Disclaimer: Nothing from the Harry Potter series belongs to me.
Hello!
I finally found some time amidst my busy life to squeeze out another chapter. It is a bit shorter than the first three, but I tried to make it quality writing, so I hope no one gets too mad.
And as always, please please please review! I know there are more than a handful of people reading, and I would really like to hear from everyone. I am open to constructive criticism and ideas.
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saiyanwizardgurl
Chapter 4: Not Enough
Warm. He felt pleasantly warm. However, it was not the kind of warmth that came from the sun. How odd, thought Snape. He stretched slowly, letting a huge yawn escape. He paused mid-stretch when he heard a chuckle and realized where he was.
"Very funny, Headmaster!" he growled, hurling a pillow at the older wizard.
Dumbledore laughed joyously as he stopped the pillow in midair. "Sorry, I couldn't resist."
The younger wizard pressed his palms over his eyes in an attempt to stop the headache that he felt coming. "Do not tell me that I was carried back here."
"And if I do tell you?" asked the headmaster.
Snape was quite irritated by the distinct humor in the older wizard's voice. "I would die of shame."
He heard McGonagall laugh. "There is no one here to see," she said. There was also an amused ring to her speech.
"It does not matter," said the younger wizard, rubbing his hands over his eyes. "You could have woken me up."
"Don't do that," said Dumbledore as he walked over to the bed and gently grabbed Snape's wrists. "You're going to hurt your eyes." He sighed as the younger wizard pulled out of his grasp. "How do you feel?"
Snape attempted to rub his eyes again, but the headmaster stopped him once more. He growled in frustration. "Fuzzy. Everything is fuzzy."
"That's because you're making everything fuzzy," replied Dumbledore, moving the younger wizard's hands to his side. "Give yourself some time to get used to the light. Are you hungry?"
"Not really," he managed to say before a huge yawn escaped. "Just tired."
The headmaster placed a hand on Snape's forehead. "Any pain?"
"Since when did you take over for Poppy?" he grumbled, scowling and rolling onto his side.
Dumbledore gently pushed him onto his back again. "Just answer the question, Severus. Anything particularly painful?"
"You mean besides you two?"
At this, the Transfigurations teacher narrowed her eyes. "Severus – "
"Not much," he growled quickly. "Just a little stiff from sleeping."
"Please don't fight us," said the headmaster, taking off his glasses and running a hand over his tired face. "We're just trying to help you."
"I apologize," sighed the younger wizard. He paused before whispering, "You know I get fidgety when people touch me. I am trying."
McGonagall came over to the other two and sat down. "You don't have to push yourself on our account." She reached out to brush her hand against his cheek, but hesitated for fear of making him uncomfortable. Snape exhaled deeply and closed his eyes in a silent invitation to continue. She ran her fingers over his cheek and smiled slightly when he leaned into her touch.
Tap, tap, tap. Something was rapping on the window. Each of the three cabin's occupants looked at each other, their eyes narrowed. Slowly, Dumbledore stood. He drew his wand for good measure as he made his way to the window. Pulling back the curtains, he saw two owls sitting on the sill. He sighed in relief. "It's just the mail."
"Who in their right mind would send me anything?" asked Severus as he rolled onto his side and propped himself up.
"Perhaps it's from the Prophet," said the Transfigurations teacher.
"It would appear so," said the headmaster, taking in the birds. He untied their burdens and handed them to the younger wizard. "Shall I have them wait for a reply?"
"No, send them off," he replied as he opened the letters.
Dumbledore returned to the window. He held his arm out for the owls to fly off, but they remained as if they had been commanded to wait for a return letter. The headmaster shook his arm. "Come on, off you go!"
The birds, seeming irritated that their perch was unstable, took flight. One of them brushed the tip of its wing in Dumbledore's face. Fortunately, he shut his eyes and pressed his lips together just in time to avoid a mouthful of feathers. How rude, he thought.
"Severus!" he heard McGonagall shout.
The headmaster turned around. The witch was on her feet facing Snape, who had just tossed the letters into the fire. The parchment was already curling at the edges as it began to burn. "What in Merlin's name were you thinking? Were you even thinking? Do you realize what you just did?!"
"I am fully aware of what I have done," he said, leaning back against the headboard.
"But why, Severus?" The Transfigurations teacher looked as if she wanted to faint. "Answering those letters would have stopped the reporters."
"No, they would not," replied the younger wizard as he tilted his head upward. "It would only give them more reason to come here. If I can hold a quill, I can give a live interview. Even if filling out their surveys would stop their pestering, I sill would have tossed them. I refuse to give them answers. They have no right to ask for them."
"You're absolutely right, Severus," said Dumbledore, sitting down in a chair in front of the fire.
"Albus, what – ?" began McGonagall, raising her eyebrow incredulously.
The headmaster held up a hand. "Wait, let me finish, Minerva." He turned to face the younger wizard, who was deliberately avoiding eye contact. "As I was saying, you are absolutely right. No one has any right to ask you for answers. But the fact of the matter is that they are going to ask whether or not they have the right. You can keep running from them, and they will continue to chase you. I know it's a lot to ask of you, but couldn't you at least write up a statement to send them?"
"It will not be enough, Albus," said Snape, still not looking at the older wizard. The other two saw the younger wizard wrap his arms around his torso and exchanged worried glances. "They want more than just a statement. They want answers. They want reasons. They want to know everything. They want answers to questions that they have already answered. They want my point-of-view. It's not a matter if I was right or wrong in what I have done. It isn't really even an issue that my loyalty was uncertain for most people for sixteen years. Now that my role has been revealed, they want to ride the popularity train surrounding this story for as long as they can. They will take full advantage of the inundation of gratitude, compassion, pity, remorse, and scorn that I do not want from anyone in the hopes that they will be able to get one scrap of new information. Even the tiniest morsel to boost sales. But there is nothing. Nothing new that I can say that does not burn my throat or sting my eyes or make my heart want to burst. Why is everything so painful?" By this time, all that was left of him was a trembling man, curled in on himself and clawing at his arms.
Dumbledore and McGonagall looked at each other once more, both at a complete loss as of what to do. Each felt terribly for Snape and desperately wanted to shield him from every harm, but neither had any idea how they could. So they continued to sit in uncertainty with numerous questions flashing across their minds. What do we do? What can we do? What could we possibly say that would not sound cliché or empty?
The headmaster saw the Transfigurations teacher drop her head into her hands. With a shaky breath, he stood and slowly approached the bed. The younger wizard gave no indication that he noticed anything. "Severus?" said Dumbledore, his voice much too tight for his liking. No response came. Snape seemed to have regained control of his body. The trembling had stopped, but he continued to crunch in on himself protectively. "Severus, I am going to touch you." Still no movement, not even a blink or a twitch. Slowly, the headmaster placed his hands over the younger wizard's pale, shaking ones. He gently rubbed his fingertips over the bony knuckles.
And then Snape looked up into the elder wizard's blue eyes, and Dumbledore saw nothing and everything at the same time. The black irises were blank, but their emptiness conveyed so much. Too much hurt and torment had dimmed the life that should be shining through those orbs.
The headmaster was thankful that they were on the bed. The younger wizard looked about ready to collapse. Dumbledore ran his hands up the long arms to Snape's shoulders and gently pulled him in. The younger wizard suddenly lost all ability to hold himself and sagged against the headmaster's chest. The older wizard stroked the black hair and casted a mild Sleeping Charm over him.
Dumbledore looked up when he heard a small sob. At first, he thought it had come from Snape, but he was still asleep. Turning to the fire, he suddenly realized that it had been McGonagall. She was trying to compose herself, but it seemed that she was having great difficulty. "I'm sorry, Albus," she said, wiping her eyes.
"I don't blame you, Minerva," he replied as he continued to comfort the sleeping wizard.
"What do we do now?" asked the Transfigurations teacher. "What should we do?"
The headmaster sighed deeply. "I don't know."
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