Snape stood at his window looking out over the courtyard. He had been talking to Dumbledore most of the evening, and now he stood in his chambers watching the shadows below. The girl was out there, he knew. Remus Lupin was with her. He had seen them sitting close together on a bench, talking, dressed in heavy fur cloaks to protect them from the cold. A pang of jealousy stabbed through him.
It's not her, he reminded himself. It's not Medea. Yet, even as he told himself this, he could not help but wonder if that was true. In his mind, he saw flashes of her. Medea. She was lying on the floor in her living room, still. Her breathing had long stopped.
There was so much blood.
He had cradled her in his arms. Held her cold hands. Begged her to come back to him.
Medea, please, open your eyes.
He had tried to wipe away the blood that had trickled from her mouth, but only smeared it down her chin.
Open your eyes. Come back to me. Please come back!
He reached out, touching the glass that separated him from where they sat below. What if? What if it was really her? What if someone had helped her? What if she had come back to him?
He closed his eyes. It can't be. She was gone. She could never come back.
"So no one ever suspected you of breaking the statue?" Remus asked, still smiling at her recollections from school. But Medea had fallen silent. She turned and looked up at the window behind them. Remus followed her eyes and clearly saw Snape's silhouette from the dimly lit room. It disappeared almost instantly. The girl turned back to him. In that short moment she had seen Snape, she had become sad. Her eyes fell to the ground.
"Perhaps we should go inside," she said. "It's getting colder out here." She stood, smoothing her cloak, and followed him back into the school.
Snape sat before his fireplace, remembering his return to her. She was lying on the couch where he had left her, curled up against the back cushions. Another bottle of wine had been opened and was half gone. He sat on the edge of the cushion and gently ran a finger down her cheek. Her skin was warm and soft. She stirred, and he stood as she turned on the cushion. Slowly, her eyes opened. A smile spread across her lips.
"I was afraid you wouldn't come back."
"I'll always come back."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
He helped her from the couch and steadied her as she made her way back to her bedroom. She stumbled into her private bathroom, squinting in the sudden light as she flipped the switch near the door, and emerged a few moments later in a nightgown. Snape pulled back the covers of her bed, then pulled them to her chin as she settled her head on the pillow, her eyes already closed. He kissed her gently on the forehead, then turned to leave.
"Stay with me?"
Her voice startled him. He turned to look at her.
"Please? I just want to feel you here next to me, to know you're safe." Her eyes were begging him. He removed his robe, laying it across a chair, followed by his shirt and pants. He slid under the blankets with her where she snuggled under his arm, her head on his shoulder. Tenderly, he kissed her fingers and held her hand against his chest. Her breathing had already steadied into sleep. He wrapped his arms more tightly around her and closed his eyes.
"According to Severus, Medea, the girl upstairs, is not the young woman he knew." Dumbledore was staring down at his chess pieces, his fingers twisting his beard as he thought. Finally, he moved his knight and looked up at Minerva McGonagall as it drove its sword through her bishop. "The woman he knew is dead."
"Is he sure?" She peered through her glasses at her old friend.
"He was adamant. He said he saw her body himself."
"Really? Did he tell you what happened?"
"No. No, not yet. It's going to be very difficult for him."
"I'm curious why her death was not in that file Mr. Weasley gave you."
"As am I, Minerva. It's your move."
She frowned at him and moved her queen against his knight.
"Do we know anything more about the girl, then?"
Dumbledore shook his head.
"As far as I can see, she is Medea Colberson."
"Hmm. A sticky situation indeed."
Snape lay in his bed, willing a dreamless sleep to come. He turned onto his side, staring into the dying embers in his fireplace, trying to clear his mind. Since his return, he had dreamed nightly, always of Voldemort or Medea. He welcomed neither of them tonight. He damned himself for not having a dreamless sleep draught in his chambers. Even as he reminded himself to bring one from his office tomorrow, his eyes grew heavy, and he was asleep.
He was climbing the stairs to the third floor, seemed to be floating up them. The darkness before him stole away to the long corridor. Her door was at the end, drawing him nearer. His own footsteps echoed loudly in his ears. He pushed the door open. The room was lit by thousands of candles lining the walls. Medea stood before him in her silver nightgown, the same she had worn when they first met.
"It's about time, Sev. I thought you'd never come."
He was across the room in two steps, enveloped in her arms.
"I've missed you, Medea. I've missed you so much."
"Shh. I know you have. I've been waiting for you. I knew you'd come back."
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
She led him to the bed and held him tightly in her long arms. He lay with his head on her stomach, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist.
"You know Severus, it's all your fault."
"I know. I never should have left."
"All your fault."
"I'm sorry."
"It's your fault I'm dead."
Snape froze. He forced himself to look up at her. She lay under him, covered in blood. Her eyes were closed in that eternal sleep. He jumped back, crying out, then saw his own hands. They were stained with her blood. In the mirror, he saw the crimson fluid on his face. His robes were drenched. He screamed.
Snape woke with a start. His hands and face were wet and he hurriedly began wiping them on his blankets before he realized it was only sweat. He was dreaming. He laid in the dark of his room, willing his heart to stop beating so loudly. A glance at his clock told him it was 5:30. He pushed the blankets away. He wanted no more sleep.