Disclaimer: all the recognizable characters and places in this story do not belong to me but to J.K. Rowling and who owns the rights. The places that are not invented by J.K. Rowling, the plot of this story and the original characters that are present in it are my possessions, and thus my explicit consent is needed to publish and/or translate elsewhere this story. This story was not written for profit but for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.
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UPDATE 23rd June 2014 *Cleaning up my chapters: this is the newly updated and edited version ;)
Chapter 1. A night at the end of October
The flames of the night enveloped the covered skies in that chilly October night. They flushed like a thousand hands stretched in the empty air. The high trees of the forest like gloomy monks whispered their prayers, as their backs accepted the blows of the wind, lash after lash, no uttering a complaint. But the great castle didn't mind, as it looked over the battered forest and astonished lake like an ancient sentinel mindful of past glories.
Some of the large windows of the castle were blazing of golden light. Heralds of the Sun were the mindful candles, fearless protectors of light against the engulfing shadow. Some of those silent flames, up in one of the high turrets, illuminated the figure of a man dressed in a long robe. The warm light of the candles clenched his slender figure with its arms of fire, but alas that light was too dim to let him overlook into the depths of the night. The half moon only made light on a strange figure kneeled down on the cold banks of the lake. The man at the window sighed, then he turned his shining blue eyes away.
He looked around his office. The dozens of delicate silver instruments rattled slightly, whispering crystalline secrets to each other.
The old man took a deep breath. He closed his blue eyes for a moment, recalling the events of that terrible night. He had never been so worried before; he mentally cursed himself for just how stupid he had been. He was Albus Dumbledore, he could not afford of being influenced by his feeling. But he was. And when Severus had rushed to Godric's Hollow, a few hours ago, he had really been afraid... afraid not to see him again. He truly had grown to care for the boy. With time, he had learned to understand him, to trust him. but that was not good.
Things shouldn't have gone that way. What were they to do now?
Albus was worried. Never before had had he been so apprehensive. He could do nothing, just wait and pray things wouldn't turn out the worst. But his waiting, that night, was rewarded by a deep sigh of relief as he saw the slim figure of a young man heading to the gates of Hogwarts.
He walked with difficulty, Albus noted, swaying and staggering. The only thing he could think then was that he had certainly had paid dearly for his courage.
Dumbledore sighed, smiling slightly: he couldn't do anything else. What should he do? Run to him to hug him? Confessing him his anguish... apologizing for not have run after him... telling him he loved him? No. Of course not. He could not afford it, even if it was what his heart desired. Because heart and reason are very different things and sometimes they just should be kept separated. And then... and then Severus would have never accepted it. He would have moved away in anger, he would have fled from his arms to cuddle himself in his gloomy solitude, where the only consolation for him were the sighs of the feral creatures that dwell in the dark.
Just as those thought were crowding his mind, realization struck Dumbledore as the black figure came closer and closer. The he understood. The insecure pace of the young man was not a consequence of a wound: he was carrying something in his arms, a second dark shape.
Albus immediately rushed down the stairs. That boy always knew how to surprise him.
When Dumbledore arrived before the gates of the castle, Minerva McGonagall was already there, closely embraced in her tartan gown, kneeling on the ground. The Transfiguration Professor had been more efficient than him that night. The woman was bending over a figure lying on the ground and she was watching it carefully, gently passing a trembling hand through the long hair.
Not far away, rigidly leaning against the cold wall, there was Severus. His lids clenched as his lips: insurmountable gates, unbreakable barriers that fenced his soul. His head was tilted back, leaning against the cold stone. The long hair of the very colour of the night was caught between the gray twilight of the wall and the crystal glow of his skin. The hands, clasped behind his back, were clawing the rough surface of the grooves opened on the side of the arch that encircled the mighty door.
Dumbledore approached silently.
"Minerva..." he whispered when he was just a few steps from the colleague.
Minerva turned slowly. She had tears in her eyes, but she was smiling, a genuine smile that lit up the little pearls in her eyes.
Dumbledore approached a little more. And suddenly the figure lying beside the teacher's knees acquired a face... and, for Merlin's sake!, a name too. Oh, Albus knew the colour of fire of those long hair... he knew the features of that fresh young woman: Lily Evans was lying there, on the cold stone floor, unconscious and with a bloody wound on her chest... but alive!
The headmaster looked up, darting his gaze from the young woman to the young man that was still clanged to the stone as if he was integral part of it. He too was injured, Dumbledore noticed. A large dark spot glittered in the candlelight on his left side, drenching the black robes. The man's face reflected all the anguish and despair that were tearing his soul as, and perhaps more than the bleeding wound: he was clearly worn out by what he had just passed, whatever it was. And yet here he was, and probably he had not only faced Voldemort and survived, but he had also been able to rescue Lily. That boy was really extraordinary, Dumbledore found himself smiling.
"Minerva", he said then in an authoritarian way, looking back at the woman who, in the meantime, had taken out the wand and conjured fresh white bandages to wrap the girl's wounded chest. "Inform Madam Pomfrey in a hurry! Call an elf... two... how many you need! and escort Mrs. Potter to the infirmary! Quickly!"
McGonagall nodded stiffly. She jolted up and rushed to the Hospital Wing. Dumbledore promptly took her place next to Lily. The white cohorts of the bandages were giving in to the impact of the crimson spreading wave that stained with red the white cloth. The headmaster slowly brushed a hand on the woman's forehead. She didn't have a fever. That was good.
"Move! I'm on it!" An inflexible voice suddenly exclaimed behind him.
Dumbledore stood up quickly, as Poppy Pomfrey, wrapped in a purple robe, literally threw herself beside the unconscious girl. "Oh poor girl", she muttered beginning to examine her with a critical eye, passing the wand on her body and whispering incantations.
Minerva McGonagall stood next to the headmaster, along with two House Elves whose eyes were still a bit fogged by sleep, but the long, quivering fingers were ready to snap as soon as it would have been requested. They had brought with them a stretcher which was now lying nearby.
"The wound is quite deep", Madam Pomfrey said in a whisper, as if she was talking to herself looking for confirm to her own words, "not life threatening, I would say".
"On the stretcher! Hurry up!" she thundered shortly after. The Elves moved quickly and helped laying the girl down on the stretcher.
While the two little creatures, aided by Professor McGonagall, were lifting Lily's light body and gently placing it on the canvas of the stretcher, Dumbledore raised his eyes toward the place where Severus stood and he was not surprised to see nothing more than the walls of Hogwarts staring back with wax eyes. The great door, slightly ajar before, now was panting through a much wider gap and the flaccid hands of the night ventured in the hall.
Dumbledore stood still, hands clasped at his sides. Firm in his long blue robe, he observed the opening between the leaves of the portal: a third wounded, the old wizard had found himself thinking, only that that was not really a wound, it was a threshold, a crack that fell into another world. In the spirit world celebrating the night. And he was an intruder, an unwelcome guest who would break their dances and their lullabies like a hissing noise would break glasses. Angry would be then, those invisible, ancient creatures. They would run away, hiding in some obscure alcove. And he could not allow it: those strange spirits were the only companions Severus accepted by his side. Dumbledore knew it. He would not break the sole consolation the boy knew. The boy who had been gone before Madam Pomfrey could drag him to the infirmary. He would have manage it alone... he always managed alone.
The headmaster sighed. No one more remained in the hall. He reached the door and quietly rejoined its halves, then he walked slowly away headed to his office. Poppy certainly did not need him; indeed, she would probably chase him away from her infirmary. Minerva was enough to assist her.
And now there he was: in his office, in his private nook, the top of the needle that worked tirelessly to an intricate and narrow web. There he was: back to the window, watching Severus' figure knelt beside the Black Lake, alone. Surrounded by naught but darkness.
For a moment he felt guilty. He had left him out there alone. A young man injured and tired. On the other hand, he knew Severus would have never accepted soothing words from him. Yet, the real matter was another: he had to know. He had to know what happened in Godric's Hollow. But Albus Dumbledore was a patient man: he would wait until morning, when the boy would have probably calmed down a little. Yes, he would do so.
A movement down at the lake distracted him from his thoughts. It was as if the sentinel of light, that lonely little candle beside him, had pulled at his sleeve and pointed a finger to a second dark figure hurrying toward the lake and the dark shadow of Severus.
Albus shook his head with a smile.
"Minerva", he whispered.
Minerva McGonagall had accompanied Madam Pomfrey to the Hospital wing, and had helped her to clean and heal Lily's wound after the nurse had rudely discharged the two Elves.
She has stayed next to the girl for a long moment watching over her peaceful sleep while Poppy was busy with the last medications. When she was finished, the Mediwitch reassuringly smiled.
"I go to bed, Minerva. I gave her a soothing potion. She'll sleep serenely 'till evening". And with those words Poppy walked away, her soft sandals silently rubbing on the stone floor.
It was only when the nurse had disappeared behind the door that Minerva suddenly remembered Severus. That poor boy had risked his life trying to save the Potters, and they had sickeningly forgot about him. As they had sickeningly tried to stop him just a few hours before.
She was in Dumbledore's office, with the headmaster himself and Severus, when Alastor Moody had run in to warn them that Voldemort had found the Potters. Albus, strangely, had tergiversated for a while trying to draw a new plan, with Moody, for the protection of the two young Aurors. Minerva had stood on the sidelines while Severus was actually yelling to push them to act now. She had never seen him like that, he had always been a reserved boy when he attended Hogwarts, but at the moment, he look like a roaring lion.
When he had realized that Dumbledore and Moody would have kept to blatantly ignore him and to confabulate between them about intricate evacuation plans, he had simply grabbed his black cloak and headed to the door.
"Where are you going, Severus?" Albus, who had not missed the quick movement of the young man, suddenly inquired.
"Godric's Hollow", Severus answered simply, and he took another step to the door, but he was stopped again, this time by Moody.
"Just what exactly do you plan to do, lad?" Moody asked harshly.
"I'm just going to take them out of there. You can keep discussing your 'emergency evacuation plans', please don't mind me!" Severus said, and his tone, though sarcastic, brooked no argument.
"Did you lose your mind, boy?!", the Auror barked. "What exactly do you hope to achieve? A twenty-year-old wizard against the most powerful dark sorcerer of our time?! You're gonna get yourself killed!"
Severus looked at him coldly: "If I go now, I can get them out in time. Before He... "
"The straight path to suicide! That's what it is!" Moody growled. "We need a joint action. A plan. We need to find reinforcements!"
"Do as you please. I'm off", Severus turned his back again.
"Bah", Moody grumbled.
It was then that Dumbledore spoke: "Severus, please, try to see reason. I know what it means to you, but please: we are few, we just cannot afford the luxury of heroism!"
"Heroism is for Gryffindors, Headmaster. We Slytherin do see reason, and the only reasonable thing to do now is get there and, for Merlin's sake, take them away!", was Severus' answer.
"Severus, please", Minerva stepped-in. "Facing... Him... will not give you any fulfilment beside death. You're not ready for this task, He's too strong."
The young man looked at her with eyes of fire.
"For the stinging long johns of Merlin! We cannot afford to lose you... we need you, boy! We cannot hope to carry on the battle without you!" Moody had growled.
"I know you want to face the Dark Lord in the open, Severus, I understand. You want to turn your back on your past, spit all the truth in His face... and you will have the chance, my boy, I promise. But not today", Dumbledore's calm voice said.
Severus moved his coal gaze from the old headmaster to the Auror and then to Minerva, perhaps seeking some sort of support in her green eyes. The teacher looked back, not knowing what to say, and then she saw something shot in Severus' dark eyes.
"Severus, no", she had tried to stop him, but when the last vowel had kissed the air the young man had already disappeared beyond the door, slamming it behind him.
And so Minerva spent the evening in apprehension. Moody and Dumbledore had continued to discuss (and argue) for a long time before finally rallying small group of the ablest members of the Order of the Phoenix to break into the Potter's house and save Lily, James, their little son, Harry, and what, at the time, was the fundamental affiliate of the Order. Alastor had gone with them, determined to take part in the action.
But then, the only one who returned was the young man who had rushed recklessly to Godric's Hollow. The young man who had brought in his arms the beautiful girl who was now lying in the bed beside her. That young man who had spent all the time leaning against the stone arch, the closed eyes invaded by a silent prayer to a blind god. That same young man who had fled away from the oncoming hustle and bustle to take refuge amidst the shadows, alone, as soon as he realized that his prayers had been answered in some way. That god was blind, yes, but obviously not deaf. And Severus was now out there, hurt and alone.
No. Minerva McGonagall could be the most severe and uncompromising professor of the school, but you couldn't say she had no heart. She stood up casting a last glance at the girl peacefully asleep and giving her a quick, sweet smile before rushing to the great gates of Hogwarts, determined to find Severus, talk to him and find out what happened in Godric's Hollow. In that order.
It was cold outside. Dressed only in her green dressing gown she could feel very well the cold needles of the night having fun in prodding her skin. She felt the sharp stones beneath the thin soles of her slippers.
The moon peeped through the clouds and seemed almost puzzled by that slender figure who rushed down the hill, down there on the earth. The moon noticed a second figure sitting quietly by the lake and thought that maybe that was what the woman in night clothes was looking for. It pointed it to her.
Minerva, eyes led by moonlight, quickly caught the figure of the young man in dark clothes. She slowed down when she was a few feet from him. Clutching in the Scottish robe to protect herself against the blows of the cold she thought of why on earth didn't she turned into her Animagus form. A cat doesn't fear cold, nor the mystery of night.
"Severus..." she said gently, brushing away that thought.
The young man sat on the rough sand, the water lapped the tip of his black boots. He stared ahead throwing stones into the placid waters, not minding the ripples that responded as oracles, almost annoyed by the questions that broke the rigid surface of the water.
"Severus..." McGonagall murmured again approaching a little more.
"Leave me be", it was the cold answer she received.
"Severus, please..." she continued, ignoring the harsh words.
"I said leave me be", the young man murmured leaving the raw tone to induce in what seemed like a sigh.
The Transfiguration teacher simply ignored those words, and sat down beside him. She spied the young man's face: it seemed relaxed, yet there was something stirring in his dark eyes, a sleepless dilemma. A grimace of pain stained his face. Minerva eyed his left side and saw the stains of fresh blood on his clothing gleaming with the colour of ebony in the moonlight.
"Severus, you're injured", the woman said, trying to bring the boy's attention to the wound in his side. The one that he, apparently, despite the searing pain that it certainly caused him, simply ignored.
"Thanks for pointing out. I'm fine", Severus replied.
"No, you're not fine", said Minerva at once, severely. "You're hurt and you need healing. "
"What's the healing for?"
That question puzzled her. She watched him not knowing how to answer, and in that moment of hesitation, in that very moment of silence that had intervened between the two like a magical portal between two worlds, a tear, a single, perfectly human and sparkling tear left Severus' eye and slid down his pale cheek. When the small pearl was lost under the boy's chin, the spell of silent between the two broke.
"What happened, Severus? In Godric's Hollow", Minerva asked, worried.
"I..." the boy gasped for air. "I don't know..." He shook his head, breathing deeply. More tears flowed down his face and the woman watched them astonished and touched at the same time.
"It'd been a damn mess", Severus continued. "When I got to the Potter's the Dark Lord was already there. No one was... James Potter was dead... I couldn't..."
"And Moody?", Minerva asked then. "And the Order? The Aurors?"
"I... I don't know. I didn't see any of them. The Death Eaters were all around the town. I am one of them, they let me pass. I rushed to the Potter's house... James Potter lied at the entrance... I passed him, I climbed the stairs... and then... " A sob shook him as he tried to catch his breath, while McGonagall looked at him concerned.
"He was there", Severus continued. "He was pointing his wand at Lily. I didn't think, I just threw myself on Him... his wand began to cast spells all around, I was trying to avoid that something hit Lily or the child... Harry was crying... and then... then there was an explosion... I grabbed Lily's hand and Apparated both in the Forbidden Forest..."
"And the child?" Minerva asked to the young man who almost could not breathe, choking with tears. "Severus... and Harry?"
"I..." he stammered. "I... I do not... I don't know!" Severus gasped, shaking his head, the tears had dried on his face now, sad and lonely roads of a suburbs
"It's all right, Severus", Minerva carefully tried soothe his back with her hand, to comfort him, calm him down a little, but Severus flinched at her touch and abruptly move away. McGonagall was not marvelled, she knew Severus quiet well but yet, she couldn't bear to see him like that. And she had caught the tone in which the young man had uttered those final words: Severus was blaming himself, as always.
"I don't know what happened to the child. While I Disapparated I heard the cry of anger of the Dark Lord. He was furious: its prey had escaped, and... and who he believed to be one of his trusted follower turned out to be a traitor. I don't think anything survived the Dark Lord's wrath in that house. I don't... I'm sorry!" He exclaimed, suddenly breaking the monotonous flow of words. "I tried... but... didn't make any difference."
Minerva watched him impressed. On one hand, she did not expect Severus to care so much for the Potters: she knew how tumultuous was the torrent of hate that flowed between him and James. On the other, she could not bear the young man to blame himself for something which was not his fault at all. The fault was of many, she thought. It was Albus' who had acted out of time; Moody and the Order's who, after so many words spent on joint action and plans to be followed, managed nothing. It was hers, Professor Minerva McGonagall's, who, just like everyone else, had placed her trust in Dumbledore, who had tried to stop Severus despite knowing deep in her heart, that he was right. And it was Voldemort's fault, especially his. Each one of them had his share of fault, but not Severus: the boy had done everything in his power, maybe even more, to save the Potter family... and then, Lily was alive. It had made a difference.
"Lily is alive thanks to you, Severus", Minerva said, giving voice to her thoughts. The other did not answer.
"Come, let's take care of your wounds, shall we?" She stood up grasping Severus' arm and pulling him up with her. The boy did not say a word. It was as if his soul had suddenly left the body, like a tenant rudely evicted by the landlord.
"Poppy's sleeping. I'll take care of you for tonight. Come on." The professor slightly toughed his shoulder, inviting him to follow her as she walked toward the gates. And he did.
From a large window, at the top of a sharp tower, a lean figure with a long white beard looked down at them, smiling.
