"Minerva?"
Dumbledore, McGonagall and the children were readying themselves to depart back to Hogwarts and for the last several moments, Severus had been watching from a safe distance. As he spoke now, Minerva's head came up to regard him with more of the formal courtesy that was demanded between colleagues. "Yes, Severus?" she replied, lifting an eyebrow.
"A word before you depart, if you don't mind," he said, and paused only a heartbeat to make sure she was going to follow before he turned down the corridor. He beckoned her into one of the less-exhaustively cleaned rooms in the house, a room which had obviously been a sitting room of some sort at once. He cast a lumos spell, bringing the few candles to a soft glow.
"Yes?" she repeated, still maintaining some of the formality. He had to make a conscious effort not to scowl.
"I owe you an apology," he said stiffly, folding his arms. "What I said to you earlier in the week was... inappropriate."
She snorted a soft laugh. "To say the least," she agreed. "But don't trouble yourself over it any more, Severus. You had your reasons, and I'm just glad it was I who bore the brunt of your temper and not some hapless student."
He answered her only with silence and a slight scowl that was likely not visible in the dim light.
"Are you feeling better?" she asked softly, reaching for his hand. "You looked better this evening."
He nodded, then, remembering the weak illumination, answered verbally. "I am, thank you. I think..." he swallowed hard. Apologizing was becoming far less difficult for him, but there were other things that had replaced it for taxing his senses. "I think you were right. To do what you did." It was miserable to admit that he was wrong about something, and that someone else had been right.
"Everyone has a breaking point, Severus," she said, sounding suddenly as wise as Dumbledore. "And we are all counting on you to not reach yours just yet. You have to take care of yourself, and if you won't do it, don't be surprised if someone else doesn't do it for you."
He sighed softly. "I know," he murmured. "Dumbledore already told me. I'm too critical to the Order for—"
"Don't be ridiculous," she replied, a little too briskly to not arouse his suspicions. "Yes, you are critical to the Order's success, but there are plenty of people here who are concerned about you, legitimately concerned, and it has nothing to do with your importance to the Order." She lifted a hand to his face, her fingers sure and steady as she turned his head towards her. "I cared about you when you were a child," she said softly, "and I care about you now. Remember that, Severus. There are plenty of us who care about you."
He exhaled a soft laugh. "Thank you for that," he replied. "I'll try to keep it in mind. For now, though..."
She patted his cheek. "For now, you just get some sleep," she answered. "And keep eating properly. And whatever else you've been doing these past three days that has you looking human instead of a walking corpse. And don't worry about a few words spoken in anger, Severus. I've already forgotten what either of us said, though I'm sure I owe you an apology as well."
He snorted softly and shook his head. "Thank you," he whispered again.
"Was there anything else?" she asked.
After a brief hesitation, he nodded. "Actually, yes. There's a First Year student. Amber Carlisle. Is she...?"
In the dim light, it was impossible to be certain, but Severus thought Minerva was smiling. "She's such a delight, Severus, that I don't know how she got sorted into Slytherin." Had they been in better light, he was sure that he would have seen her eyes sparkling; Minerva and he had a long standing, friendly rivalry between their Houses. The Houses themselves just had a rivalry, seemingly forgetting the friendly part of it, but the two Heads did keep their competition largely to a light-hearted banter. He took great delight in informing her when Slytherin was ahead of Gryffindor in points, in Quidditch, in OWL scores... in anything really. For once, though, he wasn't in the mood for it.
"Hrm," he replied neutrally. "Keep an eye on her? She's... in a precarious position, I'm afraid, and..."
"Say no more," Minerva replied softly. Despite appearances, the Hogwarts staff was quite closely-knit, particularly the Heads. If one of them was concerned about a student, it was common for those concerns to be brought forth, there was a mutual understanding. Severus didn't have to explain the situation to Minerva, but he felt better knowing that there would be someone who would look out for the delicate child. "Do I need to do more than keep an eye on her?" she asked.
After a moment's thought, Severus shrugged, forgetting once again that the darkness of the room was not conducive to such gestures. "It likely wouldn't hurt for her to know that she can talk to someone. She is Aislinn's sister, you know?"
"I know. I have answered a number of questions about her sister." Severus nodded, feeling like there was more he should say, but not knowing what it might be. Minerva seemed to sense his concerns, and squeezed his arm softly. "She'll be fine, Severus. Honestly. If you're concerned about her getting into mischief, I can assign her an extra essay or some sort, keep her occupied for the weekend."
"That won't be necessary," he shook his head. "Just..." with a sigh, he crossed his arms again and paced. "I wouldn't have thought that of all the things I left so abruptly it would be the concerns of Head of Slytherin that weigh most on my mind. The essays I haven't graded, the lesson plans, the detentions... it can all rot. But there are students in Slytherin who are..."
"Vulnerable," Minerva suggested, and he nodded.
"Quite."
"Are there any others I should keep a particular eye on?"
Severus snorted. "Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, obviously. Merlin knows what those three have been planning without intervention, or who their next victim will be. Any of the girls. The First, Second and Third years particularly. The Seventh Years. This is a Hogsmeade weekend, isn't it?"
"Yes."
He sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. "Can you trust the Head Boy and Girl to do an accurate curfew-check?" It was, of course, a valid question. The idea was that Head Boy and Girl should be that trustworthy, but it did not always turn out so.
"I believe so," Minerva replied. "But I will have Albus check on the boys and I will check the girls myself," she assured him. "They will be fine, Severus. Slytherin is not going to fall into the lake while you are gone, however some of my boys wish it."
He smiled slightly, grateful that she was so confident and wanting to trust her and... And somehow wishing she wasn't so sure that the House wouldn't fall apart without his guidance. There was some large part of him that liked to think that he had an active role in keeping young Slytherins from all turning to the Dark Lord. Foolish, yes, but he did like to think he was important in that regard. "I suppose you're right," he sighed.
She seemed to sense what he was thinking, though, and squeezed his arm again. "Now," she said conspiratorially, "if you were gone for two weeks, I wouldn't put it past some of the Gryffindors to find a way to make it happen, but I do think they will survive the weekend admirably. Put it from your mind. Surely between us Albus and I can keep them in line, don't you think?"
He had his doubts, but didn't voice them. "I'm just a silly old sot sometimes," he told her with a self-derisive shrug. "Don't mind me."
"You are concerned for the students in your charge, Severus. That does not make you silly. And, I refuse to acknowledge that you are anything even approaching old, because if you are, then what does that make me, might I ask? No. Not silly, not old. A sot sometimes, of course, but we're all entitled to our moments, and I suppose I can allow that even you are to be excused. Now, is there anything else on your mind?"
He shook his head. "Thank you," he repeated once more, beginning to feel like a parrot with a limited vocabulary.
She touched his shoulder, and for a moment he sensed that she was going to pull him into an embrace, but she did not. He was relieved, on some level, but far more disturbing, he was also a bit disappointed. He wished she had, and was considering instigating the affection himself when she let her hand drop. "Good night, then. And don't worry. Everything is, and will continue to be, fine." She slipped out of the room again, leaving him to stand there for a moment, wishing he wasn't such a spineless coward that he couldn't even step forward to claim a hug from one of the most infamously affectionate women at Hogwarts. A woman whom he respected and counted as one of his exceedingly few friends.
He lingered in the dim room for a moment, then, with a wave of his wand, doused the candles and stepped back into the hallway just in time to hear the last of the good-byes before, one by one, students and professors stepped back into the fireplace to floo back to Hogwarts. When he entered the kitchen, Severus found that Dumbledore was just leaving, the last of the Hogwarts group to go. The Weasleys were also preparing to leave, though they would simply be Apparating.
"Good night, Severus." Molly was bustling over to him and drawing him into one of her firm, motherly embraces that left him feeling crushed and oddly comforted at the same time. It was a claustrophobic feeling, being around her, and yet, when she was gone there seemed a void where she had been.
"Good night," he replied, absently kissing her cheek without even thinking of it. His mind was still on Harry and Minerva and Amber and... And Autumn, if he was entirely honest. He wondered if it was too late to go back to London for the night. Probably was. It was nearly midnight, after all.
Had he been a little more attentive, he might have noticed the looks the Weasley twins exchanged, looks edged heavily with disbelief. He might have noticed how Molly beamed, or how Arthur smiled slightly, or how Bill tilted his head to one side, seeming to consider him in a different light. He noticed none of that, though, as he shook Arthur's proffered hand.
"Good night, Severus."
"Good night, Professor," Bill shook his hand as well, just as he'd shaken Lupin's. The twins called their farewells with a wave, and then, not quite in unison, the five Weasleys Disapparated, and suddenly Number Twelve Grimmauld Place seemed exceptionally quiet.
"Where are Tonks and Shacklebolt?" Severus asked, sinking into a chair at the table.
Remus joined him. "They left while you were talking to McGonagall. Tonks told me to give you a hug for her, by the way, but I'm not actually going to unless you promise you won't hex me for the effort." The smirk on Remus' face said that he didn't think that was a particularly likely promise to wrench from Severus, and Severus returned the smirk.
"Thanks for the thought," he replied, keeping his voice carefully neutral. There was nothing this side of hell that was going to make him reveal that he actually craved such contact at the moment. He'd been feeling oddly raw and exposed since the Occlumency lesson with Potter this evening, and for once, he did actually long for an embrace, but his pride would never allow him to admit it.
The silence stretched between them, and the longer it lingered, the more heavily it weighed on Severus' heart. He never would have believed it had anyone suggested such a thing was possible, but he suddenly missed the chatter and hum of people now that everyone was gone. It was almost as though something was missing.
"I don't see how you can stand it here," he muttered after another long moment.
"What do you mean?"
"It's so... quiet," Severus replied, standing suddenly and making a circuit of the kitchen. There were few implements that he didn't touch, straighten, pick up or move. He opened cupboards and doors, ran his fingers over shelves, closed cupboards and drawers and nudged the rug at the sink back into place with the toe of his shoe. He was restless, he realized with a start. He had long since learned to control restlessness, but here he was, as bad as he'd ever been as a teenager. Most people had what amounted to nervous habits. Twirling of hair, cracking of knuckles. James Potter had been prone to ruffling his hair or playing with a snitch. Remus had always seemed to have a book on hand, and Severus had once watched for better than thirty minutes as the werewolf didn't even turn a page. Severus, as a student, had been prone to picking things up and putting them back, straightening them sometimes. Unconsciously aligning books or jars or anything else that might be on a shelf, all a single finger-width from the edge, and he was doing that now for the first time in years.
The realization was enough to make him stop, forcing his hands to stillness and pushing the restless energy deep inside where it couldn't escape. The effort it took to subdue that energy surprised him.
Remus had been silent through Severus' little display of restlessness, but as the Potions Master returned to the table to sit, the other man finally spoke. "It can be very quiet here," he agreed. "Particularly when there has been a crowd and everyone leaves at once. It's always easier when everyone just drifts away slowly. But, somehow, I wouldn't he thought the silence would bother you."
Severus snorted softly. "I wouldn't have thought it either," he replied.
Once again, silence settled, but this time, it did not stretch long before Lupin stood. "I'd offer entertainment, but I don't really know..." he frowned. "We've already established that I'm a lousy opponent at chess. I think there is a deck of cards in the drawing room... game of snap?"
Severus frowned slightly. "I don't know how to play," he replied.
Remus looked momentarily taken aback. "What do you mean you don't know how to play? Everyone plays snap. It's practically a required course at Hogwarts, or it was when we were students..."
"And it's a game that requires more than one person to play," Severus retorted, somewhat testily. "And if you remember, I never had an over-abundance of companionship when we were in school."
"Oh. Right." The silence became awkward again. "I guess I never really considered all the implications..." he said softly. "I mean, I knew you were lonely, but..."
"Please, spare me the trip down memory lane. Somehow it's never as pleasant for me as it is everyone else."
Lupin nodded slightly, but the silence, which Severus had decided was a blessed alternative to talking about the past, did not last for long. "You told Harry that you had an unhappy childhood," Remus said softly. "And an unhappy adolescence and an unhappy adulthood. Do you have no happy memories?"
Severus shrugged. "Not really," he replied. "A few worth holding onto. Not many, though." He stood again, abruptly, and walked to the fireplace, taking great interest in a perceived smudge on the marble. He rubbed furiously at it with his thumb.
"What kind?" Lupin asked.
"I'd rather not talk about it."
"Why? I can understand you not wanting to discuss the painful memories but..."
"Drop it, Lupin."
"It wouldn't kill you to tell me that something good has happened to you, would it?"
"A few good things have happened to me," Severus replied evenly. "I told you. Now that's enough."
"A birthday party when you were a kid?"
Party? For something so common as a birthday? The idea was foreign to Severus. "No."
"Christmas morning when you got something you'd really wanted?"
"We never celebrated Christmas."
"First dance?"
"Lupin..."
"First kiss?" Lupin suggested softly, and Severus scowled at the smudge.
"Hardly," he muttered under his breath, thinking briefly of that awkward moment when he was a Third Year. One of the Fifth Year Gryffindors had led him up to the Astronomy Tower, where everyone knew that there was only one reason to be when one wasn't in class. She'd tilted his head back—she was nearly six inches taller than he was, as he'd not had his growth spurt yet—and lowered her mouth to his, forcing her tongue between his lips with such fervor it had left him breathless. When she'd drawn away from him, she'd whispered, 'Do you know what?' in a low, sultry voice. He'd not even been able to speak, just shook his head. 'You're a lousy kisser,' she announced, suddenly spinning away from him so abruptly that her braid swung out and smacked him on the nose. The only thing that could have possibly made it worse was if there had been other people there to see it, and, to his horror, that had been exactly the truth. More than a dozen Gryffindor students had suddenly made their presences known, chortling with laughter as the beautiful Mathilda Mahoney walked, grinning and wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist, to a pair of Seventh Year boys, holding out her other hand. A couple of galleons were placed in her palm and she grumbled, 'Let's get out of here. I need something to get the taste out of my mouth.'
"First lay?" Lupin was nearer when he suggested that one.
Severus turned suddenly and glared at his tormentor. "Will you please cease this digging into my personal life? Why is everyone so damnably interested in my past, all of the sudden?"
Lupin was grinning lasciviously. "I touched a nerve, did I? Come on, tell me."
"No."
"I'll tell you about mine..."
"I'm sure I should be enthralled with the idea."
"Come on. We were both in Sixth Year, and she was..."
"Remus, I really don't want to hear about it."
Lupin sighed. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I keep forgetting that despite a few peaceful conversations, you're determined that we aren't friends."
Severus' sigh echoed Lupin's. "Bloody..." he began, then trailed off and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Is that what it means to be a friend?" he asked in one of his lower, more dangerous tones.
"To talk and share? Yes. That's certainly part of it."
"Then, I guess you're right. We aren't friends, because I've no intention of sharing that part of my past with you." He turned away again, then licked his index finger and scrubbed at another soot smear on the mantle.
"Why not? You needn't be ashamed. Was Aislinn your first..."
Severus snorted, momentarily amused. "I wish I could say that she was. I would far rather tell you that I was a thirty-seven year-old virgin before she came along than tell you the truth of it."
"And what is the truth?"
Severus scowled, and was bloody close to telling Lupin to sod off, but something stopped him, and instead, he turned slowly, leaning against the wall, his arms folded in front of his chest again. "You want to know about my first fuck, Remus? Fine. But don't say I didn't try to warn you off the subject. I was eighteen, and the youngest of the Death Eaters, and we had just had a very successful night of ridding the wizarding world of half a dozen Mudblood wretches. As a reward for our success, the Dark Lord allowed us the pleasure of Muggle women." Severus took a step forward, until he was toe to toe with Remus. "I raped her, and then I killed her," he said softly, his voice entirely void of emotion. "I have been with thirteen women. An auspicious number, no? Autumn, whom you've met. Aislinn whom you've heard me speak of, three whores, whose names I have forgotten, and eight women whose names I never knew, and whose consent was not necessary." Abruptly, Severus stalked away from the other man. "Are you happy, now?" he asked. "Murderer and rapist, two excellent qualifications for any Circum Vitae, don't you think? Now, if you will excuse me, I am suddenly quite exhausted. Don't forget to lock your door, lest I decide to make you my next victim."
He stalked towards the door, and was halfway up the stairs when he heard footsteps behind him. Not bothering to look over his shoulder, Severus continued on the path he'd set, and didn't pause until he reached the third floor, and then only because he heard the squeak of the tricky step behind him. When he looked over his shoulder, Remus was there, which was unsurprising on one level and quite surprising on another.
"Haven't had enough?" Severus asked softly. "Shall I tell you about my murders as well?"
"Stop it, Severus," Lupin ordered softly. "I know that you have things in your past that you regret. I wasn't trying to..."
"Who said I regretted any of it?" A sneer curled at Severus' lips. "You are making assumptions."
"Don't you?" Lupin asked softly. "Or are those the pleasant memories? You're right. I did assume, based on the way you reacted when I suggested..."
Severus sighed. "And regret changes nothing, does it? It doesn't change or excuse who I am or what I have done. And, though I've enjoyed pretending to be a nice guy these last few days, I know it's just a pretense. Nothing can change who I was."
"And it has no relevance on who you are now. You walked away from those things, Severus, and that has to count for something."
"Do you have a sister, Remus?"
Lupin blinked, caught off guard by the seemingly unrelated question. "Yes, but I don't see what that..."
"And how would you feel if you saw me with her?" Severus asked softly. "If you walked into a room, and I had her pinned beneath me, my mouth on hers..."
"I'd probably forget I had a wand and punch your lights out," Remus replied promptly. "Then I'd hold you down while her husband did the same."
Severus snorted. "Once again, I think you missed the point."
"No," Remus said softly. "I don't think so. All right, I'll admit it. I wouldn't be pleased and there's a good chance I'd not see beyond you past. But you know something? You're no murderer or rapist. You are just a man, who has unfortunate things in his past..."
"You don't really believe that."
"You're right. It's appalling. Is that what you want to hear? It is absolutely sickening, and I cannot, no matter how hard I try, see you as anything other than a depraved criminal at the moment, and I have half a mind to tell you to get the hell out of my house. I have half a mind to storm back to Hogwarts and announce to the Gryffindor Common Room that the potions master has sordid details in his past that their parents wouldn't approve of. I have half a mind to go to Autumn and tell her to stay far away from you because you are dangerous and not to be trusted and I have half a mind to demand that Albus intercede and force the Occlumency lessons to stop because I don't want Harry with someone like you." Each word stung more than Severus would have cared to admit, but he kept his face neutral.
"I'll pack my things," he replied. "And if you announce it to Gryffindor, I'll pack up my office and do the same thing you did."
"I'm not going to announce it to Gryffindor," Lupin replied evenly. "And I'm not going to tell you to get out and I'm not going to tell Autumn to stay away from you and I'm not going to insist that the lessons with Harry discontinue. Because the other half of my mind, Severus, remembers that for the last week, you have been something approaching kind and compassionate at times. It remembers that we've sat at the kitchen table sharing Molly's chocolate cake and bottles of beer. That you invited me to dinner with you and your new... whatever Autumn is to you." Lupin circled Severus slowly, then placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "That you have been making Wolfsbane potion for me for the last four years, even though you didn't have to, and it has given me something resembling sanity. That you told the children that their ideas had merit." Remus stood in front of him, holding his face with both hands. Not the romantic caress that Aislinn and Autumn had given him, nor the affectionate pats that Minerva and Albus were wont to do from time to time, but a stubborn refusal to let him turn away. "The Muggles have this concept of reforming their criminals," Lupin said softly. "Of turning them back into productive and responsible members of society. You are a reformed man, Severus. You are a good man. Don't forget that. Don't let your past be an easy excuse to not even try to be part of the present."
For a long moment after the startling speech, Severus was silent. He didn't know what to say, and thus decided to say nothing. At length, though, he nodded, a slight smile on his lips, genuine if not entirely happy. "Thank you," he whispered.
Lupin let go of him. "What are friends for?" he asked softly. "Good night."
Once again, Severus wished he had the courage to instigate an embrace, feeling more raw and vulnerable now than he had even before. He hadn't that courage, though, and as Lupin walked back downstairs, he steadied himself, then took himself into his room, where he curled up on the bed, clutching a pillow to his chest. It was a poor substitute for human affection, but far from the first time he'd spent a night clinging to a pillow for sanity.