Virtus enim sola recta via

by Evyheartway

Because courage is the only worthy way. How lived Severus Snape through the few hours preceeding the moment he murdered Dumbledore?

Virtus enim sola recta via

Because courage is the only worthy way

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Comments:

This is the Fiction Prize for :iconancatdubh: for her amazing painting "Severus princeps occultus" :http:// ancatdubh . deviantart . com/art/Severus-Princeps-occultus-141942316, winner of northangel27 's snapely contest on deviantart.

Hélène told me she liked stories of introspection, and that fit with the image of getting down in the dungeons. So I watched her painting, went into my dungeons and rambled…I hope it will not be too boring to read! ;) (warning: it's overlong)

I wanted Snape to drink a glass of wine, but for an obscure reason it just did not come naturally in the story, so it will be for another time. ;-)

I dedicate this story to Hélène . Congrats again, Hélène; thanks for your wonderful painting and sorry for the overlong wait !

Beated by http: // www . fanfiction . net /u/46567/Sindie

Latin translation by a friend of Hélène.

Many thanks to them!

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Most of us have far more courage than we ever dreamed possible.

Dale Carnegie

In Hogwarts, on this mild evening of June 1997, it was about 40 minutes before curfew. The Great Hall was regurgitating its last occupiers: a few students hurrying through the Entrance Hall and whose steps clapped onto the flagstones. As soon as the last of them vanished in a corridor, the oak front doors swung open. A group of five stepped in: a woman with purple hair, a man shabbily attired, and three others in dark teaching robes. The oldest of them, a tall wizard wearing a long white beard and endowed with bright blue eyes made a polite gesture toward the huge marble staircase. Almost at once, the group moved up, save his greasy, black long-haired colleague who stood by his side, pulled up to his full height, glaring at the rest of the group walking upwards.

When he was certain that they were out of ears' reach, Severus Snape, casting an extra glance around, whispered to the headmaster. A subdued talk ensued. Dumbledore sounded very calm. His younger colleague looked much more agitated. After a minute or two, the later (latter) curtly turned on his heels and headed straight toward the dungeons, paying no heed to the old man's call.

At the bottom of the stairs, grabbing on to the banister, Dumbledore watched him go. At last, he sighed and started climbing up.

In the spiral stairwell, Severus was gliding swiftly down, his black cloak and black robes swirling and flapping amply around him. As a consequence, his already thin frame seemed ludicrously gaunter. His whole figure reminded one of a sort of misshaped animal, strange and fascinating, a kind of gigantic winged spider.

He dashed along a corridor, then stopped abruptly in front of a door. Cloak and robes slowly flew down and deflated. A pale, bony and long fingered hand reached out for the handle. Like a shadow, he slid inside his office.

An almost imperceptible flick of his wand from within his pocket lighted candles arranged all around the room. Yet, it was still rather somber. He closed the door.

But his left hand stayed upon the handle. His shoulders softly moved up and down a few times. Then his hand came upwards and pressed against the dark polished wood. As his fingers splayed, he watched them, wryly reminded of a white black widow, only bigger. Even the Mark on his arm fit with the analogy somehow.

He leant forward, resting his forehead on the back of that emaciated hand of his.

No Death Eater meeting tonight. No Order of the Phoenix meeting either. No detention, not even with Potter…

The corner of his mouth jolted a sneer. His pale fingers, like legs of the albino arachnid, huddled up, scratching the wood with their nails.

No… That-that's for Saturdays' distraction…

He righted himself a little and chafed the pulp of his fingers down the inner carved panel of the door.

No. Tonight…

This time, his whole mouth wryly twisted. His eyebrows rose.

Tonight, Severus should rest, while the boy was going away on mission with the headmaster.

He let out a brief hushed groan, bounced himself off the door, and began to fiercely stride around his study.

This was a mission so secret, that the destination and purpose of which Dumbledore would not confide in anyone, not even in his so-called most precious, most trusted and whatsoever reliable helper. But Hogwarts would be well protected during the headmaster's absence. That was all that mattered, wasn't it?!

He had reached the opposite wall. He spun round in a black swoosh and set off again.

Oh…of course, all entrances and secret passages were protected by powerful enchantments. The corridors would be patrolled and pupils watched over. Indeed they would be, by a werewolf and his girlfriend - the clumsiest Auror ever, ahem… the clumsiest girl ever- and a bunch of Weasleys. Oh, yes, the castle would be well protected! …So…So…

Severus had halted in front of a stained window-paned cupboard. A wide range of beakers, graduated funnels, test tubes, and decanters were visible inside. He was standing still, panting a little through his gritted teeth, staring, eyes narrowed but unfocused, far beyond the cupboard.

So tonight, he should simply take the opportunity of this little spare time to brew himself some lime-blossom tea and go to bed early?- indeed! Those were Dumbledore's very words….

Severus resisted to the impulse to shake his head while an ugly grimace contorted his face and he set off for a few more strides toward his desk. He stopped behind the chair, clasped the top of the backrest as though it were a life buoy, and leant on it. His hair slipped down over his face.

Dumbledore tended to take everything he demanded for granted. Just so…whatever he had asked. He was used to building up his plans without heeding others. He wanted Severus to murder him in due time... and so should it be! -- He decided and people should abide - simply –because- he- was- Dumbledore.

Severus's chest jolted a few times. The slender knuckles blanched over the dark wood. He forced in and out a few deep breaths.

Most of the time it worked indeed; people fighting for the right side obeyed Dumbledore almost blindly and without discussion.

…Because he is an extremely powerful wizard … the only one the Dark Lord has ever feared… because (and Severus's stomach wrenched with bitterness) he is a great man, cleverer and wiser than most, because he knows what is right…because he is right… most of the time…

Severus jerked again.

Well, indeed…most of the time he is….

Black's death, for instance, had been an obvious result of the old man's ridiculous indulgence with the Potter boy, his tendency to overprotect him. If he had only agreed to warn him a bit better instead of always sparing him... not such a fiasco would have happened…ah..Dumbledore!!…

Severus paused, deliberating upon his last thoughts.

…Humph… maybe it would have anyway… The boy was too unsubtle, so stubbornly impulsive …and so damned unruly and inquisitive…

But that old manipulator has been fooling you for years!

The pale fingers crushed the backrest of the chair again.

--And you- you should simply…obey?!!...He's asking too much…He's asking too much…

Tense from head to toe, Severus was now shaking slightly over the chair. The only noise was the teasingly calm and steady ticking of the large clock on the wall.

After a while, his shoulders heaved up and then dropped heavily.

That man is also the only one who ever gave you a second chance, the only man who has ever trusted you, who has ever felt some kind of fatherly concern for you …

Or had all that only been mere disguised politeness? Had that only been a skilful way to soften Severus's guards and manipulate him easier?

No...No...You know the man cares for you a little…but look… Look how he's ready to slaughter the boy to whom he seems truly attached to.

There are great aims, Severus, greater and nobler designs than the mere fulfillment of narcissistic interests or desires…of which they sometimes require the sacrifice…

…YOU must kill me, Severus.

The slender fingers gave the backrest one more squeeze, then their grip slackened. He righted himself, sweeping his gaze over his properly ordered desktop, over the neat pile of marked essays and the leather bound copy of Ancient Dark Spells.

…Another way…there must be another way…

If only he could figure it there was none. No better alternative. He knew it. He had mulled over it enough and certainly so had Dumbledore.

He let go of the chair and calmly walked to the nearest shelf on his right. The angry flow burning through his veins was easing and leaving place to the familiar cold of bitterness. It was a tad like getting out in a snow storm without proper winter clothes when you've got fiver. At first, it pleasantly alleviates the heat over one's cheeks. Then chills set off their stinging race from shoulder to shoulder and down the spine. The body shrinks under the bites. The throat clogs. Breathing becomes restrained and painful. But if one waited long enough, the pain faded into numbness…

He filled his lungs to their full extent and slowly breathed out. An intense sadness was slithering inside his bowels, coiling and uncoiling, lurking like an ugly beast on the lookout for a moment of weakness of its prey.

He would not give it a chance. He would not let it run wild.

He willed his eyes to focus on the jars. They swept over them from one side of the shelf to the other, then stopped over one, which he finally picked up. He turned it slowly within his hands, as if he were scrutinizing the amber liquid and the dead blue tadpole-like creature inside it.

Well, after all, he would rest tonight. He had more than deserved an evening of rest... He would check upon a few things and then lie down. He would only disobey about the lime-blossom tea …

That old man could never enjoy a good wine to its full measure…

He let out a light snigger and reached out a thin, long finger. With it, he started tracing the edge of the label of the jar.

Dumbledore was not yet hundred and sixteen and would most certainly never reach his birthday. That seemed still so inconceivable.

He swallowed hard, thwarting the crawling creature back into its den.

Until a year ago, and thus despite the worsening of the threats looming over the wizarding world, despite the even greater dangers menacing those who dared withstand on the path of the Dark Lord, Severus had had the maybe nonsensical but persisting feeling that the old man would outlive him. His tall and thin stature would preside over the staff table; he would dwell in the headmaster office, and summon Severus for all his dirty jobs for years ….at least as long as he, Severus, would teach in this school…, meaning, as long as he would live through counterfeiting his faith and spying on the best Legilimens ever…

Severus swallowed hard again.

Obviously, the only thing which would be revealed to be true was that indeed Severus would not teach anymore after the headmaster's death. He would rule the school.

Gritting his teeth, Severus set the jar back with a jerk and made a beeline for the back of his study, his robes fluttering over his heels.

He passed through an arched doorway and found himself in a small anti-chamber. On his right was the oaken door leading to his private quarters; across him the wall was covered with some more shelves which were cluttered with heterogeneous empty glass wares and a few demijohns, and on his left a low relief was engraved into the bare stones. It figured a set of smoking vials, a weighing scale, a knife, and some ingredients strewn over a cutting board. Beneath it a quote stated:

Elementa miscere plura abscondit quam simplica summa elementorum

Severus drew out his wand, lightly tapped the stones an inch beneath the "s" of miscere, and flicked his wrist. A little door appeared out of the stones and creaked open.

Another flick lighted his wand, and bending his head, he crossed the threshold. Carefully, he strolled down the very narrow staircase, whose wet steps shined with the white glow of his wand.

No one but him knew what was in there. Not even Dumbledore. And yet, in this concealed cabinet, Severus was keeping many unconventional brews with which one could do the best …or the very worse. In addition to these, of course, he stored a few extra doses from the usual potions, just in case.

But no one knew.

He lifted his wand aloft, skipped over a cursed step.

Oh, well…Dumbledore had certainly guessed Severus maintained such a reserve. Yet, he had never directly asked about it. The old man trusted him. Anyhow, he -simply- trusted- him. With his life or rather… his death…

A muscle in Severus's cheek convulsed. His Adam's apple bobbled up and down. A few flashes were darting over the front of his mind. An old man subjugating by his sole presence about ten Death Eaters, the same old man wearing a ridiculous hat, sparkling with childish joy….attachment and respect in the blue eyes piercing through him…

He breathed in deeply, briefly rubbed his face with his free hand, and lowered his wand. He had reached the bottom of the stairs and was standing in a very small room of two square meters at most. The walls where covered from ground to ceiling with shelves bending under bottles of many varied sizes and shapes. Most of them were glowing in an ethereal and festive manner which reminded him of the phosphorescent luminous plastic skeleton that his dad had bought him ages ago at the news kiosk on an unusually high spirited day.

Severus liked that place.

A tiny flush of warmth diffused inside him and released a little bit the icy grip oppressing him. He pointed his wand toward the shelves and slowly turned on the spot, scanning the flasks thus lit. There were tiny flacons, some long and high-necked bottles, some middle- sized paunchy others, even a beautiful jeroboam.

But the white light of his wand over the bottles quivered.

The only one who knows your heart, your soul even… And still he asks you this….he asks you to murder him…

How cruel! How ironic! How tearing!

Once more, Dumbledore had refused to hear him about that matter. Severus had promised and that was it! Of course, the wizard's days were numbered because of the curse in his hand, but still…Still!

His jaws tensed painfully. He blinked, breathing hard though his dilated nostrils.

And if it were not already that horrible to kill an old man whom you care about despite everything he has done to you, there were the undercurrent consequences. Most intended unintended consequences.

For Dumbledore was asking much more than this "service" supposed to spare him a painful and humiliating death, and he certainly knew that. Dumbledore was asking him to wear the Death Eater costume twenty-four hours a day with as little as no breathing space, no place for the slightest error. He was demanding him to become a traitor and a murderer in the eyes of all the people who really mattered. And no one - no one will ever know of his sacrifice or of his true allegiance…

The only one who might be told one day was committed to die.

He grabbed to the upright brace of a shelf, scoffing at himself inwardly about how he would get on a silver platter a place he would have once struggled to get. Life obviously had an odd sense of humor.

For if Dumbledore's plan was inhuman, it was brilliant.

Draco Malfoy was meant in first place to accomplish this… task… to murder Dumbledore. But the death of his most feared enemy would satisfy the Dark Lord much, so much he would undoubtedly forgive the curb in the plan- He didn't expect Draco to succeed anyway- , so much that his nasty red eyes would sparkle with perverse satisfaction while scorching through the executioner's mind. He even might let out this abominable noise that served him as a laugh. And above everything, he would definitely hold Severus for his most useful servant.

Even the tongues whispering behind Severus's back might shut up. A sardonic smile contorted Severus's mouth as he pictured Bellatrix learning the news. At least, that would put her in her place.

As the sneer faded, and the swell of sadness tided back, Severus released his grasp on the brace and strained his eyes to focus on the flasks. With the back of his free hand, he swept some gossamers, which were tickling his face. He strengthened his hold over his wand and pointed it resolutely again.

So, what about Veritaserum?!

The white glow wandered farther and then stopped over the three water-like filled vials standing near the edge of a shelf. He snatched one and bestowed it inside his robes. His eyes travelled over the jars around, but they were staring into the distance again.

Does killing a willing victim rip the soul? Does it still harm the soul of the executioner when the crime appalls every single fiber of his being?

He tore his gaze from the blurred glows, directed it toward the darkness.

Maybe my soul isn't whole already…already damaged beyond salvation…

He sighed, then reached out, drew a ladder out of the darkness, climbed on it and started peering at the upper levels of the shelves. Some of the liquids in the bottles sparkled when he pointed his wand at them.

Honestly, he had never killed anyone with Avada Kedavra. He had never killed directly.

Many years ago his potions had certainly poisoned more than one person, but as long as he was sure that his brews would not be used against Lily, he had never truly wished to enquire about the use made of them.

His left hand's fingers carefully groped behind a round-shaped bottle which was shining a deep shade of blue and withdrew with a tiny vial. They removed its stopper with the agility conferred by practice. It was filled with a blood-like liquid. He poked his nose at it.

Okay. Now that's the trick…

He approached the tip of his glowing wand from behind the tiny bottle. The liquid turned uncolored. A smirk accompanied the little grunt of satisfaction that escaped his mouth. He corked his find back, and he slid it inside his robes.

A silvery gleam was wavering on the wall nearby. Stretching out his arm to the utmost, he picked out the vial responsible for it. He slid this one inside his robes too and climbed down the ladder.

How did Dumbledore cope so easily- well, at least apparently he did- with the eventuality of his imminent death? He seemed so confident, so serene and detached, almost casual. Severus knew the man well enough, but that ultimate attitude unsettled him.

Was that what distinguished really great people? This ability to amaze you until the very end? Despite all his anger and his resentment, he could never deny Dumbledore that.

But still…?!!

Severus had to understand, to make sense with all this, or he shall go sick.

Was fulfillment –for anyone who would have lived his life should feel this? - a strong enough solace when the time of leaving?

Sure enough, Dumbledore had enjoyed a long lifetime, and had rather made a good use of it. His first-rate brains and outstanding magic had not been wasted. And he had harvested quite a reasonable amount of honors. He would be featured in wizarding history books for the rest of times. A tragic end from the hand of one of his closest staff members would only increase his legend, and crown an exceptional life.

But did it truly make things easier? Did it truly make it easier to let it go of any hope of …of what after all?

Severus sighed, turned around, and propped his back and his head against the shelves.

Was it a side effect of maturity gained through many years of aging? But Severus had seen enough people, young or old, at the verge of death to know that many men never reached that level of serenity and would never have, even if they had been granted a longer life. Maybe it was more a simple question of personal qualities. A mixture between personal abilities and how hard you try...like many things in life after all - leaving aside the question of luck.

There was also doubtless some hardness of heart with the old man…perhaps that helped…Maybe that was what rendered Dumbledore able to raise a boy for eighteen years to send him to death, to manipulate people and sacrifice them for the greater good without an hint of scruple… as though…. all this was - perfectly - natural…

His eyes flittered absently over the multi-colored lights across him.

Perhaps Dumbledore would meet his death by himself. Maybe Severus would not have to do it in the end.

When bidding him to take care of himself, the old man's blue eyes had been glistening, as though he doubted coming back alive from this nightly escapade.

Honestly and to his own abhorrence, Severus found himself fiercely hoping Dumbledore would perish so. That would make things easier. The blow would be hard, but only that could relieve him from honoring his dreadful promise. The sour stinging of mixed regrets and anger rose at the back of his mouth.

How this over-experienced wizard could have been so stupid to put that ring on!

A rasping sigh issued from his throat, sounding like an animal's death rattle, and he buried his face into his hands. After a short while, he rubbed them over it, looked up, and lolled back his head against the hard wood again.

Well…this mission could not be so dangerous; otherwise Dumbledore would not have taken the boy with him. The boy had to die, but not yet… he sneered inwardly, only at the right time and from the Dark Lord's hand himself…

But he quickly sobered down.

So the braveness of the three of them was required. Two Gryffindors and a Slytherin..

Anyway...he was not a coward either. His deeds for the Order of the Phoenix over these last years should suffice if any token of braveness was required. He had even proved it quasi daily over the last months.

He sighed; the lock of hair hanging over his face flew up.

Doing a job no one had the skills or the guts for filled him with pride… Yet, it had never quenched the fire searing him to the core. This fire …inseparably entwined with his devouring love for Lily. Each saved life, each fulfilled mission, each little success, even the rare little words of credit soothed, but only briefly, like a beverage which would slake thirst only for the duration of the drinking. And it burnt, ever and ever again, like the shooting pain of a wound ever and ever again slashed afresh.

This thirst, thrusting his body and soul into the cause…maybe…maybe it was the same helpless need that had urged him to join the Dark Lord at first…

This was not at all flattering. He had preferred believing he was devoting himself so much because he had become a good person in truth…

With the back of his wandless hand he grazed the tip of his nose nervously.

He had never relapsed. He could kill Dumbledore and join the Dark Lord for good. But he would not. Those kinds of thoughts floated at the back of his mind sometimes, but he always fought them back. He would never let himself be tempted. He would be faithful for the rest of his life. Dumbledore knew it.

Severus could have decided long ago to run away and start a new life somewhere or even kill himself out of despair. For Lily he had breathed, lived, and stayed.

He had never been able to clearly put a finger on the day he had realized he had truly changed sides. That period was blurred. All he could honestly recall was that, at the very first, he had deluded himself in believing he might play on both sides: save Lily and be a respected, powerful Death Eater; although…although deep inside he had been, since some time ago already, more than upset with the true colors of the Dark Lord… But in the end he had lost her, and the Dark Lord had gone…

.Anyway… now, he was fighting on her side for good. He could indulge himself that painful solace, even if he would most probably carry his wounds and unfilled needs to his grave.

He looked down at his wand in his right hand, casting a pool of light on the cobbled ground. He distractedly began to play with it, drawing arabesques and scaring spiders away.

With time he had received an unexpected kind of acknowledgement from Dumbledore, and he had begun to fancy he might finally have his place here at Hogwarts–not what he had imagined, but a place nevertheless.

Now he had to waive on the little that was left to him.

… All what you have is your soul…

The light stopped its movements on the ground. His hands had curled convulsively into fists.

Precisely….and you have nothing to prove. You know you are no coward!

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, breathed deeply and opened them again, forced his hands to unfold, righted himself, and turned around.

No coward…you know you are no coward…

His gaze scanned the shelves again. He picked up a green flask, glowing pleasantly. But his gaze got lost again, into the gleams shimmering on the damp walls. Slowly, gradually, his arms dropped at his sides. Those tremulous reflected lights had become rotating flashes glistening in a damp dark alley another night…that night….the one and only real time in his life when he clearly remembered he had behaved cowardly, of which he was so much aware to have obviously lacked strength of character…

One way or another he had always had to pay for his mistakes a hundred times over….. Or…. maybe were his mistakes always so huge?!

Against his tight his hand tensed up on the flask he was holding, exactly the way it did on the handle of room of his boyhood that morning…that morning preceding that night….. He had only one little day left to endure in Spinner's End. Tomorrow he would take the train to Hogwarts and begin his sixth school year.

Through the crack of the door, the voice of his father roared. A second later, his mother screamed. There again! It was not even eight, and already they were fighting. He had meant to spend this day like he had spent so many others of this summer: outside. He used to sneak out with a few books and with whatever he could find in the kitchen to make himself a sandwich and settled down by the river.

His mother knew. When he was, lucky he found a kind of lunch pack already prepared for him in the fridge. He liked to imagine that was her way to tell him she loved him despite how undeserving a mother she was.

Usually, he managed to slip out before Tobias woke up. No idea what had thrown his father out of his bed this morning, but at any rate that meant Severus had to confront him to go out, and Tobias was very over the edge lately. His latest bright idea was to control his son's whereabouts. That meant, in short, lock him inside the house whenever he could. Typical nonsense. He had no control over his life, so he took revenge on his son's.

His hand over the handle, Severus waited. Shouts and cries went on.

He fought hard to subdue the prickling of his nerves with gloomy acceptance. But it failed. He just could not stand it anymore. Not today. He took a deep breath, hardened his mental barriers, crushed the handle of the door, and thrust it open.

He dashed through the narrow hallway and down the stairs. The voices were louder now. Apparently, they were arguing about the late job opportunity Tobias had missed.

Severus had meant to head directly to the street door. Too busy fighting, his parents would not even notice him go. But he stopped. He stopped in the doorway and looked.

In the opposite corner of the tiny room, Tobias was looming over Eileen, his hands threatening. His frame was hiding her partially to Severus's sight.

"DO YOU THINK I failed purposely??!

"NO!... BUT DO YOU? -…do you –honestly- THINK- they would give the job to a man already half-drunk at TEN in the morning?!"

"SHUT UP!!"

Slap!

Mechanically, Severus closed up, as though trying to pull an iron shell all around between him and the rest of the world. He had not exactly seen it, but the noise was familiar enough to him so that he exactly knew what had just happened. And now there were the unmistakable hushed sobs of his mother.

He glanced away to the entrance door. It was much harder now to ignore and flee. But tomorrow he would be gone. She would be left to herself anyway. Sighing angrily, he adjusted the strap of his school bag on his shoulder and looked back at his parents.

Tobias waved as to slap again. Eileen made a cowering move, caught her foot against the sofa, and fell down backward.

Severus's heart fluttered, but he saw then with much surprise that she was holding her wand. That relieved him a little bit. Tobias could not hurt her too badly if she had her wand, could he?

Rage and revolt boiled up inside Severus's stomach, overflowing shamelessly his arduously built protective dam of self-imposed coolness.

If only!… If only!… she would stand up for herself and throw him out of the house! ... or go...just...pack her things and go!…

He had no time to ponder more about the matter. All of a sudden, there was a big flash of light and Tobias was blasted off his feet. He flew though the room and banged against the opposite wall, an inch away from the mantel piece. The frame holding that black and white photo (the one with Tobias and Eileen smiling from the seats of old Trafford and of which Severus had always believed to be a fake) fall on Tobias's head with a loud crushing noise.

His first goal and his anger momentarily forgotten, Severus took a few steps in, treading over screeching pieces of broken glass.

His mother was still crouching where she had fallen, as if stunned from her feat. His father was slowly recovering from the shock, groaning, checking his limbs, and dusting himself from the glass scatterings. He seemed all right, though.

…After all, that was maybe exactly what he needed to calm down?

Severus took a quick deep breath, looked deliberately away, and holding tightly the strap of his bag, inconspicuously speeded to the entrance door.

"YOU WITCH! You ! – you! I'm gonna break your fucking wand once for all!" bellowed Tobias.

Severus was already crossing over the doormat, but he turned around.

"Tobias, please… I did not mean to…"

Tobias, white with rage, had just pounced on Eileen. They struggled. Tobias quickly managed to seize Eileen's wrists. She screamed when he crushed both of them in the hold of one of his large hands and managed to snatch her wand with the other, roaring with triumph.

Severus felt his pulse surge, blood beating hard on his temples.

But Tobias now looked a tad unsure about what to really do with the wand, watching it as though trying to figure out a way to use it for himself. Eileen was still fiercely struggling against his iron grip, and somehow she managed finally to wrench free one of her hands.

Apparently out of a better idea, Tobias threw the stick away and hit her hard on her face. And again. Once. Twice. Blows were pouring down on her.

Severus hurtled up, caught his father by his collar, and yanked him backwards with his whole might.

The last thing he recalled after that were a fucking bloody pain in his nose, stars in front of his eyes, and his right elbow hitting hard on the tiled floor.

Through a blur, Tobias's frame swooped over him. Then followed a kick in his back, another in his legs and again another in his back, and again. Gasping, Severus scrambled away on all fours, disentangling himself from the strap of his bag. He could feel magic run wild inside him. It was like a powerful tide swelling up and up. His wand was safely hidden inside his pocket, and it was taking all his self control not to draw it out and curse Tobias.

But soon his magic would not need the channel of a wand anymore, and it would burst out from its own will.

Get away before it would get nasty, Sev...get away…

But Tobias grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pulling his face so close that Severus choked with the drunkard's stench. He raised his arm as to protect himself from further blows.

"Ahah…you still fear me!!" said Tobias. "You know you can't use magic on me …too afraid to be expelled from your magic school…" He let out a horrible throaty snigger. "Coward! …You're a coward, my son! Like all these magical folk … A coward!!"

With those words, he threw his son back, as if he were a mere sack of garbage. Curled into a ball, Severus skidded on his side, and bumped against a chair. No more blows followed. He looked up. Tobias was staggering in the middle of the room. Eileen had got to her feet but stood quite still, pressed against the wall, as though she were thinking of disappearing into it. Surely she could if she truly wanted. Still a bit groggy, Severus wiped his bleeding nose with the back of his sleeve and slowly got to his feet, leaning upon the rickety table for support.

"So … who rules here?!" boasted Tobias. But he looked tired now. He would probably splutter silly excuses like unemployment getting on his nerves and that as woman and son they should support him, or maybe he would simply slump onto the sofa, dull himself with TV, pretending nothing had happened?

Severus looked at Eileen again. Her gaze gleamed at him in a quite unusual lively manner. Severus noticed then the arm she was hiding behind her back and understood. She had picked up her wand, and Tobias had not noticed. He was still stupidly standing in the middle of the room, looking down at the broken glass, pushing the shards with the tip of his shoe. After a little while, he turned toward Severus. The latter gritted his teeth, balled his firsts. Father and son glared at each other for a full minute. Then, Tobias turned away with a grunt and, to Severus's much distress, walked back to Eileen.

"So, are you going to behave like a decent wife now?"

"Were you ever a decent husband, Tobias?"

No, Mum, no…

"You! Bloody… witch!"

Eileen sneered, then slightly turned her head toward her son. Many confused feelings were fleeting across her eyes. Her cheeks still bore the traces of tears and blows, but a kind of faint purple aura was emanating from her, swaying and swelling. Her hair, like thin black tentacles, were rising up and flying around her head, as though they had been electrified. Oddly, it seemed that she had fully awakened to life again.

"Were you ever a decent husband, Tobias?" she repeated.

"Fucking witch! Don't provoke me!" said Tobias, grabbing his wife's shoulder.

She did not heed him, but kept watching Severus. Her lips moved silently: "Go."

Severus was not quite sure what he had understood. He waited, gritting his teeth tighter against an inexplicable and sudden urge to cry, watching her skinny frame intensely, her flying hair, her bruised face.

She repeated the same way: "Go, Severus."

Those words panged him in his chest. But, as though he had been waiting for her permission, they settled his mind.

He would go. He would leave her to her fate! She- She did not care that much about being beaten! Otherwise, she'd have been long gone! …Fuck!! What could he do!? He'd let her get by on her own since she asked. He was so sick of this!! So sick!!

He shivered violently and turned away, fighting for self control while retreating to the entrance door. Chills of magic were racing through his frame, crawling upon his nape and up his scalp.

That was what she wanted! Was it not?!... Maybe-maybe she would even get by better on her own! She was a grown up witch, for Merlin's sake!! And she had her wand!!

He opened the door, stepped over the threshold. But then, gnawed by guilt and worry, he cast a look back.

Yes, she had still her wand. Tobias was trying to snatch it from her, but she still had it and some weird smoke was feebly puffing out of the tip of it.

She'll get by very well…That's not your business after all…Maybe she would even get rid of him!

He quickly turned away, looking out into the strip of blue in the sky with a strange pinch in his heart, not really sure what he was meaning by "getting rid of".

That's not your business, Sev…not your problem! It's their problem…

His chest heaving, his face contorting, he had left at last, slamming the door behind him, forsaking her.

He had run and run until he had reached the riverside. There he had wandered all day, trying to forget, concentrating on his future, on new opportunities that were soon to come, trying to believe it would be better, that his life would be better - He fiercely wanted to believe it would.

He had forgotten his bag under the table, so he had nothing to read, nothing to help his mind out of brooding. And during the whole day the fancy of going to see Lily had harassed him. But they were no longer friends, were they?

He was not very sure what to think. A few weeks ago, on a particularly hot night when he could not sleep, he had sneaked out and had settled down by the river, on a blanket, not very far away from the spot he was sitting now. And then she had come, quite unexpectedly. Her sole appearance had been magical. But the more magical thing had been that, instead of going away when she had spotted him, slowly, very slowly she had drawn close and, wordlessly, had cuddled down beside him.

Had that really been her? His Lily? Who had slept the whole night through curled beside him, trustful, as though she, too, in the bottom of her heart felt linked to him with a bond that nothing could ever snap? Had this been only a dream? What, then, if it had not, prevented him from going and meeting her now?

In the end of the afternoon, a storm had broken, pelting liters of water over his head. Instead of returning, he had preferred sheltering himself beneath the little bridge's arch. But the temperatures had dropped drastically, and he had begun shivering. Because he did not feel like sleeping outside that night and catching a heavy cold just for the start of school, because his body claimed its nourishment notwithstanding his persistence to ignore it, and because he had nowhere else to go, at last he had come back.

When his feet dragged through the maze of alleys leading to that place he had to call home, it was almost pitch-dark. The last fiery glows had vanished behind the endless chimney-spiked rooftops' lines five minutes before. Swirls of vapor, as the effect of the previous heavy rain over the hot cobblestones, were hazing over the streets.

He turned on Spinner's End.

White and blue rotating lights were flashing on the wet pavement, on the dark windows nearby, and with a stronger intensity, in the very end of the alley. A strong foreboding set its sticky grip upon his shoulders. The air thickened, congealing the airborne water drops, hindering his movements.

He walked farther on.

With a wild acuity, he perceived the mixed smells of wet cobblestones, rancid oil and sewage, the blurred halos in the darkness, the voices hushed by the distance. The familiar and reassuring drizzle caressing his face seemed to whisper that everything was all right, although his whole being was screaming it was not.

As he drew closer, the movie slowly sharpened.

Emergency rotating flashes. A police vehicle. An ambulance. A few people coming and going. A dim yellowish glow running into the street through the doorway of a house whose door was open. His house. A dull humming befuddled his mind.

Unconsciously, he stayed his steps.

For a brief moment, a bulky figure obscured the flow of light in the doorframe. A man...A man wearing white overalls came out. He was pulling a stretcher.

There was a blank, a missing instant, a moment his brains could not register, then Severus became aware of the hard thudding of his heart against his ribcage, pulsing hard into his hears (ears) and his temples, taking over all the other feelings.

A heavy hand pressed down on his shoulder. Someone was talking to him. Only jumbled mutterings reached his ears.

The stretcher was covered with a white sheet. Beneath it, clearly back-lighted by the rotating flashes, appeared the outlines of a human body. Down on its side, long dark locks of hair were sneaking out.

Severus's stomach wrenched, but it was not even painful. They were now lifting the stretcher inside the van, and his whole body was breaking down, scattering into tiny pieces over the pavement. But it was not even painful.

The doors of the car slammed. And all of a sudden, the world which had been so slow until now began to spin around, almost as fast as the white and blue flashes.

The heavy hand on his shoulder seized his upper arm tightly, so tightly it hurt. He had felt the pain. He felt oddly grateful he had. It helped him realize that his body was still standing there in one whole piece and not strewn all over.

The iron grasp upon his arm was yanking him forward. He staggered toward the cars, looking back at the house, and managed to fasten his gaze upon the light still streaming outside through the doorway of his home.

A new figure stood out. It was his father's.

Tobias shambled toward the van, roughly pushed by two policemen who flanked him. Handcuffs fettered his wrists. Never did Tobias Snape set his eyes upon his son. But Tobias's son never looked away. He glared at the wretched man as hard as he could until he vanished inside the police vehicle, as though he could have burnt him down with his mere stare, like some heroes of children Muggle TV programs do.

Tobias Snape had been right about one thing that day. Severus had been a coward. But he would never be again. Never.

Cowardice leads to disasters….as much as recklessness.

Inside the dark potion cabinet, panting slightly, Severus opened his eyes. His head was swimming and pulsing, but the vial was still in his hand. He shoved it inside his robes and steadied himself.

No, he was no coward.

He would do it when the time would come. He must.

The show must go on. Inside, my heart is breaking. But the show must go on…Only you can do this undercover job…

He recalled in his mind a lovely face whose brilliant green eyes were smiling at him, and shut away all the rest.

Once more, his sharp eyes perused the rows of bottles. He picked up three more, which he hid inside his pockets, then strode up the steep steps out of the secret cellar, grazing along the coarse sidewalls with the pulp of his fingers.

Behind him, the wall transformed itself back into its previous aspect.

Like a shadow, he crossed the little antechamber to the oaken door opposite. It had no handle but an iron ring hold by the paw of a wrought salamander.

He touched the salamander's head with the tip of his wand. It blinked, and the door swung open.

As he went inside, the sense of warmth and coziness of old libraries, wax candles' and leather glue's smells welcomed him. He lighted off his wand, stowing it back in his pocket.

He was standing in the wide corridor which served as an entrance hall and led to the rest of his quarters. Its walls were entirely covered with bookshelves except for the place of a cloak-rack and the frames of two doors facing each other. In the back, across the entrance door, a little archway offered a passage to the small living room. From where he was, he could see the right armrest of his worn sofa and a glimpse of the low table.

He glanced at the rack, but went directly to the bathroom - the door on the left- keeping his cloak on. A quick passage at the loo, a washing of hands, and a brushing of teeth followed.

While he was rinsing his mouth for the third time, the clock started to strike nine o'clock. He spat, set the goblet back, and wiped his mouth with a towel hung beside the basin. Water was still running out of the faucet. He lingered there, quite immobile for a moment. The clock finished striking. Slowly, he spread out his arms, propping himself upon either side of the small washstand. A glance at the mirror hung above the sink and his eyes slid shut. After a little while, though, the thin fingers gradually released their grip. He righted himself, rubbing his face with those fingers, breathing in deeply.

He would do it...

He cupped his hands. He filled them with the flowing water, and leaning forward, doused his visage. Water streamed down, dripping into the sink from his chin and the tip of his nose.

He would be immersed completely and alone in the dark side, to fight for the light…let it be.

He filled his cupped hands once more, doused his face again, then began massing his temples, relishing with closed eyes on the feeling of the cold drops tickling down on his skin.

He was terrified. He was revolted. He did not want to do it. But he would.

How many other deaths and tortures would he have to endure the sight of, or even to cause, without flinching?! Who knew if he would not himself die under torture so very soon?!

He fought back the queasiness rising in his stomach, righted himself again. Resolutely, he looked up and stared into the eyes of his reflection.

For you, Lily, I will.

He held the gaze of his reflected self for a moment, then simply grabbed the towel and dabbed his face. Calmly, he strolled to his bedroom. From there, he flicked out all the lights except for one candle floating in mid-air in a corner and began to untie his cloak and to remove his boots.

Setting his second boot at the foot of the bed, he caught himself. The moment could come any time. It might be in a week, in a month, or even tonight. He had better rest wholly dressed, and every night from now on. He had no fancy to run away from Hogwarts in pajamas, he sneered at himself while putting his boots and cloak back on.

He sighed, and sat on the edge of his bed, the sinking feeling seizing him deeper anew. He had even better stay awake until Dumbledore came back. Hogwarts did not feel the safe refuge it usually was, when Dumbledore was missing. Even old and enfeebled, the Dark Lord still feared him. And he was right to. Besides, the headmaster might need his help urgently when he would return. He might have tampered with any Dark magical object and got wounded again.

And what was this mission about, anyway?!

Inside Severus's stomach, the jealous snake furiously stirred and hissed, at the ready to bite in a mere couple of seconds. On his lap, the bony hands clasped and clenched at one another.

It is for the sake of the plan … like the rest…for a bloody greater good…

He knew it. He knew it…

Propping his elbows on his knees, he rested his brow between his hands. Slowly, he mastered himself once again.

For you, Lily…I will.

When his breathing was quiet, he raised his head. And for a minute, he surveyed the room bathed with the faint candlelight, that room that had been his for so long. Finally, he settled down on his bed, lying on his back. Over his hollow belly his thin fingers intertwined. His eyes slid shut.

After he had murdered …

The thought sent an unpleasant chill crawling down this spine.

After he had murdered….the boy would loathe him beyond any sense…

the boy…

Lily's boy…

He swallowed hard the lump which had suddenly risen in his throat, as a pair of brilliant green eyes, watching him full of hate and disgust, showed up in his mind.

And those eyes would have to die…

once again.…

… I'm sorry, Lily…

I can't save your boy…

I'm sorry…

A silent tear leaked out, slowly trailing down along his temple and lost itself into his hair.

…I'm so sorry…

He fought to suck a few shallow intakes of air.

…I'm so sorry…and you'll never know how much…

…I'm sorry…

He gasped. A deep sigh shivered through his chest. From his tightened eyelids, a few more tears oozed.

He dug hard, into his inner self, rummaged through the ashes of bitterness and pain, through the sticky mud of sorrow, until he caught a gleam of the little flame he knew always shined inside. There, beside the flickering pool of light and warmth, whatever the fury of the storm outside or the depth of the darkness, he would always be safe.

And there was still one thing he could do just for her. A trifling little thing.

He drew in a big gulp of air, opened his eyes, blinked, and wiped his face. He turned and stared at the flame of the candle, quivering but upright, faint and weak but dazzling within all this darkness.

He would make his utmost to smooth the path to Lily's son. That was the last thing he could do just for her.

His eyes ached, he had to look away.

That is the only ridiculously little thing left.

She had given her life to save his son's. He had devoted his life to fulfill her last will, and yet…

Yet knowing her great bravery, her great heart, since there was no other way for a greater good, since it was the only way to save so many others' lives, she would have, in the end, made the heartbreaking choice to accept the sacrifice of her son. Surely then, she would have walked hand in hand with her son toward death.

Anyway, your death will certainly follow very closely, if not precede it.

Severus shut his eyes again, gently scoffing at himself on how he was trying to squeeze out a few drops of relief by guessing if a woman dead for now fifteen years and eight months might have approved of his choices.

Over his stomach, the thin fingers intertwined again.

Once the boy is dead, you'll have nothing to live for.

His own judgment should direct him…and yet he would have bet he had reckoned right. And Lily's soul might be aware of what was going on here…one way or another…

Only make sure that the Dark Lord is defeated for good.

And he cringed, imagining she might witness how he behaved toward her boy. To make him copy afresh the records of the crimes and punishment of his deceased father and godfather during hours of detentions was awfully and brilliantly vicious.

And then you'll be freed…

But Severus just hated that Potter boy so much…He could not help it…

Potter…

He opened his eyes again, passed a hand across his face, which was now a little moist with sweat, pinched the bridge of his nose with his long fingers, slowly traced up along his eyebrows, and smoothed the strong furrows of his forehead.

A fuzzy twenty- year-old Lily, lulling baby Harry into sleep showed up in his mind. He swept the image away just before it strayed into picturing James Potter entering the room and let his arm drop back along his side.

…Still… how could he be so cruel with Lily's son?

His teeth clenched. His hands convulsively contracted on the fabric of his robes.

From a certain point of view, it was because of that boy that she had been killed, because of that boy that his life had been so wretched…

He flouted himself. Sure, if Lily had stepped away and let her son be murdered…or if the baby had died anyway… and thus the wizardly world would have been living since under the tyranny of a madman and...and…

… if he had listened to Lily's reprimands…..And if he had had any idea of what was in store..

He snorted.

Honestly, he was perfectly aware that he was unfairly transferring on the boy a great part of his anger and resentment, but he could not help it. It was visceral. Each time he saw that scuffled head, heard that voice. It was James…. The boy was cheeky, … and arrogant, just like his father!

But Lily had been cheeky, too…

Some heat rose to Severus's cheeks.

Dumbledore had told him many times that Harry was more like his mother inwardly. (The eyes are an open door to the soul, aren't they?) But all that Severus could see was James back to torment him.

Maybe it's also just easier to carry on hating the boy, now that you know he has to die, huh?

…Lily…I'm sorry…I can't help it...I can't help hating him…

And he saw her leaning against a pillar and looking deep into his eyes.

"But don't you feel a little for him, Sev? Even a little? Don't you pity him? He's not even a man and yet…? Look at what awaits him…"

Severus fought back the usual wry argumentation that this kind of turn in the course of a conversation never failed to raise in him: The whole "life is unfair" and "many others took the mark at his age…" thing. But he could not help his thoughts from playing a little on the sardonic bad faith air.

Precisely! That is doing him no favor to indulge him. The boy has to become stronger so that he will be good and ready, when he will know, to do what he has to. For once, it is rather an advantage that he has inherited his father's hardness of feelings…

Oh, well …Of course he pitied the boy. (Severus tried hard not to add "a very little"). Nevertheless, he had better live up to the legendary Gryffindor's courage when his time would come…

Perhaps…then, it would be easier…and safer... Not to tell the boy, but simply capture him and bring him disarmed and stupefied to the Dark Lord…

But would that be better for the boy that way? Humph… Dumbledore would say no. People preferred being given the choice of their destinies… Even if in the end, the result would be all the same.

The hell with Dumbledore!

Actually, Severus did not hold so many doubts about the boy's bravery; surely, the old headmaster was right about that, too.

Your son has inherited your selflessness, Lily…as much as your Gryffindor courage…

…Ha-ha….As if courage was a Gryffindor patented quality…

The picture of Lily shrank into a younger version: a little trembling girl walking toward the rickety stool and the Sorting Hat. In a flash, he remembered the sad little smile she gave him when she joined her table.

What if he been sorted to Gryffindor, too? Once Dumbledore had suggested he should have been.

….We sort too soon...or maybe we hold too many prejudices against Slytherins…Ahah…Dumbledore …there are definitely too many prejudices against Slytherins.

But indeed, he could have asked the Sorting Hat to be put in the same house as Lily. What then? Would he not have gone down the wrong road?

He sneered. He had asked himself this question and many others so many times… No means to know. Lily would never have, anyway…whatever house she would have been put into. But he had let himself be blinded…

He shifted on the bed, sighing.

A few moments elapsed during which he managed to think of nothing.

Finally, he rolled to his side, sliding an arm under his head.

Would Lily have ever come to love him? Meaning, if he had listened to her, if he had given up his creepy wannabe Death Eater friends like she used to say. Tonight he could not help indulging himself to brood about it once again.

At times she used to blush when he looked at her. That had not been, that could not have been an illusion of his own desires. The trust between them, the sort of vibration between their minds and hearts ….he could not have only been making it up. This special connection had lasted long after Lily had put an end to their relationship; actually, it had lasted, he was sure of it, until she …had died.

They had been best friends since childhood. It was not so rare that a childhood friendship turned into more, was it?

And there had been some… marks of affection …that were maybe a little more than what mere friends would share...even almost … some kind of kisses a few times…… He would never know what they had really meant…

And now his bowels were aching under need and regrets like when he recalled their arguments, the reasons, circumstances, and details that had severed them and had only ended in her death, too vividly.

Lily…

He would miss her forever.

He supposed he should simply feel grateful to have been her friend, her best friend even, during eight years... to simply have had the chance to get to know her…

Lily…

Straight on his second call, she had turned around. Most likely she had understood that he would not give up, at least as long as they had not had a real talk; that the only way to properly get rid of him was to face him once more.

A week had elapsed since that awful day, the worst in his life after the day he was told of her death; and during that whole week he had tried to meet her. In vain.

First, for three days he had not seen her hat all, not the slightest glimpse. Worried that she might be ill, he had considered asking Mary for news. But Mary had spurned him. Then, on the fourth day, there had been Potions class. Lily had taken her seat beside him without a word, and had shunned him to her best, keeping interactions to the strict minimum required to carry through Slughorn's brew of the day. When he had managed to catch her eyes at last, he had whispered:

"Lily...can we talk again? Please, Lily... I'm sorry..."

She had just ignored him, pretending not to hear, but her lips had trembled, and she had spilled the contents of the beaker on the table, spoiling along the way the roots she had just so neatly sliced. Half-hopeful, half desperate, he had helplessly watched her clean the mess, longing to be doing it for her.

From that moment, Slughorn had been constantly hanging around them as though suspecting him to be plotting something, and Severus had not dared try again, waiting fiercely for the end of the course.

But here again, he had been unlucky. As soon as the bell rang, Mary MacDonald rushed by Lily's side, and also Claudia Robins and that blond girl he did not remember by name. Lily had exited the classroom with her escort and never had he got the chance to speak to her alone that day.

The rest of this memory - especially Potter's helpful offers of washing his pants soon again, Black's vulgar jeers, and the laughs and sniggers that had followed him along the corridor - was not worth remembering. He forced it all away and focused his mind on picturing only Lily, breathed in deeply, and only bitterness remained.

Bitterness. It had been so faithful a friend, around for so many years, that it had carved its form upon him, like the imprint of a body upon a worn mattress. Bitterness…it was like a hard ball nestled within his throat, like a big icy leech curled over his chest, like a drenched cloak weighing upon his shoulders, like a winter rain soaking to the core, cold and pricking but comforting because it was familiar.

It had actually been raining very softly, when he had seen Lily two days after the Potions class. She had been crossing the front courtyard alone. He had jumped to his feet from the low wall where he had been sitting and had run after her.

"Lily…"

And so she had turned around on his second call, fast, very fast; her hair had flown wildly around her. He had almost been surprised that she had not pulled out her wand as if to defend herself.

A second later he had met her green pair of eyes. The regret, the deep sadness and hurt he had seen there, beneath the flare of anger, had panged him. She had scowled, crossed her arms, and tightened her lips. But the pain she was trying to hide had added to his own pain.

"You haven't changed your mind, have you? Then me neither! We have nothing to discuss, Sev. It's over."

She had abruptly turned on her heels and set off, not even waiting for him to reply. In two strides, he had reached her.

"Lily…wait...I swear, I did not mean it…you - I don't… - You...you're my best friend!"

She had continued walking, paying no heed to him.

"... Lily… please…" he had begged at last, while the rest of his words had echoed in his head only.

Lily... I need you…You're - You're the only truly good thing in my life…You can't…You can't…Lily, I love you…Don't you see that?

She had stopped, but persisted in looking straight ahead of her.

"No, Sev! You can't claim to be my best friend and be friends with people whose only goal is to harm people like me, Sev!"

She had set off walking again then, as fast as she could.

He had caught up with her once again.

"But, Lily…"

"Make your choices, Sev."

He had halted a few seconds, then ran after her yet again, but now he had been boiling with rage.

"I don't ask YOU to give up on your friends, Lily…Why, why…" he had said, choking. "Why would you have the right to ask this from me???!!"

She had just shaken her head, in a flash of red, walking faster than ever.

And he had let her go.

He had let her go, watching her, breathing hard, his heart sinking down like it would never meet the bottom of the hole it was falling into.

To his surprise, she had wheeled around after three or four strides. Her eyes had been flaring, her lovely face spoiled with anger. He would always remember.

"Why, Sev?!! ….You're asking me why??!! .Sev! You're clever! Don't pretend you do not understand why!"

There, she had run away. And he had stood frozen, watching her, like the teenaged fool he had been, too confused, too hurt, too proud to understand and do what he should have done.

He had let her go.

Before she vanished down the slope towards the lake, he had caught a quick sweeping gesture of her hand over her face.

She had been crying. At once, his anger had melted into despair.

He had stayed many minutes in the empty courtyard, beside the fence. He did not remember how long. His feet had been rooted to the earth with sorrow; his mind got lost in the meanders of its stream.

But when you love someone, when you truly love someone, you take him as he is, don't you??! You don't ask him to leave his friends, to renounce his ambitions or his dreams??!!

On his bed, Severus stirred, rubbed his face, and breathed in loudly.

No when you do love someone you don't ask him to waive on any side of his personality. No, you don't….But still when you do care for someone you do try to..…well…anyway about … the Dark Lord, she had been right. If he had listened to her, she might be still alive. They might still be friends…They might…

Stop. You shall not get yourself so oppressed again. You're fighting on her side now.

In some strange way, it felt like keeping her alive. And he knew that his love for her would always keep him safe: Devouring but lightening it would always burn inside his heart, show him the path and fill him with the strengths to follow it.

He had already been tasting the sour delight of risking his life for her; sacrificing it wholly would only be drinking the cup to the bottom…How painful would that glee be?

He rolled over to his back again and rested his hands over his stomach. His eyes slid shut.

Remember that wonderful day at the sea when…

Would he be redeemed? Were there the slightest chances that she might forgive him from where she was?

It started to rain and she took your hand …

He would never completely let go of that excruciating hope, but the responses made no difference in his decision. He would be true to his word. He would do it.

That was just the right thing to do.