A heavy sigh. This was not going to be uncomplicated. Returning to the castle had been her very last preference, but given the circumstances, she saw very few options. Gathering up her modest belongings and faltering with them up the stairs toward the entrance hall, she wished she still had the luxury of wondering what could be in store for her.

Inside it was a whirlwind of greetings and hugs and excited exchanges between herself and her former professors. Old school associates who had ended up in the castle. Filch. Headmaster Dumbledore. The house elves quickly came to collect her things and show her to her room, although she already knew she would be staying in the astronomy tower.

It felt good to be back in the castle, even though it was under a state of affairs that she would really have rather sidestepped altogether. No matter, she thought to herself as she spread some lotion on her hands and elbows and slipped into a pair of sweat pants and a tatty tie dyed tee shirt, one of the few relics that remained from her days of youthful declarations and capricious meanderings about the muggle world.

He hadn't been at her welcoming ceremony. He hadn't even had the courage to show his face, she thought, sinking down on a rather comfortable settee and pulling her hair out of its tight restraints. She sighed and sipped a bit of scotch from an expensive tumbler. She knew that wasn't true. This blessing, this curse. He hadn't been in the entrance hall because he would be here tonight. She knew it.

She thought that maybe she should just go down to the dungeons and find him. There was no reason for this petty, childish behavior. And yet, she couldn't give up the preemptive pride that came with the knowing that he would eventually come for her. She sipped another bit of whiskey. She could wait. She could wait until the end of time.

Tap, tap, tap. The noise came from her door.

Or she could just open her door to find him there now. She looked down at herself. This tattered shirt did little to hide the roadmap of scars that covered her arms and neck. It did even less to hide the curves that she had developed since taking leave of the castle, of him, some twelve years ago.

Ah well, she thought as she stood and went to the door. Little she could do to make them disappear now. Might as well just be as open as possible about it all. No sense in hiding it. And so it was with scotch in hand and just the slightest bit of apprehension in her eyes that she greeted him.

"Severus."

"Christine," he said, bowing his head and offering her a bottle of wine.

"A housewarming gift, or a peace offering," she asked, taking the bottle of Chianti and inspecting the label.

"A little of both," he answered, after considering a moment, with surprisingly little malice in his voice. "Does it pass inspection?" She moved aside to let him in.

"Aye." He stepped inside and removed his over cloak. "I'll take it," she told him, tucking the bottle of wine beneath her arm and reaching out to take it with her free hand. He glanced sideways for a moment at her arm. She waved him into the main room of the flat.

"Glass of Chianti," she asked him, setting down her scotch and hanging his cloak neatly across the back of a wing backed chair.

"If you've got some handy," he said, taking a seat on the settee and looking up at her gently.

"Aye, I think I've got some here somewhere," she said, raising the hand holding the Chianti and smiling a forced smile. She retreated to the kitchen, not waiting for a response, and poured two glasses full.

When she returned to the room she was surprised to find him standing against the mantle, surveying the few pictures she had placed there. She hadn't expected that. He had picked up her wedding photo and was gazing at it with a faraway look. He jumped noticeably when she tapped him on the shoulder to offer him his wine.

"Nice picture, huh?" She sat down on the settee and watched him replace the picture with a heavy sigh.

"Was he the man of your dreams," he asked her, his back still to her.

"I thought he was. I was wrong."

"A shame your character judgment isn't in the same league as your professional brilliance."

"Well, both are pretty much on the same level these days," she answered, taking a big swig of wine and leaning her head back on the sofa.

"I like his hair," he told her plainly, without a hint of emotion. Severus was referring to the dread locks that Brad had worn to their wedding.

"Be nice," she told him in a firmly pleading tone of voice.

"I don't know how to be nice," he told her, turning now to face her. "You should know that by now."

"I know," she answered, averting her gaze to the floor.

"I hope that he wasn't the source of the – blemishes," Severus said, taking a seat beside her and picking up her free arm in one cold, bony hand. He turned it over to closer inspect the scars.

"No. Not directly."

"Don't be enigmatic," he instructed her, the same way he used to instruct her to put the lacewig wings in before the oil of bedlam, and to stir counterclockwise instead of side to side.

"It was his friends, not his fault," she told him clearly, sipping again from her glass.

"It looks as though his character judgment was as first rate as yours."

"We have a lot to catch up on," she told him, not removing her arm from his cold grasp.

"Aye, we do."

And then there was silence. Heavy and thick and dense that filled the room and choked them both, for a moment.

"I heard the muggle world gave you some extraordinary new talents."

"It's not a talent," she told him, setting her glass of wine on the table beside her. "It's a curse."

"That remains to be seen."

"I've already seen it. Trust me. It's a curse."

"You don't know that."

"And I don't want to talk about it either."

"Very well." Severus dropped her arm and turned to face forward again, sipping his wine.

"Severus?"

"Yes?"

"That day I left."

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep the emotion in. "What about it?"

"Why didn't you ask me to stay?" Her voice was beginning to tremble slightly. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes but she willed the back down. She would be damned if she showed this stony martyr any emotion.

"Because you wanted to leave?"

"Did I?"

"Didn't you?"

"I don't know. I wanted to go. But if you would have asked me to stay –"

"To ask you to remain here with me," he told her, placing his glass on the table before him and clasping his hands together, "I would have been holding you back. I have nothing to offer you here."

"But you were my mentor. I could have learned so much more. I wasn't ready!" She felt suddenly and inexplicably angry with him. He should have told her no. He should have prepared her more for what she would find out there.

"You had learned all you could from me. Any continuance of our relationship would have merely been for selfish reasons on my part. You wanted to go. You went. What you learned out there," he gestured to the world beyond the castle walls, "I could never have taught you. No one could ever have taught you that. You had to learn it on your own."

"And now look at me," she said, holding out her arms and surveying them angrily. Sadly. "You could have protected me."

"I would have been sheltering you."

"Maybe I wanted to be sheltered," she told him, barely above a whisper as the tears began to flow, unbidden, from her earthy hazel eyes.

He wasn't sure what to do. As his student she had become frustrated before, but they had never crossed that line. He had never gone so far as to console her. Once or twice he had been gentle with her. Given her a tissue or offered some insight as to what she could do to remedy whatever situation she had found herself in. But now everything was different.

She was no longer his student. She was no longer a child. In her absence she had become a woman and he longed to call her his. To claim her here and now with one simple gesture that showed his feelings for her. A hug. To gently wipe away her tears would be pure bliss to him. Yet, something held him back.

"Do you regret leaving here?"

She thought about the question for a moment, allowing herself to calm down before she made her decision. He had always admired her ability to do so. Even as a student she had behaved like a small adult.

"In some ways."

"And in other ways you recognize the importance of your journey."

"Aye," she said, realizing that this was another lesson. Her first since her return. It felt good to be back to their usual routine. Their most common interaction had always been his teaching something to her and her drinking it up like a dehydrated child. In many ways she had been a dehydrated child. And in even more ways was she dehydrated now. Her spirit was dry. Her will was parched. Her soul was as cracked and lifeless as a riverbed on mars.

"All heroes must make a journey," he told her, turning to face her again. Consider Jason. Robin Hood. Antigone. They all were forced to endure some hardship. They all were made to leave their comfort zones. But in the end they all accomplished something that they never would have dreamed, had it not been for their journeys."

"Aye. I see." She was still staring at the floor, her palms dancing up and down along her knees. "So if I am a hero, what does that make you?"

He considered this for a moment. Staring silently at the floor he said the only thing that really made any sense to him. "A god. Or just an overworked mentor." She looked up at him and smiled. It was only slight. Barely even detectable by one who had not grown accustomed to her subtle nuances and miniscule gestures. But to him the tiny grin may as well have been ear to ear. It even caused a small smirk to tug at the corners of his own lips, although in vain.

"And so you're back. You know, the hero rarely returns home after such a life changing journey. It would stifle him. Smother him. With the knowledge he earned along the way he is most often expected to wander on throughout the world, spreading his experience and touching the lives of the unexperienced masses."

"Well, the hero isn't usually hunted at the end of the tale either."

Severus raised his eyebrows. "Ah so, the plot thickens."

"Aye. I'd have thought you'd have heard all about it by now."

"Quite on the contrary, the Headmaster has told me nothing of the reason for your return. Only that you would be back with us for an undetermined amount of time."

Christine sighed heavily and took another sip of wine. "Nothing at all, eh?"

"No. I was rather concerned, however, when I heard of your return. I didn't believe that you would be coming back to us simply out of pure sentimentality."

"Well, to be honest, this was my last choice. I didn't want to come back here because..."

"Because of the way you left," he finished the sentence for her.

"Aye," she answered, replacing the glass and looking toward him for the first time since the tears had begun to fall. "I'm afraid I thought I had burned my bridges here when I left."

"You mean, the bridge between you and I."

"Aye."

Without considering it, before his mind had even had a chance to scream out in protest, he had reached out and took her hand in his again. "The bridge remains intact, though somewhat grown over. And a bit dilapidated. It is not beyond repair."

She looked him in the eye, surveying him for any sign of subterfuge or dishonesty. Finding none, she allowed a smile to freely form upon the lips that had so long been set in a frown.

"Then shall we begin reparations at once," she asked, leaning in a bit closer to him, drinking in his midnight eyes, basking in his desirous gaze.

"I believe," he said, bringing his lips within an inch of hers and closing his eyes so as to fully appreciate the sensation that would soon be overtaking them, "that we can negotiate for a full renewal of friendly interaction," he told her, finishing the last word with a heavy press of his lips to hers.

It was enchantment. Pure and simple elation. He kissed her as if it was his first kiss, and in truth, that was exactly how it had felt. Little in his life had ever been so satisfying, so agreeable. So natural.

They fell asleep that night in each other's arms, two formerly isolated nations united in love. Amalgamated for the common goal of constant companionship. At peace, after so many years.