Life at the castle had improved steadily as winter melted away into a chilly, early spring. No further incidents took place in the Potions classroom - at least, none that had to be reported - and, for the most part, Severus was getting along as well as Albus could have hoped. He'd been absent at Christmas, but he had accepted Albus' gift of a few pairs of hand-knitted woolen socks (garish as they were) and had reluctantly opened a belated Christmas cracker with him in the Headmaster's office when he returned. The purple fedora that had emerged from the magical novelty now sat perched jauntily atop Albus' stately head as he went about his business within the castle.
Severus' occasional bouts of temper were limited to verbal harassment of students and did not fall outside the realm of acceptable abuse from a British boarding-school professor. Only Albus knew of the nights he still sometimes spent in the grip of the old spectre of depression. He had proven himself to be a competent teacher, and some tentative friendships were budding between himself and other members of the staff as a result of his skill in other disciplines besides his own. Much had happened since that desolate day in the woods, and Severus was not the only one to have undergone a change.
While the Headmaster gave no outward sign, he could feel that the sands were shifting in his heart. Since the day of the tribunal his mind had become undisciplined, despite his many duties he found his thoughts straying back to the thicket in the woods. It seemed he had left something unsaid, something so profoundly important that his misbehaving mind would not let him rest until it was discovered. Every time Severus crossed his path he felt compelled to reach out, to somehow make his unease known, but each time he stopped short. The young wizard did not seem to appreciate his whimsical sense of humor and would probably perceive Albus' friendly fumblings as sycophantic. But the more Albus watched, the more certain he became that the young man's wounds were healing - their dried coverings flaking away like flower petals to reveal the thin white flesh of a scar
He asked Severus to tea. Their lives had clashed together with such volatility that Albus had been surprised at how much Severus actually kept to himself. After the fateful day of his return to Hogwarts, in which he'd been so stricken he'd had to stay with Albus to protect his own life, the young man had left him largely alone. And Severus would not know of his eyes and ears throughout the castle, not yet. Did he wonder why Albus did not check up on him more often? Either way, Albus mused, he would not be content letting Severus come to him exclusively in times of anguish and despair. Tea was much better-suited to his schedule. And though he could watch the wizard's every move, there was much that could only be learned if Severus wanted to tell.
Severus was healing, slowly but surely. His strict moratorium on discussing personal matters soon blossomed into a tentative voice with Albus' encouragement, and he began to open up about the past he so loathed. Tea became strolls through the castle grounds, which grew into hikes in the misty hills and through the Forest, which, eventually became tea again, but this time the stronger kind that stretched into the wee hours of the morning. With no war looming on the horizon, Albus found he had time to waste, chattering away about the mundane and the classified with a fluid confidence that he shared with no other living soul. Gradually, like the coming of spring, he began to see light flooding into the dark places, illuminating the voids that pockmarked the young man's heart. He began to understand the complexity that lives in every soul, a complexity that no other would ever know.
It was strange and not always pleasant, but he cherished it.
It was the last day of term when Albus finally announced his plans for the summer holidays. Of course, by 'announce' he meant that he'd told Severus, and Minerva, who needed to know where to find him. He preferred that the rest of the world be left to guess at his whereabouts. He was traveling to Macchu Picchu to study a prophecy, made by the ancient Mayans, that he hoped might be linked with the one that had foretold of young Harry's victory. But it was dangerous to go alone. The caves and tombs where the inscriptions were buried, remote and hidden from Muggle eyes, were guarded by powerful, ancient curses.
Which is exactly why I need you to accompany me, he had told the incredulous Potions Master. Severus had shown reluctance at the thought of leaving the castle grounds, where he was safe from old enemies and the capricious Ministry's wrath, but Albus had only clapped him amicably on the back. A bit of fresh air will do you good, my boy, he had assured the baffled young wizard. He didn't much care if Severus believed him.
As they set off, much to the dismay of the many who still mistrusted Severus and worried for the safety of their Headmaster, Albus could not help but feel a swell of pride. At this time last year, Severus had been little more than an experiment, a foolish child on his last shred of hope, looking for a warm bed and a way out of prison. Albus had seen him through the recovery process, had bandaged his wounds and carefully guided him along the rocky path to redemption. Now he almost dared to say that this former Death Eater had become his friend. He was unsure of Severus' opinion on the matter, but he hoped - perhaps more than propriety would permit - that he felt the same.
Albus looked fondly down on the castle as they rose into the air. Severus zoomed up to meet him, ever clumsy on his broomstick, which was laden with their belongings.
Which way? he asked the Headmaster.
Albus smiled as his eyes picked out a route through the buoyant, wispy clouds. For now, he said, the only way to go is up.
