A/N: So, this is the aftermath of the evening of Voldemort's fall and the Potters' death. The evening is described through Dumbledore's recollection in Chapter 5 of The Lion, The Snake and The Stone, and also ties directly with Chapter 4 (26th Dec) of Padfoot and Moony's Excellent Adventures in Parenting (the chapter posted together with this one, where I've also given a bit of a summary of what happened that evening in Dumbledore's office, since I'll only be writing that scene once, and it's the last chapter of The Path Not Tread). My suggestion is actually to read that other chapter first (and if you are avoiding EAiP because you dislike the two Marauders, I hope you nonetheless give the previous couple of chapters there a chance, they show Sirius' side of learning of James and Mary's deaths and I consider these three chapters to be a package), as the events do tie into Lily's section here. But I wouldn't say that it's strictly necessary (obviously, though, the events depicted in this chapter are not from either Remus' or Sirius' POV).

For those who would just appreciate a refresher - the Potters died earlier because Dumbledore had not warned either them or the Longbottoms of the existence of the Prophecy, and after their death, in the course of explaining all this to the young generation, Dumbledore became resistant to giving Harry to Sirius to raise, insisting instead that Mary's Muggle grandmother would be a better option. Severus managed to Legilimise him and learn that the reason for this was self-serving, which caused Dumbledore to lose the trust of the group (people present were Alice and Frank, Severus and Lily, Sirius and Remus, and Regulus, who is the spy in Severus' stead, having gone to Dumbledore for help with the Horcrux instead of trying to destroy it alone). Knowing that he would lose Severus forever, and only now understanding that their long years of working together have made him think on the Slytherin as a surrogate son, Dumbledore allowed them to question him and Severus to read his mind as the only option to preserve the relationship he had built with Severus. This led to further exposure of Dumbledore's numerous canonical mistakes. Obviously, no one is feeling charitable towards Dumbledore in the aftermath, and Severus in particular is heartbroken, because Dumbledore was the only positive and involved parental role model he'd had until that moment.

December 1980
The Night the World Failed to Stop

Sirius was the first who rose in the end, after everything had been said and done.

He startled Alice with his abrupt movement, and she stared in mute silence as the younger boy appeared to not quite know what to do with himself, his eyes bouncing from Remus to his brother, from Regulus to Severus, from there to Lily, gluing themselves to Harry's tiny sleeping form, before bouncing back to Remus, and almost startling himself when his gaze was met.

Whatever communication passed between the two Gryffindor boys, it was nonverbal, and Alice certainly didn't know either of them well enough to deduce what was being asked and answered, but in response, Sirius glared at Dumbledore one last time, and then swept through the room straight to the fireplace and with jerky, frustrated motions, threw the Floo powder into the flames and vanished back to his own address.

The silence regained its hold on the room, and Alice slumped lightly into her chair.

If not for pure luck, her best friend's fate could have been hers, and her son's burden could have been Neville's. She could not quite comprehend it.

James and Mary were dead. She could still not quite comprehend that, either. James and Mary were dead, for a prophecy that foretold the fall of Lord Voldemort, a prophecy that Albus Dumbledore had kept purposely from them while he had his think on what to do with it, how to use this information, the information about their very lives, and for his wish to take his sweet time, two people had paid with their lives, and a little baby had become an orphan.

Alice felt disgust roil in her stomach.

It was a feeling she'd never encountered before, though she thought she knew what it was. She'd never hated anything in her life, never felt physically repulsed by anything, let alone mentally. She had thought, until tonight, that she'd simply not been built that way. She knew that this was perhaps a flaw, that it made her too soft and too willing to give people unearned leeway, to put too much of herself in and not even be angry about getting too little back for it. But now that there was this disgusting, unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach, now that every time she looked on the slumped, defeated, drained figure of their leader, she had an almost triumphant gladness that in the end, he was suffering as well, at least for falling so low in their eyes, she couldn't help but be thankful that she was not the type to hold grudges and hate people. Looking at Severus Snape, who was that type, it certainly appeared a bad way to live, and the sooner she stopped feeling this way, the sooner Alice knew she'd be able to really try and accept the events of the evening and night.

She jumped lightly when Frank placed his hand on her neck and squeezed in support. He'd startled her. Meeting his eyes was enough to let her know that they would be speaking on the events of the night as soon as opportunity presented itself, and that he himself had quite a bit to say on everything. There was that mulishly determined edge to his gaze she knew meant he'd made up his mind on something and would be doing it come hell or high water.

At the moment, Alice was fine with whatever he wished, because she herself wasn't sure of anything anymore.

But first, there was the matter of another baby keeping Neville company at their home, whose parents needed to take him back.

Lacing his fingers with hers the moment she got up, Frank walked them two steps over to Severus, who was exchanging quiet words with Regulus Black; the two Slytherins obviously had some sort of prolonged history. At the moment, Alice found himself rather inclined towards the aristocratic boy.

He may not have managed to get the message to them in time to save James and Mary, but he definitely helped them get on top of things as quickly as possible, and, as it was turning out, his quick answer to Voldemort's last move also allowed Remus to manage Sirius during his bout of insanity earlier in the evening, when he'd wanted to go all alone after Peter Pettigrew. Who knew where he'd be if he'd heard of the attack through the Auror Corps, instead of through the friend that knew him so well.

They had lost more than enough people for one night, was Alice's opinion.

"Severus," Frank drew the younger man's attention. The two Slytherins said their good-nights before Severus turned towards them. "We are ready to head home."

"Very well; let me just– Lily."

Turning her head a bit, Alice watched as her best friend walked up to them, Harry still cradled carefully in the wrap carrier. The two didn't say anything, only gazed into each other's eyes for a bit. Then Lily squeezed her partner's hand, pinched her lips in a sorrowful gesture, and nodded.

"I'll be back as soon as I'm sure Remus and Sirius are settled with Harry until tomorrow," she promised him, then turned to Alice and Frank. "Would you mind if we met up at your place tomorrow for a late breakfast, to talk over the practicalities for the coming days and weeks?"

"No, of course not," Frank answered. "Whom were you thinking of inviting?"

"Just the six of us for now, at least until we decide on which approach to take with the rest of the Order. In light of Albus' actions tonight, I'm afraid it'll be up to us to coordinate things from now on, and I think the older members might be resistant, given our ages and the... radicalness, let's say, of our ideas."

"All right," Alice agreed. "Go take care of Harry, and we'll take Severus with us to get Evan."

Smiling wanly, Lily nonetheless moved forward for an embrace, awkward as it was with a baby squished between them. Still, their heads were close enough that when Lily whispered in her ear: "I'm so glad it wasn't you," Alice was the only one who heard, and her breath hitched as tears flooded her eyes.

Merlin help her, she'd been thinking that same thing since the moment she heard the words 'born as the seventh month dies'. She'd been trying so hard not to think them, not to even go in that direction of thought, because there was enough to deal with without the unadulterated terror that lay on that path, and the guilt that clenched her heart.

Sniffing, she wiped her cheeks as she watched Remus and Lily vanish into the flames, an overwhelming wave of fondness for her best friend and relief flooding her for a moment. Awkwardly phrased tough it was, she knew that Lily could not have actually meant what someone who did not know them might have assumed – no, Lily would never have been willing to trade Mary for Alice or vice-versa, and she would not have missed Alice any more than she was missing Mary. What she'd meant was that in the utter darkness of today's events, they at least still had each other, and with that one sentence, she'd lessened Alice's burden of survivor's guilt, because in grasping Lily's meaning, Alice realised that she had known it so easily exactly because she felt the same way.

When they emerged in their sitting room, the three magicals were met by Darling, the one house-elf that Frank had taken with from his parents' home when they'd married. Having been more or less his nanny throughout his childhood, she was now the head of the household, managing the admittedly low number of exactly one other house-elf, her own son.

"Mistress Longbottom is abed," she informed them promptly. "Little master Neville has been fed, and young Evan has not awoken since you left."

"Thank you, Darling," Frank said, exhaling tiredly. "Severus will be taking Evan home with him, and we will be going to bed as well, so you are free for the night. We will have guests tomorrow around eleven, so we'll need a larger breakfast setting."

"Yes, sir, Master Frank. Darling and Blanky will be sure to have everything prepared."

"Good. Go get some rest, now."

With a quick nod, the elf Disapparated out, and Alice took over leading Severus up to the nursery. When he'd brought his son earlier in the evening, Frank had been too leery of him to let him further than three steps from the fireplace, so Alice had been the one to take Evan up and settle him with Neville in his cot. Now, there was no question any longer about whether they trusted Severus or not, and Alice had no hesitation about leading him into the depth of their home.

She stayed by the door to the nursery while Severus stepped up to the cot and very gently lifted his son into his arms. When he had a firm hold, the dour man bent his head down next to his baby's and simply remained still for a minute or two, murmuring something that was too low for Alice to catch, and looked too intimate to intrude on. Watching the two of them, though, told Alice more about who Severus Snape was than the four years she'd observed him at Hogwarts, or all the stories she'd ever heard about him from Lily, because it was enough to witness the quiet, subtle love he showed his son for her to believe that there was goodness enough in him.

Frank, to Alice's absolute pleasure, extended his hand to Severus once they'd returned to the fireplace.

"Take care until tomorrow, Severus."

"You as well; I mean it quite seriously, Frank," he reiterated, "if the Death Eaters know that Neville could also have been the child of the prophecy, then they might try getting revenge for the Dark Lord's demise. Do not let your guard down; the war isn't over yet."

"We know," Alice assured him. "And you be careful, as well."

"Always," he assured them. "Good night."

When he was gone, Alice leaned heavily against Frank and yawned in spite of herself.

"I know that you wanted to discuss everything, but I honestly can't, not tonight."

"It'll keep until tomorrow, love," Frank assured her. "Come on, let's get ready for bed."

Only when she'd taken Neville into her arms and curled into Frank's strong, protective hold did Alice manage to unwind enough to sob herself to sleep, knowing that her little family had avoided death and destruction by a hair's breadth, guiltily thankful that her son and her husband where there with her, safe and sound, and the burden had fallen on someone else.

She only desperately wished, with her whole being, that the price for that hadn't been the life of one of her best friends.

"Severus, we need to speak, and soon," Regulus told his primary Order contact who had become his best friend in the past year once Sirius had stormed out of Dumbledore's office. "Regarding the Ministry's course in light of the Dark Lord's vanishing, and... why he isn't dead. It is time you knew the full extent of things."

Given everything that had been said tonight, about Albus Dumbledore's leadership and propensity for secrets, it was not a hard course of action to decide on. No, Regulus at the moment had no faith in the old Headmaster, because they hadn't gone after the Locket – the Horcrux – in time, he had taken his time there just as much as he had with the Prophecy, and now they were all in limbo for the foreseeable future, neither under the threat of war, nor fully free of the Dark Lord's shadow.

It burned, having to rely on Dumbledore for his own freedom once the Ministry caught up with the highly-positioned Death Eaters, even just a little bit (he'd until this evening not counted on Sirius ever standing up for him in any way, but from his behaviour tonight, Regulus couldn't but help that tiny, smouldering flame of hope that was the product of his childhood self, who had once, a long, long time ago, adored his brother above everyone else). But he, perhaps most of all his age-mates in the room tonight, had never trusted Dumbledore, and for him, the old wizard's machinations were not so very shocking or hurtful, so much as rather insulting, given the danger he had put himself in every single day since he'd chosen to beg at Severus' feet over going into certain death alone in a pathetic hope that a house-elf would be able to figure out a way of destroying a Horcrux of all things.

But he did hurt sympathetically for his best friend – Severus, next to Dahlia, had been his biggest crutch since he'd turned sides, and the older boy had done so without a single voiced complaint, without a single derisive comment or insult. And to him, Dumbledore was almost a parental figure, possibly the only real adult that Severus had trusted. For his beliefs and perceptions to be so betrayed as they were tonight... Regulus imagined that it wasn't even close to how his own regard for his brother had turned rotten in the years after James Potter had come into Sirius' life, but he thought it wasn't wholly dissimilar, either. He hoped dearly that Lily Evans was up to the task of helping her partner through it, because Severus needed someone in his corner absolutely, someone whom he could place his trust in without ever fearing it being betrayed.

From what he'd learned of Lily in the last year, he thought she was more than capable of being exactly that.

"Severus," Frank Longbottom interrupted their conversation, and Severus nodded.

"We can meet tomorrow evening, that will have given us time to evaluate the immediate response after the news breaks tomorrow of the Dark Lord's demise," Severus suggested, then turned to the other man demanding his attention.

Leaving his friend to speak with the Longbottoms, Regulus took one last look at Dumbledore's unmoving figure at the desk before leaving. The image of the man, sitting in his chair almost as if he'd been a rag squeezed utterly dry, followed him all the way through the spinning motion of the Floo to the public one in Diagon Alley and from there to the flat he quietly shared with Dahlia – becoming a spy for Light, though it had seemed necessary then and still did in spite of everything, had placed the girl he loved, whom he'd only been courting at the time, in danger. He'd admitted it all to her on the night he'd asked her to marry him, his usual foolishness and too trusting nature (for a Slytherin, at least) getting the better of him, because he'd wished, so very quietly, to have the sort of relationship with his wife that he'd seen Severus have with Lily in those interim months. And, in spite of everything telling him it wouldn't be so, Dahlia had validated his trust in her, his love for her, by agreeing to stand by him and being his steadfast support through all the stressful, frightening months that had led them to this night, and the Dark Lord's temporary fall.

So they'd needed a safe place for the two of them, where no one would be able to find her should the worse come to worst, and Regulus had sent her there the moment he'd realised what had happened. Dahlia certainly spent more time in that little flat than at home, anyway; while she was expert at handling Walburga, the animosity between the two women in Regulus' life and home had only continued to simmer since they'd moved into Grimmauld Place, Regulus' brief stint at bachelor life coming to a depressing, if fully expected, end.

Now she was waiting for him at the tiny dining table when he finally got back to the flat, clad in her nightgown tied loosely above her still mildly protruding belly, and she didn't hesitate to rise up and engulf him in a strong hug that he needed. Regulus' heart constricted; Merlin, but he loved this amazing girl so much.

Without word, Dahlia took his hand and tugged him towards the bed in the far end of the room. She helped him strip down to his underwear before tugging him into bed with her. Regulus let her do it, feeling the exhaustion catch up with him. He curled up against her, resting his cheek to her belly, knowing it was ridiculous but still feeling closer to his unborn child in that way, his little miracle.

And speaking softly, he told his wife everything that had happened, while she ran her fingers gently through his hair and held him closer when he finally broke down and began crying out of sheer relief mid-way through his tale, because at least for now, it was over, the Dark Lord was gone, and at least now they had time on their side to finish him off, now there was a future his friends and allies were going to make better than the one that had hung over them even yesterday, a future in which his only child would have a chance to grow into the person they wanted to be, into someone better than either Regulus or his brother were, someone whose parents loved them without condition or reserve.

And he cried, too, for his brother and the vicious satisfaction that writhed in his gut at the thought that the boy who had replaced him in the regards of the once most important person in his life was dead. James Potter had been the beginning of the end of Regulus' relationship with his brother, the one who had strutted in and become Sirius' brother at the expense of his blood kin, the one who made him into the worst possible version of himself, made him sneer and roll his eyes at Regulus' every attempt to get him to settle down and not cause stirs in the household, to whom Sirius had run in the end, leaving Regulus behind with the hole in his life where his big brother used to be and all the responsibilities of the Black family heir, that had by rights been his.

Regulus wasn't a vicious person by nature, not without just reason, and his father had seen it from the start, had identified that flaw in his 'spare' and had done his best to eradicate it. He had taught Regulus how to be ruthless in business and politics, and in his private life, he'd tried to mould Regulus into the ideal that he'd wanted out of a son, into someone who was never exploited because he never showed vulnerability, because he attacked first.

His mother had been the one who'd tried to teach him to revel in it, and now that he was going to be a father, now that he'd gone through hell and back in order to secure a better future of his only child, now Regulus resented her for it, because it was in such opposition to the secret tenderness he felt for his little family of two, soon three, that way in which she'd raised him and Sirius. She'd taught him nothing he ever wanted to impart on his own child, those skills that had served him so well in playing the spy, nothing he ever wished them to need in their life like he had needed them.

He could not be done with that role, not until the Dark Lord was dead, his soul gone to the deepest of hells. But he swore that he would do better by his child, would use all that ruthlessness and determination his parents had taught him, to ensure that his baby would have a better time of it, would not be such a bloody fool as to join a monster simply because they were driven by a desperate need of parental approval, like he had been, would make certain that no one would ever be able to manipulate and force his little one the way that people had done to him from his very first memory.

As for the dark, dangerous feeling in the pit of his gut, that gladness for the events that had transpired, not only because they had bought them all time to ultimately win this war for good, but also because with James Potter gone, there was a chance, a hope, small and idiotic as it was, that Regulus could get his brother back again, well that, he held dear and nurtured it, even though he knew the idealistic fools who followed the Light openly and willingly would be repulsed by it, because it was what sustained his hope, and at least until he was certain either way, whether there was a chance for him and Sirius to mend their ways, he was not going to let it go.

In the end, between the two people competing for that role in Sirius' life, there was a chance that he had won, a chance that had not existed yesterday.

And for that, he was never going to be sorry.

Occlumency had served Severus well again and again in his twenty years on this Earth, and it did not fail him when he needed this skill the most. Getting that glimpse into Albus' mind, seeing the thought that formed his private justification for his action, of manipulating a child in so many ways alike to his own son, immeasurably young and innocent and helpless by depriving him of his birthright and the family his parents had chosen for him in case of their demise,

(Placing Harry with people ignorant of our world isn't the only way to make the boy understand the preciousness of it, or to make him trust me the way you don't seem to. Those are your thoughts, then? You are no better than Grindelwald or Riddle, and I am ashamed to be your protégé)

it was one of the worst moments of his life, and his magic, so attuned to his need for self-preservation, had risen up, Occluding his mind from the emotional pain, letting him keep a clear head through the hours that followed.

But if Severus had learned something, it was that debts always came due, and the price for Occluding emotion was a very steep one.

He just needed to hold on a little longer, just a bit longer, until it was safe enough to fully experience it all.

Alice led him to her nursery, though she stayed at the door, for which Severus was grateful – and appreciative of the trust she was showing him by doing so, because Evan was comfortably ensconced in his green wearable blanket, his head resting endearingly close to the other infant's. Neville, though six weeks younger, was bigger than Severus' preemie, chubby and a bit puffy, his sparse hair so blonde that it was practically white, a stark contrast to Evan's raven wisps.

Gently, so gently, Severus lifted his son out of the cot and settled the infant's head against his own collarbone, feeling Evan unconsciously rub his cheek against Severus' scratchy woollen robes and make a soft moan of complaint.

"I know, my little light," Severus whispered to him, resting his cheek against his son's temple and feeling the echo of that whaling, impossible feeling that had lodged in his chest and refused to leave from the first glimpse he'd gotten of this little man; his mental shields were holding, but as grateful as he was for it, he resented it as well, because painful though that feeling was, he had been greedy for it for months (for years, really, if in very different ways, because love was love, no matter its form, and only Evan could have fully taught him that). "We're going home now. It's time you ate, and Mama will be back just as soon as we're done."

Taking a fortifying breath, he walked back to Lily's best friend and accepted the baby bag she was offering to him, the one he'd brought with when he'd brought Evan to her home. In silence, they walked back down to the fireplace, and when Frank Longbottom extended his hand to Severus, the Slytherin took it without hesitation, his wariness around the Auror having grown into respect over the course of the evening – and thinking that he was going to be gratified tomorrow that he'd earned that respect in return from the older man, as well.

He set about preparing Evan's bottle almost mechanically, using magic more than usual because he refused to let go of his son even for an instant. Now that he was all alone, with no one to see, it was harder to keep his mental shields in place, and Evan was his anchor. He had to hold out a bit longer, just until Lily returned, and then he knew it would finally be fully safe to confront everything.

He was settled on the sofa chair within minutes of arriving home, his robes opened at his chest in order to feel his son's skin against his own, Evan rearranged in his usual feeding position; he'd taken every chance at feeding his infant son that Lily provided him with, cherishing this bonding time and cursing the Dark Lord and this bloody war for stealing so much of his time from fatherhood. He'd been terrified, once upon a time, of utterly failing, his role models having never been anything he wished on any child of his. But Lily's and Albus' support had carried him through the first fraught weeks, and he'd determinedly ploughed on until he'd stopped being so very awkward in his role as a father, and had grown comfortable with it.

Albus' support, which was now worth as much as that of his dead father and his absent mother, turned to ashes in his mouth by tonight's events.

Yanking his thoughts forcibly away – not yet, not yet, just a bit longer – Severus instead focused on his manual task, making sure to burp Evan after the boy had polished off the bottle. Then he carried it back into the kitchen for cleaning and sterilization, and wandered back into the sitting room to await Lily's return.

Somehow or other, he found himself on the floor this time, not caring a bit about it. His mind was growing cottony and stuffed from exhaustion and mental shields both, and for a time, after a while, he found that the only thing he could properly focus on was Evan babbling sleepily into his collarbone, the infant's warm breaths feeling moist and ticklish on his skin and chest hair.

With what little mental strength he had left, he begged Lily to come back to him as quickly as she could.

Feeling as if she'd been run over by a truck that then backed up over her to make sure she stayed down, Lily finally arrived home past three in the morning. The sight that greeted her broke her heart, and she covered her mouth with her hand to keep her trembling breath from escaping.

Severus was on the floor, leaning against the sofa with his legs pulled up protectively. He was holding their infant son in his arms as if Evan was the only thing keeping him glued together, his robes and the shirt beneath unbuttoned to allow them skin-to-skin contact. Evan's green eyes were sleepy but open, and he seemed quite content to simply rest against his father's bare chest and listen to his heartbeat.

It took Lily three steps to cross the room and fall down to her knees beside them. She guided Severus' head up to meet his bloodshot, dry eyes, and placed a possessive, firm kiss on his lips that he returned only passively, her other hand moving to cup her son's head. Neither of them closed their eyes, unwilling to break that connection even though it was utterly distorted at this distance.

"I'm here, Severus. I'm here for you," she whispered into the space between their lips, cupping the back of his head in a mirror of the hold she had on their son. "You can let go now."

One laboured breath, then another, and another. The fourth was a sob, soft and strangled. The fifth was a sob as well, heart-rending and loud in the quiet of their flat. Severus' face distorted into a horrific grimace, and he pinched his eyes tightly shut as fat teardrops slipped down his cheeks, his mouth open and breath hitching desperately between one sob and the next, which came like a torrent buffeted the windows in the night, unstoppable and forceful.

Lily shifted from her knees to her side on the floor and took all of Severus' weight onto herself, wrapping him up as close against herself as he could go, letting him keep hold of the baby, cocoon Evan between them, and paid no mind when the infant began whimpering himself, distressed for his parents' distress.

And she closed her eyes and began sobbing as well, letting go of all the control and strength she'd been clutching through the night, allowing herself to feel, for the first time since the news had fully registered, the agony of tonight's loss, of her best friend and of her partner's faith in yet another parental figure, of her own trust in the man dashed against the rocks of Dumbledore's mistakes.

They held on, their little family of three, alone in all the world except for each other, and grieved violently for all the loss and heartache that had been delivered upon them this night, this horrible Christmas that made them feel the cruelty of time, because for so many of them, the world had stopped, stopped, in one way or the other, and yet the world itself didn't know it, kept spinning lazily away, moving inexorably forward, uncaring and unfeeling for the gaping holes that had torn their lives almost completely apart.

Together, they cried, for an indeterminate amount of time, that felt like eons and yet was not nearly enough. Evan, in the end, made them pull themselves together, as he had been doing since the day Lily had realised that she was carrying him in her womb. Their little boy began screaming, finally running out of patience, in discomfort and distress at the situation they'd so uncaringly put him into, and Severus drew himself up first, hiccoughing and sniffing as he let Lily take their tiny almost-six-month-old from his arms and attempt to calm him and put him down for the rest of the night.

It didn't take too long; it never did. When he was fussy, Evan could be quite loud and demanding, but he was an easily satisfied baby who otherwise preferred his internal peace. As soon as his mother began seeming more like herself, he quieted down.

"I fed him," Severus said softly, clearing his throat twice and still sounding as if he was speaking from a barrel. Lily acknowledged his comment with a nod and busied herself with her child, but as soon as Evan was asleep – a bit longer than usual, and each moment more frustrating than the last, but Lily had plenty of practice at being patient – she returned to Severus, who had by then migrated to their bed and was curled up on his side, facing hers.

Lily stripped down without even caring that she was leaving her robes on the floor and pulled on her warm pyjamas before burrowing into the thick covers of their bed. Without hesitation, Severus wrapped his arm around her midriff and tugged her close, so that they ended up completely tangling their legs together and wound their arms around each other, seeking and giving comfort in equal measure.

It was Lily this time who broke down first, the quiet aftermath of the previously violent release of grief, her breath hitching lightly, her tears slipping unheeded down her nose and cheek to wet her pillow. Severus joined her as well, burrowing his head into her neck and dampening her top collar in moments, but crying silently this time, keeping his grief for himself.

They fell asleep like that, and in the morning, the pain was packed away, because it was a new day, and there was far too much work to be done to indulge in their grief freely.

But for a while after, they used the night to process it, drawing strength from each other and the courage to flay their hearts open and let all the pain out, knowing that the other would always be there to pick up the pieces and put them back together again by morning.