course; Isabelle had no fear of the kindly school nurse. She realized how stupid and guilt-laden she was beginning to feel, having to cover up one lie with another. Is my entire life going to be like this now...an endless string of deceptions? She didn't want to think about it. "How were your Dragon lessons today?", she asked; eager to change the subject.

"Ah, they were fantastic!", Graeme replied with a broad grin. She had chosen the right subject; Graeme spoke at length about his dragon lesson and dragons in general. Isabelle listened contentedly, and not without interest...dragons were a fascinating topic, certainly; and Graeme was so enthusiastic in his knowledge of their mysterious ways. It was endearing to listen to him speak of the scaled, fire-breathing beasts as fondly as though he were talking about kittens.

"So how exactly does the fire-breathing work? Are they all able to breathe fire?", she asked.

"Not all of 'em can breathe fire. Certain species have mastered the ability better than others. They have to be at least a few years old before they've learned to use the fire effectively... even then, they can easily hurt or exhaust themselves, so fire-breathing is really a dragon's last resort. But their method for creating fire is really very ingenious... the chemicals in their bodies change the air they breathe. We humans breathe oxygen and exhale carbon dioxide. A dragon breathes oxygen in, but its body can store and convert oxygen to hydrogen; and dragon exhale is mainly composed of hydrogen -- which is highly flammable."

"How do they ignite the hydrogen though? There has to be some kind of pre-existing fire..."

"Right you are; you should drop in for my dragon lesson tomorrow, Isabelle, there's so much I could tell you..." He smiled and cleared his throat. "...Anyway. A dragon has a unique organ situated in the roof of its mouth. This organ is called the Sachs organ. It's made up of hundreds of tiny plates stacked on top of themselves that build an electrical charge. A trigger -- usually the dragon touching its tongue to the roof of its mouth -- discharges the electricity and creates a high-voltage spark. Coupled with exhaled hydrogen which ignites when it touches the spark, it creates the effect of 'breathing fire'!"

"Interesting... how do they keep from burning the inside of their mouths?"

"A dragon is well-armored inside and out", replied Graeme. "The inside of its mouth is well-protected; this is why dragons can bite through the thickest, sharpest material without harm to themselves. The skin inside its mouth is also fire-proof. It's the dragon's tongue which is really vulnerable...but they have a special fold of skin inside their mouths to prevent their tongue from being harmed. Once they create the spark and begin to breathe fire, they hide their tongues inside this protective layer of skin. Still, accidents happen; they can still hurt themselves while trying to breathe fire. Usually that happens if they accidentally swallow some of the igniting hydrogen... causing a nasty burn to the inside of their throat. Terrible when that happens, very uncomfortable for the dragon."

"Very interesting... what a clever marvel of nature. It makes me feel sorry for my ignorance of their ways... many people see them as little more than frightening beasts. It must take a very rare person to understand them so deeply." She smiled at him.

"Ah...well...y'know. They're truly amazing creatures", Graeme answered quietly, embarassed by Isabelle's flattery. They both looked at the floor as uncomfortable silence intruded.

Out of nowhere, Isabelle thought of Snape's instructions to practice Occlumency. She had nearly forgotton... not that practice would do her much good without a partner. But perhaps Graeme would be willing...

"Hey Graeme", Isabelle said suddenly. "Jinx me. I want to see if I can block it."

"Huh? What for?"

"Just...brushing up on some magic skills I never quite mastered. I want to become better at Occlumency. But I need someone to practice with."

"Occlumency, that's pretty tough magic to learn. What made you want to learn this?"

"Oh...just academic interest, mostly. These are dangerous times, too... It can't hurt to be well-practiced at defensive magic."

"True", replied Graeme. "What with You-Know-Who on the loose, it'd probably be a good idea for all of us to practice up and stay on our toes."

"So, then..." Isabelle grinned playfully, retrieving her wand and pointing it at Graeme. "Are you going to jinx me, or are you scared?"

Graeme laughed loudly in surprise. "Oh! So that's a challenge, is it? You'd better be careful, missy, that kind of talk could get you into trouble someday..." He returned her playful, baiting smile as he pointed his own wand at her. "Um..." he grinned sheepishly. "What spell do you want me to use?"

"Nothing too painful...I can't be sure if I'll be able to block it or not.", she answered truthfully. A spell came to mind at once, but it made her shake her head and blush instinctively. Why would I think of that one first? I must be losing my mind... Despite her warning thoughts, she said "Rictusempra. You could use that one." I've really opened the door now, haven't I?, she thought, shaking her head once more at her own audacity.

Graeme said nothing, but his face showed new enthusiasm for Occlumency practice with Isabelle upon hearing her choice of spell. He smoothed his ash-blond curls back, green eyes flickering micheviously, and held his wand aloft in a playful duelling stance: "You asked for it... ready?"

Isabelle took a deep breath and tried to focus her thoughts. She was going to attempt to block the spell without resorting to using a counter-spell; simply by the force of her mind and her will. There was much more to Occlumency than blocking spells, she knew; but this was as good a starting place as any.

"Ready."

"Okay... Rictusempra!" A red jet of light shot from the tip of Graeme's wand and struck Isabelle. The spell began to take effect. Isabelle's mind scrambled to defend her. Don't think about it... I don't feel anything, nothing, nothing... But she could feel the touch of invisible fingertips, tickling along her ribcage. She shook herself, but didn't laugh. Nothing....it's nothing... It wasn't working. A smile was overtaking her face. Within moments, she was giggling and clutching her sides...

"Guess that means it didn't work", Graeme said with a laugh.

"No...it didn't. But I don't give in that easily", she said coyly, shaking off the last of the tickling sensations the spell created. "Try it again."

"Alright...ready this time?"

"Go."

"Rictusempra!", Graeme shouted, a bit more forcefully this time. As the spell shot toward Isabelle, she changed her strategy and began staring deeply into a shape formed by the cracks in the wall behind Graeme. Her eyes drew her further and further into the star-like shape, examining every line and angle, blocking everything else from her thoughts...

...It was working. Though she could feel the illusion of hands tickling her sides, it was not enough to break her concentration and force her to laugh. The sensation itself began to fade as she lost herself deeper in the shape she had fixed her eyes upon, until the room around them seemed little more than a shapeless phantom in her peripheral vision.

Suddenly the sensation was gone from her sides, but quickly and unexpectedly moved to her legs. I should have known it wouldn't be that easy to block a spell, she thought, as she gritted her teeth and tried hard not to lose her focus on the wall. It was too late, however...she made a strange choking sound, then, "Augh!! Hahahaha! Damn it!" She kicked at the air, and the spell faded away.

Graeme's eyes glittered. Dimples showed in his cheeks as he smiled. "Got you again... but I think you did better that time."

"Yes, I nearly had it, but I lost it there at the end. Well, no matter...once more. Will you try once more?"

"Anything for you", Graeme answered playfully, taking his battle stance again. "On three... one...two...three! Rictusempra!"

This time, Isabelle stared right at her 'attacker'. She looked into his jade-green eyes, trying to lose herself in them, as she had done with the pattern on the wall. Her eyes locked onto him; her face was fixed in powerful concentration. She didn't twitch; didn't blink. She would not yield this time.

Graeme watched Isabelle's face as she warded off the spell. It was frozen, like a portrait; yet alive with power. Her eyes flashed dangerously in the green tint her potion had created. Her red hair shimmered like threads of fire; her whole face seemed to glow as she stared him down. He tried to hold her gaze, but he was beginning to become uncomfortable at the intensity in her stare. Though he had thought of her as a friendly and gentle woman, in this moment she looked very intimidating, almost frightening; yet more beautiful than ever. He shifted his feet nervously.

The spell shattered around her and faded into nothingness. She had done it...she had forced the spell away with only the power of her mind, and she hadn't felt a thing! The tension broke as she smiled triumphantly. The strange, dancing light faded from her eyes and hair, until she looked her normal self again.

"That was amazing", Graeme said sincerely. "I've never seen anything like it...I think you called up some very powerful magic there. For a moment, I almost felt too weak to hold the spell on you."

"It was definitely something new...", Isabelle gasped; breathing hard from her effort. "I mean, before...I thought I could block it, but I couldn't keep my concentration. This time...something happened, a wall that was there between myself and the magic crumbled away, and suddenly blocking spells seemed like the easiest thing in the world. I felt like I could have blocked a spell from You-Know-Who himself!"

"Lets not get too carried away...", Graeme laughed softly. "It was very impressive, but I think you may need more practice before you go facing off against the most evil wizard in history."

Isabelle might have laughed at this; if the horrifying encounter with Voldemort weren't still fresh in her mind. Of course, Graeme knew nothing of it. She tried to cast it out of her thoughts.

"Yes, practice. I do need to keep practicing. Are you up for another round?"

"Why not? You might even be lucky twice in a row!!", he teased.

"Oh, it was more than luck, and you know it!" she retorted playfully.

"We'll see. Rictusempra!", he shouted with no warning; trying to catch her off-guard.

Isabelle quickly prepared to block the spell again. Once more, she stared at Graeme with penetrating intensity; shutting all things out of her mind except the face of her opponent, and felt her power swelling and overwhelming her... She knew she would be able to block the spell for a second time. Her face had again taken on a strange gleam, but she was not aware of herself. She was caught up in a static energy quite unlike anything she had ever experienced, and she only retained a vague awareness of her opponent's condition as she stared him down. Graeme looking ready... then looking less confident... then very nervous, as if he might flee.

Before she realized what was happening, the moment crumbled around them and Graeme was rushing at her. Defenseless and taken by surprise, Isabelle cried out in protest and dissolved into giggles as his hands reached her and began tickling her midsection, where the spell had failed to affect her. There was no blocking this; the shock of it had already left her vulnerable.

"Aaack!! Hey - hehehehe! That's not fair!"

"Sure it is, you just weren't ready for it!", Graeme teased; skittering his fingertips over her belly for a moment before relenting.

Isabelle laughed joyously, and said "Don't start a war you can't finish." Then she started tickling him back.

She didn't know where this elated feeling came from; only that Graeme was ticklish, perhaps even as ticklish as she... and the more he laughed and reacted to her retaliation, the more giddy and jubilant she felt. The energy she spent using magic had left her feeling relaxed and silly. As they wrestled around trying to get the better of one another, she laughed musically; with the joy of a child at play.

Eventually they stopped; both still giggling as they looked at each other, red-faced and panting. Isabelle felt undeniably aware of the attraction between the two of them, and a sharp pang of guilt tore through at her own flirtateous behavior towards Graeme. In just a few days, I will be leaving and never coming back, and no one will know what has become of me. And here I am, playing around as if I have not a care in the world. Graeme will never see me again. What will he think when I disappear? She sighed heavily. It is cruel of me to let him become attached. I feel so stupid.

"What's wrong?", Graeme asked; sensing her sadness.

So many things, she thought. But answered, "Nothing."

"Come out with me tonight, we'll travel into town and I'll take you anywhere you want to go. Will you?"

She sighed again. This wasn't going to be easy. Leaving the castle would be a very bad idea at this time. The last time she had left, she was captured by the Death Eaters, and they still lurked as close to the castle grounds as they dared. If she left, she would be beyond Dumbledore's protection and inviting disaster. There would be no choice but to stay inside Hogwarts until the time came for her to go into hiding.

"I can't, Graeme. I...I just need to stay here for now. -- I'm sorry", she added quickly as she watched his face fall. "There are things about me that might be hard for you to understand. I can't really explain... I just want you to know...it isn't because I don't enjoy your company. I just don't want to go anywhere."

"Okay", Graeme said, looking crestfallen.

Guilt compelled her to speak. "Will you come back tomorrow...and we'll practice Occlumency again, and talk some more?"

"I'd like that", he answered. As he moved toward the door, he turned and said "Isabelle..." There was a long pause, and whatever he'd been thinking, he left unsaid. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight", she whispered; and with a click the door shut and she was left alone to deal with her waking thoughts, and her nightmares.

***

Over the next few days, Isabelle would retreat to her room after giving her lessons during the free period, spending very little time among the students and teachers. She would pass the time alone by writing short verse, which usually ended up as a crumpled piece of paper in the wastebasket, and by creating more complicated Glamours. She used the topical medicine Snape had given her on her marked foot every day, and soon the pain had abated almost completely. The coloriing she had given her eyes and hair wore off, and her eyes returned to her normal shade of dark brown; her hair was once again its natural black. The new potions she created were in preparation for her departure. Once she left the school, she would be using them to drastically change her appearance; and she would have to continue making and using them to keep her true identity hidden. She kept each one safely concealed inside her wardrobe, until the time to alter herself would come.

During these lonely hours, Isabelle found herself hoping every now and then that Professor Snape might visit her, at least to say goodbye (she would simultaneously scold herself for clinging to these foolish sentiments), but she had not seen a trace of him all week. If he was still in the castle at all, he was doing an exceptional job of avoiding her.

Instead, Graeme would come visit her each evening faithfully, and she was more than thankful for his company. They would spend a few hours together every night, talking, sparring with one another while Isabelle tried to improve at blocking spells through Occlumency. She had made a remarkable amount of progress... soon she could block Graeme's Rictusempra spell easily, and so they experimented with more powerful curses, which challenged Isabelle's magical ability. The practice was helping; she felt more alive and in touch with her magical talents with each spell she was able to successfully block. This growing bond between them created a tangible amount of romantic tension, especially when Graeme would playfully begin tickling her, and she was unable to resist getting drawn into a mock-fight. She labored over the urge to tell Graeme what had happened to her; that she did not refuse to accompany him outside the castle without good reason, that her life was in danger and she had very little time left until she would have to go into hiding. If I do tell him, she fretted, I will be putting his life in danger too. If Voldemort chooses to come after me, anyone who knows what really happened will risk being captured, and ultimately killed. But if I don't tell him...the guilt and regret will haunt me. It's already unbearable.

She couldn't bring herself to tell him yet, and so she remained as evasive as possible when it came to the subject of where she would be going after the week's end, and why she had been acting so reclusive. Every deception brought on a fresh wave of guilt. Even worse, Graeme knew she was hiding something. Although he hadn't yet demanded an explanation, she could feel his eyes searching her for the answers she would not give him each time she avoided his questions.

Isabelle's last night in the castle had finally come, and she spent the evening alone in her room, as always. At her desk, she scribbled a few half-hearted words to a poem on parchment, and sang to herself in a soft tone:

"I choose my devils, and they're everywhere.
They're everyone.
I choose my devils, and they're everywhere.
They're all around.
I don't trust anyone.
I don't trust anyone..."

The words were cynical and paranoid, but the song made her feel better. A knock on the door signalled that Graeme had to come for his nightly visit, and she crumpled the poem and tossed it in the wastebasket as she moved to the door. It wasn't a very good poem, and my writing career is over anyway, she thought bitterly.

She greeted Graeme and they each took a seat in her room, as they had been accustomed to during the week. Isabelle felt distracted and upset. It was going to be so painful to leave her life behind, and forget everything she had once been. She didn't look well, either. The nightmares had continued to disturb her each night she slept in the castle, and by now, the lack of peaceful sleep was taking its toll; dark circles had begun to form beneath her eyes, and she found herself daydreaming sporadically, unable to focus on anything for very long.

"Tonight's our last night at Hogwarts", Graeme noted appropriately. "I feel a little sad, I'm going to miss this place. I'm going to miss the students I taught this week."

"Yes. I will miss them as well", she said quietly.

"I'm going to miss you, too."

Isabelle felt a piece of her heart dying inside at these words. "And I you", she answered in a barely audible tone.

"Then come to Australia with me", Graeme implored. "I leave tomorrow morning. Isabelle, I'm not going to ask for anything that you aren't ready to give. But I don't want to say goodbye just yet. I want to spend more time with you. You could meet my friends...see the country, and the dragons I've helped raise there. We'd have so much fun. Come with me."

"Graeme, your friendship has meant so much to me, more than you know. And it does sound wonderful, and I do want to spend time with you. But...I..."

"But you won't tell me yes or no", Graeme interrupted in dissapointment. "Why not?"

"I don't want to talk about it", Isabelle whispered, on the verge of tears.

"Hey", he said, placing his hand on her shoulder in concern. "It's alright, whatever your reasons. Please don't be sad. Or I may have to find a way to cheer you up." He wiggled his fingers jokingly.

In spite of herself, she smiled. Before she knew it, they were wrestling and tickling one another, taunting each other playfully.

"You're a powerful witch, but you're no match for me! Give up!", Graeme teased, holding one of Isabelle's arms back and tickling her sides.

"Hahaha!! Never! I'll never give up!", she giggled, wrenching her arm free and trying to attack Graeme before he could get ahold of her again.

"Oh yes you will! Take this!", he shouted, and dived for her feet. His hand gripped her shoe. Isabelle's heart dropped.

Just as he was about to rip her shoes away, Isabelle shouted "NO!!" With such unexpected force and ferocity, that Graeme froze and actually backed away, looking stunned.

"I'm sorry Isabelle...your ankle, I forgot...I thought it was better..."

"No...it isn't that", Isabelle said in a choked voice. Before she could lose her courage, she blurted out, "There's something I have to tell you...I never twisted my ankle. I'm sorry I lied to you." Then she took her shoes off. She lifted her right foot, and showed it to Graeme.

He looked at it for a white-hot moment, his green eyes wide with disbelief. He whispered in shock: "The Dark Mark...I can't believe....Is that real?"

Isabelle nodded her head yes. Graeme covered his mouth with his hand, speechless.

She took a deep breath, and began to explain how she had been captured by two Death Eaters; one of them an escaped prisoner she had met during her book interviews in Azkaban prison. How they tortured her for information about Dumbledore and his plans to protect the school, and how she had come face-to-face with Lord Voldemort himself. It was not a complete account...Isabelle left Professor Snape out of the story entirely. Not because she was ungrateful, but because she knew he wouldn't want anyone to know of his involvement. And because she knew bringing his name up would result in questions she was not ready to answer...and secrets she was not ready to reveal. She still harbored deep, personal feelings for her former teacher. She was not ready for Graeme to know this. It was not the sort of thing he would understand.

"How did you escape?", he gasped.

"I had to agree to follow Voldemort's orders, to do whatever he commanded of me. And so he gave me the Dark Mark...he marked me as his servant. He said that he would kill me if I did not show complete loyalty and obedience."

"And then he just let you go?!", Graeme asked incredulously.

Isabelle hesitated. "It wasn't as simple as that. I had the assistance of someone from the castle. That person saved my life, but that is all I can tell you. Voldemort will kill me when he discovers that I have no wish to be his loyal servant, and it's only a matter of time. That's why Professor Dumbledore has ordered me to go into hiding. Tomorrow, I will have to begin a new life far away from Hogwarts, under a new identity. Even so, Voldemort may still hunt me down and kill me one day, and so I can never be truly certain of my safety. The same can be said for anyone who chooses to become close to me. Voldemort is a murderer, he wouldn't mind killing off my friends in his search for me. You could be in danger just by knowing me, Graeme."

She stopped talking for a moment, and poured two glasses of water. Truth and shock had made their throats dry.

After taking a few sips, Graeme said "Do you really think You-Know-Who will search you out? It's Hogwarts he wants, and particularly a boy that goes to school here, Harry Potter. Supposedly one is destined to kill the other."

Isabelle nodded. She had heard many things about 'the boy who lived', and the belief that he would be the one to ultimately destroy Voldemort, or die trying. "That is why I cannot return here. I might have some chance if I stay away from Hogwarts, because Voldemort's attention is now focused on the school, and on Harry Potter. The poor boy...to have your fate interlocked with the fate of that monster... my heart aches for him. I don't think Voldemort will go very far from the school, as long as these things pose a threat to him. Still, he has servants that he could send away to find me. I might be running from him for the rest of my life."

"Then you should come with me. Where I'm going, you'll be safe..."

"I don't think you realize the full implications of this. I have to begin living as a different person. When I meet your friends, whatever they ask about me...my name, where I'm from, what I do for a living...the answers will all be lies. Lies that you will have to maintain as much as I. If my true identity is discovered, I will only be putting anyone close to me in needless danger. With that said...your offer is very generous, and I will completely understand if you want to take it back..."

"Nonsense!", Graeme insisted. "I know you're afraid, and I'm glad you were honest with me. But it doesn't change a thing, Isabelle...I still want you to come to Australia. A preserve for magical creatures would be a safer haven from You-Know-Who and his kind than most places you could go!" He gave her a grin alive with mischief. "I never did tell you everything about dragons...one thing I might not have mentioned, they're terribly protective of the ones they're close to...especially people they see everyday, or people they've had contact with since they were hatchlings...people who know them well, like me." He stretched back in a mock-casual manner. "A powerful dark wizard he might be, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named...but I'd like to see how he fares against a whole flock of angry dragons. And if he managed to get past them, by some miracle...wait till he meets my friends after a few rounds at the pub."

Isabelle shook her head, wanting to berate Graeme for not taking her seriously. Before she could answer, a ridiculous image sprang to her mind: Lord Voldemort, in all his terrifying glory, fleeing from an onslaught of pursuing dragons and drunken wizards. Immense tension seemed to lift from her as she laughed. If she ever met a boggart, and it turned into Lord Voldemort, she now had the perfect Ridikkulus charm to repel him.

When she had recovered, she smiled widely and said "Thank you, Graeme. You are a true friend beyond my deserving."

He moved closer to her at this, and tentatively swept his hand through her soft black waves. "Isabelle...there's so much I could say to you, but it should wait. I hope that you'll decide to come with me, but I won't ask you to answer right now. Just meet me tomorrow morning, and we'll see what happens from there. Is that fair?"

"More than fair", she answered. As he moved toward the door, she leaned in suddenly and kissed him on the cheek. Her face reddened as she turned away. I surprise even myself sometimes.

"Goodnight", Graeme croaked, and was gone.

Isabelle sat by herself for a long while afterward, half-anticipating and half-dreading what tomorrow morning might bring. She could either accept Graeme's offer and go to Australia, or allow Professor Dumbledore to relocate her. More and more, she wanted to go with Graeme... yet, doubt still lingered. Their attraction for one another was obvious... she knew if she chose to leave with Graeme, it would inevitably lead to a romance. Was that really what she wanted? Would it even be possible for them to have a normal relationship? He's really everything a girl could ask for..., she thought. At least, a normal girl. Maybe that's the problem. I'm weird. And he doesn't know the half of it.

She changed into a cream-colored nightgown made of soft, breezy material that veiled her body but clung tantalizingly to her curves. Too many thoughts swirled through her mind and kept her from sleep. A few hours had passed in quiet introspection, when Isabelle was startled by a knock at the door. Thinking that Graeme had come back to say something that couldn't wait until tomorrow, she smiled as she flung the door open. Her smile was instantly replaced by an expression of shock.

It was Snape.

She stayed planted in the doorway staring at him for a moment before she could gather her wits enough to move aside noiselessly. He entered without waiting for her to regain speech and invite him in.

"What are you doing here?", she finally managed.

Scowling, he dodged the question with one of his own: "You leave at dawn. I trust that you are prepared?"

"Yes."

"Have you found a suitable location?"

"I have...options", Isabelle answered evasively.

He sneered and paced the room impatiently. "And will your options offer adequate protection to someone in your unique position?"

"I certainly hope so", she replied.

"Fantastic", he said dryly. "Well, Miss Pearl...if you'll excuse me..." In a few long strides he was at the door again. Her heart pounded...

"You could stay", she offered. "For a little while..."

"We've already discussed this once", he snapped. "I think nothing has changed over the course of the week. And as you said yourself, I have many demands on my time..."

She flushed; her muscles quivered. She felt the fight coming, and greeted it enthusiastically. "Yes, I remember our discussion. I also remember not seeing even a trace of you all week. And yet tonight, here you stand! After all the important reasons for us not to be around each other, tonight, it was important enough for you to come all the way up here and ask me if I'm 'prepared?' I'm a grown woman, Snape. I can pack my bags myself. I might even find my way out of the castle tomorrow without having to consult a map. Why did you really come here? If you wanted to say goodbye, you could have just told me..."

"This was a mistake", Snape said icily, and opened the door.

Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "I have a favor to ask of you."

Snape halted; and let an uncomfortably long and trecherous moment pass before asking, "What?"

She took a deep breath. "Take me back to that room of yours, and do what you will with me. Just let me spend one last night with you." I must be insane, she thought; but she let the request stand.

He slammed the door shut again. "Did I fail to make it clear to you that what you are suggesting is a bad idea?"

"I don't care", she answered softly. "I cannot be satisfied unless I ask. Asking this does not mean that I will be tempted to return to Hogwarts. I know I must never return. It doesn't mean that my behavior will become 'reckless'. It doesn't mean that I will hope for ridiculous things of you. So will you take me with you?"

Her heart was beating so furiously, she could hear it echo in her eardrums. After many tense moments of silence, Snape muttered, in a dangerous tone that was barely a whisper: "As you wish."

They walked silently through the castle, Isabelle following Professor Snape. Neither spoke the entire length of the trip. There will be plenty of time for talk later, she thought, and smiled secretly. I hope no one sees us... She looked at the floor for the rest of the walk, letting her black hair fall over her face, and keeping watch on his heels.

***

Once again, Isabelle found herself in his dreary, color-deficient room. Snape seemed to be avoiding looking directly at her; but she couldn't be certain, as she herself only had the nerve to steal occasional glances in his direction, and she focused the bulk of her attention at her feet. She was painfully aware that her stomach was in knots, and she flexed and curled her fingers, a nervous habit. She could barely believe that he had allowed her to follow him again. It occured to her that it was rather ridiculous for her to feel so nervous... after all, she had asked to come here, and she knew full well what would happen to her if she did. She wanted it to happen... Isabelle began to blush in spite of herself.

"Let me see your foot", Snape startled her by saying.

"Um...okay", she mumbled, her cheeks growing redder as she kicked off her shoes and lifted both of her feet.

"Generous, but I only needed to see this one", he said, taking her right ankle in his hand and inspecting the sole of her foot. If it were possible for her to blush any deeper, she did then, as she realized that he meant only to look at her dark mark.

His fingertips traced the outline of the serpent. Her face twitched slightly at the sensation, but she didn't move.

"Does it still hurt?"

"No", she answered. "It hasn't hurt for a few days now."

"Good. You need to be aware of how the mark feels at all times. Do not ignore any changes, no matter how slight. If it begins to burn again suddenly, take it as your only warning that Lord Voldemort approaches. If that happens, you will need to run and hide yourself before he can find you."

"I'll remember."

"Have you been practicing Occlumency?"

"Yes", she said quietly.

"What progress have you made?"

"I've been able to block curses without the use of my wand, in practice..."

"Is that all?", Snape scoffed in a derogatory manner. "Your situation seems more hopeless than I had dared to imagine. Do you really think the ability to block spells will be of any use against a wizard who can read your thoughts as fast as you can think them?"

"I...I don't know...", she answered, her frustration simmering hotly. "I did what I could within the limits of the time I had."

"I'm sure", he quipped sarcastically.

"Instead of mocking me, you could try to teach me what I need to learn, since I am so certainly doomed without it", she shot back boldly.

He smiled oddly, staring at her until she could stand it no longer and averted her eyes.

"It would be my pleasure", he said.

Despite her nervousness, those words caused her to begin smiling herself. Her insides shivered. "What must I do?"

"To begin with, I'll have your wand."

She handed it over without protest.

"Now lie down and listen to what I say."

Isabelle had expected this; even hoped for it. She obediently took her place on the bed, stretching her arms and legs into an X-shape without being asked. Like clockwork, the shackles she had come to know so well played their role, securing her hands and feet to the legs of the bed. The muscles in her thighs quivered as anticipation pounded through her vulnerable frame.

"We will need to determine how capable you are of closing your mind to an opposing force, and improve this ability as much as possible. If you are ever captured again, it is very likely that you will be questioned, tortured, or both -- in order to get you to disclose your true identity. Now, it is very easy to tell lies with your mouth...people are capable of doing this from the moment they learn to talk. It is another thing entirely to learn to tell lies with your mind. Rest assured, if your mind betrays even a hint of your true thoughts, Voldemort will see it, and so will any Death Eater who can practice Legilimency. So, this is the game we will play, Miss Pearl: I will ask you questions in the guise of one attempting to extract information about you. You will focus your mind on deceptive answers to these questions. The rules -- fail to deceive me, and the game will become increasingly difficult for you. Succeed, and it will become easier."

Snape flicked his wand in the direction of a writing desk at the corner of the room. "Come here", he bellowed. Isabelle watched in fascination as six quill-feather pens that had been lying idle on the desk lifted, of themselves, and floated toward her. They stopped, inches above her bound body, and hovered.

"What are those for?", she asked; mischief lurking in her voice. She knew exactly what they were for, but felt like being humored.

"Distraction", Snape answered.

I'll bet, Isabelle thought with a slight smirk.

"Where are you going tomorrow?", Snape asked.

She thought of Graeme before she could stop herself. As quickly as the thought came to her, she knew that she had just failed. Damn it, damn it, damn it!! That was the first question! If her arms had been free, she could well have smacked herself in the forehead.

"Not a very good start at all", Snape said, his voice alive with amusement. "Already, you've revealed too much, and put another person in danger. And honestly....Mr. Jacobsen? I fear you'll soon be dead as a doornail if you expect that brainless waste of life to protect you."

Isabelle burned with a painful mix of anger and embarassment. Her hands clenched into fists even though there was no way she could take a swing at her former Professor, even if she wanted to. He can insult me all he wants, she thought, But that's low! Graeme isn't even here to defend himself!

"You...you...", she sputtered, and was on the verge of calling Snape any number of very nasty names, but just then, the bewitched feathers began to move.

Two of the quills began swirling and dancing along her bare soles. Isabelle's feet jerked and her muscles stiffened involuntarily. She jiggled her right foot somewhat frantically in a hopeless attempt to out-maneuver the feather as the tip of the plume brushed against her arch... it seemed that the ointment she had been using to soothe her pain where the dark mark had burned her had made the skin there significantly softer and more sensitive. Interesting side effect, she thought in annoyance. I should have known. She started giggling and twisting, knowing it would do her no good, but unable to prevent it.

"Lets try again", Snape murmured; and she could feel his eyes taking in her helplessness and savoring it quietly. "Where are you going tomorrow?"

This time, she ignored the question entirely and tried to concentrate on blocking out the ticklish sensations at her feet that were spiralling through her body. She curled her toes and choked back her giggling... though her breathing became choppy and gasping, and she continued to twist and strain at the bonds, she stopped laughing. She looked at Snape, but the sight of him was enough to nearly break her efforts, so she squeezed her eyes shut, letting her hair fall over her face, and tried to think of nothing... complete, peaceful nothingness. Her legs relaxed somewhat, but each stroke of the feather sent chills rocketing through her limbs and spine. It was not unpleasant. In fact, it was driving her crazy...but in an exhilirating way. She held her breath.

"Don't give any thought to what you are feeling", Snape said. "That isn't what I asked you to do. I asked you to think deceptively and mislead me. You will not succeed until you do this. So I ask again...where are you going?"

A loud, hysterical laugh trumpeted from Isabelle as her concentration broke and she exhaled. Squirming and giggling gleefully, she thought To Hell, most likely, if I don't learn to behave myself

His voice remained stern, but she knew she saw a hint of a smile as he spoke again: "Funny, and possibly true, but Voldemort will not have much patience for clever come-backs. You must do better than that..." One guesture from him, and two more of the quills joined with the pair tormenting her feet. These two began tracing delicate lines and swirls along her legs. They dragged themselves from her thighs to her ankles, lingered at the soft spots behind her knees, and jolted Isabelle into loud fits of laughter.

"No...no!", she gasped between hysterics.

"Put it from your mind", Snape taunted, "and answer my question."

Though it seemed she was only moments away from being able to think of nothing but the frantic sensations being tickled caused her, Isabelle thought I'm staying here, I'm going to be a teacher..., and although she was laughing helplessly all the while, she let nothing in her thoughts give any indication that this wasn't the truth.

"Better", Snape responded. "Not entirely convincing, but an improvement nonetheless." As he spoke, the two feathers shivering against her legs dropped and were still. The other two quills continued to brush along her toes as Isabelle squirmed, cackling in high pitch.

"The next question will be more difficult, since we both know the answer. Think deceptively. Are you Isabelle Pearl?"

"No", Isabelle answered, but her mind was not on the task...it was on the trembling electricity she felt in her toes as the tips of the feathers teased relentlessly. She stifled the urge to moan.

"Pathetic. You barely even tried."

The two feathers that had fallen still at her sides sprang back to life and resumed tickling her legs. With the sensations combined, the ever-soft touch of the feathers worked her into frustration and agonizing arousal. A soft, needing sound that was definitely not laughter escaped her lips. The muscles in her legs grew stiff and shivery.

"Are you Isabelle Pearl?"

"NO", she repeated sharply, and thought this is impossible in exasperation.

"You might be surprised at how many things once thought impossible are now commonplace. Try again.", he prodded. His inky black eyes burned into hers.

With a short intake of breath, Isabelle began practicing a new approach against Snape. If I cannot deceive him in my thoughts, perhaps I can keep him from penetrating my mind in the first place. In a renewed effort, she subdued her shivering muscles and looked back into his eyes.

As she had done with Graeme, she attempted to block out all sensory input, and let every distraction fade into the background, leaving only the image of his eyes smoldering in her mind and protecting her thoughts from intrusion.

Snape seemed to understand immediately what she was trying to do, and met the challenge by leaning in closer and staring back into her own soft brown eyes, unblinking and with unwavering confidence. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and the world around them clouded into a faraway jumble in the intensity of their silent battle of wills.

Her breath quickened. The fire and the focus she had found with Graeme would not come to her now. His stare chipped away at her defenses. The walls she had created around her mind were being weakened at the foundations, and would soon crumble. She blinked, and thoughts she had tried so hard to repress came scampering through her consciousness. How she wanted him... How she wanted him to fail... but she knew that it was she who would fail, she who would give in, even as everything in her screamed for her to fight. He had always made her feel this way... helpless and defiant at the same time. It was part of what made him so fascinating, so infuriating to her.

She could feel herself losing the fight. She sighed and closed her eyes, releasing herself from the strain of trying to fend him off, and conceded to her weakness. He was standing over her, not touching her, but she could feel the pleasure he took in knowing his strength over her.

"Not as powerful as you once thought yourself, are you, Miss Pearl?" he asked in obvious amusement. The last two feather quills shivered to life, and each snaked beneath her cream-colored nightgown and began swirling themselves along her hips and lower stomach.

"Not with you, at least." She grinned and began giggling softly with an absurd sort of relief, and with a sudden burst of ticklishness as one of the feathers found a particularly sensitive spot just below her navel. "But I did put you under Imperius, then, didn't I?", she asked wickedly, and cackled loudly with nervous, ticklish laughter. She knew she was only making it worse for herself.

Without answering, Snape watched her twist and thrash as the feathers danced along and followed, and her laughter rang through the room. Then he said, "I may not have been as cursed as I appeared."

"What?!", she choked through her snickering. Her look of incredulity at that moment was so comical that even Snape couldn't help but laugh. Seeing this was enough to put her into conniptions all over again. "Hehehehe...", she squealed. "Hehehe!! You...pretended....Why?"

"I suppose I wanted to see what you would do."

"Hahaha!!", she giggled gleefully. She was feeling dangerously bold now. "Really...haha...is that so? How was it?" She twisted so that her upper arm concealed her face and shook with hysterics.

"That's enough from you. I will be the one asking the questions."

"Of course", she sputtered, still shaking with laughter.

"Are you a servant of Lord Voldemort?", he demanded, ignoring where the conversation had just drifted and trying to take her back into their strange Occlumency lesson.

But her mind was definitely elsewhere now. She sighed and giggled as the plumes milked incredible sensation from her trembling flesh. So it was you, then... when we kissed, when you held me before...it wasn't Imperius. It was you. The thought seemed to increase her excitement tenfold.

"That is not what we are discussing. Your mind is truly undisciplined, not at all suited to Occlumency. Concentrate, or it will only get worse for you."

Ah, but there are no more feathers, she thought, giggling nervously at her own disobedience. All six quills were occupied with teasing her into a frenzy.

"I can find more...", Snape threatened.

"Hehehehehe!", she responded with peals of helpless laughter. For all his threats, there was something strangely uncertain in Professor Snape's behavior tonight. He had been standing within reach of her all this time, watching as she writhed and reacted to the tormenting quills, but he had made no move to touch her. She found herself suddenly burning with the desire to feel his hands upon her.

Come here...touch me..., she thought, her body aching with need.

"You so readily give away your weakness", Snape taunted. "I could stop all this now, and leave you here in this state...perhaps that would be a more effective means of torture..."

Don't stop... She shivered and her eyes met his once more. She beckoned him; drawing him closer with the invitation shining in her eyes. Please...

She was testing his will. And he seemed to be losing the battle. Her breathing was heavy, her body shivered from head to toe; and he, by contrast, seemed as stony and composed as ever. But she could feel him slowly giving in. His hand extended toward her and twitched slightly in hesitation before coming to rest on her collarbone, where he could feel her pulse pounding beneath the soft white skin. The touch seemed to set fires throughout her. She stirred, arching toward him...

"Why do you tempt me?", he whispered hoarsely in her ear. She laughed softly in reply.

The magic on the feathers was gone suddenly, and they became still once more. Her hands and feet were free, though if he had cast a spell to free her, she had never seen it. All seemed unimportant compared to the desperate heat within her. Her hands clutched his back, her lips tasted his and seduced him nearer. Their bodies connected, entangled, and Isabelle purred in deepest satisfaction...

***

In the morning, Isabelle awoke in his bed. He was not in the room. She was alone, and no hint of the previous night's activities existed save for the pretty girl with disheveled black hair beneath his bedcovers. At the edge of the bed, near the door, her belongings had been packed, brought down, and were arranged neatly for her departure.

It's time, then she thought heavily as she rolled out of bed. After she had dressed herself and folded the sheets back onto the bed, she removed the Glamours she had prepared for this morning, which had been stored discreetly in a plain black bag, beneath folded garments. Standing before a small, cracked mirror, she took a deep breath, and slowly drank each potion one at a time. It was not a pleasant process. Her features gradually began to morph: Her bones ached as one Glamour caused her to gain a few centimeters in height. The next drink twisted her facial features; giving her a slightly rounder face and a slightly upturned nose. Another vial, and her complexion changed noticeably...the tone was warmer than her natural ivory-pale skin, and she now had a scattering of freckles across her face and shoulders.

Before drinking the contents of the last vial, she retrieved a pair of scissors, and with a sigh, began to cut away at her long black hair. More dark waves fell lifelessly to the floor with each snip, until her hair just grazed her shoulders. Then, she uncorked the last vial, drank, and watched the mirror as her hair, brows and lashes lightened until they were honey-blond in color.

The woman who stared back at Isabelle from the mirror was unrecognizable, save for the dark brown eyes which kept their previous color. Though not unattractive, she was somewhat plain compared to Isabelle's exotic beauty. But this was the effect she had wanted... a face that would not draw undue attention. She smiled with the sudden thought that she looked a bit like her mother in her wedding photograph. Isabelle's looks mirrored that of her father; stunning dark hair and eyes, while her mother had plainer features, but Isabelle had inherited her mother's mischevious smile and musical laugh. Her mother was muggle, and still resided in London. After her father, a wizard, had died unexpectedly when Isabelle was only seven years old, her mother had become withdrawn and depressed; a shell of the funny, warm woman her father had married. The pain of the loss, and the fear and misunderstanding of the magical ability Isabelle shared with her father had caused them to drift farther and farther apart. The long school years at Hogwarts only served to widen the gap between them, until by graduation, Isabelle felt very little connection to her muggle home. She had last tried to contact her mother by telephone. It had taken all her courage just to leave Hogwarts to make the call, even though she could apparate quickly between the school grounds and the muggle world. Her heart didn't really start to pound, however, until she held the receiver in her hand and began dialing. After explaining that she was in danger, and would have to go into hiding for her own protection, there was a long pause on the line... Then, her mother whispering: "I think you have the wrong number." Then silence.

Isabelle shook herself free of these sad thoughts with a sigh. She began to sweep away the black locks of hair littering the floor. On a strange impulse, she kept one small lock of her black hair, and placed it on Professor Snape's desk.

The quills were back in their usual spot by the inkwells, and no trace of last night's enchantments remained. Rolls of parchment stacked on the desk caused Isabelle to stop and muse quietly for a moment.

Before she could lose her nerve, she retrieved one of the quills, and scribbled a few words on the parchment. She folded the note and left it there, with the lock of her black hair resting inside it. Then Isabelle left quickly to meet Graeme, and her destiny, whatever it might be.

***

When Professor Snape retired to his study that evening, a stray piece of parchment on his desk caught his eye. As he picked it up, a wisp of dark hair fell from the folded page. He unfolded the note, and read these words:

"Goodbye is not a wound,
My pen, no silver sword;
Even as my heart breaks,
This pain can be ignored.

Until sparrows become lions,
Until false becomes true,
The love I give remains
In memory of you."

[isabeau]

bravo...fantastically written and painstakingly detailed..that took alot of creativity on your part..i loved this installment, however as you know..i'm still hoping for her and Snape's to get together in the end..you amaze me with the length and depth of your stories..i can never do that..but i so want to... i bow to you hehe..

[Ace Riley]

Siamese Dream, my friend, I could almost hear the voices of the actors in every written word of this story.

Although I know it's hard for some of the Harry Potter fans to enjoy the movies in comparison to the books, I feel the casting in the Harry Potter movies to be extremely superb. Especially Alan Rickman, who's such an awesome actor, and you do him such great justice.

It was of no substantial difficulty in seeing the scenery in which you produced, and that is definately a sign of care and love in your writing.

I'm usually not a big fan of Harry Potter fan-fiction, tickling related or otherwise. However, I am a big fan of your particular brand of story-weaving. Hand me another slice of that pie could you? It's delicious! :o

[Travis]

Well, there was quite a wait for this one. But it was certainly worth it. Possibly the best chapter yet, and your writing only seems to get better.

This series is, in my humble estimation, literally the best thing to have been posted here. Ever.

I have a feeling that, by the time the seventh and final Harry Potter book rolls around, it may even be something of a disappointment next to this story. Well, perhaps anyway.

[siamese dream]

Oh GUYS hehe :bouncybou
You are all too nice, thank you!!

Isabeau, thank you so much for all your compliments on each of these, as a big fan of your stories it's awesome to hear such nice things from someone whose writing is some of the best and hottest on the forum! As for Severus and Isabelle, I think I'm done writing these for now, but maybe after the last Harry Potter book comes out, I might continue it... depending on what happens to Snape, of course. I wrote this story with him seemingly on the good side, but I might be completely wrong about that, we'll see...:D If he dies in book seven, this series won't be coming back unfortunately :( but I hope he makes it

Ace, thank you so much for your comments, knowing that someone enjoys these stories even when they aren't a fan of Harry Potter fanfics is so flattering, and I appreciate it a lot!! I think the movies are cast wonderfully as well, and I couldn't imagine anyone but Alan Rickman playing Snape :D

Travis, jeez what can I say? hehe... what you wrote is really the biggest compliment I've ever had on writing, thank you!! I'm glad you thought this story was up to par with the others... part of the reason it took so long to finish is that part-way through, I started wondering if I really liked the ending, and for a while I thought about just starting over and writing the ending completely different...but I went ahead with my original idea, even though there are a few parts of the story I kind of wish I had done differently. Thank you for everything you've said, my head may have just visibly inflated :D