The Dungeons of Hogwarts were the most uninhabited areas of the castle. The labyrinth of dank corridors led to unused, cavernous rooms, save the Slytherin Common Room, and only a handful having been transformed into potions classrooms; only one regularly used.

The Potions Master, who occupied this one room, sat quietly at his desk, as he did on many evenings when he did not wish to be disturbed by his fellow staff members in the staff room somewhere in the castle above him. His face bent low to the desk, hooked nose almost grazing it, scribbling away furiously onto a piece of parchment, pressing so hard on the quill that the paper was in danger of ripping in two. This did not seem to bother the dark-haired man, however, his black eyes focused solely on the page in front of him.

He looked up for a moment, scanning the room; it was becoming murky, so dark he was struggling to see his own words now. He placed the quill down on the desk, picking up instead the ebony wand that had been sitting next to it. With a wave, two dozen candles that had been dotted around the dungeon sprung to life, throwing long shadows onto the stone walls. Another flick, and the thick blinds rolled down, spraying dust that sizzled as it hit the flames of the candles.

Severus sighed heavily, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, studying the room with more intent than he had ever done so before. It may have been the last time he ever got a chance to take the whole room in. His eyes glanced up towards the clock.

An hour and forty-five minutes to go.

Severus looked down at the piece of parchment, curling in at the corners, his eyes out of focus. It took some concentration for him to be able to even make out each letter, let alone reading the whole page back to himself, murmuring the words under his breath as he did so. As he reached the end, he signed his name quickly, without flourish, and got up, gripping at the desk for support.

Slowly, he made his way out of the potions classroom, pass a cauldron that lay cracked and still bubbling outside the door, and up through the Dungeons to the castle proper.

It was quiet.

Of course it was, he thought, eyes like charcoal finding the clock once more. It was nearing midnight, and the castle held a silence that seemed to fill every nook, as if even when deserted by students, the school was still full of their presence. He was walking slowly, taking only one step at a time up each staircase, both to take in the castle at night, but also because he could already feel the energy draining from him slowly. His knees almost buckled as he began down the hallway that would lead him to his ultimate destination, but he managed to catch himself in time, his breath heavy.

Even now, even though it may have been the last time Severus could ever feel the cold winds blowing down the corridors, or see the portraits snoozing in their frames, he could not help but hate the castle that had become his home. Even hate did not seem a strong enough word - every morning he woke up with acid in his stomach at the thought of facing another day surrounded by these walls. It was exquisite torture, knowing that it was he himself who had made it the place where he felt most suffocated.

And that Harry Potter boy, oh how it did not help.

The last six years, he could not get it out of his head -- not what he knew he should hate him for; that black mess of hair, that arrogant gait. No, it was not these things that made his presence perfectly intolerable.

It was those eyes.

He had thought when he had made the ultimate betrayal, when he had given the man who was once his master the key to power, that it would end there. He would rip himself apart for it every waking hour, but this?

When he had first met Albus, he had thought him such a fool, for thinking there was fate worse than Death, but now, now he saw it. Now his fate was worse than Death. He had found it so hard, having to live as he did, knowing that not only did the world think him a liar, a Death Eater who had found a weak spot in Albus, but now he had those eyes, to remind him. Every day, in his class, he had those eyes that stared out at him, catching him unaware in the hallways in passing, or finding him, singling him out as he ate dinner in the Great Hall.

But, Severus thought as he made the final stretch towards the gargoyle that waited at the end of the hallway on the seventh floor, he could not deny that he often bought it on himself. Like some sick, sadistic thing, he had sought the boy out, whenever he could, for errands, giving him detentions for the most slight things. Some part of him relished it, believed it was worth the pain, if he could only see those eyes…

If only he wasn't so weak.

If only he had the strength to keep away from such a great temptation. It felt strange, unable to look away from his eyes - but they weren't his. No, they were his mother's, and Severus felt his stomach clench every time he saw them.

It was time to stop that pain.

The gargoyle was in front of him now, leering out at him, fangs curling to its crumbling stone chin. Muttering "Fizzing Whizbee" at it, he watched it jump aside, revealing a whole staircase snaking up to some unseen chamber. Mounting them, he bit back a groan as he legs struggled up the steep stone steps, stumbling up the last one into the headmaster's office.

"Albus," he spluttered. "Albus…"

He could see it in his mind now, when he first made alliance with the white-haired man. The look in disgust in his eyes as he had begged, begged for Lily's life. Disgust that Severus had never cared for his husband, his child. He hadn't understood, then, that the compassion of the headmaster was like no other - but for him to take Severus in, for believe him and defend him…there had only been one to treat Severus that way before that night.

And yet, he could not hold back the part of him that despised the man, everything about him, his very being. He had not saved her, had not saved the woman he had loved like no other. And then -- then! He had expected him to take care of her son, the product of her loving another.

He was black with hate. He knew that. He had felt it, for years, only realising now that the feeling was his soul, rotten and dying inside of him. Because it was not just hate for Albus. He knew that it had been his fault, though it caused him such pain to admit it.

He looked around the headmaster's office; it was empty. Severus gulped, throat suddenly dry. He had wanted the man to be there. He didn't know why; perhaps he found some meaningless comfort in spending his last hour (if he even had that long, now) in the company of the only person alive who knew his secret. The only man who knew that everything he did, everything he had done…it was not for him, not for the boy. It was for her. Everything was for her.

He took heavy breaths, using all his strength to slump into the chair opposite the headmaster's, eyes threatening to close on him. He was sure he had time left, but he could feel the life draining from him. In his mind's eye, he saw the bubbling cauldron.

Maybe he had made a mistake.

As he struggled to even concentrate enough to keep his head upright, Severus wondered if this was a mistake. What would Death be like? Would it swallow him whole in to perpetual darkness, or was there something more, an afterlife? He had always believed it was some kind of black abyss, but as it drew ever nearer, he couldn't help but wonder, as he had when he had decided to face it.

The small vial of bright yellow liquid hadn't looked dark enough to him, didn't look like he could bring him to an end in a little under twenty-four hours when he had brewed it. But he had known what the consequences of it would be. He knew this was the easy way out.

But that was who he was.

Weak. He was not apologetic for it; not for any of it. But he knew himself, and now he knew what he was doing was the weak thing to do.

He wondered if anyone would ever know; if the boy would ever find out. He had sworn Albus to secrecy, and though he was sure that the man would keep it, he couldn't help feel his stomach tighten in fear. What good was his secret when he was dead?

But he hoped, beyond all hope, that he would die with his secret.

It was better than people knowing the truth; that he had loved Lily Evans. Loved, adored, hardly felt the strength each day to live without her. He had been so stupid, taken her friendship for granted, but now…now he knew. He understood now what the word had meant to her. Mudblood. Such an ugly word, it weighed heavy on his tongue, making him want to choke. If only he had understood it back then. Now it took such strength not to flinch at the word as the people around him flung it around in conversation, used it so liberally by those who did not realise, who did not see…

He bought the letter up to the desk, hand shaking as he did so, pushing it across the heavy oak desk.

His resignation.

Oh, how Severus had toyed with the idea of a suicide note, but he knew how dramatic it would be, how unnecessary. Besides the fact that he had very little to say that the headmaster did not know.

His breath was beginning to get shallower now, and he could feel himself unable to inflate his lungs fully. Struggling to sit up, he took another rattling breath, trying to compose himself. It took a while for his eyes to focus on the time, that told him he had thirty minutes of life left.

Maybe he had miscalculated the amount of murtlap essence; he didn't feel he could last that long, his whole body disobedient to his orders. Even his brain felt slow now, each thought taking so very long to process.

But now he was sure, at least.

This was not the weak thing to do. It was the right thing to do.

Relief. Such relief, a weight in his stomach lightening. Soon, soon. Soon he would be dead, gone from this world. He would no longer have to remember his terrible wrongs, that ate away at him, with the guilt of the people he had murdered in cold blood or driven to the edge of insanity.

No longer have to live without her.

She was at the forefront of his mind now, one of his few thoughts. He opened his mouth, struggling to get the word passed his cracked lips.

"Lily…" he breathed, struggling, the word but a whisper that was lost to the room's roaring silence. It took most of his strength, everything he had, to continue. "S…so…sorry."

It was all he could do now; tell the room how sorry he was. He could feel tears, filling every crease of his face, dripping from his chin, dampening the hair that curled in to catch it. He couldn't have saved her, and, now, he couldn't save himself.

But he didn't want to, either.

He had waited so long, waiting for karma to bring him what he most deserved, or for some kind of redemption. Years, he had waited, and now he was tired of it. He had no patience. If punishment would not be inflicted upon him, he had taken it into his own hands; to punish himself.

If there was an afterlife…oh, if there was, he thought, he would finally be there. Finally be able to join her. Hold her, touch her, feel the heat of her body and the warmth of her skin once more. Smell that mixture of dandelions and charred wood, red hair like fire, down to the small of her back. Merlin, how he missed it.

Severus.

Had he the strength, the Potions Master would have jumped. He had closed his eyelids at some point; he could not remember when, but in the blackness he heard his name.

Severus…

He couldn't remember anyone entering the room, though he couldn't hear anything anymore, only darkness. Darkness, and his name. So familiar, that voice. So soft, like bells, ringing through his mind.

Finally…

Slowly, the black gave way to white, blinding white that he could not see through nor escape from. It was everywhere, suffocating him but welcoming him. He could see something now, in the distance, getting closer…small specks, impossible to make out.

Then he saw it.

Eyes. Green eyes, like oak leaves in high spring, full of joy and wonder. He knew those eyes - oh, how he knew those eyes.

He was giving in now, giving in to the whiteness, feeling his heavy limbs lighten, feeling thoughts clear from his mind.

Severus, finally.

You found me.