Severus was still awake and fighting the urge to get blind drunk again when Minerva's Patronus made its way through a wall and landed in front of him. Her voice sounded hoarse even considering the charm's distortion, and Severus wondered how he would have taken the message if he had been completely ignorant of the reason why she was summoning him to Dumbledore's private chambers.

As it was, he put a robe over his nightshirt, tousled his hair a little to make it look as if he had just gotten up, waited the ten or fifteen minutes that would normally take him to shake off his reluctance to get out of bed for no apparent good reason when he had finally managed to fall asleep, and put an annoyed scowl on his face before reaching for the Floo powder.

The first thing he did when he stepped into the empty sitting room was to check that the tea service had been removed from the coffee table. No one could clean up evidence better than house-elves, so that was one less thing to worry about (not that any magical means would have been effective to detect the Muggle drug in Dumbledore's tea cup, of course, Severus had already tested the substance with all the standard and non-standard detection spells and potions he had ever heard of and verified that they all threw negative results).

He kept the scowl on his face until Minerva emerged from the bedroom, wrapped in her tartan night robe and hurriedly wiping her tears with a handkerchief. Her eyes were red and her face overall broken, and for a moment Severus felt a strong impulse to hug her. He didn't, of course (no need to rush the apocalypse), but he did allow his scowl to melt into a worried expression.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"It's... It's Dumbledore," she sniffed. "H-He..."

Incapable of saying the words, Minerva just blew her nose and beckoned him to follow her with a jerk of her head. Severus took a deep breath and braced himself to face the unfaceable.

Pomona, Filius and Poppy were already there, positioned around the Headmaster's luxurious four-poster. Poppy was sitting by Dumbledore's side of the bed, weeping quietly into her handkerchief. On the other side of the bed Pomona was also crying silently, although she looked more composed than both Poppy and Minerva. Filius had conjured his favourite stool and sat some distance away watching the scene with a somewhat disconcerted expression, as if he couldn't quite believe that he was awake.

Severus stood frozen in the doorway for a very long moment, also feeling sort of disconnected from Reality. His eyes were fixed on the form that laid on the bed, but he couldn't quite see it, his attention mostly focused on the sorrowful sounds that saturated the room. He had always had a hard time keeping himself together when women cried close to him, and there were three of them here. Three woman he respected and —if he was honest with himself— cared for, mourning the death of Severus' mentor. The man he had just killed.

Finally, he made himself move, needing to make sure, to dispel this sense of unreality, to see it. He barely noticed that Minerva was gently marching Poppy away so he could get closer, and he wondered what sort of expression he had on his face to make her look at him that way, with so much concern and sadness. To set off another round of tears, this time in his behalf.

How could someone go into shock when faced with the body of the person he already knew he had intentionally killed, Severus had no idea, but some disarticulated part of his brain told him that it was good, convenient. Let them see that it affects me too. He was certainly affected when Fawkes —who had perched himself on the headboard of the bed— let out a soul-piercing trill that nearly undid him.

With a wary glance at the phoenix —and hoping the creature would not give him away nor attack him—, Severus sat in the chair Poppy had vacated and looked up at his mentor's face, so peaceful in death.

You could have hardly asked for a better way to go, old man, he thought, while the same disarticulated part of his brain congratulated itself for having planned it carefully enough as to give the Headmaster time to put himself to bed before the drug kicked in. Clearly Poppy or someone had pulled back the blankets so the upper half of Dumbledore's body could be examined, but he must have been comfortably tucked in when it had happened.

"Who found him?" was asking Pomona.

"I did," said Minerva roughly. "Everard went searching for me when he saw the new portrait appear downstairs."

Poppy broke again into sobs at those words, more loudly and pathetically than before. Severus tried to swallow the lump in his throat while the calculating part of his brain considered the risks associated to Dumbledore's portrait and possible strategies to avert them.

"Is it..." came Filius voice from his corner. "Are we sure it's... natural? I mean, he is... was," he corrected himself with obvious pain, "he was Albus Dumbledore, You-Know-Who no doubt wanted him dead..."

Poppy blew her nose and quickly composed herself, like she always did when her expertise as a Healer was required.

"I have already examined him," she said. "It wasn't the Killing Curse. The cause of death seems to be a heart failure. He just... his heart stopped beating in his sleep. He's... was very old."

"Perhaps poison?" suggested Pomona, drying her tears and looking at Severus.

"If you're suggesting I might have spiked our Headmaster's tea with some lethal substance, the answer is no," he drawled. "Although I confess I have felt tempted on occasion."

She rolled her eyes.

"No, you dolt. I was thinking perhaps you know of some poison that can resemble natural death."

"I know of a few," admitted Severus as he grabbed one of the old man's hands —the uninjured one. It was still warm, but of course it had no pulse. "I can't imagine why any enemy of Dumbledore would want to give him a peaceful death, though. I know the Dark Lord wouldn't."

Pomona shuddered as if he had just said the forbidden name.

"What about the hand?" asked Filius. "Dumbledore never explained, but it's clearly cursed. Could it have... spread?"

"If it had spread his face would be black," said Severus, "But I'm sure the Ministry forensics will check for everything."

And it would be interesting to know what the forensics concluded about the hand. Would they realize that Dumbledore had already been dying? Curses tended to die with their hosts, so Severus was inclined to believe that they would have difficulty determining exactly what had been going on with that nasty hand. And there would be no curse-related damage in the heart, so any connection between hand and cause of death would most likely be just speculative.

"I hope it wasn't that," prayed Minerva. "That hand looks painful."

As if in response to her words Fawkes let out another sad trill, and then he began to sing. They all subsided into silence while the room and their hearts were filled by a stricken lament of terrible beauty.

Minerva came to sit next to Severus and unexpectedly placed a comforting hand over his —so she was holding both the victim and the murderer—, having none of it when he tried to shake off the underserved contact. It was comforting, he admitted to himself while he fought off an embarrassing urge to cry. He was Severus Snape, for Merlin's sake! Accomplished Death Eater. Perfect Occlumens. The killer and traitor in the room. What right did he have to grieve?

He was definitely grieving, though, just like he had grieved for Lily after having brought about her death too.

He was grieving, and Fawkes was singing his grief back to him.

/

How long they sat there, staring at their Headmaster and listening to the sound of their mourning, none of them could have said, but it felt as if hours had passed when Fawkes finally warbled the last note. The silence that followed was charged with the anticipation of more tragic loss, and indeed, moments later Fawkes let out a loud, heartbreaking wail and burst into flames. No baby chick was left behind, leaving them to wonder whether the phoenix had ceased to exist or simply flashed away to never return.

The burning woke them all from the trance, suddenly reminding them that they couldn't forever indulge in their grief, not when they had a school full of children to run and protect. So while Poppy got to work and began casting preservation charms on the body, the four Heads of House moved aside to confer and decide how to proceed. The Ministry must be notified, of course, and the rest of staff. The house-elves must already know, but Minerva should go talk to them. Some wards would have to be recast or made up for somehow. They would have to discuss funeral arrangements with the Minister. Classes should probably be cancelled for the day. Someone must tell Hagrid.

"What about Potter?" asked Minerva.

"What about him?" asked Filius.

"Shouldn't we tell him? Wake him up?"

"He will hear about it at breakfast, with the rest of the students," pointed out Pomona. "It's not like we can bring him here, Hogwarts doesn't allow students inside our personal quarters."

"It would be highly inappropriate," agreed Filius.

"I'm the new Headmistress," argued Minerva, "or at least the acting Headmistress, so I think I can override that restriction. And Harry is not just any student, he and Dumbledore are... were close."

Pomona and Filius were hesitant, so they turned to Severus for his opinion. Minerva shot him a challenging look, clearly readying herself for battle.

"Bring him," said Severus, and despite his grief he couldn't help but feel slightly amused when Minerva's jaw dropped in shock at his unexpected support. "The boy needs to see it."

He needs to fully understand that his old mentor is forever gone.