A Season for Healing
By Dien
Summary and disclaimer in part one.
Rating: The series overall has an adult rating due to the Severus/Harry plotline... This part is PG.
Notes: To EVERYBODY who reviews-- thank you so much. I am flattered by the continual kind comments I get about this fic. I'm just glad you're all enjoying it.
Janai: Don't worry. We will definitely see traumatized Harry before the end of everything.
Kday2: Sev's a member of homo sapiens. Fenris, I suppose, just thinks of him as more 'packmate' than 'human.' :)
Emily: Never heard of Hamilton, sorry. 'Siobhan' is an Irish name though.
De Severa, I didn't borrow Sev's work clothes from anywhere that I know of. Just convenience for our Potions Master. And I haven't forgotten about Valence (indeed, the bastard won't LET me) but he's graciously agreed to let me work on this for a while first. He and Sev are off testing explosive potions on hapless Gryffindor first years, and don't want to be disturbed.
Sage: Interesting idea about a Lupin/Harry wolf bond thing. I hadn't planned on incorporating it, but who knows...? :)
Delfeus: I'm glad you like it. Would you mind telling me where, exactly, on the SnapexHarryML you learned about this? I'm just curious.
Morghaine: Thanks for your very kind words and encouragement. I, too, have read many of those fics... it's kind of why I wrote this. An attempt to provide a decent version of that plot.
Continual thanks to lovely beta Nyarth. Everyone: GO READ HER STUFF! She's in my favorite Authors. Go! Go! *but finish this first*
What else? The part about Sev's problem with heights WILL be elaborated on, trust me. Part of my eventual discourse on exactly why Severus hated James and S.G.B. (Sirius Goddamn Black, I'm stealing it, MHC) so much. Besides all the obvious reasons, I mean.
Amelia rambled, people. Not me. I couldn't get her to shut up.
And I think Riley's Esmé probably had a great deal, subconsciously, to do with the animals.
Chapter Four. In which mail is sent off, Severus sulks, and we meet more new people.
June 28
Ron--
Dursleys kept me from getting my mail; that's why I never wrote back to you. Sorry.
Anyways-- I'm out of there, now... and you'll never guess where I am instead. Let's just say it is not where I intended to be spending my summer. But so far it's actually okay. No, I'm not giving you any more clues, at least not until you try and guess.
Tell me everything that's happening at the Burrow; feels like years rather than weeks since I saw anyone.
Say hi to Ginny, the twins and everyone else for me.
--Harry
P.S. Send Hedwig back with this, will you?
June 28
Hermione--
The Dursleys kept me from getting my mail; that's why I never wrote or anything.
But, someone showed up and got me out of there. And you will not guess who, not in a thousand years. I'm at this person's house now. I'm making Ron try and figure it out too before I tell, so let's see if you get it first.
Write and tell me how your summer's going!
--Harry
June 28
Sirius--
The Muggles kept me from getting my mail, and now I'm having to explain this to everyone. Quite tiresome.
Anyways, I'm not at the Dursleys right now. I was, er, rescued. The Headmaster knows where I am.
Tell me where you are! Last we talked, you were in Romania, right? Where are you now? How's Remus, or have you seen him at all? Write soon and talk to me.
Your godson
--Harry
Harry leaned back and chewed on his lower lip. The letters sounded simplistic and falsely bright, even to him, but he supposed it didn't really matter. And then there was the matter of what was he supposed to tell Sirius. He really, really doubted his godfather would be sanguine about his being at Severus Snape's for the summer. A mental image of Sirius showing up on Snape's doorstep filled his mind. The ensuing conflict would no doubt be interesting... to watch. From a distance. From a very great distance, with shielding spells around you.
All he could do was hope Sirius didn't figure it out, he supposed. He sighed and sealed the three nearly identical letters, then put on one of the handling gloves and carefully approached the birds he had been told to use.
Thankfully, that went off without a hitch, and after making sure things were just as they were before he had entered the owlery, Harry left the room. He was resolved that he was going to give Snape no reason whatsoever to snark at him. If that meant obsessively cleaning up behind him, so be it.
Out on the curtain wall that separated the courtyard from the outside world, Harry dug out the map once more so he could find his way back to his room. Macavity, the lynx, was already gone from her place on the flagstones, and the map revealed she was over in one of the other towers. Harry felt a grin twitching his lips again.
It had been something to see the grim Potions Master, with a reluctant smile on those thin lips, bending over and scratching the cat's head like any other normal human being might do. The only way the scene could have gone more counter to what Harry expected of Professor Snape was if Snape had started speaking baby talk to the cat.
Now, that was a disturbing image.
The map revealed another stairway in the tower he had just left that would take him back down to the ground floor. With slight relief, as he wasn't sure he wanted to go back in the library tower with Snape there, he once more entered the tower owlery, seeing the trap door he hadn't noticed the first time. It opened easily, and Harry descended back into the lower levels of the castle.
Severus swore as he re-entered his workshop to find one of the cauldrons boiling over. He shoved his hands back into the gloves and grabbed the hissing pot, moving it from the open flame to a less perilous position. The dark green liquid slowly subsided to a less violent state, and he sighed regretfully. It was obvious the potion was ruined.
His own fault, for getting distracted and taking longer than he should have in the owlery. Which, of course, wouldn't have happened if he hadn't had to take Potter up there. So that made it the boy's fault rather than his.
He devoutly hoped the little brat got lost on his way around the castle. It would only be justice.
Well, 'little' brat was no longer quite adequate, he thought to himself as he cleaned out the ruined potion and absently pulled the bell that would summon Wiggin or one of the other house elves. The boy had grown some, though he looked to have stopped now and would likely never be as tall as his father. Which was more than fine with him, since Harry Potter already looked far too much like the dearly departed Saint James for his peace of mind.
"You rang, Severus?" Wiggin said from the doorway above his head, and Severus looked up the stone steps to see the elf standing at the top of them.
"There you are. Could you please fetch some mandrakes? I've run out, and I'd rather not stop and go and get some at the moment," Severus said, glancing back to one of the other cauldrons which was thankfully of a much more stable nature.
"Of course, sir," Wiggin murmured, disappearing without fuss on his errand. Thank God for Wiggin.
Snape sat down on one of the stools in his workshop and slumped over the high counter, closing his eyes wearily. He had a fierce headache, and brought his hands up to massage his temples. His organized and disciplined mind automatically started to catalogue the reasons for the headache.
Number one: Harry. Potter. Enough said. Simply breathing the same air as that nuisance was enough to inspire disease, pain, and sickness.
Number two: Heights. Alright, admittedly a minor piddling reason, since he had gotten to the point where he could walk the reassuringly solid battlements of the house without any trouble-- normally. But with his composure already disturbed by Bastard Potter, the view from so high up had been more disconcerting than he'd care to admit.
Number three: Ruined potion. Nothing, but nothing, was as annoying as wasted work. He growled under his breath, rolled his neck once or twice to get the kinks out, and straightened back up.
Thankfully it was nothing difficult. A simple Pepper-Up Potion, that he had been running low on. He could make it in his sleep. Hands running on automatic, he picked up the emptied cauldron and began chopping, mixing and adding again.
Mentally, he was absorbed by the other potions he had going. Two other cauldrons burped and hissed occasionally, each containing mixtures considerably more complex than the Pepper-Up. But both of them were at a stage where all they had to do was simmer. He could happily neglect them for hours.
He could hear Fenris moving around up in the library, the click of the canine claws on the flagstones echoing down through the trapdoor. While the animals had what amounted to free run of the house, Severus had put his foot down at the workroom. It was distinctly off-limits, and the last time Macavity had tested his resolution in the matter, she had wound up hairless for a week. The other two knew better than to try it.
Above his head, Fenris stopped moving and called down the stairwell, "Severus, exactly how busy are you?"
That was another thing the animals had down (well, excepting the thrice-cursed cat) that most humans had yet to grasp. Fenris acknowledged he was working, and was asking, politely, if he was too involved in what he was doing to hold a conversation.
Severus stripped off the gloves and goggles again and headed up the stone steps to the library proper.
"What's on your mind, Fen?" he said softly, plopping into one of the armchairs and letting himself relax. The wolf trotted over and curled up at his feet, with the comfortable familiarity the two had developed over many years of friendship. For a blessed moment he was able to completely and totally forget the fact that Harry Potter was anywhere within a hundred miles.
He reached down and scratched the wolf behind the ears, a faint smile on his face as the furry beast made a low noise of contentment. "Or do you just want to be spoiled and petted?"
Fenris didn't answer, his ears flattening to his sleek head in pleasure. He made a low rumbling noise in his throat and settled down further around his master and friend's feet.
Severus Snape sighed and leaned back in the chair himself, closing his eyes. The silence was extremely comfortable. Another thing the menagerie understood, unlike the irritating bipeds they shared the world with, was the pleasure of shutting up once in a while and just being. Humans talk too much, Fenris had told him once. He had heartily agreed.
Severus felt built-up tension drain out of him. Trust the wolf to know when he needed a little break from work. Indeed, from the school year in general-- he had to admit this was the first intensive relaxing (oxymoron, he snarled to himself) he'd done since coming home from Hogwarts for the summer.
After a few minutes of the silence, the wolf said in a low growl, tentatively, "The human boy seems nice."
"I'm sure he is," Severus said wearily.
"It's not your choice he's here."
"No. No, it's not."
"Why, then?"
Snape sighed a little. Things were simpler to a wolf's mind.
"He... was with people he shouldn't have been with. They were hurting him. I don't like him, but he is my student at the school. I couldn't leave him with them.
"And there is nowhere else for him to go."
"Mm." The wolf settled in again.
The peace of the library was broken by the door opening. Wiggin peeked in. "The mandrakes, sir..."
Sigh. Severus got to his feet, disturbing the protesting wolf. "Thank you, Wiggin."
The house-creature handed him the plants, staring at him sternly. He sighed again, getting the feeling he'd be doing that a lot before the summer was over. "What have I done now?"
"It's nearly lunchtime, Severus. What shall I get you for--"
"Not hungry."
Wiggin's stare became a disapproving glare. He flinched. "Alright. A sandwich, please," he said, aware of how testy his voice was.
"And a salad. And milk. And--"
"Oh, fine. Whatever," Snape said, rolling his eyes. Damn Wiggin's mother-hen instincts.
"Very good, sir," Wiggin said calmly, reverting to 'servant' rather than 'bossy-stand-in-for-your-grandmother' form. He turned and left the library. Severus rolled his eyes again and took the mandrakes downstairs, for use in the Pepper-Up.
Harry glared down at the map, trying to figure out where he had missed his turn. No, that was solid wall. He couldn't have made a misstep there. Yet he could have sworn there had been a hallway there somewhere.
Maybe parts of the house moved around, like the stairs at Hogwarts. Wonderful, even more confusing. He looked to see if there was a house-elf anywhere he could ask.
None of the blue dots hovered anywhere near him. But ahead, the corridor he was in led into a room, and a silver dot flickered transparently within. He warily examined the name: Amelia Snape.
Well, he supposed he'd have to meet them sometime.
He just hoped they were ghosts like Nearly Headless Nick rather than, say, the Bloody Baron.
Rolling the map up and stuffing it in his back jeans pocket, Harry lifted his chin and headed towards the door the map had depicted. A grim-faced man in black medieval robes nodded approvingly at him, and he smiled weakly back at the painting.
There were quite a few paintings and tapestries scattered around the castle walls. Some of them were even friendly, their subjects waving or smiling at him, but it was nothing like at Hogwarts, where the vast majority of pictures were sociable or even slightly silly. None of the figures here had been in any way ridiculous.
One of the paintings he had passed showed a tall man, dressed in what he recognized only from History class as battle robes, in combat with a dragon that towered over him. The man was mounted on a black horse, that danced and pawed the ground furiously, a maniacal glint in its rolling eye.
The man was dark-haired and pale-skinned, dark eyes flashing from under heavy brows, a neatly trimmed beard giving him a vaguely regal appearance. The maniacal glint in his eyes was easily a match for the horse's. One hand clutched a long spear; the other gripped a wand and the reins simultaneously.
As Harry had watched, fascinated, the wizard and his steed had whirled and plunged around the large green dragon, skirting the long tongues of flame the beast had shot out. The man had cast spell after spell, weakening the dragon, until finally he had plunged the long wicked line of the lance into the dragon's heart.
Harry wondered if the painting was of Snape's aforementioned great-great-grandfather. If so, the man had to have been mad. Utterly barmy.
(And if insanity was hereditary, it explained an awful lot.)
Even more interesting, in a way, than the painting of the dragon slaying were some of the other paintings that he saw occasionally on the walls. They were Muggle paintings-- non-moving, just the thick paint and canvas. That was interesting, too, and he wondered some more. He'd always thought Snape came from one of the old pureblood families, and all he'd learned since just last night confirmed it... and, thus, it was very odd to find Muggle works of art here and there.
The door was before him now. Harry wondered if he ought to knock, then decided against it. He put his hand out onto the dark metal of the doorknob, carved in the likeness of a fish, and entered.
It was a sitting room, with several high-backed chairs upholstered in some dark red material arranged around a table of some dark wood. They were somewhere in the bowels of the building, so there were no windows, but a large, photo-realistic tapestry took up most of one wall with a 'view' of an alpine lake at nighttime, with moonlight and starlight playing on the waters.
One of the chairs was pulled a bit away from the others, and in it sat a disconsolate maiden. One slim hand rested in her lap, holding a silvery piece of fabric that looked to be a handkerchief. Her elegant neck was bared, the other hand toying with a intricate necklace at the base of her throat. The maiden's dark and seemly head was raised and tilted slightly to one side, as her doe-like, limpet eyes gazed off into the middle distance. Her whole expression and demeanor was one of such profound dignity, tragedy, grief and melancholy that one could almost ignore the fact that she was silvery and pretty much transparent.
Amelia Snape, if indeed she was, did not seem to have noticed him. Harry hesitantly cleared his throat. "Er, ah, hello."
She turned her head towards him, the ringlets in her dark hair bobbing with the motion. The sorrowful dark eyes fixed upon him, and exquisite and shapely lips parted slightly to speak.
"Lo, what hero this? What young gallant, who intrudes upon my woesome solitude?"
"Um. I'm Harry Potter, and I, ah, well, sorry for intruding," Harry said awkwardly. He hadn't exactly been prepared for this.
"Such courtesy, young man, such courtesy," she murmured softly, in dulcet tones that carried great sadness. "Ah me! That Fate were as mindful of manners, and perhaps the tragedies of cruel and ling'ring Destiny would not have been acted so! Ah, were it so, one wishes it heartily..."
Harry stood uncomfortably as she trailed off into silence, her gaze returning to the tapestry, her hand still toying with her necklace. He felt it would be rather boorish to ask what the matter was, but felt it would be equally insensitive not to at least express some concern.
"Uh, well, what's the prob-- I mean, what, uh, what troubles your soul, lady?" he said, trying to find some delicate way to phrase it and conscious that he sounded like a complete idiot.
The limpet eyes seemed to fill with silvery tears as she returned her gaze to him. "Ah, in truth a noble soul! Look, world, at this heart of chivalry, that stands before disconsolate me and bids me tell my troubles! Forsooth, a hero, and aye, one with a romantic heart, who would no doubt aid me were't in his power!
"Yet, brave gallant, there is little you can do to assuage my woe. Still, how noble of you to ask...! And you would know of my tale, my trials, my tragedy? Then here shall it all be revealed, noble one; I am Amelia Cineraria Asclepia Snape. There. You have no doubt heard the sad story thereof; perhaps some bard or poet did sing of it...?"
Harry, noble and gallant that he was, was forced to admit that, no, he had heard no such tale. At this, the tears in the doe-like eyes indeed spilled over.
"What, then? Has no future age remembered our tragedy? Alas, alas. That we are forgotten... Yet, sic eunt fata hominum. Thus go the fates of man-- aye, and even great love... but still, perhaps, some soul, who dreams of dramas of high grief and deep love, yet holds true to our memory. Perhaps, perhaps. Oh, Fate! Capricious Fates, capricious sisters..."
Here she trailed off into mute weeping, as Harry stood by feeling an utter heel. After a moment or two of this, she lifted her dark-tressed head and dabbed at her cheeks with the handkerchief.
"Listen then, Harry Potter, and I shall tell you my tale. It is a story of high grief and deep love, of nobility, of loss, of infinite tragedy, of life and death and lost love, alas. Alas. Please, seat yourself..."
Harry hesitantly took one of the chairs, wondering just what he was getting himself into and recollecting, too late, Snape's statement of pity for any who ran into the ghosts. Once in a while, it occurred to him, Snape gave a warning that was worth listening to.
"Four centuries gone, there was born a daughter of the Snape family, destined by the stars of her birth for a tragic love," Amelia began, with an ease that suggested she had told the story quite a few times indeed. "Her name was Amelia Cineraria Asclepia Snape, and I am she.
"Like all other witches and wizards of the Snape family that possessed the craft in great enough measure, I in due course attended the great institution of Hogwarts--"
"Really? Me too," Harry interjected sympathetically. For one second, the air of mourning was briefly tainted by something a little like irritation, then Amelia's face cleared and she said in her melodious tones, "Lovely, my young gallant.
"I attended Hogwarts, and, also like my illustrious forebears, was welcomed into the great House of Salazar Slytherin himself. Aye, the wise serpent was our standard, and the emerald banner our rallying point!
"Yet, despite my wishes, my eyes strayed to other Houses, to other banners and standards. Would that I had not! Would that I had settled for contentment, if not love, in my own House, and never known the blinding heights of adoration and ecstasy, and thus never known the depths of despair! Would that I had plucked my own eyes from my head, and thus prevented my heart from being plucked from my bosom!
"But I did not. And so it was that I saw him first. A prince among men-- nay, a god among lesser mortals, he appeared to me.... As fair as the noonday son, radiating light and life and truth. All loved him and despaired, yet none moreso than I-- for he was of the House of Gryffindor-- time out of mind the enemies of Slytherin...
"Yet-- yet. Ah, but simply to see him, and all rivalries and anger melted like snow, in the light and heat of his presence! Even his name-- Lucien McGonagall. Lucien, light. A radiant prince.
"In the beginning, I did try and disguise this welling of emotion, to feign hatred for this knight, this noble one, this bearer of the red and gold... I strove to surpass him in the classroom, and in all other endeavors! This was no easy task-- for even laying aside the treacherous urgings of my own heart, my love was of brilliant mind, his manly beauty surpassed only by his keen intellect and expanse of knowledge. Still, I did thus strive.
"And not only in the halls of academia, but also on the sporting field did we meet in battle. For in the jousts of Quidditch did we both compete--"
"You played Quidditch? Me too," Harry murmured. Amelia forced a little smile and continued. "That's nice, dear. As I was saying--
"Our rivalry on the Quidditch pitch was legend at school. My knight, my Lucien, didst play in the position of Chaser, for, as his mind and grace surpassed all others, so did his agility and swiftness. And I-- I flew as Keeper, as determined to keep my foes from scoring as I was to keep my heart from his grasp.
"Yet all in vain. By the end of our seventh year, neither Lucien nor myself could deny our benighted feelings any longer. We had been made for each other, you see-- him light and I dark, him Gryffindor and I Slytherin, him the radiant sun and I the lustrous moon, two parts of a perfect whole, the question and the answer... the two leaders of our generation. He and I were Head Boy and Girl, you know--
"Anyways. He confessed his undying love and affection to me the day before the Yule Ball.
"Ah, I did think my poor heart would shatter! I of course confessed also my love, my undying worship of him... and, the next night, we entered arm in arm to the Ball, to the surprise of the entire school.
"Thus began the happiest period of my life. For the rest of that year, we loved each other in such bliss as no mortal has yet known! Every glance, every letter, every kiss and touch is imprinted on my mind for a thousand years, and not even death has had the power to part these memories from me..."
Harry glanced at his watch and shifted slightly in his chair. Well, he now knew who Lucien McGonagall was... but he rather thought he would punch the chap, if he was anything like this. God among lesser mortals or not.
Amelia was still speaking. "... imagine my distress, my utter grief and desolation of spirit, when I did learn of my father and mother's plans. They had arranged marriage for me-- but not to the object of my heart's desires. No, they wished me to wed a man I detested, a man as far removed from my noble Lucien as a slug is from an eagle! I told them I did not love this churl, but they would have none of it, telling me that the survival and well-being of the family came first, before even the call of mine own heart.
"At the time of all this, the family was in dire straits, financially. They wished me to wed a Malfoy, by name Felix. And a dark-hearted and cruel man he was, too-- his only recommendation to my family being his good name and his wealth.
"I told them the truth of mine own heart, all of it-- how I not only did not love Felix Malfoy, but loved another, mine own Lucien...
"My father, especially, was outraged. I had chosen one of the oldest families of Gryffindor as the target of my heart, and one of the poorest of the families at that. An alliance with McGonagall would bring no prestige to the family, nor even as much as one Knut.
"I laid out the qualities of my love that surpassed all value of silver or gold, of fame and politics. I told of his handsome appearance, his bright mind, his skill with broomstick and wand, and above all, of his shining character and truthful tongue. None made any difference, and all my efforts earned me only a postponement of my marriage, 'til the mid-winter.
"Ah, how bitter was my grief! Lucien and I made the most of the season we had left to us. We took long walks in the rose gardens, and went riding on the hills... we spent hours on our broomsticks, flying in desolate despair o'er the countryside. We said our goodbyes, and each wept bitter tears. But thus was the card that Fate had dealt, and I saw no course but to accept.
"But Lucien--! Ah, my Lucien, my knight, my prince! He was not one to take the thread that the three sisters weave meekly! No, a lion, my Gryffindor prince, and it was he that suggested we flee together. Somewhere, away from the long arms of the Snape and Malfoy family, away from our beloved native soil, we could live in peace.
"I agreed. I could not imagine life without Lucien, so dear had he become to me. It was worth anything, any risk, that we be together.
"And yet... away from his presence, my resolve did weaken. We of Slytherin are taught that the family is all important, that we have a duty to our blood kith and kin... I felt the two sides of my being tearing me apart, two forces warring for my heart... the love of Snape, of my family, and of Lucien and all he stood for.
"I sent a secret message to my Lucien, telling him I could not go through with it. I would marry Felix after all. This was a week before mid-winter, and the marriage.
"For all the rest of the week, I was barraged by owl and all other form of communication. My knight wished to know why I had betrayed our pledged troth! I had no answer, and sent nothing back.
"The wedding came--and went. As it was a marriage of convenience, we did little more than exchange vows, before my new husband dashed off on affairs of business, with a promise to my father that he would return the next night to collect his bride.
"Then, one last letter from him my love. It pleaded with me to reconsider, to change my mind. It said he waited for me, by the fountain, in the rose garden... all I had to do was slip out of the house, flee to meet him, and we could be off and away...
"I sat in my chambers, the whole day, and wept bitterly. I could not choose-- I could not choose! One course would betray my family and my vows-- the other would betray my heart, and my Lucien! The night that came was cold, and harsh; snow swept down and covered the estate. Yet it was nothing to the storm that raged in my divided soul.
"Hours came and went, and still I struggled with myself. Soon-- soon-- Felix would arrive, to take me away, to the loveless existence I already foresaw-- the hour, midnight, approached..."
Amelia's voice had lowered to a dramatic whisper. Harry felt himself listening in spite of himself.
"I realized I could choose neither path, without denying one side what they desired. In the end-- I took the only path allowed.
"I took poison.
"Aye, poison! A fitting and noble way for a serpent to die! A small vial, sweet upon the tongue, like honey and amaranth... and it was done.
"A languor spread over me... and I passed from this mortal coil," Amelia finished with a sigh.
Harry shifted in his seat and hid a yawn behind his hand. In his opinion, it had been a pretty stupid thing to. If he'd been in her position, and this Lucien had been everything she said he was, he'd have gone down to the garden and screw Felix Malfoy, and family too. Still and all...
"So what happened to Lucien?"
She started a bit. "Ah yes... my poor Lucien...
"As I said, the night was harsh. He stood in the rose garden for hours, waiting, waiting, as the snow swept around him and as the crimson petals broke from their bases to land like drops of blood on the white snow...
"He waited, and waited. Hours drew by. Midnight came then, and one, and two... he knew in his bones that I would not be coming. Yet it was not until he heard the cries of grief from the house, on discovery of my body, that he knew for certain. And my Lucien, his noble heart broken in twain, laid down in the snow and died of grief."
Harry paused. "That's all?"
"Yes. Yes, that is the tale," she murmured sadly, wiping her ghostly tears again. Harry frowned, then said cautiously, "Well... I mean, isn't he a ghost now too? So, er, at least you're together now, right?"
His words brought on a fresh rush of tears and a cry of grief. "No! No, and that is the true tragedy of it all! For the long hours he waited, until his death, and for the indecision of my weak and womanish soul, we are doomed to never meet! Though we both walk these halls of stone, each pining for the other, him following ever after where I walk, sitting where I sit, standing where I stand, yet he is always too late.... I am always already in the next room. Sometimes, we catch the barest glimpse of one another, but it is always so fleeting... a torment rather than pleasure. If we wish to communicate at all, we must ask others to carry the messages for us..."
Harry considered. Well, that did admittedly suck. Being dead, and never getting to see your true love that you'd killed yourself over.
Even is you were really melodramatic about it and shouldn't have killed yourself over him to begin with.
Her eyes bright, Amelia looked up at him. "Is it not the most tragic tale you have ever heard, young man?"
Harry though it best not to answer, other than a non-committal noise in his throat, which she seemed to accept. "Perhaps... perhaps... if you should see my Lucien... can you carry him a message, for me?"
"Sure," said Harry with a sigh.
"Oh, courteous and gentle soul," she sighed. "Tell him, The roses yet bloom, for all that we can no longer enjoy them. Will you carry this message, young sir?"
"If I see him, I'll tell him," Harry said truthfully, adding to himself, and I am going to use that map to make sure I never do see him.
"Thank you... thank you..." she murmured in a breathy tone that reminded him of Sybil Trelawney. Harry murmured it was nothing, and seeing the opportunity was as good as it was going to get, fled.
