It was warm and soft, not at all like the floor of the Shack. In fact, the smells were not that of the Shack, either. They were familiar….if only he could open his eyes.
With supreme effort, he finally managed to pry his lids apart. The Hogwarts infirmary. How in the name of all things sacred did he get here? Why would anyone bother retrieving his body from the Shack? Why, for that matter, would they bother to heal him and not kill him outright?
Oh.
Right.
He had given Potter his memories, fulfilling the last task Albus Dumbledore set upon him. A terrible realisation set upon him. He had told Potter what must be done to defeat the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord was obviously gone, or he would not be alive and in the infirmary. Voldemort had intended to kill him after all. It led to only one conclusion.
The boy must be dead.
Despite his dislike for the son of his nemesis, he felt a sense of loss and grief that the last of Lily to brighten this world was now also gone.
A tear made its way down his face and it was only when he moved to wipe it away that he noticed one of his hands was far warmer than the other. He looked down. It was being held in a hand not his own.
He followed the hand to the wrist, arm and finally shoulder and face of Minerva McGonagall, dozing in the chair next to his bed. His movement, slight though it had been, alerted her and she sat up straight.
"Severus," she whispered, her voice tight. "Oh, we feared for you, when you would not wake up."
He stared at her, unable to comprehend. His last, painful memory of her had been her furious face as she chased him from the school.
It must have shown in his eyes, because she leaned forward, kissed his forehead, and sighed.
"I cannot even begin to apologise, Severus, but I fear it must wait until you are well again – Poppy would ban me from the infirmary permanently if I upset you."
He wanted to protest that he certainly was not that prone to emotional outbursts, that he was not an unstable teenager, but it was far too much trouble. Poppy rushed in, having been called by Minerva, and a quick examination later it was declared that he would live. Minerva helped him up a little and a glass was pressed to his lips. After drinking some watered-down pumpkin juice he closed his eyes, too exhausted to ask questions or give answers. Sleep claimed him again.
ssmmssmmssmmssmm
When he woke again, the Headmistress was still sitting in the chair, this time reading a book. He studied her. Why was she here? Was she his guard? It did not appear that he was in restraints, but surely they would be taking him to Azkaban. Perhaps Minerva was to make sure he did not escape?
She looked up, and smiled.
"Hello Severus. How do you feel?"
He attempted a reply. "T…t….thir…ty," he rasped.
The witch nodded, got a glass of water and a straw. She put another pillow behind his shoulders and let him sip.
"Thank you," he sighed after several long pulls.
The blankets that covered him were warm, soft and comfortable. He traced the pattern with his finger.
"What is it going to be, Minerva? Life in Azkaban or the Kiss?" he asked softly.
The startled move of her head surprised him.
"Severus, why on earth would you think…" then she stopped. "Oh. Oh dear. Of course you would believe that."
She sighed and once more took his hand in her own. "Severus, Harry isn't dead. The Horcrux is gone from him, but he lives. He told us, he told everyone that you were a spy, even this past year, in here. I – I saw the memories, but no one else has. They have been stored safely until they can be returned to you. Severus…"
"He lives?" Severus asked, "I saw…he looked at me…before it became dark…Lily's eyes. I thought…"
"That everything of Lily had died with the boy," Minerva sighed, "I know how hard you worked to keep him safe, to keep all of us safe. I am very sorry that I did not trust you more, that I did not help you – that I drove you away. I wish…"
"You weren't supposed to know," he interrupted her, "you were not supposed to trust me. No one was. It was the price I had to pay, for my redemption."
"The price Albus set upon you," she corrected him sadly, "to die without honour."
"But with my soul intact," Severus whispered, "even if I had died and no one had known the truth – I would have known. When Potter came to the Shack, when the only chance I had to inform him, I could not resist giving him those other memories as well – the ones that tell the very worst…the very worst of me."
She leaned forward, her hand resting against his cheek. "And the very best of you, Severus."
"Yes," he admitted painfully, "after this year…after being so alone, with only the Headmaster's portrait for company – I could not help but to want to justify myself, if only a little. It was childish of me."
"Oh, no," the witch shook her head, "no, Severus, not at all. I know I was not supposed to know Albus's little scheme, but I still am very sorry that you were alone. I still am sorry that I hurt you."
Minerva McGonagall had known Severus since he was eleven. She had seen him longing for Lily, she had seen them break apart and she had worried what had become of the boy. When he returned, he had been even more withdrawn, sometimes vindictive, certainly bordering on cruel in his teaching. They had been competitive in a relatively amiable way, but in all the long years she had never seen even the hint of a smile on the pale face. A grimace or smirk at best. Yet, there it was. A shy, hesitant smile, brief and not really worth mentioning if it had been anyone but Severus, but enough for her.
She nearly gasped at how much younger it made his face, how much it smoothed out the lines of worry and pain. Suddenly feeling warm and protective, she leaned over him, once again kissed his forehead and tucked him in.
"Sleep," her voice betrayed the warmth she felt and he looked up at her in surprise, "you need it. Now is the time to rest; you've done all that was asked of you and more."
To her eternal delight, his hand reached for hers as he once more succumbed to healing rest.