A/N: Don't even ask where I've been all this time. Let's just say that I'm back and writing after a long hiatus due to real life issues. Anyway, it's another flashback chapter and the second to last chapter in this (somewhat longer than I expected) fic.
WARNING: Depressing. Extremely. No humor here. Zip.
Chapter 10: Flashback – Signing Off
March 4th, 1979 – 2:34 A.M.:
Will he live?
Yes. It wasn't fatal – wasn't meant to be. Didn't catch who did it, though.
He knew the wards.
Yes. And killed the night watch.
He knew the wards. Who knows the wards?
*************************
March 4th, 1979 – 5:17 P.M.:
"Anna, you're singing."
Germanus didn't know why he said that when he woke up. Speaking made him realize how dry his throat was and how numb his face was. He was cold. A blanket came up over him as soon as the thought entered his head. He was shivering. He closed his eyes.
Eye. He closed his eye.
The thought was not yet enough to disturb him.
*************************
March 5th, 1979:
"Germanus, you're waking up. Don't be alarmed. You're alive and well. You shouldn't be feeling any pain. I know you feel woozy, but that's to be expected. You've had an operation. They couldn't save your eye."
It was a familiar voice. He knew this, yet he could not place it, nor could he quite process what it was saying. All he knew, all he could remember, was a deep, feminine humming reverberating through his ears from memory. Before that, there was the voice that said, huskily, "an eye for an eye." It laughed. Then there was the rest of his life, but it was unimportant.
He knew the voice. "Anna." Not the voice from before, but from now. She knew him once, before the hazy eternity of sleep's drugged embrace.
"Yes. Don't worry, Gemmy. You're going to be okay."
Gemmy. He knew that name. No one called him that anymore. Severus.
The pain of the name brought him to full consciousness. "Where's Severus?" he asked.
"He's gone, Germanus. Don't you remember?"
"He was here. Did this. Where is he?"
The silence following the question nearly drifted him back to sleep, but the sound of footsteps leaving his bedside and opening the squeaking doorknob shook him back. He smiled – he didn't know why, but the satisfaction of his creaking flesh moving, his lips cracking, was the best thing he could possibly think of ever feeling. He rubbed eyes. His right eye.
There was no left eye to rub. His fingers hit gauze and tape. Germanus stopped breathing, but just for a second, as he realized what Anna had said before. His eye was gone. It didn't hurt. He looked as far over with his right eye as he could and saw the fluffy gauze peeking up over the bridge of his nose. He wanted a mirror. He went back to sleep.
*************************
May 12, 1979:
"Your accident was enough – finally – to make the situation immediate. The vote is on for tomorrow. Thank Merlin."
"I know, Anna. You've told me before."
"How do you feel?" she asked.
He looked down at the dark wood of his desk. "It's been two months. I'm handling it. I'm almost grateful."
"Yes, it would have taken at least another year or so for it to get to the floor without it, but I still wish it hadn't happened." She sat down, finally finished with her exuberant pacing.
Germanus looked at her with his one remaining eye and said, emotionless, "I am not grateful for that. I'm just glad to know that he's alive."
Anna shook, just for a moment, before regaining her calm. "If this passes, we will win. Riddle cannot stand against the might of the world."
"No, he cannot," Germanus agreed. They both picked up their teacups and sipped in unison. The sound of the cups being put down onto their coasters was all that filled the room. That is, until a falcon pecked on his window. "That's odd," he said. "How did it know where to find me? It should have been sent to the owlry." Nevertheless, he opened his window, with Anna's wide eyes following him and her mouth open to begin protesting his lack of concern for his own safety.
The protests died on her lips when the falcon swiftly dumped the letter into Germanus' hand and flew away without even stopping to take a break. "That's strange," she said instead. "He must be exhausted."
"May I read this in private?" he asked.
Anna's head jerked in surprise at his rudeness. "Of course you may, if you wish. I'll go now."
His eye followed her as she walked out. He waited just until the door closed softly shut before tearing open the seal – a coiled snake, fangs bared – and reading the letter.
Seneschal,
I am terribly disappointed to hear that you have not learned your lesson. I was hoping that I would not have to resort to any drastic measures to secure, if not your allegiance, your neutrality. Since we are both busy men, I will cut to the chase: if the vote to declare open war upon my organization is passed, you shall lose something dear to you.
Regards,
Tom Marvolo Riddle
P.S. His flesh is very warm against my fingers as I cut trails of blood into the back of his neck with my nails. He kneels beside me, facing away. He shivers. My knife is by my other hand. Do you appreciate the image?
There was no choice. He was a selfish man.
*************************
May 13th, 1979:
When he saw the look on Anna's face – so blank, so confused – he had wanted to die. It was a tie, and the motion was struck down on that basis. He was cold to the whole business, since he had done what he saw was the only thing to do, and could not regret it, even for all the helpless Muggles in the world. But Anna's shock at the betrayal was something else entirely. He pushed his feelings down, reminding himself how nonexistent his options had been.
She entered his office late in the afternoon and just stood there, staring at him, for a good ten minutes. He tried his best to ignore her. Finally he couldn't even pretend anymore. "I had to, Anna."
"I know," she said. He looked up. "I wanted to tell you that I know. I understand, now, and I'm so very sorry." Germanus stayed quiet, and she walked out of the room soon after.
*************************
November 3rd, 1981:
He had once thought that a Seneschal meeting was not a place for those who couldn't stop caring. He had once thought that he could stop caring, and that he had, yet it had been over a year since he realized that everyone had their Achilles' heel – that everyone cared about something.
His something was in Azkaban, in a cold cell, having everything that had once given him life and vigor and happiness drained away by the Dementors. It had been three days since Lord Voldemort was defeated – by a baby, no less – and his Inner Circle was either dead or imprisoned for the most part. His Severus was one of the latter, and he thanked Merlin for it. Even he could not bring back the dead, but he could get anyone out of any prison at any time.
Whether it was moral or not to do so in this case was not something he bothered with. By declaring his Achilles heel to himself, he destroyed any obligation he might have felt to humanity to fight his tendencies. For all his work, he supposed he ought to be given his one vice. He scratched his brother's pardon onto a piece of parchment hastily and had it sent to the Ministry of Magic of the United Kingdom with due haste.
He couldn't have known that the pardon was unnecessary, although it did speed up Severus' release. Albus Dumbledore had things well in hand. It was not until several years later that Severus sent him his first and final communiqué:
Dear Germanus,
I do not wish to take up your time. I only wish to say that I am at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, working as a professor. Headmaster Dumbledore allowed me to stay here after I was pardoned. It is selfish of me to want you to know that I was a spy during my last year of service to Voldemort. You likely know already. I apologize for taking up your time.
Severus
The letter would have been rendered unreadable by Germanus' constant touching if he had not thought to cast a preserving charm over it. He kept it in the top left drawer of his desk and read it nearly every day. He knew the words of the short letter by heart, but he still needed to brush his fingers over the strokes of Severus' pen and remember him, and stretch his heart to the breaking point daily with regrets.
Germanus knew that Severus would not want to see him, so he did not give into the urge to go to him, no matter how much he ached to do so.
