Severus limped slowly back and forth across the small, spare headmaster's chambers. He had been punished yet again for failing to uncover Penelope's whereabouts—or, more accurately, for failing to reveal them, as Severus knew perfectly well where she was. The Dark Lord had been in a particularly vindictive mood tonight.

He stumbled, his injured leg aching terribly. Every nerve in his body was shot, but he refused to sit down. If he sat down he would fall asleep, and the nightmares would claim him. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept or eaten.

Scraps of parchment and torn pages skittered around his feet like dead leaves as he continued to drag himself back and forth. Piles of books lay open on the floor, some just empty, cracked spines with all their pages violently removed. He nearly tripped over an empty bottle of Firewhiskey in the dim light, swore loudly, and kicked it as hard as he could. Pain shot up his wounded leg and he swore again.

At last, when he could bear it no longer, he sank down onto a filthy sofa with several gashes in its side, gritting his teeth at the pain knifing through him as he bent his knee. Feathery puffs of stuffing, disturbed by his movement, floated listlessly through the air like snow. He had to keep himself alive long enough to end this war, to do all he could to punish himself, and avenge them… Lily and Penelope…

It had been so long he could not always picture Penelope's face; something was often missing, or not quite right, but still he tried. His eyelids were drooping, and he could have sworn it was snowing, though last he had checked it was May… Her face was too difficult, so he imagined instead the lopsided tracks she left in the snow when they went walking… He followed them, though he could not see her, followed her tracks through the bitter cold until he could go no further, until at last he could lie down and rest forever…

He was startled awake by muffled shouting in the hall below him. He pulled on his robes, instantly alert. Most likely it was just another stunt by the Weasley girl and her foolish renegade friends, but if it was some sign of Potter—perhaps this was the moment he had been waiting for, and working towards, for so long. His cloak billowed around him as he strode through the deserted hallways, pain shooting through his knee with every step.

If the war was coming to an end, he reflected bitterly, what would that mean for him? If Potter defeated the Dark Lord, Severus' long years of penance and toil would be over—and there was no one and nothing waiting for him on the other side of that murky divide, save a life sentence in Azkaban, perhaps. No, he thought as he rushed down another flight of stairs, the most he could hope for at the end of the war was a quick death.

Penelope, however… If she survived the war, she, at least, would have life and opportunity ahead of her. All the hope that was bitterly wasted on him he would devote to her instead.

The thought of her dulled the pain and focused his exhausted mind as he abruptly rounded a corner and found McGonagall waiting for him, wand drawn.

Penelope stared up at the waving leaves of the great oak tree, gleaming silver in the moonlight. The vague memory of a dream tugged at the back of her mind, but she let it slide into oblivion and gave thanks for small mercies. She felt no need to remember her dreams of late.

It was almost a year to the day since Severus had betrayed them. She had relived the events of that night countless times in waking and in dreams, and yet what bothered her most was that she still missed him. She missed the grudging half-smile she always had to coax out of him; the careful, measured way he chopped vegetables by hand, and how he would huff at her when she tried to help; his tongue parting her lips as he kissed her.

But who did she really miss? It was impossible to pick out the truth from the lies, her friend from the double-agent and the murderer. She had spent the past twelve months formulating theory after theory, each more ridiculous than the last, to try and explain Severus' loyalties, but she knew, deep down, those theories didn't matter. They were justifications, attempts to explain the inexplicable fact that she still loved him.

She wondered if love was always this mad, this persistent, this immune to all reason. It's like a piece of music, she remembered saying, so long ago, and she smiled in spite of herself. The whispering of the wind in the oak trees made a mournful, ghostly music, and she let the sound wash over her. She hadn't realized at the time the deeper truths in her words; had he? All those times he had tried to shut her out, and she had pushed her way in… she had been so convinced of her rightness back then, but now she wondered which one of them was really the wiser.

She pressed her fingers to her temples and sighed. To turn her mind from these fruitless thoughts, she fished around in her rucksack and pulled out a small brass orb.

As it was inadvisable for owls to be seen flying to and from her location, McGonagall had given Penelope this Emergency Emitter. It would turn red, McGonagall had promised, when Penelope was needed at Hogwarts.

The entire time she had been in the Elgin Forest, the orb had stayed resolutely brassy. She had gleaned snippets of news from Potterwatch and from Kingsely's scant, heavily encoded dispatches, but she knew it was best to focus on her task and leave the others to theirs. It had admittedly been a relief to get away from Hogwarts, now filled with painful memories, and from the awkward conversations with other Order members who treated her as though she were either liable to explode at any moment or a potential murderer herself. Only McGonagall had remained her steadfast friend through it all.

She sighed, staring up at the distant stars and trying to get comfortable for sleep she knew wouldn't come, when the orb suddenly burned searingly hot in her hand. She dropped it with a yelp and stared as it began to smoke on the damp, mossy ground. It was glowing a bright, dangerous red. Trust McGonagall not to mention that it suddenly turns into a firebrand, too…

She glanced around her furtively. It was still sleeping hours, and she knew it was wisest not to wake centaurs. She scribbled a hasty but polite note and left it beneath the oak tree, knowing the tribe would follow her into battle, if a battle was indeed coming. Fear prickled her as she let the note drop ominously into the leaves, fear for her friends both centaur and human, but she pushed those worries aside. There was no time for them.

She flicked her wand and magicked her supplies haphazardly into her rucksack, then set off at a brisk walk to the nearest road. She spared one last look at the old oak tree she had slept under so many nights, worrying and dreaming and working and pining. A sigh escaped her lips as she reached the gravel road that meant goodbye. She pulled the old Vespa out of her pocket, enlarged it, and then she was off.

She raced at top speed, stopping only when she saw a tawny owl flying towards her equally fast. It had a purple band on its wing that read, "EXPRESS". She took the letter from its outstretched leg eagerly, her hands shaking. The parchment was small, the message brief:

Harry Potter has returned. Snape has fled Hogwarts. Order are preparing for battle. Come and bring whomever will follow you. -MM

She hastily scribbled her response, gave a knut to the owl, and sped off again, racing through the miles that remained to get within apparating distance. Preparing for battle… Harry Potter returned… Did this mean the war was at last at an end? And Severus fled… Her brain was a knot of worry and questions, questions she doubted even the conclusion of the war would answer. She stopped to light a cigarette, wondering if it would be her last.

She hit the accelerator as night slowly faded into a bloodred dawn and raced onwards, back to the place where it had all begun, and might all end.