-1And she was as tall as the sky as she gazed beyond him to the grand purple hills marking the boundaries of the dark band below. "Severus," for she always called him by his name as though he were a small child, hand upon his head like a philosophic king. So large a brown hand, and so gently calm upon his brow. "Severus," the sky a swirling backdrop to her noble profile, "now comes the fury. You must not shield your eyes for your life is a script of blood."

And the earth ran red as he rides in his own head like a worm in its apple. The long black wand conducting a symphony of screams then a stray thought like her voice - "Be more original". Yes ma'am he acquiesces from a corner of his mind as lights dance before his eyes. Green and blue and a lovely champagne that slices flesh like a chainsaw through pork loin. "How graphic." It comes to him that he is talking to himself, but according to all records he always has.

And she sits by his bed combing long, clever fingers through hair obedient only to her. His eyes are drowsy but the silence unnerves him. His home is now so quiet without his father there. "All is well." The smile Albus will later echo earning loyalty and hatred and fear. White teeth particularly straight, eyes forgotten perhaps purposely after so many years. Strong, slender fingers brass-warm and copper-tone brown. "It'll all be well, my dear." The words that will see him through years, through a myriad worlds of blood, and shit, and pain.

And its better his mother be dead then suffering. Its better she never knows how badly she failed him, how poorly he'll repay her what kindness she gave him. The grass isn't properly green, faux green paper grey against a corpse blue stone etched with meaningless drivel. A display only for she'll be buried in a pauper's grave one more laid upon the stack. Head cracked by the bottom stair the one that squeaks. He wishes he could say it was an accident. But that would be a lie.

And the same steady hand reaches for his shoulder.

And he steps away.

And he collapses amidst the dust eyes rolling into his head. It burns. It hurts. Calf bleeding spectacularly as his heart shudders in his too thin chest. She's there again. She's here. Moonlight in the sky and thoughtless boys whining in fear as the Change blazes within him. Her hands in his hair her lips on his face. The tears he sheds. Screaming. Silence.

And he does not ask why Potter and Sirius are silent to his face. Why they need more of his potions in order to speak. He toys with the chain round his neck and avoids the halls of frightened children and the eyes of mystified adults. He is not Changed. The Heights of Heaven and Depths of Hell seared 'round the blood-slick inside of his cleaving skull as she burns the snake's contaminant from his blood. Warm brown hand and forget-me-please green eyes. "You've done so well." That smile, that smile -

And she knows as she holds his little boy hand. The feather light, cloth soft hand clasped securely in her own. His eyes are normal now, but soon he'll change for good and the time isn't yet ripe. She must suppress it, must hold it. She must abandon him to the Wilds for a time. Must let the tales of his bloody life shove his talent deep below. She bends so very low to watch softly changing eyes. They're nearly blue.

And her eyes are an ocean shallow blue so clear he can see the machinations she's set in motion. So blue he feels like crying. Her hands hold his tightly as he remembers the moment of her lips moving. Moving as she lifts him from the cabin's dusty floor. "I have missed you."

And the years are cold after she leaves him. Are hard without her gentle hand and the ballast of sheer strength in her infinite depths. They are all the worse for out the corner of his eye he can see her shadow stretching before him staining his life. He can see her smile on the Manipulator's face, hear her laughter from Bellatrix's mouth, smell her scent on Lupin, see her thrice-damned eyes in Potter's face. The glass breaks as he catches something never there.

And the tomb is empty.