Chapter Nine: The Untrodden Ways

A thick mist had settled across the Hogwarts grounds, as if the storm clouds, heavy as her heart, could not help but sink low to the earth. It was dark, and somehow, the stars sparkling so clearly overhead hurt her eyes.

She sighed, running her fingers around the several potions she'd brought with her. Dumbledore had taken some potions for distribution, and, obviously seeing her distress, had sent her up to Serpents Tower for lookout.

Try to relax, my dear. You've done a great service to so many. His eyes had attempted a blue twinkle, but she could tell that even Dumbledore was beginning to lose hope…

She forced her eyes away from the obscenely twinkling stars and to her immediate surroundings, the gray stones and thick green tapestries of Serpents Tower. It wasn't her first time there; this had long been a popular late night spot among the Slytherins as it was just above their common room and easily accessible through any number of secret passages in the dungeons. The last time she'd climbed the uneven stairs of Serpents Tower had been with Draco. She'd been sure he had some snogging in mind, but, instead, they ended up talking about pranks he was planning to pull on Harry Potter.

She smiled weakly. He had pulled down one of the tapestries from the wall, and offered her a cushioned seat beside him. She'd transfigured some of the empty torch brackets into pillows, and they'd lain there for hours, until the moon disappeared from the small rectangle window.

And where is Draco now? No doubt he'd be among that army she'd soon face. No doubt he'd hold her down as they ripped her flesh and tore open her heart…

Things had come a very long way. And yet, somehow, time had been so short…

Try to relax, my dear. You've done a great service to so many.

She chewed on her lip. Some great service. In truth, she knew she might have at least given Hogwarts a fighting chance. But in the end, she was equally certain that it would take a miracle to save this place--to save the wizarding world.

Her heart beat against her chest bitterly. And why did it have to be her? Why did she have to be the one to have given her life to this "great service?" She swallowed a lump of guilt, realizing she would rather never have known about this—never have even come to Hogwarts—than be in the position she was now.

She had given everything. She'd lost her friends at Zhong Mo Xue, her father, Draco, her friends from Slytherin, her freedom to choose her own future. Her freedom to be content and live and, maybe, if she was lucky, her chance at happiness. And what did she have to show for her sacrifice? A dark mark burned in her skin and an army of Death Eaters and dark creatures ready to stomp her underfoot.

She felt absent-mindedly at the cold metal ring still squeezing her finger.

At least she knew Snape must be feeling the same—the same fears and shuddering regret.

She swallowed again.

Snape. Even without saying the name aloud, she felt her heart speed between anger and…something else.

Something about that Belladonna Bloom. Something lodged like glass in the side of her mind.

Rationally, she understood. It had been the only reasonable option. Undoubtedly, Snape would have been tortured. And no one ever stood up under the torture. In truth, such a suicide would have been infinitely better for her—for everyone. A meeting with Snape could have been explained away, perhaps. After all, Voldemort hadn't even been sure enough to act straight on Nunberg's accusations. He'd tested her first. She could have made it out alive. Snape couldn't have given her away, and it would have been her word against a Ministry spy's. Rationally, of course, she understood.

But there was something more. She couldn't dismiss a life—no Lili, be honest with yourself—she couldn't dismiss his life so coolly. Just the thought of it, of getting the owl from Dumbledore, maybe at work, maybe when she arrived home. Reading it over a steaming cauldron, a glass of brandy…

She drew in a sharp breath, refusing to acknowledge the feeling burning in her stomach, the feeling clamoring to be heard above all the others.

This is ridiculous. She forced her eyes back out the window, up at the stars shining like shards of shattered glass. This was the worst time in the world to be thinking about this. The worst possible time to be distracted by—

Her mind refused to think the word.

This was not the time to be acting like a silly school girl. Things were serious. Things were about to come to a final—

Yes, her mind insisted. Yes. Things were serious. That's why she had to face reality.

What's silly is to sit here right before you're about to die and still be too embarrassed or afraid to consider the fact that you're probably—

She closed her eyes, as if, somehow, it would make the confession easier.

That you have feelings for him.

Her mind clucked back at her.

Ok…That you probably love him.

She opened her eyes again, and somehow, the stars seemed to burn white into her brain.

By Merlin, she'd never felt so…stupid. But thoughts came flooding back in her mind, each one bringing a fresh wave of certainty—of emotion.

The first time she'd seen him, in the Great Hall, face shadowed, dark eyes seeming so savage as he stared down at her. The way he'd stopped slightly when she'd told him her name. "Perhaps we best stick to Ms. Lee."

And the first time he'd touched her. His fingers light on her forearm. Sympathy, for her guilt over Hermione.

The next time he'd touched her, embraced her on Malfoy Manor. And his fingers, wrapping around her arm, still sore and searing from the Mark.

The first time—tears. She'd seen him cry.

As he'd told her about Lily Potter, those dark, cruel eyes—cried.

Then she'd seen him again—after so long, framed in the door of Lang's office. The same lean figure that somehow seemed heavier than any other in the world...

And yet—it was that gaze—he'd look at her that night in the Café, and she'd felt something else. The poem dripping off his tongue, deep, languid, with all the warmth of a lamenting cello. Your scent still lingers; your scent gone yet never-ending…

His lips against her cheek. She couldn't banish the burning sensation from her skin. His breath so close to her face. And that night, at Malfoy Manor, his arms tangling around her, long hands on her hips…

Her mind slammed again on the picture of the Belladonna Bloom, set innocently on the top shelf of his personal stores.

She pressed her fingers roughly on the bridge of her nose, massaging at the sadness and headache pounding in her skull.

Merlin's beard, Lili. You do love him.

She felt a tear fall from her face and tap lightly on her robes.

She couldn't figure out how or when or why, but, shaking, she knew.

Here on the edge of time, stupid, you can come to terms with things.

She removed her propping fingers and let her eyes find the stars again, refusing to blink away the stabs of white light.

A perfectly lovely, tragic end to your story, Lili. You always did have a flare for hopeless melodrama…

She ran the ring around her finger, swallowing the rising heat in an attempt to remain rational, focused.

Love. Love.

She said the word aloud several times, but it didn't feel real. But maybe, in times like these, she thought, nothing good ever seems real…

There was a slight shifting behind her. She stiffened, tugging at her robes and wondering just how long he'd been there. Only he could sneak up like that-- stealth and swooping like an animal of the night.

"Dumbledore sent me here. Lookout."

She nodded, refusing to turn and so much as glance at him.

He didn't move.

"There were enough potions to equip a large amount of the staff and seventh years. We'll—be ready, I hope."

She nodded again, eyes bent ruthlessly out the window.

The silence that followed was filled occasionally with the rumble of far off thunder. Lili's heart shivered, and she pulled her robes closer, though, in truth, she was quite hot.

"Are you—okay?" The question was cautious, deliberately drained of emotional concern.

She swallowed, and afraid to use any words of her own, grasped at the last poem she'd read from Li Bai.

"Countless guards look out across moonlit borderlands,

Thinking of home, their faces all grief.

And somewhere, high in a tower tonight,

a restless woman cries out in half-sleep."

He murmured a weak understanding and sat down beside her, keeping a respectful distance. His eyes, too, seemed drawn to the bright stars and the misty, obscured landscape that clawed out desperately towards the horizon.

He reclined back on his hands, and she became suddenly aware of how near his fingers were to hers. The thick musk of spices tickled at her nose, and she thought she might somehow lose it. Part of her berated herself for such foolishness, the other part wished to bury herself in the scent, the warmth, twine her fingers in his…

Perhaps it was the moment. Perhaps it was all a product of fear and regret and the biting realization of being alone on the edge of death. But she wanted to find out. She wanted more time to find out. She glanced up at him.

Too late, Lili. Just sit here, enjoy the silence, and when the sun rises…life is but a dream…

A strangled sigh—the product of an aborted sob--escaped her, and at once she regretted it, as his eyes snapped back to her. She pressed her hands up against her mouth, trying to stopper anything else that might find its way out of her mouth.

"W—what?" Snape, caught off guard, tried laying a hand on her shoulder, then removed it, then laid it there again.

His fingers seemed to light a fire under her skin, and she felt the tears take an even stronger hold, tumbling from her eyes against her will.

"What? What's wrong?" He removed his hand again. "It's okay. Just—stop crying."

He sounded so legitimately desperate for her to stop, she, gritting her teeth for a moment and berating herself wildly, was finally to turn back the tide.

"I—I think I'm just scared."

It was true. She was more afraid than she'd ever been. She had faced darkness, but nothing like the void she spied marching towards her.

"I thought I was, you know, ready," she said, hoarsely, keeping her eyes riveted on a particular star. "I was ready to die. In fact, there were times when I thought it might be nice. But now that I'm here—I don't know…" She paused, swallowing a fresh onslaught of sorrow threatening to tip her resolve. "I guess—there are things so worth living for—I can't imagine—"

She stopped and dug into her tongue fiercely. She could hear his breathing beside her, calm and even. Again she found herself in awe of his composure, and tried to force that mask back onto herself.

Breathe. Tell him. Just breathe. And tell him.

"We'll die here today." The words fell from her mind without her consent, and, having said them, the rest of her worries came, as if she no longer controlled the emotions pouring out of her. "And I'm not sure, what my life has been. What it was for. If I've lived, if I've tasted anything worth living for or if—if I've mattered—"

The star burned bright, and even when she shut her eyes, the tiny remnants of white and silver danced through the blackness.

Her heart skipped as Snape lifted her hand, fingering the small, silver ring thoughtfully.

"Oh—" She said, sniffing, and taking her hand from his to wrench the ring off. "I'm sorry. I forgot to give this back—"

"You read the inscription?" he asked quietly.

She nodded, turning it to glance at the thin, carved words once more.

"'She dwelt among the untrodden ways'," he said, running his long fingers around the circle as he read it. "You know the poem?"

"No." She offered him the ring, but he turned his face away again.

"She dwelt among the untrodden ways

Beside the springs of Dove,

A maid whom there were none to praise

And very few to love:"

He paused to swallow before continuing.

"A violet by a mossy stone

Half hidden from the eye!

--Fair as a star, when only one

Is shining in the sky."

"She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and, oh,

The difference to me!"

Each word slid into the next, her ears filled with the pounding of her over-wrung heart. Hanging on the echo of every dripping syllable, she squeezed the ring in her hand, a strange lightness—

"I—you—"

She paused. Aloud she couldn't manage any words, but inside her mind, thoughts tumbled, clung, separated, clamored for consideration.

He was saying—that poem—was he saying…?

"Why?"

He turned and looked at her with an eyebrow arched, thin white lips pressed tight.

"Why—did you give me this ring?" She didn't have the strength to control her voice, and the words emerged more in disbelief than curiosity.

Black eyes set on hers but not steadily.

He spoke deliberately, pausing to construct each phrase. "I—didn't want anything to happen to it. --It's my most valuable possession and—when I was thinking about—who should have my things, I couldn't think of anyone I could trust with it—who would appreciate it—but you."

"Severus?"

She didn't even realize she'd used his first name. She barely realized she was speaking.

"Back in your office—with the Belladonna Bloom—" She stopped. No. Not like that. She wouldn't do this roundabout. This wasn't the place or the time for Slytherin tactics. She had to say—her heart shook with more thunder—tell him—before they came…

"Severus, I've got to tell you something, and I don't think you're going to like it much."

His eyes suddenly felt heavier on her, his deep, smooth breaths threatening to raze through her like tempest winds.

Lili. Say it. If you don't, it will be over, and…it's silly to feel…you're going to die soon, does it matter? She squeezed the ring once more.

"Severus, I think I love you."

More silence. More rolling thunder. His eyes didn't sway from her, but his lips grew thinner, whiter.

More silence.

"Well, don't look at me as if you're going to take points from Slytherin," she sighed, sitting back, feeling as though, even under his heavy gaze, a solid weight had been struck away from her heart and lowered into her stomach.

Somehow, the words having been said, it seemed less haunting, less tragic. She'd said it. She'd given it to him. That—was that.

He cleared his throat, looking away from her. She thought for a moment he would speak, but, after several seconds of only silence, she resigned herself to his gentle refusal.

She didn't try to keep the tears from her eyes, letting them drift back to the stars. "Well," she sighed, ragged, barely louder than the distant crashing thunder.

She'd said it. She'd said it. She was beginning to feel too numb to register anything more.

She leaned back on her hands, trying to ignore the fact that a ribbon of lighter blue was creeping up from the horizon, refusing to be pushed back by the heavy, bright stars. "Probably the worst time to realize things, you know? When we're on the brink of war, and—well, it's impossible."

To her surprise, Snape chuckled, low and deep. It was the sort of chuckle that seemed utterly misplaced, but the sort she couldn't help but feeling strangely grateful to hear…

His lips, white and drawn, were almost smiling. "Miss Lee…"

She swallowed, and, seeing his eyes spark somewhat, searched his face for something…something different…

Something was different.

He seemed to hesitate, watching her examine him for a split second before he spoke, his eyes following hers, dark. 

"Miss Lee: mountains are tall, rivers are long: is anything impossible?"

He laid his long-fingered hand on hers as he sat back again, eyes twinkling with starlight.

Through her numb exhaustion—through the refusal of her mind to acknowledge the emotions gnawing at the root of her heart—she felt a swift warmth. It was one she had not felt for a long while, and she recognized it instantly as hope. 

"Severus?" she whispered.

"Mmm?" He seemed eager to drown his sight in the dark sky.

"For the time, how about you call me Lili."

She didn't miss the small smirk that danced across his lips.

"Of course. Lili."

A thin line of red traced out the horizon.

They passed the rest of the night in silence.