April 30
Perhaps, just once, the universe was on his side. It was hard to call this misery a blessing, but there was a blessing to it: at least this had come just before the OWLs and NEWTs, and Severus hadn't the time to dwell overly long on what had happened. The Fifth Year students were showing definite signs of fatigue and stress, and as the exams crept closer, more and more of them were being sent to the hospital wing for calming potion. Which, of course, was provided by Hogwarts' own potions master, though he never mentioned it to a single student. Despite his reputation for hearlessness, Severus Snape remembered all too well what it was like to be studying until all hours of the morning, and worrying over the results of a test that would, as their teachers were fond of reminding them, shape their lives hereafter. The Seventh Year students facing NEWTs fared little better; their scores, after all, would influence their careers and their promotions. They, at least, had the promise of graduation to buoy their spirits, though.
Severus wished he had something to buoy his spirits, but he did not. He had his work, and while he could lose himself in the minutae of grading and lecturing and preparing potions, he thought he would survive. Night, however, was an enemy he was ill-equipped to face, for with the dimming of lights came a rush of memories. Memories he did not wish to remember. Not now. It was still too soon.
The flickering candlelight seemed to taunt him: You held happiness in your fingertips, and it slithered away. The nighttime drafts that lifted tapestries from the walls and ruffled papers left on desks whispered a curse: You are forever destined to misery, and those you dare to love will disappear.
It was nighttime now, or near enough to it, and Severus was sitting outside under a tree, the soft sounds of night swirling around him. He did not hear the song of the nightengale, though, and he did not hear the low buzz of whatever small creatures were emerging to dance in the darkness. His eyes did not see the fireflies, nor had they seen the splendor of the sunset. He could see one thing, and one thing only, and that was her face, still smiling and laughing, her eyes sparkling. He closed his eyes, not sure if he was trying to dispell the image or to hold onto it.
"Severus?" Go away, he thought urgently, but the one who had spoken did not hear his fervent silent pleas, or did not pay attention to them. There was a soft grunt, and when Severus opened his eyes, Dumbledore was seated beside him. "You couldn't have chosen a bench somewhere, could you?" There was a lightness to the older wizard's words, but also a gentle sympathy that Severus wasn't sure he had the energy for. He remained silent. "I won't interrupt your desolation for long, my boy," Dumbledore was saying, "but I wanted to tell you-- Aislinn's funeral will be Saturday. Will you be going?"
Severus' eyes closed tightly again. "Do I have to?" he whispered into the darkness.
Dumbledore's hand closed over his own, and Severus stiffened at the touch. "It would be appropriate, I believe," the headmaster said softly, "and you might even find it beneficial."
I doubt that,
Severus thought, but he didn't trust himself to speak, even if he would have said such bitter words to Dumbledore. "Very well," he whispered, genuinely not caring if he went or not. He could be as miserable at a funeral as he was here."It will be in Muggle London, Severus so..."
He nodded. So make sure you have Muggle clothes.
"And, Severus..." Severus looked at Dumbledore, who looked as though he were about to say something unpleasant. He did. "The notice specifically says not to wear black."
Severus winced. "Why?" he asked softly. "I thought Muggles considered black appropriate for funerals."
"Well, normally they do, but apparently not for this one."
Severus sighed. "Fine." He wished Dumbledore would leave. Sincerely wished it, for once. He often thought it, but seldom did he actually wish the Headmaster would leave him alone, but this was one of those rare times. He was barely holding onto his composure, and he didn't want Albus Dumbledore wheedling at the flimsy wall he'd erected to separate himself from the pain.
And damn the man, he seemed to know that. "All right," Dumbledore said softly, patting his arm once more. "I'll leave you be. Remember, though, that you know the password to my office. Put that knowledge to use, Severus." With another soft grunt, Dumbledore stood and was gone, leaving Severus to stare blankly past the fireflies once more.
Saturday morning, Severus rose in a state of numbness, and dressed in much the same. Dumbledore had procured him a shirt that was not black, but, Severus noted distantly with a mild appreciation, was a dark enough green that it might as well have been. Black fit his dark mood, and at least he wouldn't have to endure the insult of some shockingly bright color. He shrugged into the long-sleeved shirt and buttoned it absently, tucking it into the top of his black trousers. A glance in the mirror would have normally made him scowl; the clothes were not his idea of fashionable or comfortable, after all. Today, though, he could barely muster the energy for a sigh. He had been hoping that this would be as quick and painless an ordeal as possible, but he'd somehow neglected to remember that Aislinn's younger sister, Amber, was a student in his House. Which meant that on top of having to attend this funeral, he had to take an eleven-year-old girl with him. An eleven-year-old girl who had been crying in various degrees of hysteria for the last week and a half.
He approached the Slytherin common room with a heavy heart, and poked his head inside, gesturing to the child in question, who nodded, big blue eyes shining in a painful imitation of her older sister's. Amber joined him in the corridor, and he paused outside the portrait hole. "Did you bring your cloak?" he asked her, making an attempt to keep his voice stern. She nodded, and held up the cloak, which he took from her and they walked in silence to Dumbledore's office, from where they would be traveling by Floo to the Leaky Cauldron. When they reached Dumbledore's office, Severus handed the girl her cloak back, and she positioned it around her shoulders, taking care to cover the pale blue dress she wore.
"You go first, Severus," Dumbledore suggested, and Severus swing his own traveling cloak around his shoulders, pulling the hood up over his head. "The Leaky Cauldron," he spoke clearly, dropping a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and stepping into the emerald flames. He emerged on the other side and was already removing his cloak when Amber stepped out onto the hearth, followed soon by Albus. A moment of dusting off clothes and wiping faces, and Dumbledore was satisfied that the three of them were presentable. They left their cloaks in the tavern, and stepped into the blindingly brilliant morning light of June.
They made a subdued trio as they walked along the sidewalks, Dumbledore leading the way and Severus content to remain a step behind him. To his surprise, Amber lingered close to his side, and, after a moment she hesitantly slipped her hand into his. For an instant, he was taken aback by the gesture, but he recovered himself quickly and gave her hand a slight squeeze. That he had the presense of mind to do that was probably directly attributable to Amber's older sister. Clumsily, he moved his hand to her shoulder and gave her shoulder a firm squeeze, and she looked up at him, surprised, but apparently pleased, as he face bloomed into a smile. It was like the sun breaking through a fog. "Are you doing all right?" he asked her in a low tone, and she nodded. "Good," he whispered. They made the rest of their journey in silence.
When they reached their supposed destination, Severus couldn't help a flicker of doubt as he looked at the structure. "Is this where we're going?" he asked Dumbledore, who looked almost as doubtful as he felt.
Dumbledore nodded, though, and indicated the paper in his hand. "23156 Marlowe Avenue," he said, indicating the nubers on the door, and then the street sign on the corner.
"I was under the impression that Muggles held funerals in churches..." Severus trailed off, and looked at Amber, as though she might hold the answer to this mystery. She merely shrugged, looking as perplexed as the two men, and much more daunted. That Severus didn't look so daunted was testiment to his will power. The building in question was obviously a row house, but it was painted a shade of blue that came just shy of being surreal. The trim was pale lavendar, and it clashed something horrible, though somehow Severus could almost imagine Aislinn picking such a color scheme and making it look tastefully elegant. It was the sign on the front of the door, however, that made his eyebrows climb to his hairline. A picture of a crescent moon with three stars at the tip, and an absurdly elegant script that read: "The Divine Mme. Morris: Palmisty, Tarot and Astrological Interpretation."
"Well, I suppose we should go inside," Dumbledore said, folding up the page and slipping it into the breast pocket of the brilliantly purple shirt he was wearing. He reached for the door, which jingled a collection of bells as it opened, and Severus ushered Amber inside with a light touch on her shoulder. Once they were inside, Severus paused, letting his senses adjust to the assault of this new environment.
There was no light, save from a grouping of weak candles on a mirrored sideboard and a tiny stream that filtered in through the gap in a pair of heavy velvet red curtains. There was a mismatched assortment of chairs, all over-stuffed and upholstered in vibrant, rich shades redolent of a jewel box, all gathered around a low, round table. A curtain of beads glittered at the back of the room, and everywhere he looked there were beads, books or candles. Perhaps most stunning, though, was the heaviness to the air, which was so thick with insence that it made Severus' nose twitch.
"Can I help you?" For a moment, Severus thought he was looking at Sybill Trelawney, but a second glance dispelled the notion. The figure in front of him was small and draped in purples and reds and oranges and beads, her hair pulled back in a sickeningly mismatched paisley scarf, large gold earrings dangling against her neck. She was be-bangled and be-sequined as Sybil ever was, but this woman had red hair (which even in the faint light was quite obviously not her natural hair color.) Severus' mouth opened and closed silently.
"Is this where the funeral for Aislinn Ichalia is to be held?" Dumbledore, fortunately, had not seemed to lose his tongue at the sight of the woman, who was now crossing her arms and looking at them with an expression that reminded Severus of a cat toying with a mouse.
"No," she replied evenly, "it is not."
There was a moment of silence, and then Dumbledore asked, "Do you know where that event will take place?"
"There is to be no funeral," the woman rejoined, and Severus and Dumbledore traded looks over the top of Amber's head.
"But the notice..."
"Raven, are you tormenting people again? Give over!" Severus barely had time to register that the woman speaking to them was apparently named Raven when another woman joined them, this one somewhat less clashing but no less shocking.
Even in the dim light, Severus could see that her hair, swinging in a blunt line just below her jaw, was a rich, chestnut color and streaked with gold. Her eyes were a shade of gold that didn't belong on any human, but somehow seemed to suit her. Her dress seemed to be composed of several layers of scarves, which gave her an ethereal appearance, and one that was nearly suggestive, despite there being so many layers that he couldn't even trick his mind into believing he could see anything. She moved her hair behind her ear, as though irritated with it, and revealed a half-dozen tiny gold rings along the rim of her ear. "Honestly," she muttered,half under her breath, "you have no sense of decency, Raven. Stop being such a twit."
"Is this where the funeral for Aislinn is to be held?" DUmbledore repeated his earlier question, directing it now to the newcomer.
"See?" asked Raven accusingly. "I told them there was to be no funeral!"
The other woman rolled her eyes slightly and reached past Raven, taking Amber by the arm. "Pay her no mind," she said, "she's just out of sorts. I think she's taking this worse than any of the rest of us, actually, she's just being a pain about it." This last was said in a conspiratorily lowered voice, and Severus found himself being ushered by the petite, caramel-haired woman who was too unusual to be pretty and too beautiful to be anything else. "I'm Autumn," she introduced herself. "And I am sorry if Raven shocked you. And you are...?"
Albus reached forward and took the proffered hand. "I'm Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster at the school where Aislinn was teaching. This is her younger sister, Amber Carlisle," Autumn paused and clucked her tongue, pulling the girl into a firm embrace, "and this is Severus Snape."
Autumn stopped suddenly, dead in her tracks, and her eyes, which suddenly reminded Severus of a sweet sherry, grazed over him. "So you're Severus," she said softly. "Aislinn spoke often of you. She told me that if I ever ran across a man dressed all in black and scowling at the world, it was likely to be you." She was smiling, which made Severus think it was supposed to be some poor attempt at a joke. "So you'll forgive me that I didn't recognize you. I'm glad you were able to come." She slipped her arms around him, pulling him into a firm embrace, and he couldn't help but note that her head barely topped his shoulder. So unlike Aislinn.
Severus was at a loss. Luckily, however, Dumbledore was not. "Raven?" he hesitated, nodding at the woman with such violently red hair. At Autumn's nod, Dumbledore cloeared his voice. "She said there is to be no funeral...? I was under the impression..."
"There is no 'funeral', per se," Autumn replied, gesturing them towards a staircase. "A funeral is a reason to mourn a person's death. We are here to celebrate Aislinn's life. A memorial," she whispered, "not a funeral."
Severus' eyes widened slightly, and he shot a withering look a Dumbledore. What have you gotten us into?
The memorial service was nothing short of torture, and it took every ounce of composure and willpower that Severus had not to crawl into a corner and sob. He bore it silently, though, avoiding the touches and friendly embraces of people who had obviously known Aislinn. Muggles, to a one, the three from Hogwarts were the only magical people in the room. The rest of them were men and women who had no inkling that their friend was a witch, born Hannah Carlisle into a Pureblood family and all but disowned because a bout with childhood cancer had left her barren, and theefore of no use to the line.
The ritual was like nothing Severus had ever seen, nor read about, nor heard mention of, beginning with the lot of them sitting in a circle and recounting stories about Aislinn. Each time someone mentioned her name, he felt his throat restrict, threatening to suffocate him. He survived, somehow, though and even managed to whisper a few words himself when his turn came. Dumbledore, he noticed, was faring much better, with his usual calm and composure. Amber was crying and laughing in turns, and as the 'memorial' stretched on, he thought she was, perhaps, benefitting from it. As Dumbledore had suggested he would. Severus did not find anything there, though, except pain beyond measure.
After nearly four hours in that upstairs room, Autumn and three other women stood, and in closing, they passed out tiny vials. Severus held his up to the light, frowning slightly at it. It seemed to be filled with a fine grey powder, though he did not know what it was. His question was answered soon enough, though, as Autumn explained. "Most of Aislinn's ashes were scattered to the winds," she told them, her voice thick with emotion. "That was her greatest wish, to be free as the wind, and it was only in death that she was able to find that freedom. We all keep her, though, in our hearts, and now in our hands. Do what you will with the ashes; she gave so freely of herself in life, and in death she has done the same."
Amber was crying again, and Dumbledore had gathered her into his arms and was whispering something to her. Severus sat, turning the tiny vial over and over in his hand, and he was still enshrouded in that numbing haze when Dumbledore gathered the two of them and made their excuses, leading them back through the streets of Muggle London. Back to their world.