A/N: Thank you for all your wonderful and extremely helpful reviews. Some of them were so flattering that I blushed up to my ears. ;-)
Don't worry, I won't kill any canon character in this story, neither Severus nor Albus. But as you can see I had to change the PoV to make sure that you will get the reactions of all the people involved. Much as I like the style of JKR in that respect, for the rest of this story it would be just too impractical.
Hopefully you'll forgive me for that lapse.
Oh, and please keep correcting my spelling and grammar mistakes, I am always grateful for that, since I am not a native English speaker and have no beta at the moment.
Chapter 30: Inside
Harry's cup was almost empty. Timid spots of light brown stained the insides and there was still a little lake of tea on the bottom, reflecting the light of the kitchen lamp and Harry's left eye. Mr. Weasley had covered his daughter's slumped form with a heavy blanket and kept ignoring his wife's requests to carry the snoring little lump upstairs and into bed. Hermione was flicking through one of the many books she had found in Sirius' old bedroom, her eyes doing a pretty good job at pretending to actually read, but Harry wasn't fooled – she wasn't reading, just trying to focus her mind on something familiar.
Bill had left quite a while ago, along with almost everybody else, under the excuse of seeing Moody home. Harry was sure that the young man had only wanted a reason to leave the house. He understood this urge well.
Ron sat with his back to the table and the room in general, staring glumly into the fire. With as little noise as possible Harry finally set his cup down, drew his chair up to his friend's and settled down beside the silent red-head.
"You ok?" he asked in the softest voice he could muster. Ron didn't answer.
"Pretty mind-shattering, all of this, isn't it?" Harry tried again. Ron sighed. He was strangling the cup in his hands and wouldn't take his eyes off the fire.
"I don't know what to believe anymore. Or who", he said, while the flames cast eerie shadows on his pale face.
"I mean, there I was, thinking I had it all worked out … who are the good guys … who are the bad guys. And now everything is changed."
He drew a deep breath and finally glanced over at Harry.
"Do you think it was a lie?"
"What?" Harry asked, slightly harsher than he had intended. "What we have been told? What we have seen for ourselves over the last years? Or what we have seen tonight?"
Ron looked up at him, confused. On the other side of the table Hermione laid her book down and watched them.
"Nobody lied to you."
Mr. Weasley had joined the conversation almost unnoticed and definitely uninvited. Harry was still inclined to regard any "adult" comment with a newfound amount of scepticism and slight aggression – yet somehow it wasn't that difficult to make an exception for Arthur Weasley.
"Well, you didn't exactly tell us the truth, either", he tried to snap and found that his voice was rather more shaky than he had expected.
"We kept things from you, that is true. We didn't tell you the truth. But we didn't lie to you."
Carefully the tall man folded his long limbs together and sat down on the little bench beside the fireplace. His knees were nearly level with his shoulders and he squirmed uncomfortably.
"As you might have noticed tonight, there were many things we didn't know, either."
"Did you expect Professor Dumbledore would do something like that?"
Hermione's voice was almost inaudible. Harry knew that she was as shocked by the headmaster's unexpected change of character as he was himself. Expectantly he looked at Mr. Weasley. The man glanced towards his wife, who was busy cleaning already sparkling dishes. Then he sighed, heavily, as if that sigh had been waiting for an escape route for a long time now.
"Albus Dumbledore had to take decisions, and still has to take them, that would tear my heart and soul apart. I have known him for a very long time, yet he still manages to surprise me. Even shock me."
He looked at Hermione.
"No, I didn't expect anything like that. I didn't even know he could do that spell. But then … there is probably no spell that is beyond his ability. Just beyond his ethics."
Ron propped his elbows onto his knees and rested his chin in his hands. Instinctively his father reached out to ruffle the red shock of hair, so much like his own.
"What do you think is going to happen now?" Harry finally found the courage to ask. If anyone knew, then surely Arthur Weasley.
"I don't have the slightest clue, Harry."
The fire kept on crackling while Molly Weasley rinsed out the same teapot for the fourth time.
Minerva McGonagall cursed silently under the little breath she had left. Racing up the stairs was something for younger people, not for a witch who was slightly past her prime. She didn't pause for a single second, though, very much aware of the fact that the time she needed to get up to roof of the owlery might be crucial in saving her colleague's life.
When she finally stumbled into the high room and towards one of the big windows, she had the feeling her lung was about to collapse. Allowing her tired body the briefest of pauses she rested against the stone frame and glanced outside. Her heart sank.
There he was, standing on the stony parapet of the little tower beside the owlery, swaying slightly while his cloak billowed in the icy wind. His hands were clenched into tight fists. His whole body seemed as tense as a string on a bow.
Carefully she swung one leg over the windowsill, trying to get out onto the platform without making too much noise. She didn't want to startle him.
When she took the first hesitant step towards him the thick snow crunched under her shoes and the tall figure before her turned his head.
Even from his profile it was obvious that he had been crying, something that was to be expected after the recent events, yet it was an immense shock to the older woman. It had been years since she had last seen him cry, decades in fact, and even back then tears had been a sign of utter desperation.
"Severus", she whispered and her hand reached out for him on its own accord.
He didn't move, didn't even seem to see her, but at least he wasn't staring down into the dark abyss before him anymore. When he finally spoke she had to strain her ears to hear him; the wind nearly carried his words away.
"It won't stop, Minerva. I can't close the curtains anymore. Even when I close my eyes the pictures are still there."
She didn't really know what that meant, she only knew that he had recognised her, had talked to her. That was a beginning. Quickly she covered the ground between them. In one frantic movement she slung her arms around his waist and pulled him off the parapet, stumbling backwards and dragging him with her. They crashed down onto the cold snow-covered stone and in her arms he went completely limp. With difficulty she manoeuvred herself into a sitting position, her back propped against the same pinnacle that had shielded the man in her arms from the wind only minutes earlier. She started rocking back and forth, holding him in a motherly embrace. When she felt how he started to cry she relaxed slightly. She didn't have the faintest idea where the tunes of the Scottish lullaby came from.
"It was just a vague idea anyway", Lupin said in a disappointed tone when he and Tonks left St. Mungo's. Turning up their hoods against the wind and the snow that was still falling steadily they marched off along the street, Lupin leading the way with long strides, Tonks following rather clumsily. Her shoes were not exactly perfect for that weather and she kept slipping on the ice that lay underneath the snow.
"There was logic behind it", she told him consolingly. "And the nurse said that he has visited her just a couple of days ago, so your idea was actually really good."
Reflexively he held out a hand to steady her as yet another piece of ice caught her unawares.
"But not good enough. Fact is that none of us knows him well enough to have any clue as to where he might go in a crisis. And that is because we never took the time to get to know him."
Determinedly she linked arms with him, thus preventing herself from falling and him from storming away without her.
"Accusations and self-loathing will not help us now", she told him matter-of-factly. "We need ideas. Right, what have we done so far?"
He looked at her and sighed.
"We have informed Minerva and asked her to keep an eye out for him, even though I still think it is highly unlikely that he will return to Hogwarts. It's his strongest link to Albus, after all, and somehow I have the feeling he doesn't want to be reminded of him right now. We checked his parent's house and found only ruins. We checked Knockturn Alley and found only the usual amount of drunks and criminals. And just now we used up our last clue and checked on his confused ex-girlfriend which we didn't even know he had five hours ago."
He looked at her defiantly.
"Right", she muttered and her confidence crumbled slightly. "So, no new clever ideas. Then my suggestion would be to return to the headquarters and talk to the others. Maybe, if we all put our heads together …"
Her voice trailed off, yet she looked up at him hopefully.
"I doubt it. But at least it will be warmer there."
With a quiet plop they apparated off, leaving only footprints in the snow.
His breathing had become less ragged as his sobs ebbed off. His body was trembling violently, yet she was sure it was only in part from the cold.
"Severus", she muttered carefully into his ear. "Let's get inside. This is no place for an old woman like me."
He didn't answer, only his hands clutched her cloak more tightly than ever before.
Gently she pushed him away from her, thus forcing him to straighten up a little. His face was pallid, his lips blue. There was dried blood under his nose and she wondered for a second what had caused this. When he looked at her she inadvertently drew a sharp breath. So much sorrow, so much agony lay in those dark eyes. It nearly broke her heart.
"Come on", she said and her voice radiated more confidence than she actually felt. "Let me take you inside."
Feeling every bone in her body she rose from the floor, brushing snow off her dishevelled robes and pulling him up after her. Without thinking she reached up and swept a strand of wet black hair out of his face, brushing his cheek with her hand for a second. To her surprise he didn't draw back. Encouraged she dared to take his hand and lead him off the roof, into the owlery and down the stairs. He followed her without any resistance. And that scared her most of all.
Albus Dumbledore took a deep breath as he entered the overgrown garden. There were footprints in the snow, indicating that someone had been here not that long ago. His heart rose. Maybe he was on the right track. But no, those were two pairs of footprints. Definitely not Severus.
Carefully he found his way between frosted rose bushes, wildly growing hedges and neglected trees. The house rose up in front of him dark and menacing. Broken shutters and splintered glass in the windows gave it the grim expression of a half-blind old man.
A half-blind old man, like you, the old wizard thought bitterly.
Through a hole in the wall he could catch a glimpse of the inside, cold and threatening. A table and some chairs, neatly arranged in the middle of what must have been the kitchen. Everything was covered in dust and cobwebs.
At the far end of the garden he could make out a large old oak tree, its bare branches rustling in the icy wind. Squinting he could make out an unexpected patch of flowers underneath the tree, a spot of white and yellow covered not with snow, but with a thick layer of ice.
"I was so sure he would come here", he muttered, still staring at the tree.
Wearily he pulled his cloak closer around himself before he apparated with a silent plop. The wind sighed heavily in the branches of the oak tree.
He looked so small and fragile as he sat there in her old red-and-gold armchair, huddled in a blanket, staring off into the flames. The shivering hadn't stopped and whenever he closed his eyes a flicker of fear and pain flitted across his face. She didn't really want to press into him, but she needed to know what exactly had happened. Otherwise how would she be able to help him?
After taking another huge sip from her glass she settled down on the armrest of his chair, getting as close to him as she thought wise at the moment. When she relaxed slightly against the backrest he placed his head against her shoulder and gave a deep sigh.
"I just want it to stop, Minerva", he whispered.
She rested her cheek on his head and placed her wrinkled hand on his long and elegant fingers.
"Do you want to tell me what happened?" she asked carefully. Lupin had given her a hurried and slightly confusing summary of things, one that she still had difficulties to believe. She hadn't asked just because she needed to know, but because she had the feeling that he needed to tell.
"Public Legilimens", he said tonelessly. "He dragged my soul out into the light and took it apart bit by bit in front of the Order. He didn't know where to look, so he just ripped out everything there was."
Minerva McGonagall felt a cold shiver of panic travel down her spine at the idea of someone pulling out her most intimate thoughts, her most private memories. The intrusion alone was gruesome. Dragging them out into the public was unforgivable.
"In the end I gave in. I tried to drown him in the flood of memories, but … now I don't know how to fence them in anymore. Now I am the one who is drowning."
Another tremor ran through his body and he inhaled sharply, as if in pain. Flashes of colour exploded before Minerva's eyes. She saw smoke, smelled damp earth, tasted blood on her tongue.
Wit a jerk she raised her head, breaking the contact between them. His mind was so out of control, so in uproar that impressions, unconnected sensations were leaping out wildly. Suddenly she felt a holy anger rise inside her chest. Nobody did this to one of her children. Nobody. Not even Albus Dumbledore.