Too Deep - Chapter 25
I apologise for my absence; I am a teacher now, following in Severus' footsteps, and I do not get as much time to write and to think as I would like. I will be making renewed efforts next year. Happy New Year, one and all ~ SS19
Sectumsempra.
He could smell blood. He knew the scent all too well, after all. The absence of any new pain, however, showed him that it was not his blood. He opened his eyes and sat up properly against the wall.
Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful Light wizard of all time, was slumped against his desk. Eyes closed. Wand hand loose. Light blue robes stained. There did not appear to be any movement.
The most blood was leaking from his throat.
Sectumsempra had hit true, then.
Severus forced himself to his feet, using the wall for balance and support. He Summoned his wand to his hand and curled shaking fingers around the black wood until the intricate details carved into his palm.
He felt no different.
Was that to be expected?
He observed, with detached interest, as Dumbledore's chest rose and fell in a stuttering staccato rhythm and he knew the deed was not yet done.
He could intervene.
He could reverse this, there was still time. He knew the spell. He knew the incantation. It was one of his own makings, after all. He could make everything better if he chose to.
"You know I have no choice Severus."
Time, here, was finite. It was, indeed, sand trickling away. It could not be stopped unless he intervened. Unless he made it all go away. But why should he?
Why would we?
Sudden movement.
Dumbledore's hand flew to his slit throat, grasping at the gaping wound, foolish desperation prompting the survival instinct to stem the flow. Blue eyes fixed on Severus' as if seeing him from over a considerable distance. He tried to speak but failed.
Severus said nothing. He just watched.
Waiting.
The blue eyes were desperate and pleading. This could be the end of the war, and not in Dumbledore's or his beloved Light's favour. The Dark Lord could win.
Dumbledore was still trying to stop the blood. He was still trying to speak. "S…S….ev'rus…plea…se…"
Severus went to him and knelt beside him. Blood soaked through his travelling robes to stain his knees. He cared not. He could undo this. He could make the pain stop, he could chase the danger away.
He reached for the hand at the older wizard's throat, entwining their fingers. Interlocked, as their fates were and had been. He took this moment to look, really look, at the man before him. The benevolent, protective, inspirational
Spider.
The Dark was no longer cowed by the Light. Why should it be, after all? The Light was an old, vulnerable, dying man.
Dumbledore's eyes sought his, again, with finality. There were no words now, no more spells to cast, only the colour of blue. Severus looked back. There were words from him, but he chose them carefully and uttered them as he, with perhaps more force than he had intended, pulled the hand away from the injury. "I had no choice."
The fingers loosened as a single tear fell from Dumbledore's ever-lying eyes.
Then there was
Nothing.
And Severus felt
Nothing.