How long?
One of the most important thing that must be done, when faced with intense sadness and sorrow, is acceptance. This step proves to be difficult for Severus Snape.
The content of the message was short, sharp, direct. No needless words were wasted to dampen the meaning. No gentle gestures were given or offered. Plain, formal sentences, and a request, which he had brusquely refused, whether he had the desire to see her. If the roles were reversed, he wouldn't had acted differently.
This evening should had been a peaceful, calm one, a rare evening he had intended to make full use of it. He had even considered visiting the Headmaster, unannounced, which told volumes of the rare mood he was experiencing.
Then, the bubble showed cracks.
He felt nothing. Not one feeling, not one thought. No positive emotions. No shock, no anger, no sorrow. Nothing.
Now, the bubble had burst.
Still, his body and brain were frozen. As if time had stopped, as if the world knew of the occurrence of this important event, and felt a great need to stop all from moving.
But the opposite had happened: world hadn't stopped, and seconds continue to monotonously tick away. It was Severus Snape, who had become frozen.
How many minutes had passed now? He had no idea.
He had not arranged the formal affairs, not read and signed the few necessary documents, not told any one of this tiny detail that had latched on his life.
It was childish and irrational to think that all would be well, if he would close his eyes, and continue as if all was normal. But he needed this temporary solution. His mind needed this detachment, to prepare itself for the long, tedious battle ahead.
And so, Snape opened his eyes and searched for the hidden, rectangular letters and dipped his quill in ink.
How many hours had passed until he wasn't the only resident in this Castle, who knew of this small development? He had no idea.
Surprisingly, Minerva was the first. She had stopped him on a nearly empty hallway and offered him small, physical comfort, for they both knew that any gesture more majestic than a hand on his arm or shoulder, would be promptly repelled. Gentle words, pronounced in an unfamiliar tone, she had said, too. Predictable, hollow words. Words that he would hear many more times from well-known faces.
A comfort, knowing that not all things were unpredictable.
It would happen this week. If he hadn't stalled the whole matter, this would had happened much sooner. In fact, if he had the choice, he would leave the entire event out. Too much energy was required, and it wasn't needed. But, as always, he was persuaded, on a quiet evening, filled with passiveness, until it was disrupted by an intruder, someone Snape knew would show himself soon. He was the only other wizard, at this place, who's voice he hadn't heard. Even his politeness was neglected, for he entered without waiting for a response, which they both knew would not come. He sat down on the dark couch, without changing the colour to a more cheerful one. The uninvited person waited, silently, patiently, successfully halting Snape's defence.
Attack, then.
"What, have you come to check up on me?"
Probing, but gentle eyes answered him.
He hated this gaze. He was treating him as if he was someone who was about to fall apart in unbearable pain.
Pathetic. He felt no pain, felt no weakness, and he would certainly never lose his self-control.
"Now, you have seen me: I'm still alive and not dead in some ditch. Can you leave me in peace, now?"
More silence.
Yet another aimed charge.
"I have no time for this. Either state what you've come for, or leave me alone."
The gentleness seemed to be permanently attached to the irritating, blue eyes.
"Enough of this."
If he would not leave, then he would forcefully remove him.
"The ceremony will be held tomorrow, will it not?"
The grip on the door intensified, but he opened the door, hoping, vainly, that the chilly wind would make this room empty very soon.
"Is everything else arranged?"
No such luck...
The handle was firmly attached to the wood, he noted.
"You will be present there, will you not?"
And no speck of dirt on the golden coloured steel.
"Your attendance is essential. Without you, the ceremony will have no meaning."
Ah, there was the predictability again.
"This ritual is only a false show. With, or without me."
The door handle could rest, now the pressure had vanished.
"Besides, I will be the only one witnessing it."
A whisper, but heard-able, nonetheless.
"What?"
"Her family has disinherit her long ago. They no longer view her as their kin. And she was not exactly a... social person."
A bitter smirk.
"Now their black sheep is gone, they can finally resume their happy façade and forever forget and erase this dirty smear staining the ancient family history."
A hand on his trembling shoulder. He expected familiar, empty words, but he had learned long ago, that this person was not like the others...
"You will not be alone, tomorrow."
But even he made mistakes: his kind and caring character couldn't ignore this melancholy soul, thinking that he was in much need of support, attention and care.
Disgusting. As if he had any need for them. As if he was such a weak person that he could not take care of his own, personal affairs.
"The ceremony will continue, but without outsiders."
The once comfortable feeling of this aged hand, only discomforted him now, and confused his rational mind.
"I... I want some time alone."
The double meaning was not missed in the perceptible ears of the person standing behind him, but he persisted.
"I... understand your thought. But... companionship may ease whatever will come in your path. Tomorrow... and in the future."
"No."
"Severus–"
"Headmaster, I will not change my thoughts."
He paused, before adding, "I will attend it, but alone."
The resolute tone tolerated no response. He had won this argument, but not without an agreement: the tall, elder wizard left him in his solitude, in exchange that he would see him after the ceremony.
Lying had never become so easy for Snape.
How many days had passed since he saw her remnants for the last time in that bleak, deserted, isolated place? He knew not.
His life had not stopped. Every day was lived in the same manner: he stood up, taught the ignorant, idiotic students, graded their pathetic, useless assignments, and slept to wait for the next day. Was it weekend, he would keep himself busy in the dungeons.
Normal routine.
His body was, so far, not responding to the change of appetite, his mind was not cluttered with emotions, and his thoughts remained rational.
Normal responses.
The same, he could not say to Hogwarts' inhabitants. Persons would always become less vocal in his vicinity. Now, he heard silence, whenever he saw another head. Every one of them showed to him the same kind of expressions: unease, tension or anxiety. Especially the one's who knew more than his full name and reputation.
The always talkative half-giant would spontaneously lose his vocal chords, traded for a ridiculous smile, permanently plastered on his lips, half-hidden behind the bushy beard. His limbs showed more awkward and ungraceful movements than normal: two times he had almost tripped himself, and three times unlucky students had become victims of his large body.
Whenever Minerva saw him, she welcomed him with a rare, gentle smile, and never overlooked a chance to get too close to him. Unlike the clumsy gatekeeper, she launched series of questions to him. Most were variants of one main direction: a sudden interest in his well-being.
The only one who showed no absurdity was Albus. Conversations about all kind of topics were no exception and no repeated inquiries were made. The only change was the increase of tea invitations, and perhaps his increased presence in Hogwarts.
No unexpected behaviours detected, almost all was normal.
How many months had passed since his hands had clutched the small paper, the content temporary causing disarray in his life? More than enough.
The Hogwarts' teachers had lost their imbecility, and silence and a continuous flow of questions had become exceptions now. The world had not dramatically changed, and the danger of the Dark Lord and his followers were at their lowest point.
So why, when everything had returned to normal, which he should be feeling very fortunate about, was Severus Snape beginning to show atypical signs?
His body had weakened: potions could only replace nutritions to a certain point. His dreams were filled with unpleasant fragments and imagined images. He was easily distracted. His mind was sometimes overcrowded with thoughts. The deafening silence did him no pleasure, either.
Worthless thoughts had entered his brain: questions whether he could had prevented the outcome, thoughts of a different future.
Sometimes, random parts of his body constricted or a sudden pain greeted him.
Potions had never become so worthless and useless.
He, himself, wasn't the only person showing puzzling signs. The distinction between Albus Dumbledore and Hogwarts' residents had become very visible. The more the second retreated, the more Albus attacked. His new habit, the over-familiar eyes constantly resting on him, was far from comfortable. His behaviour, too, had gradually changed. He seemed to have taken over the role of the Transfiguration professor, albeit being more tactful. But, no matter how gentle his scrutinising was, every stare caused a reaction, every question was like a deadly sound, the effect magnified one thousand times.
These past months, he had managed to survive the Headmaster. One more time was not too much asked, was it?
"Severus, my dear, how has the day been?"
"Acceptable, Headmaster."
The Headmaster ignored the formal title.
"Good, good."
A small sip, stolen from the white porcelain.
"What kind of things has happened?"
"Nothing much, Headmaster. The usual."
"Indulge me."
"I've started a new potion and will soon add what you've recommended."
A lie. Only the third one, this day. He was almost proud at himself.
"Tell me if it has worked, by then."
"Of course."
A larger sip, this time. The white porcelain was half-empty now.
"Tell me if I am at fault, but I seem to have missed you today at dinner."
"You are correct."
"Yesterday, too?"
A nod. Lying would be of no use here: facts were difficult to argue against.
"Hmmm..."
The Headmaster re-filled his cup, before delving deeper, "and how is the teaching proceeding?"
"Good, Headmaster."
"Is that so?"
There, the boring eyes had appeared. A common response was not to respond.
"You have been continuing for months now, without rest."
"I've told you before, Headmaster, it isn't needed to leave for several weeks to... 'to surround myself with a different environment'?"
"I know, I know, Severus. You have made your point perfectly clear to me long ago."
He could barely suppress himself to respond with a 'good'.
And here was the silence, and the favourite activity of the Headmaster: boring invisible holes in his body, most likely to be able to find whatever he was searching for by using a different, but just as lethal method.
If his mind wasn't so clouded and his body so heavy, he would have nimbly found a new manner to turn their gazes away. But he was simply too tired now. So tired, that even the disgraceful, cowardly thought appeared to lower his guard for one second and let the old man see all that was in his mind.
Naturally, he squeezed it the moment it had appeared. A very hard squeeze was needed.
A knock.
It surprised him... and surprised him not.
It was far too late: too far in the evening, judging from the tiny clock, hanging solitary on the bare wall.
His behaviour the past couple of weeks would had consequences. It was only a matter of time when someone would take action. He hoped, almost childishly and very irrational, that the noise would stop if he stared hard enough at the door, with such an intensity that it would slip past the heavy material.
Another knock, more persistently.
He waved his wand to lower the barrier. There, he had done him a favour. He would not stand up. In fact, he closed his eyes again, partly because of his body and mind, and partly because he didn't want to see those horrible blue eyes, filled with emotions. Even the relieved sigh was coloured with them.
A long silence, uninterrupted by any movement or sound, creating the illusion that he was, once again, alone.
"You can't continue this."
Albus was a mastermind in shattering any illusion he had created. A thing he had once, a long time ago, welcomed.
"You cannot continue this behaviour."
The muscles controlling his eyelids were being strained more than usual.
"I will not watch another person falling victim to this."
More pressure.
"I will not continue turning a blind eye to this, Severus."
More pressure.
"It was an old man's mistake thinking that you would be able to find proper guidance, either from within yourself or from outside."
A deep frown appeared between his black eyebrows from the strain on his forehead and the battlefield boiling inside.
"I only hope you can forgive me, my dear."
He did it again: completely unbalance him. Black eyes slowly opened and stared straight into intense, blue ones.
"I am part of the reason for your current condition."
A blink.
"I understand if you do not wish for my presence, and have every right to refuse my aid, but understand that I cannot, will not leave you here, and allow yourself to be suffocated by your harsh, undeserved self-punishments."
A swallow that both presences could loudly hear.
Funny how silent this room now was. Only one side of the battlefield had remaining, functioning soldiers now.
"I..."
His Adam's Apple moved again. So did his eyes. Even when the winner was known, the defeated were still present, in a weaker state.
The path was cleared. Still, he couldn't find the words to speak and still couldn't bare these pair of eyes.
The cushion of the couch sank.
Both did not move.
No words were exchanged, no dampness was cleaning the pale cheeks, no further action was taken.
Only silence.
For now, this tiny, accomplished goal was more than enough for Albus. This colossal step, but making the next, crucial steps slightly more easier, was more than enough for Severus.