The door clicked shut behind him. He was alone. Minerva had set out the shallow, oval stone basin on a small table by a wall. The pearly liquid was still, for it was empty, waiting to be filled with memories.

Severus exhaled, took out his wand and placed its tip on his temple. One of his earliest memories flickered before his mind's eye. My mother sits on the floor, holding her hand to the side of her face. My father stands before her, towering.

The memory became painfully clear for a moment, then left his brain, pulled out by his wand, leaving behind a shadow of itself and easing the pain that it had caused him. Another memory, one that he didn't know he still had, followed in its wake and, quite out of his control, flowed out of his temple. Together, the memories gathered as a wavering, gleaming string of magic at the tip of his wand. Bemused, he lowered them both into the Pensieve.

When he brought his wand back to the side of his head, the memory he had planned on extracting next stayed at the back of his mind, while a different one came forward and let itself be extracted. He couldn't stop it. Apparently, his wand was making some of its own decisions as to which memories to use. Should he be concerned? Was his wand malfunctioning, were some dark powers at work here? But it felt right to surrender some of the control. It took away the pressure of having to make all the decisions himself.

After a while, the process became intuitive. The wand and he worked together to weave a story as complete and unbiased as possible. Some of the memories filled him with terrifying shame as they flew past his inner eye, but he trusted his wand's wisdom.

After several hours, he looked into the mass of fleeting images that were now swirling around the silvery liquid. This was it. For a second, he felt a mad urge to throw the Pensieve off its table, to run and never come back. But he remained still. Now he had to wait until morning.

He sat in the Headmistress's chair, watching the second hand of the grandfather clock. Bouts of nervousness alternated with rushes of fear. I must be crazy.

Until he could wait no longer. He had to get Mette. It was three-thirty in the morning and he had no idea where her house was, but waiting for what could be his execution was driving him mad. He got up and left the office, ran down the spiral staircase and out the front door.

He jogged down the path to Hogsmeade. He had not put on a cloak to keep the cold March night at bay. Shivering, he arrived at the village and started looking around at the cottages, trying to find anything out of the ordinary about them, anything that betrayed a Muggle lifestyle.

He turned into the first alley, walking fast, quickly scrutinizing every single house. All of them were dark. There was nothing setting one house apart from the other. He turned into the next street, and the next. Nothing. Maybe the house was inconspicuous from the outside. Maybe he would just have to wait until morning.

No, he couldn't. He might spend his time searching for her house in vain, but at least it would give him something to do.

Finally, he saw a tiny, blue light shine through the window of one of the houses. He looked inside and saw a small digital clock in the front of a kitchen appliance. He checked the door. There was a label saying "M. Vestergaard".

Now he was here, it seemed utterly foolish to wake her in the small hours of the morning. But the waiting was killing him. He stretched out his hand to knock, but pulled it back. He stretched it out again, hesitated, and rapped against the door three times. Nothing happened. He knocked again. Waited. A light came on inside. He took a deep breath. The door opened just a fraction.

"Mette? It's Severus," he said. She opened the door a little wider and peered at him through half-closed eyes.

"Is everything okay? What time is it?" she mumbled. Severus felt a pang of shame when he saw her tousled hair and the imprint that her pillow had left on her right cheek.

"Um, about a quarter past four, I think," he said meekly.

Mette groaned. "Why are you here? Did something happen?"

"No, I... couldn't wait any longer."

Mette opened her eyes a little wider and took in his appearance, with his arms wrapped around his chest and his breath coming in small clouds of condensation. "Come in, you're freezing," she said and opened her door all the way. "Could you take your shoes off? Here's a pair of slippers."

He did as he was asked. "These are my size," he said.

"Yeah, well..." she seemed much more awake all of a sudden, "I always have a couple pairs in different sizes. For guests."

"That seems odd." Also, there were no other pairs, as far as he could see.

"It's a Norwegian thing, I guess," she said hastily and turned away. Severus followed her through a door and into her living room. They sat down, Severus in an armchair, Mette on the foremost edge of her couch. "You want to tell me everything right now? Wait, let me make coffee before you start."

"Actually, I will not tell you."

Mette threw him a look of exasperated disbelief.

"No, no," Severus quickly said, "I'm not telling you because I will show you."

She frowned, saying, "What are you talking about?"

"Please, will you come to the castle with me?"

"You're making me curious. Yes, I will come, let me just throw something on real quick." She disappeared into another room. When she reappeared, she was wearing a pair of jeans and a jumper she had evidently put on over her pyjamas. She threw him some black, woollen thing. He caught it and unfolded it; it was a knitted jumper. "This should fit you," she said with a crooked smile. It was not exactly his style, but he pulled it over his head nonetheless.

They walked up to the castle side by side in silence. He was too nervous to speak and Mette was probably too tired. Or maybe she did not want to risk anything by asking the wrong questions again.

They arrived in Minerva's office. Severus walked to the small table where the Pensieve was and stood beside it, feeling apprehensive and weirdly formal.

Mette looked at him bemusedly, asking "What is this?"

"It's a Pensieve. Wizards can use it to store thoughts and memories they extract from their minds. It helps to see one's own thoughts from a different perspective. Or, it can be used to allow others to experience memories as if they had been present when they were made." He took a deep breath, then continued, "I have put in all the memories I think are relevant. I tried to leave nothing out. It's ready."

"For what?"

"For you."

"What do I do with it?"

"You go in. You will be inside the memory, able to walk alongside the people in it and witness what they see and do."

"Are you coming with me?"

"No. I can't. I'm sorry. I will wait here for you."

"How do I get back out?"

"When you saw all memories, the Pensieve will release you."

Hesitatingly, Mette walked towards the basin. Putting her hands beside it, she gazed into the depths of his memories. She gave him one last look, then slowly lowered her face until her nose almost touched the liquid. In an instant, she was gone.

Severus sat down in the Headmistress' chair, but soon found he could not be still. He bit his nails and paced around the room; sat down again; got up again. What if she thought him narcissistic, wallowing in self-pity? Maybe his childhood and adolescence had not been as bad as he thought they were, maybe his recollection was just twisted. And Mette would witness first-hand all the terrible things he had done. No amount of bullying could justify any of that, could it?

He had to go in and get her out.

But then, all would have been for nothing. No, she had to see all of it. Then, at least, she will know. And she will despise me. He cursed himself for running down to her house in the spur of the moment. He should have planned for it better, should have explained beforehand, should have prepared her. She would see how his actions had led to the destruction of an innocent family.

He stopped his pacing, the gravity of his last thought trickled through his mind. There was nothing he could possibly say to her to explain what he had done. He had been mad with rage, the wish for petty revenge, and an utterly false sense of power. There was no excuse in the world for that.

He was losing his mind with agony. Finally, he gave in and went to the Pensieve. His nose was only inches from it when he thought, It doesn't matter. She will leave and I will go back to the life I knew. I will live. I will be alone. Maybe that's what is necessary for me to be happy, just cease all struggles, and be alone.

The thought was consoling, an old friend. All he would have to do was to build the walls back up. He knew how to build those walls. In fact, all this time, he had had to strain to keep them down. Building them was easier than anything else in the world. Behind his walls, he was invisible, safe.

He had been struggling to keep himself open to other people. First, because he didn't know any better. Then, because Lily had urged him to. But Lily could be wrong. His outward appearance of hatred kept the enemy at bay, kept everyone at bay, himself included. Yes, this was what he would do. It was so simple. His breathing calmed. His face set itself into a cold, hard demeanour that felt natural and came easy.

He waited for Mette to get out of the Pensieve and walk through the door, away from him. It would all be over soon. He sat down. Ten minutes passed. Suddenly, a rogue thought flashed up in his mind. I wonder which memory she is seeing right now. Apparently, his walls weren't as thick as they used to be. His heartbeat quickened. It doesn't matter what she's seeing or thinking. The outcome will be the same. she will leave. His pulse calmed.

She looked so happy when we watched— No. Stay strong.

She had forgiven him for cutting her out of his life and turning to Claire instead. Maybe that meant she could forgive him his past errors as well? But no, that was too much to ask. Even Lily had had a limited capacity for forgiveness. Even Lily. No one could be more forgiving than her.

But hadn't he been punished enough? He'd already lived one life in darkness and despair, had already driven one loved one away. Shouldn't he get another chance, wasn't that what this life was supposed to be about?

Loved One! A derisive voice cackled in his head. There is no love for you!

He jumped out of the Headmistress' chair, hands balled to fists, panting. He walked to the office door and put his hand on the handle. He'd just leave, Mette knew the way out. Last time, he couldn't be sure if she knew what he had done and would judge him for it. This time, he had made sure that she knew. And she would judge him, like everyone did. Why wait around for it?

But he had to wait. Otherwise, she would probably follow him around again. He had to give her the chance to speak her mind, however devastating and infuriating it might be. Then at least, it would be over for good.

He turned back towards the desk and walked toward it slowly. His eyes fell on the face of the clock. Mette had been in the Pensieve for nearly an hour and a half. His wait would be over soon. He sat in the chair and turned his focus to his mind. To the walls. Built them up out of great stones. Shut himself off. Put his face in order. He was calm. His demeanour was cold.

A body toppled out of the Pensieve onto the office floor. Mette got to her knees and put her face in her hands, breathing heavily for a few moments. Eventually, she staggered to her feet and wildly looked around, searching for him. When he looked at her, the walls inside him got some cracks and he started to shake. What was happening to him? Show no weakness. He had to receive her scathing words without betraying any emotions. His upper lip curled into the beginning of a sneer. He would not let her see the torment inside.

Argh, I know, another cliffhanger! Sorry :D I'll post the next chapter soon. Until then, fave, review and subscribe!