Years later Severus would awake screaming her name, recalling the rivers of blood. Even now, at 16, he still dreamed about it. He paused at his retelling.
"She … she died several days later, Headmaster. The reason why she did not change into a werewolf was that she was too badly injured. She never awoke." The boy – for he was still a boy – stood up. "If there was nothing else, sir, I have an essay to write."
"Severus, if you wish to speak, to share…"
"Frankly, no, Headmaster." He was almost out the door when Albus spoke up.
"Is that when your grades went up?"
The boy sketched a bow and departed.
Albus took a long time before he understood everything the boy had said, and that which he did not say. He stood up, finally, and stopped by the window, looked out onto the grounds. A line continued to repeat in his mind, over and over…
Vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore