50 – Letting Go

"Ho proceduto la vostra richiesta e non prevedo alcuni problemi che ottengono l'articolo. I ringraziamenti a voi, il divieto sono stati alzati. Il laboratorio sta studiando la pianta ma sono stati molto prudenti con esso. È pericoloso."

Carmen was as efficient as ever, processing my request for a double order of Tridask Thoren for a special project. I knew that it was still a restricted item, but she managed to procure it in record time, along with a few other items on my wish list. Our heels clicked against the black and white tile floor as we purposefully strode the corridor through the mass of cubicles to the labs at the far end of the large room. Heads still popped over and around the edges as I passed, and the twittering was never-ending.

"Ignorili. Sono difettosi come erano mai," my old friend instructed as we passed the gossips. Ignoring the hags wasn't a problem. I had been doing it for years.

Reaching the end of the cubicles and turning the corner toward the labs, I was struck with the sense of deja vu. Of the fourteen years that I had been associated with the Ministry, I had probably only worked in this building for about half that time: the early years right after my apprenticeship, the period of the virus scare in Britain during the first war when Saxon was a baby, then the several years following my doctorate. Yet, even then, I bounced between various tasks that took me away from the office. Finally, there was the transfer to the British Ministry to work on a cooperative project based there. As much as I loved Rome and was appreciative of the Ministry for their unyielding support over the years, there was no longer a feeling of comfort or camaraderie here. I was an outsider. People had made bonds, and I wasn't among them. Carmen and my supervisor were the only exceptions. They were always kind, but the wizard who had replaced me this past year, who had once been my partner, had turned chill. He had been in charge of the administrative end of things while I worked on research. During my absence, he had successfully balanced both roles, and resented, quite openly, my return. My homecoming hadn't been a surprise. My sabbatical was over, and the supervisor had informed the team that I was returning. I suppose, it was an adjustment for all of us.

The door to the main lab opened, and the conversation in the room immediately halted, the junior technicians ducking their heads and scurrying off to accomplish some meaningful task elsewhere. I headed for my desk and piled the files that I was carrying neatly on the corner while my colleague eyed me with contempt from across the room. Carmen glanced back and forth between us before handing me the last file, leaning close and whispering, "good luck" as she retreated out the door.

There was a frosty silence as I lowered myself into the heavy, leather captain's chair. Taking a deep breath and not breaking eye contact with my counterpart, I stated, "You resent me." The direct approach was always best when dealing with conflict and someone had to start this conversation, I reasoned.

He pursed his lips and glared at me, leaning his backside against the workstation. "I've done an excellent job in your absence," he defended himself.

I met his glare with a softer look. "Has anyone said otherwise? I was the one to recommend you for the post."

"No, but I enjoyed the position. I'm not fond of being a subservient in the lab again." His tone was sharp.

"Well, then," I leaned back in the chair, steepling my fingers under my chin, ready to gage his response, "you'll be pleased to know that I'm not staying." I twitched a crooked smile at the shocked expression that the news had generated. "I only came back to tie up some loose ends, finish a few outstanding projects and clear out my desk. I can't do this." I snorted as I waved a hand at the sterile room. "I've enjoyed the independence as much as you've enjoyed being in charge."

His expression softened as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Why didn't you say something?"

I shrugged dismissively. "The supervisor asked me not to until our meeting this afternoon was over. There were a few things that needed to be ironed out, and I need some supplies for a project that I want to work on. The Ministry has agreed to lend a hand, as long as they get first crack at whatever I produce," I smirked "Now that the meeting is over, I'm free to speak. There are a few things left to finish, and I'll be around until the end of the month. Do you think we can be civil for the duration?"

He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. "Please accept my apologies. I must have appeared to be quite disagreeable." I raised an amused eyebrow at the understatement as he pushed himself away from the workstation and strode toward my desk with an outstretched hand. "We did work well together." He took my hand in his, a smile of relief filling his face. "Independent work. You always did like to be on your own."

"That's why coming back here was so difficult," I confided. "I'm not much of a people person. If you recall, my nickname was "lab rat"."

He winced at the words. "So I'd heard," he admitted.

In what little spare time I had, I wandered the once familiar city, visiting Strada di Stegra in Wizard Rome, Trevi Market, and Piazza Nova, walking along the Tiber River and stopping at the magnificent fountains throughout the city. Of all the places, however, my favourite was the Forum, near the status of Septimus Severus and the Curia. It was where Severus and I met for our first "public appearance", when he took me to Wizard Rome to meet his Master and introduce me to the man who would become mine. Strolling the path between the ancient monuments, memories flooded my mind. I missed the freedom of those days when we thought that secrecy was not as critical. But, what had it led to? Carelessness and the death of our son. I shook my head from the memory. I had been to visit Saxon's grave during the first week of my return only to hear the town gossip of how odd it seemed that the small plot was always well-kept and free of weeds, although few visited it. Kneeling by the gravesite, I had touched the minute, purple, Dragon Weed buds and thanked the Guardians for watching over my little boy. Stark had curiously followed on this trip and sat proudly on the headstone, as if he belonged there. Funny bird. When I left the cemetery, I made my way across the town square to another familiar spot – the Camptas Bakery. It had been many years since my old friends had run the shop, but their nephew and his family kept the tradition, and the yeasty smell of breads and cinnamon wafted through the open door. The young, blonde girl behind the counter was unfamiliar and informed me that Signore Antonio Campta, the old patriarch, was ill and the family had gathered to be with him. My heart hit the inside of my ribcage, and I asked if she would relay a message to the family that I was there. Disappearing through the kitchen, I could hear her climb the back stairs to the apartment above. After a few moments, Anna entered the shop and drew me into a warm hug. It had been many years since we'd seen each other. She was the Campta's niece and had taken care of Saxon when I returned to the Ministry during the virus epidemic. She led me through the kitchen and to the upstairs room.

It was a sad sight to see. Signore Campta, the once robust, energetic baker had been like a surrogate father. He and his wife had welcomed me into their home and shared their lives with me while I rented their small, stone cottage at the base of the Alps. They had helped me grow strong again after being abused in the first war, had been patient and supportive when I insisted on being alone, had rallied round me during my pregnancy, and had cared for Saxon like a grandson. It was their strength that had helped me get through Saxon's death and Severus leaving.

When I entered the room, I was distressed to see him so weak and frail. Laying in the bed that he and his wife had shared for over sixty years, the blankets were lovingly tucked around his aged body. His head feebly turned for a moment when I entered, recognition reflecting in his watery, black eyes. Signora Campta, a stout woman with steel-grey hair pulled back in a low bun, rose from his bedside, waddled across the room, and silently took my hands in hers, the tears shimmering as she greeted me. Leading me to a chair beside hers, we wordlessly sat together through the night, while the family congregated in the room. I was able to do a quick empathic scan and knew that nothing could be done. Muggles were so fragile, their life spans so much shorter than magical folk. He was old, and his organs were failing. In the early hours of morning, when the moon shone brightly illuminating the dark sky, I saw what no Muggle could see; a shimmering white mist rose from Signore Campta's body, a hazy impression of his form being drawn into another realm. He was leaving us. As the apparition rose above the bed, I watched, and he noticed that only I bore witness. He smiled kindly and placed his hand on his heart in a loving gesture. Then, he reached for his wife who was still sitting by his side, holding his hand, unaware of what was transpiring. He stretched out a ghostly finger to caress her cheek, and she startled at the touch, her left hand rising to the cool spot, then she placed her right hand on her husband's chest. A devastating wail echoed through the chamber as the old woman's heart broke. Family gathered around the bed quickly, tears shed freely for their patriarch. I wrapped my arm around the old woman's shoulders as she wept and glanced upward, acknowledging the apparition floating above. Both his hands where at his chest in a proud stance as he watched his family grieve. He nodded to me and blew a kiss toward his wife, then disappeared in a bright, white, light that opened briefly in the midnight sky. My heart went out to the family. He had been a remarkable man: kind and generous to a fault, an absolute pillar of strength that all could lean on and often did. His loss would be felt by many.

I stayed with the Signora for the next few days, giving her space to grieve but letting her know that I was there for her. She would occasionally pull out an old photo album, and we would sit and flip through the pages until she could no longer see through the tears. The family came and went, checking on their treasured mother, grandmother, and aunt, preparing for a funeral that the entire town would attend. When the funeral was over, I prepared to leave with a promise to return before I went home. She tapped my check lightly, calling me a "good girl", and drew me into an affectionate hug. I could feel it then, in my heart. I knew that she would soon follow her husband, the separation was too great, and before the buds on the lilacs could flower at the end of April, she, too, quietly slipped away in her sleep, not two weeks after her beloved Antonio.

The cork popped and flew half way across the room, ricocheting off a storage cabinet, and dinging into a silver cauldron on the centre workstation.

"I've always wanted to do that," my supervisor chuckled as Carmen held out a couple of champagne flutes.

It was a private party…of sorts: the supervisor, Carmen, my replacement, and me. The Minister poked his head in for a moment to wish me luck, but couldn't stay. The others, well, those that were in attendance knew my relationship with them and respected that dividing line.

"To a bright future." The supervisor raised his glass to make the first toast.

"To being happy," Carmen added, and the glasses clinked again.

"To no longer being called a "lab rat"," my colleague snorted as Carmen rolled her eyes, and my supervisor let out a hearty laugh.

"To having friends who know what matters in life." I smiled at the small group.

We drank, and the glasses were refilled.

"So, I know that you have plans, but is there anything in particular that you can share? You know that we are interested in whatever you produce," my supervisor commented casually but with intent.

"I was working on something at St. Mungo's Hospital in London before the sabbatical. It had reached a dead end, but it's been bothering me, and I think I'd like to continue the investigation," I replied thoughtfully. They were silent, expecting to hear more. "Same field as before, neural pathways, spell injuries. I'd like to start there."

"The Magpie experiment?" my colleague questioned.

"Yes, among others," I answered.

"Fascinating," Carmen confirmed.

"We've finished that one, and we've given you the notes that you're missing, but I understand that the injuries at St. Mungo's are more serious than here," my colleague continued. "Now that you're all rested, you should be able to expand it. I've met a few people from the Society of Potions Masters who were asking about you. They hold you in high esteem but had lost contact. You really did cut yourself off from everyone didn't you?"

I smiled and nodded.

The conversation faded eventually, and after our "good-byes", I headed back to the small Ministry-owned apartment to finish packing, reducing my bags to a more manageable size. There wasn't much, but the lab had relinquished some of their supplies in support of my work. They had also signed out a Portkey to transport me back to London. From London, I would Apparate home. Stark had left that morning, and Pinky followed shortly after I returned from the Ministry. She wanted to "get the house ready". I had to smile at her efficiency. I didn't know what I'd do without her. On my last night in Rome, my last night in Italy, I sat by the window of the small flat staring out over the Tiber River. The stars were muted in the light pollution of the metropolis, and the moon sat low in the sky and could not be seen for the buildings. The noise of the motorcycles, cars, and people filtered up and into the room. This, I would not miss. Sleep was restless that night, and an early start was decided for the next day.

The back garden of the Cumberland safe house never looked so good. The Dragon Weed was in bloom, and the faint purple aura indicated the protection of the house and its occupants. It felt so good to be here, to be home. Opening the back door, I stepped into the tiny, dark kitchen and noticed a bouquet of Dragon Weed and deep, red roses in a tall, clear glass vase in the middle of the hardwood table. The scent was interestingly familiar. Curiously wandering down the hall to the sitting room, I found another vase of Dragon Weed and roses on an occasional table near the window, the aura reflecting a shade of mauve against the wall.

"Pinky?" I called for the tiny elf had not greeted me when I arrived. "Pinky, where are you? The flowers are lovely."

"I'm glad you approve," a velvet voice purred from the bedroom doorway, a handful of black silk clutched in his hand. "I wasn't expecting you so soon. Pinky is at Hogwarts."

"Sorry to interrupt." I grinned, nodding toward the fabric. "But, I couldn't stay away any longer. So much has happened. I needed to be home. What's she doing there?" I added curiously.

"I thought we could use the privacy, and Albus wanted to speak with her," Severus replied, moving toward me. His frock coat was nowhere to be seen, and his crisp, white, linen shirt was open at the collar. "I arrived about an hour ago, and Pinky told me about the Camptas. They were good people."

I nodded but could feel my throat constrict. Their loss had hit me hard. When he was within reach, I fingered the silk and inhaled the scent. Aha, the oil. "So, what is it you had in mind?" I smirked trying to shake off the approaching depression.

The black fabric was wrapped around the back of my neck, and I was gently pulled forward until our noses met. Still holding the ends of the scarf, he reached down and tenderly kissed my lips, brushing them so lightly that it tickled with anticipation. This felt so good, so right. This is where I belonged. Returning the kiss, I backed him into the bedroom, and he sat on the edge of the bed. Kicking off our shoes, we climbed onto the bed fully clothed. Snuggling under his protective arm, my right hand resting lightly on his chest, I could feel the strength of his heart beating. Talking quietly, he stroked my hair, and we toyed with the silk, and in the comforting arms of the man I loved, in a house that actually felt like a home, the emotional exhaustion that I had felt for so long finally caught up with me, and I did something that I hadn't done in many years. I cried.

Bright sunshine shone through the bedroom window and a mixed smell of spices and meat drifted through the air. Rubbing my eyes and running a hand through my tangled hair, I groggily sat up and glanced around the room. The spare quilt from the end of the bed had been placed over me, and I pushed it back as I moved to stand. Toddling down the narrow hall to the kitchen, I stopped in the archway watching the formidable Professor Snape with his shirtsleeves rolled up and a tea towel tucked into the front of his trousers stirring a pot on the cooker. As he turned to place a plate of rolls to the table, he noticed my presence.

"Good afternoon," he began flatly with a raised left eyebrow. "I don't know whether to be relieved that you're all right or insulted that you fell asleep when I had such plans for you."

"I'm sorry. I guess it was a bit too much to handle."

"Evidently," he snorted. "That was unlike you. You're usually a very active participant." He turned to stir the pot on the stove, and then returned his attention to me. "You're very thin and pale. Did they not feed you? I thought Italians loved their food," Severus belittled as he scooped a hearty soup into deep bowls. "Sit. Eat." He firmly invited as he brought the bowls to the table. I did as I was told.

"Which edible potions experiment is this?" I asked playfully dipping the spoon into what looked like hamburger soup.

"Number two hundred and fifty six," he deadpanned with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Ahh, it's very good." I took a sip of the meal. "Although, number one hundred and twenty was my favourite," I continued the game.

"Really, I always thought you preferred number forty-two," he added with a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

I snorted into the bowl. "Oh, you really don't want me to continue this do you? You know which number I like," I chuckled.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he advised looking as innocent as Severus Snape could. It was quite comical. "I thought we were talking about my culinary skills."

"Which are excellent, caro. Thank you." I smiled across the table to my husband who rewarded me with a smile in return.

The meal was finished, the table was cleared, and the scarves and oil were finally used…and used, and by early evening, it was time for Severus to return to the castle. Our conversation that afternoon had ranged from the multiple uses of black silk, to my last month in Italy, to Draco's ineffective attempts to get to Albus, to Albus' lessons with Harry, to what I was planning to create next. Severus' position had increased with the Dark Lord, and he had risen within the inner circle, being given very distinct duties. Life had become even more tense.

Standing at the back door, wrapped only in a bathrobe, I lovingly straightened his collar and ran my hands down the front of his coat, my fingers feeling the long row of tiny buttons. One good spell and they could all be undone again, I thought roguishly. But, alas, his duty to the cause overruled my desire to keep him close, and after a thorough kiss "good-bye", he Disapparated from the back garden, both acknowledging that dark times were indeed ahead.