Chapter 80: The Unseen Hope

It was with great excitement, and a measure of trepidation, that Lily approached the Headmaster's office that evening. Having been invited to an Order meeting and going so far as to have gotten her husband's blessing to go, Lily approached the matter with the air of a nervous child preparing for her first date. Not that she really knew what that felt like. Severus was the bundle of nerves in their relationship. Lily had by far been the more confident of the pair. Confident in her looks, confident in her desirability. Confidence in how well of a grasp she had of her best friend.

It was all funny in hindsight.

She had come to know he was a different soul entirely to the boy she had known. Shrouded with so many secrets that even now she knew she did not have his full measure. Though his greatest secret was given to her freely, he was by no means transparent. He spoke little of his machinations, but in the years she had known the new him, she realised that very few of his actions came without good, though rarely spoken, reason.

Such as this decision that sparked him to go so far as to encourage her to attend this meeting of the Order. A request so at odds with his previous zealous stance of preventing her from dipping her toes into even the fringes of this war. But then his turning around and telling her that he wasn't coming along was the rug pull of the century.

It wasn't like she didn't know he had his own duties to perform amongst his Slytherin students, what with it being the end of the holidays and many of their lot having returned from homes with unhealthy mindsets. It took a bit of work from Severus to settle them back into the rhythm of Hogwarts life and slowly chip away at the dark ideas they may have been steeped in during their brief period away. But Lily was still of a tender mindset, even after two months, about the idea of finding herself in the wide world again.

Hogsmeade was only a stone's throw away. Under the light of day, and accompanied by rambunctious friends, it wasn't a rattling prospect to face. Even James and Marlene's wedding had all the guarantees of a well-fortified castle. With the Potter's wealth and the willingness of the Order to provide, there were few places more defended in all of Britain that day save for Hogwarts itself or perhaps the Ministry, though recent news would cast doubt to the security of the latter. But that fateful night, the world had become a far more terrifying place. And one that she could no longer find the courage to face alone.

This was why she insisted James meet her at the headmaster's office. Even the thought of hopping off to the Hogs Head Inn by Floo rattled her. She was ashamed by how fearful she had become. A trait that Severus had tried to convince her was 'caution born of wisdom' and not barefaced cowardice.

The gargoyle leapt aside for her as she approached, James beckoning from the inside of that hidden stairwell. "C'mon. Before Edgar blows a cauldron over our tardiness."

Lily rolled her eyes dramatically, feeling a lot braver in company. "If he does, we'll just say we had a teaching emergency."

"It won't work if McGonagall's there," James said as he stomped up the staircase.

But Lily, pacing herself up the tightly wound steps, knew better. "McGonagall's going to be busy tonight. Or have you forgotten she's the head of Gryffindor?"

"Nah, Lil's. Sirius and me have graduated. She won't be that busy."

"As an ex-prefect and head-girl. I guarantee you, she will be."

James slowed a step on the top flight, a conceding a grimace. "You're right of course. But I'd still like to take some of that credit for setting an example to follow."

With a quick rap on the door, they entered to a blast of welcoming warmth. Dumbledore stood by the grate of that roaring fire, hands clasped behind him as if in thought as his eyes stared distantly at the writhing flames.

"We ready to go, Gramps?" James asked.

He had affectionately called the headmaster by that moniker since their first years as Gryffindors. He used to boast that his parents were friends with the headmaster due to their frequent association as alchemy aficionados and long-term investors into the field, and that, as a four year old, he was introduced to the headmaster as "Grandpa Dumbledore." Even so, James had known better than to call the headmaster thus to his face and as he grew up, had used that nickname less and less even amongst his friends.

Dumbledore didn't even blink at the disrespect James felt comfortable parading. He simply smiled as he turned from the flames, the shadows of deep and ponderous thought wiping away from his visage such that Lily wondered if she had seen it at all. "I'm afraid I've become unexpectedly engaged tonight. I trust you can lead the meeting without me?"

"Me? Well of course. Leave it to me," James attested, not giving the explanation a moment's more thought.

Perhaps it was due to having lived so closely with a Slytherin in the past year, or since learning that that there was more to the headmaster than his kindly exterior would like her to know, but her curiosity was piqued. "Who are you meeting tonight?" Lily asked, as boldly as James had been with his shenanigans.

To that the headmaster's blue eye merely twinkled as if sharing in a jest. "I'm afraid Minerva is not the only one with their hands tied by the antics of students."


Snape pushed cautiously into the headmaster's office. Despite receiving the message that Lily and Potter had already stepped through the fireplace, he didn't trust the timing of Gryffindors.

"Rest assured there are no prying eyes, Severus," Dumbledore's voice rang through the office. "And please, make our guest feel at home."

Snape scowled, pushing the door wide and motioned for Regulus Black to step in after him. The boy's eyes were wide, his face pale. It seemed the gravity of his actions was ticking through his mind as it would any good Slytherin's. He was about to commit high treason against the Dark Lord, and it would be foolish of him to ignore the gravitas of his actions.

The tea kettle appeared upon a silver tray, floating across the room with three cups on offer. Exotic scents wafted through the room, reminiscent of another Slytherin who had once sought another path.

"Buckwheat tea. I hope your palate is adventurous," Dumbledore remarked as he had the teapot pour out three cups.

Snape didn't mind this flavour. It was mild and didn't pretend to be a dessert. The young Black, on the other hand, barely acknowledged the porcelain cup that set itself before him. His grey eyes seemed to be unable to raise beyond the table's edge. Thoughts unspoken but apparent in his distant gaze.

Though both Dumbledore and he were Legilimens, Snape at least would not broach upon the boy's mind. This decision could have grave ramifications to the boy's life and was not one to be manipulated, but one to be respected. A far too familiar moment to a man who had once walked that very same path back towards the light.

If that same weight weighed upon Albus Dumbledore, he did not show it. He sipped calmly from his tea in an unchallenged silence. Those blue eyes peering kindly through his half-moon spectacles, so seemingly patiently. Waiting for an answer rather than asking the question.

Snape had not been nearly as patient with the young man, quizzing him at length in his own office after he learned his wife would be preoccupied with the thought of spending her evening moonlighting as a member of the Order and not with an ear to the door. Snape extracted as much information as subtlety would allow. And the boy did. Venting his frustrations of the injustice he perceived in the way that only a teenaged boy would.

This was all over his elf. That wretched elf that would as much poison a man as he would pour his drink. Yet in the eyes of that boy, this creature was some precious pet whose mistreatment stirred his heart with rage.

The Dark Lord, it seemed, had "borrowed" the creature. Brought it with him for a task and had it suffer for a reason only known to that madman. It was difficult to find words to console the boy when the matter had seemed so trivial to Snape. Not to mention that the elf had survived the ordeal, mostly intact.

But then the boy called to Snape's office that wretched elf, who blinked into Snape's office, still struggling to stand. Its ratty toga was stained by a bright green stain that seemed a lot fresher than any of the yellowing filth that dotted his rags.

"They can't know he survived. Please let him stay."

Though Snape doubted any pure blood would care enough to enquire about the elf's continued existence, Snape conceded a step. "I will do what I can."

"Master Regulus. Kreacher does not wish to stay. Kreacher wishes to serve," the wretched elf had croaked.

Black knelt before the creature, speaking to it in a soft voice of a man soothing a child. "You can serve me here, at this castle, Kreacher. Just stay here with me at the castle. Don't go back to Grimmauld Place."

"Hold, Mr Black. I make no such promises," Snape cautioned, causing the young Black to whip up as if in fear that his request could possibly be refused. "I said that I would assist but the last word does not end with me. I can get you before the headmaster, but the final word ends with him."

This was the reason Snape had given the boy for his appearance before the headmaster. The reason he had given the headmaster, however, was quite different. There was information to glean, and though Black had come to them seeking refuge, both he and his elf afforded an opportunity too precious to pass up.

"Would you introduce me to Kreacher?" Dumbledore asked in a gentle voice after allowing the silence to stretch uncomfortably long.

Slowly, the young Black pulled himself upright in his chair and did as he was bade. "Kreacher. Come." His voice rang out clear and with a pop, the elf whisked into existence.

Dumbledore stood and strode over to the hunched cowering creature, beckoning it forward with a gentle sincerity that only Albus Dumbledore could bring. "I understand you have suffered terrible treatment, Kreacher."

At those words, Regulus Black appeared to visibly relax. He even met those blue eyes when Dumbledore turned his attention on him. "Understand that this elf had been tortured by some dark means. I wish to observe him to ensure that darkness is not lingering."

To that statement, the young Black was only too eager to agree, his concern for his pet elf being seemingly genuine. He stepped aside, allowing Snape to stoop to that decrepit elf. Snape brought his wand to the creature, who shirked as if expecting a blow or an unkind word.

Snape watched the headmaster slowly sweep the creature for indications of lingering curses or jinxes, for surveillance spells, mind control or anything that the darkness could inflict upon the school with an elf set to infiltrate. The tip of his wand, however, paused upon the green stain upon the elf's ratty clothes.

"What do you make of this, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, stepping aside to allow Snape to approach.

With one pass of his wand, Snape understood why this piqued the headmaster's interest.

"A Drink of Despair. Why were you made to drink this?" Snape had demanded the elf, causing it to cower by the demand of his tone.

Snape was unable to fathom the Dark Lord's thinking. A brew that used the imbiber's past against them to afflict anguish, wearing down their mind. An effective tool for a Legilimens against a mind unwilling to break. An elf would not offer up such resistance, mostly because their minds worked so differently that there was little value in wearing them down. Their minds were protected, not by their strengths of will, but by how differently their minds worked. Less of a barrier to break through, but a mire of nonsense to wade. Even the prospect of inciting anguish in the creature for fun seemed unlikely. The torture of a creature of servitude seemed a bit beneath the Dark Lord's standards.

Kreacher shook his head in a manner that made his pointed ears flop about his head. He looked as if he were unwilling to answer. Regulus prompted his elf in a gentle voice. "Answer the professor, Kreacher. He's here to help."

Slowly the House Elf turned his eyes up to Snape, his wrinkled face slack and beady black eyes wide with remembered trauma. "Kreacher asked the Dark Lord not to. Kreacher begged but the Dark Lord just made Kreacher drink cup after cup until there was no more left in that basin to drink. The drink made Kreacher so thirsty…"

"Why did he make you drink?" Snape demanded, turning these words in his mind.

"Kreacher does not know. Kreacher did not ask. Kreacher only saw him reach into the basin and put inside a locket. The Dark Lord left, by that same boat he came on with poor old Kreacher. Left old Kreacher on that island in that dark cave. Kreacher was so thirsty… but… but when Kreacher went to the water to drink, dead hands reached for Kreacher."

Inferi. The hairs had stood up on the back of Snape's neck. He exchanged glances with Dumbledure whose blue eyes quickly flicked back to the boy. The significance of that moment did not pass by him. The final Horcrux was expectedly a locket passed down from Salazar Slytherin's hand. What Kreacher described could only be such an item. It was by no mere coincidence that the Dark Lord was seeking the safety of the vessels that contained his soul. The final Horcrux had found its resting place.

"If it is dead flesh made a puppet, then you speak of Inferius. How did you survive, Kreacher?"Snape had demanded, desperate to understand the obstacles that stood before him.

To that the house elf merely answered, "Kreacher was ordered by Master Regulus to return when he was done serving the Dark Lord. Kreacher obeyed. Kreacher left to return to Master Regulus."

Blue eyes met black as the significance of that statement dawned on both headmaster and professor. It was inconceivable that the Dark Lord would 'forget' to set an anti-disapparition jinx as part of his Horcrux' defences. But not for house elves, it seemed.

"You are a very loyal elf, Kreacher. And though Hogwarts will be delighted to house you amongst its elves, I understand that you are still part of the Black family," Dumbledore uttered suddenly, causing a sudden brush of trepidation to come to the younger Black's face. "But thankfully, he has family amongst the student body still. He may stay, Mr Black, but with you. I will have a room conjured in the Slytherin dormitories so you may house him. Elf sized."

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," Black blurted, visibly relieved. "I owe you, so much."

"What you owe me is a promise that you will not enact the vengeance you are planning."

Black paused, as did Snape. He did not glance into the boy's mind, but it seemed the headmaster had not been so gracious. It seemed he had been foolish in his holding back and his naivety.

Dumbledore leaned forward, his blue eyes piercing despite his still-soft time. "Your intention to strike out at him by stealing that trinket from under his nose and replace it with a replica is not a line of action I would endorse, Regulus. That plan could only end one way, and death is not a fate for a man so young."

Kreacher's eyes swivelled upwards towards his master, his pointed ears lying flat as if in horror at the thought. Black flinched at the accusation, but his dogged refusal to meet his house elf's eyes spoke keenly of the truth.

"You're a Legillimen's too," he muttered, gritting his teeth against the anger that was no doubt brewing beneath.

Snape felt the need to interject. "Damned be your pride, Black. None of this is a game to play hero at like some clumsy Gryffindor."

"You think this is a game for me?" Black demanded, suddenly incensed. "I believed this! I believed in all of this! I admired the Dark Lord and all he stood for. But this… to harm a creature that only exists to help and never to harm…" he glanced to his house elf, his eyes softening to held back tears as he met the pleading gaze of that wretched creature. "What he did was not the actions of a great man, but a monster. And I could see it… I was beginning to realise. I should have… I should have known better, Kreacher. I shouldn't have let him hurt you."

"Master is good to Kreacher. Kreacher does not blame master," the elf croaked. "But master must not do anything that endangers himself. Kreacher will not forgive master if master were to die."

A small smile appeared on the young man's face. Snape glanced away, a little humbled at the display, over something so trivial to him at that.

"I hate him for what he did…" Black muttered, more to himself than to his elf. "I just… I just want him to feel that pain. Even a sliver of that pain."

"So you believe taking that trinket that he so closely guarded is the best the way to do so?" Snape surmised, understanding this turn in Slytherin thinking. After all, vengeance is a very Slytherin trait. "I cannot fault your reasoning."

But Dumbledore glanced up sharply, as if in warning. "I disagree. Mr Black, you are still young. You still have much to live for. Not when there are other ways you can strike at him. Ways that will not break your poor house elf's heart." Perhaps the headmaster believed Snape's words were of subtle encouragement. To lead the boy to finish his dirty work. But such dark plans were never Snape's intention. To chastise was simply not the way to turn a teenager's mind.

"And it is a foolish and short-sighted plan. You strike out in anger and deliver a glancing blow. What then? You die a pointless death. He would ultimately win. Is that a satisfactory conclusion to your ears?"

A brief scowl and a quickly averted gaze was Black's answer. A truth that no Slytherin wanted to hear. That their efforts were pointless and ultimately brooked little mark on the course of history. Perhaps understanding Snape's intention, Dumbledore appeared to step back from the conversation, turning his attention to the phoenix that fluttered down from the perch upon the back of his high chair.

"Do you know why patience and subtlety are a Slytherin's weapons?" Snape asked, his voice suddenly soft as he coaxed that stubborn young mind. "Why we deal with information, threats and measures considered underhanded by those of rash dispositions?"

Those grey eyes flickered upwards, a calm haze to his gaze. He knew the answer, as would all those of true Slytherin in heart. "A wound struck in silence and left to fester will always cut deeper than one detected and allowed to heal. You do this and die your noble death, you will leave this world with a greater monster to face. You are Slytherin enough to know this, and so is he."

Black stiffened, his grey eyes flickered away. Shamed by the thought, perhaps, but Snape knew better than to glance in to confirm. Epiphanies and self-reflection deserved a private moment.

"But unbeknownst to you, you have already struck him a lingering blow," Snape continued, his tone silky. "For you carried one vital piece of information to his enemies. That, and the means by which to strike." Snape's gaze drew down to the elf who clutched at his master's robes.

Kreacher's ears laid flat in fear but his old wrinkled eyes set in determination. "Kreacher will do what he must for master. Kreacher will die for master if he must."

"Kreacher's not dying!" Regulus snapped, more to Snape than to his house elf, but the sentiment was felt.

"No. Kreacher won't die," Snape agreed. "Nor shall you, Regulus Black. You have both already done your part, now leave the rest to us."

Those grey eyes held his for a long moment. A ponderous expression when the shadow of anger had cleared. "Do you need Kreacher?"

"Only if you would trust him to us," Snape conceded, allowing the balance of power to tip into the court of this young Slytherin. Trusting the sense of nobility being fostered by his sense of right.

There was no immediate agreement. "I'll think about it," was all the commitment Black would give. But Snape did not begrudge this answer.

A good Slytherin did nothing without thinking on it. Whether for good or for ill, Black had regained a measure of patience. Had his plan been to take a gambit on his own life, out of spite if little else. That he should now hesitate spoke much of how calmly he how was granting this thought.

It was Snape's turn to be patient.


The grating of the stone wall announced Lily's return. Snape glanced up from his alchemical work station to see her red hair follow her through the bathroom door without as much as a how do you do.

With a glance at his pocket watch, Snape conceded to the conclusion of his evening. He turned his attention to his alchemical reagents, setting one more transmutation into motion before he called it a night. Though he had no obligation to continue the practice, Snape found himself drawn back to this science. Perhaps to relish the magical complexities he was able to achieve with this gift of a hand to replace his lost appendage.

Upon the mantelpiece sat the silver doe, born once more from his wife's silvery memories. A doe that had disappeared with the dispelling of the charms Snape had cast upon the bottle to pour the contents forth into a Pensieve. A charm he would have never dared without command of his magic. The creature that stood within the crystal vessel blinked back at him with life-like craftsmanship. His returned magic breathing life back into the gift that began everything his life was now built upon now. A physical manifestation of the miracle of his magic returned.

The lack of practice wound back his skills, but that did little to discourage him. After spending two months as an invalid struggling to match the skills of some of the students he had to teach, to find himself in the familiar struggle of the legendarily complex field of alchemy was honestly liberating.

A piece of copper sat upon his table, light as a fleck but as pure of a nugget as one could possibly exist. It was back to basics, but it was a skill he relished the journey to relearn. It was a game of precision rather than one of magical might. An exercise that assisted in his rehabilitation more than the scroll of exercises Madam Pomfrey demanded he adhere to. There were only so many wrist flexes he could endure.

Setting aside his spent materials, Snape cleaned off the table with a flick of his wand. He shut away his focus stone in his small locked cupboard and set his runed table back in its assigned corner with magical ease.

Lily's return was his indication the evening was at an end. More for his own sake than anything else, it was too easy to fall into the trap of an unhealthy sleep schedule. Though Lily was not much better at keeping to appropriate waking hours, Snape found more success in following her as a benchmark of when he should retire for the evening. Sleep was never a discipline he had mastered.

Snape returned to his room to change into his sleepwear and endeavoured to wait out the sound of water. He had showered earlier in the evening, usually the first thing he would do when he returned from his daily duties. It was only oral hygiene that he needed to tend to, but even so, he hesitated to intrude into an occupied bathroom. Though Lily never locked the bathroom door, not seeming to mind being intruded upon, Snape was a man of a different psyche. He could not find himself leaving that same door unlocked when he knew he was alone in his living space.

He heard the sound of the water cease, then silence for the longest time. Snape turned to the bedroom door, confused when her form did not slip in through.

Snape drew himself off his seat and stepped to the living room, feeling the steam cling to his skin as it wafted from the open bathroom door. There he saw his wife sitting on their living room couch, trussed up in her woollen bathrobes and gazing despondently into the fire crackling in the fireplace.

"Lily?" he uttered softly, stepping forth the brush aside the door. Snape slipped in quietly, settling himself beside her in silent confusion.

She pulled back as if snapping from a trance. "Oh, Severus. Sorry, I completely spaced."

Snape watched her intently, before he took out his wand to sweep her for charms or dark magic. His paranoia and technical mind winning out over any emotional intelligence he had gained over the course of this new lifetime.

"Oh, stop that." Lily swatted at his silver hand with a smile that peeked through her tired façade.

"So just tired then?" Snape asked, stowing his wand away as he was bade.

Lily sighed, her smile disappearing into a grimace. "I'm just…" she paused as if weighing her words. "Are… we winning, Sev?"

That had been an unexpected question. Snape hesitate, unable to make heads or tails of it.

"I don't know what I expected when I left for that Order meeting," Lily continued with a wry smile as if exacerbated by her own nativity. "Somehow, finding out about what was happening out there was not it."

Snape glanced away, the realisation finally dawning on him about what must be eating at her. Reality was harsh for a gentle soul and Snape had long lost perspective on that.

"… They say a squad of Magical Enforcement Patrolmen had been lost on the Isle of Man. Wizards and Witches going missing… Order members going missing…" She shook her head looking defeated. "And nobody would say anything about Remus. They say it's safer for him if we're in the dark. Like we'd sell him out or something."

"Not all betrayals are intentional." Snape knew better than most.

Lily glanced up at him, her green eyes softened as her words fell silent on her lips. Snape braced one comforting hand about her shoulder, feeling her lean in to his chest, her arms about his torso. They sat there for a moment, locked in that embrace, the numbing silence punctured only by the crackles and pops of the roaring fire.

Finally, Snape spoke, his voice low yet clear. "We are not losing."

"Was that a statement or wishful thinking?" Lily asked with a light tone that indicated attempt at humour.

Snape paused a moment, turning his thoughts upon his tongue. There was little he could truly speak of for the very same reason that the werewolf's welfare was held so secret. Lily's mind was an open door for any with the talent and withal to step through.

"I don't think you realise how different everything has become," Snape finally uttered. "A dozen lives with a stake in this war have changed, dozens more whose future would have intersected with ruin's path.

"Because of you," Lily concluded with a proud smile breaking through her aura of exhaustion. Her fingers loosening from about him so that she may sit back.

"Not all directly," Snape muttered, flushing slightly at that grand notion. "Minerva was never meant to be a member of the Order during this war."

Lily perked right up. "Really?" Her natural curiosity drew her from her gloom as easily as a string dangled before a kitten.

Snape gave a curt nod, appreciating her lightening mood. "I had shared my knowledge with Albus Dumbledore. The wheels have begun to turn on several matters. I'll say no more on it, but know this. We are in a better position than we had been in another lifetime." He paused, feeling his words weigh upon his tongue. "Or at least, the Order had, for I, too, am on a path differently tread."

"And the world is better for it," Lily said and fell silent.

Snape turned away, sensing more that lay between them unsaid but unwilling to provoke the conflict that may arise. He knew what discontent must stir in her noble heart. But silent he stayed, fearing the conversation that might arise.

With a soft kiss to her brow, he stood from his seat. "Sleep now. School starts tomorrow, and you'll need your rest to deal with the headaches that children can bring."


The new year of Hogwarts life started was signalled by the bustle of student bodies in the school halls. The ancient castle was full of life again, and Lily for one had missed it. Not so much the stacks of work that came with it. Not that she had any right to complain, of course. Sev had helped her mark most of her holiday work, with not just the half that he had originally agreed to.

Scrambling to finish her marking, Lily found her scrolls arranged neatly in a box, each and every article thoroughly corrected with red ink and comments, leaving Lily with no doubt as to whose experienced hand that marked them.

His thoughtfulness made her heart swell. He never said a word about it. He was well and truly out the door by the time Lily had even turned her thought to the work she had remaining. That was just his expression of love. A thoughtfulness he rarely reserved for anyone else.

That left Lily with the free period she had initially planned for her last ditch marking well and truly free. Yet, rather than whittle it away pointlessly on indulgence and procrastination, Lily took to brewing out the yet-to-be-posted fill order for the Hospital Wing.

Madam Pomfrey conveyed requests to the potions wing twice a month for potions she wanted made up, and before Lily came along to assist, she would have been lucky to receive half of the list she sent down. At the very least now, Lily took to that responsibility. She wouldn't dream of flubbing the responsibilities, especially now that she knew Severus once took on this very role. It was hard to imagine him being anything but thorough in his work and utterly indignant at the thought of his wife applying herself in anyway less.

Though this fortnight's scroll of orders hadn't yet been sent down to the dungeons, Lily mocked up a box of brews that were commonly requested and based on her own very recent experiences as a student in this very institute.

Pepper-up potions lined half of her box in preparation for the coughs and colds that would sweep the halls come spring, Calming Draughts took another good quarter in preparation for the assessments and exams peeking over the horizon, and, of course, there were a few vials of that ever important contraceptive brew. Lily was coming to terms with how frequently that order was needing to be filled, and honestly, she didn't have any right to be all that surprised considering how she harangued her own husband when they were but newly married teens.

Wiggenweld filled out the rest of the space. Like Dittany, a major component of its make, it was a brew used to heal minor injuries. And one didn't grow up a Gryffindor under the mortars of Hogwarts without being well acquainted with this particular potion. No doubt there would be more requests to come in the form of more prescriptive potions, ones that hardly saw use except in selective circumstances, but a bulk of this fortnight's work was done and dusted.

Lily happily floated her morning's work up to the first floor alongside her, feeling all pepped and productive. The sounds of teaching wafted down the halls that Lily walked, evoking an odd nostalgia in her heart. She was far too young to look back on her school life with such reminiscent eyes, especially when that life wasn't even a year ago. Hardly hindsight.

Hardly any students wandered the halls during the period, even if they had it free. If they were old enough to have free periods, they were close enough to exam periods that they could hardly afford to spend it frivolously. The Calming Draughts were likely to become highly appreciated in the not so distant future.

Approaching the entrance to the Hospital Wing, Lily could see a figure in the bed within. Ordinarily it was not at all odd for there to be students under the matron's care at all hours of the day, but one would think the first day of holiday would be her period of grace. What she hadn't expected was that it was Professor Kettleburn propped up in a bed.

"Oh no. Professor Kettleburn!" Lily gasped as she rushed to his side, her box of potions rattling dangerously as her floating box rushed to keep up with her.

"Oh Lily," the professor moaned, his one good eye screwed shut in a pained wince. "Oh Lily. They've taken my legs!"

He stuck one stumped leg, severed at the knee, from the blankets then wriggled it about to Lily's horror. But then a grin split across the professor's face and a jolly belch of laughter ringing out. "You should see the look on your face."

Lily blinked stupidly for a moment before realising she had been had. It was then that she realised there was a pile of prosthetic limbs on the bedside table that she would have ordinarily seen adorning the good professor.

"Don't scare me like that!" Lily proclaimed, feeling her heart settle. "I've taken your classes for long enough to take de-limbing quite seriously."

"I'm sorry dear girl. The jest was in poor taste," Kettleburn proclaimed, yet his mischievous smile was decidedly anything but sorry. It was honestly sometimes hard to believe the less-than-safety-conscious teacher of Care of Magical Creatures was a Hufflepuff and not Gryffindor.

"I'm actually here because of your husband," he continued.

Lily glanced about in surprise, half expecting to see Sev lurking in a corner, scowling away at a joke that would no doubt be abrasive to him. Kettleburn laughed again heartily at Lily's confusion. "I did not mean that literally. I meant for the same sort of limb-restorative treatment he had." With that, he brought out his left hand, ordinarily sporting a claw-like appendage, but now adorned with a silvery replica of a true hand much like that her husband wore.

"They've fixed your hand?" Lily gasped, tickled at the thought.

For so long she had known the professor, he had been more woodwork than arms and legs. It was well known the Professor had lost them years ago plying his dangerous craft. He lived long enough with his disabilities to never seem the least inconvenienced or dispirited, yet it was with such giddy excitement he seemed to relish this limb he had lived so many years without.

The professor wriggled his silver fingers in what appeared to be an affirmative. "My hands, and soon my feet."

Lily blinked at the leg that was still hanging out the covers. "When are they going to do it? Can I watch?" she asked, absolutely taken with the prospect. It was one thing to see the miraculous results, but a whole other thing to watch the miracle in progress. Was it possible to learn?

"I don't see why not. Albus had just stepped out for a moment but absolutely. Please do," Kettleburn proclaimed with an air of a man offering an invitation to take tea.

With a flush of excitement, Lily turned to find a seat to pull up, only to run face-first into her floating box of potions. That reminder of her responsibilities ended that daydream rather quickly. Reality literally slapped her in the face.

"Third years are brewing Wideye Potions next. And though the prep's done, I'm still needed to run stock from the supply room for the unexpected accidents and spillages," Lily said with a dejected huff. "I can't exactly skive off as a teaching assistant."

"You never have as a student, at that," Kettleburn seemed to agree. "But with the state of Severus, I would never consider the exploration of necessary skills to be an example of skirting your duties."

"Nor would I," agreed a deep yet gentle voice.

Lily turned, bracing the box of potions that rattled as she bumped them for a second time. Professor Dumbledore stepped into the ward with Madam Pomfrey at his elbow, a small hoard of scrolls following them in in on a multi-layered trolley behind them.

Those blue eyes twinkled as the headmaster spoke. "The magic would inevitably fade from Severus' limb like all conjurations would. I cannot think of a person more suited to administer and maintain that spell for him."

Kettleburn chipped in cheerily. "Considering that you were the one who cast it, Albus, I doubt that would be needed any time soon."

Madam Pomfrey took to setting up by Kettleburn's bed, drawing out a scroll from her trolley and setting it upon a helpful silver tray that had floated over. Upon the unfurled surface of that parchment was inked some truly horrific sketches of a deconstructed foot set out in intricate detail.

Lily couldn't help but grimace as her spine tingled with the absolute willies at the sight. She was reminded of those anatomy books her father had in his study and some of the disturbing imagery of humans in various states of deconstruction depicted within the pages but the sight of the macabre had never bothered Lily as it had now. There were reasons aplenty for her not to choose the path of a healer and squeamishness had never been the main.

But that was before the sight evoked the nightmarish memories. The sight of Severus' ruined limb as he clung to life by inching breaths.

With a small shake of her head, Lily dispelled the memory. Her mind ticked in funny ways since that fateful night. She wasn't always affected but at times, unexpectedly, she would feel on edge. Her brow would prick with sweat as tension would take her unexpectedly. But there would be no danger to speak of to justify this morbid feeling.

If one near death experience could run such ruin with her sense of security, she began to understand the constant caution Severus had swathed himself in.

"Do you wish to watch, Lily?" Dumbledore asked gently, but his eyes seemed to ask a question to the concern she did not voice. Perhaps a brush with the Legilimency she now knew the headmaster to possess. Those blue eyes peered at her, seeming bereft of judgement yet touched with some unspoken intent.

There was no doubt in her mind. "I do want to learn," Lily said, shaking off that moment's falter. She had once promised herself that had there been a way to make Severus whole, she would pursue it with every fibre of her being. Squeamishness was not going to make her lose her nerve.

Those blue eyes twinkled seemingly approvingly. "I'll send a message down to Horace that I would borrow you for the rest of the day. I'm sure he'll understand."


A/N: I'm afraid I'm nearing the end of the my pre-written chapters and due to my work schedule and other matters in life, I'm no longer spending most of my time writing. Soon I'm no longer going to meet my 2 week update schedules and instead have to post them when I can get it done. Rest assured, I plan to finish this fic. I have everything planned. I just lack the time and dicipline I once had.

A thank you to my Beta readers Sattwa100 and cookeroach for your work on this chapter.

Next Update: Saturday 14th March 2020

Chapter 81: A War of Compromise

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe and do not seek to profit in any way, shape or form from this fan work.