Chapter Three

So afraid, open your eyes, unto a world that which awaits you..

Her hands were like ice as she clutched the wand tightly between her fingers, an ache that formed a lump deep within her throat; a lump that gave her the will to fight on, to face her oppressor and still go on.

No matter what the cost.

A day that was not like this.

Cold, cruel eyes gazed unmercifully into her; into her soul, into her heart, into her very being.

Do you still hear the laughter.

The wind that whipped fiercely at raw cheeks nowhere near the strength of winds of hatred that bore into bruised and battered flesh, cutting like knives between her cloak and robes.

And never forget the faces that haunt you..

Though her heart trembles greatly, her body bears no signs of this struggle. Stiff, stoic, and determined, she raises her wand, the wood suddenly warming between frozen fingers, like the beating of a heart; it throbs against her palm, chafing the silver band that adorns her finger; the silver more cold than any chill in the wind, more cold than any hatred that slaps her face, more cold than the pain lodged in her heart. Though her throat can not utter the words she desperately needs, she will fight with all her being ..

Here I stand, unable to tell you..

Please open your eyes..

It was with a sudden rush that those dark eyes found themselves open, breath caught in a worn throat. The dying embers in the fireplace and the blackness that enveloped the room told him he had fallen asleep, for much longer than planned. The chipped shot glass was still clenched within the tips of his fingers, a thick coat of sugar and toxins on his tongue, which lay in a dry mouth. The beads of sweat he had donned earlier had cooled and gathered his hair upon his forehead in a sweaty, sticky mass, which ensnared his hands in an endless amount of tangles as he attempted to push them from his face. His lips felt like the dried surface of a plateau, his eyes were itching in protest and he raised himself from the floor where it had seemed only moments ago he had fallen, trying to tuck the glass against his chest in a sad protection. A new crack had certainly appeared on its scarred surface, despite those efforts. With a deep and achingly long inhalation of air, he shelved the glass and blue bottle. Pulling from his robes, his hands uncorked the small vial whose color matched that of his poison's encasement. Tilting his head, exposing the smoothness of his throat, he allowed several drops of the potion to rest on his eyes before applying it to his tongue as well.

It was as if a mountain spring was cleansing his innards once the potion began to take effect. Severus paused in his march towards the bathroom, gazing for a moment at the painting that had rested faithfully above the mantelpiece for so many years. It was dusty and the colors had begun to fade from the piercing light of the summer suns, but it was still as gut wrenching now as it had been when he first received it. He turned his ever-hollowing eyes away, propelling himself into the bathroom, searching in the darkness for the taps of silver. Moonlight shafts patterned the tiled floor in long rectangles, casting mysterious shadows behind the toilet and cabinets.

Let darkness come, take me away.

For the second time today, Severus stripped himself of the confining clothes he had longed for only a few hours ago. As the sound of running water filled the room, and steam began to waft out the open window, he felt the tightening in his chest begin to unravel, ever so slowly. The mirror needed cleaning, he realized, as he glanced at his reflection. Though dirt could not hide the plain fact that he was beginning to age and only every so often caught himself in the process. His body was still lean, toned and much more muscular than it had been in his youth, ironically. He flexed a little, feeling foolish, as he took in the lines about his mouth and eyes, deep grooves furrowed within his constantly drawn brow; dropping his arms to his sides. A small twinge of pride at the tautness of his skin over a slightly rippling torso, and the strength he knew he carried in his arms hummed in his mind. He had been a scrawny, greasy thing as a student, and now he was a man; now he had grown into the skin he once loathed, even come to appreciate the loneliness of his life, for it had opened up doors to find the time to hone his skills as a potions master, to work with his musical gift, to find the time to build his stamina and strength.

The water burned his flesh as he stepped within the confines of the porcelain tub, reminding him of a rainstorm as it blasted his slightly shaking body with relief.

Here I am.

One day down, only a few hundred more to go, he reminded himself, working a rich lather into his hair, the suds dripping between his toes, swirling down the drain. He had never wanted a year to pass so desperately as he did now, a familiar knot locked within his stomach. He would have to contact several persons he'd rather not the following morning.

Why is everything wrong?

They were not pleased with him, and they hadn't bothered to mask it either. He still bore the aches from the mended wounds he had received upon their last encounters. He never felt himself sink to his knees, but he was aware of the slick cold that he rested his back on, curling into himself as the water cascaded over the limbs of a man, dying slowly inside, if not already dead.

Fighting time, so hard I pray.

"I trust you, of course, that's why." The sweet words sang in his heart as Dumbledore gazed at him, blue eyes seemingly open, waiting.

Yes, of course.

"I was aware of the toll this would have on you, however, I am still very much worried about your health and well-being. "

"It has only been a few days, Headmaster." He was very painfully aware of the crack in his voice nearly every time he spoke these days, and of the dark shadows that had begun to purple beneath his eyes as well.

"Perhaps a visit to Poppy would help." Severus felt his head snap to meet Dumbledore's now twinkling smile, a low growl in his throat.

"I would rather be mauled by wild manticores." He stated simply, feeling a twitch of a smile hover at his own tight lips.

"Good to see you're feeling better, then, Professor Snape. I still want you to get some rest this evening. Shall I have the house elves bring your dinner to your chambers?" Severus remained stubbornly silent, "It is alright with you, then, I see. Excellent. Thank you Professor."

No, it wasn't, but how could he argue with the headmaster when his head pounded as if a thousand drums were rehearsing within? Nodding quickly, he exited swiftly within a swirl of black. Professor Dumbledore sat silently at his desk, fingers laced together, before a figure emerged from the shadows, awaiting some sort of orders. But Albus merely nodded every so slightly before raising himself and going towards the cabinet nearest to him, withdrawing a small, stone basin within which was what appeared to be liquid gray clouds.

The figure hesitated a moment before dashing off in Severus' wake, leaving Dumbledore to himself, a faint smile hovering within his eyes, before he tapped his wand to his wrinkled temple and transferring the silvery wisp that was now firmly attached to wandtip into the basin. It swirled only a moment, before a memory came drifting out of the depths, the young figure of Severus Snape, from his schooldays, rotating ever so slowly. Albus rested his fingers together, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Its always about Potter, isn't it, Professor? I suppose I am just supposed to stand by and watch him make a mockery of all I stand for?"

"He's not making a mockery of it, Severus. He is fighting for the same cause you are—"his own voice echoed strangely in memoriam.

'"So, because of that, I stand by and let this continue? These injustices, these betrayals? He is almost to the same level as the enemy—"

"Enough, Severus." Albus winced; his tone was sharper than he had meant it to be that day. The young figure of Severus Snape shuddered slightly, lips tightening in a scowl, before he drew his robes tightly about that ever so thin frame and disappeared. Dumbledore felt the talons of guilt clutch at his back for a moment, fingers tightening on the bridge of his crooked nose, before he stood, stretching ancient bones, and placing the basin in its rightful place, sealed away from prying eyes and wondering minds.

You have been left behind

Her whole being trembled as she waited within the shadows, eyes locked on the dark figure retreating away. How she had missed his voice—the way words spilled from those lips like water, cold and cruel one moment, gentle and almost loving the next. But always with depth, more than met the ears and mind. The way he had locked eyes with hers had been chilling to say the least. She was in constant turmoil, now more than ever. Her heart ached and throbbed with excitement, and warned her almost desperately, all at once.

There on the edge, no one will find you

She wanted to curl into herself and just let go. Forget it all, and just be free of her demons. But the only way to do that was to face them. She steeled her nerve, placing one foot carefully in front of the other, she saw him pause a second too long before whirling about the corner. His head twitched, as if wanting to turn but he held himself.

She was so close, she could almost hear his heartbeat around the corner as she paused, waiting, hand pressed against the cool stone. Her heart was breaking with every second that passed; it was now or never. And at the last moment, she felt it drop. She felt the familiar wave of anxiety wash over her and without a second thought, she swerved on her heel and tore in the opposite direction as fast as she could.

"I'm just saying that maybe it's not a matter of whether or not people live or die. Maybe everyone just wants a war, they just want to see the blood and the pain and the anguish because the first time was so romanticized in its own sense. People talk of the first time of darkness as terrible as it was, and at the same time, the idea that every one moment was marked, that anyone could be a target, or that you could go from a normal, everyday life to a soldier in a war of the ultimate battle. Good versus evil, part of a greater purpose than what your life had appeared to be before al this—"

"Noble sentiments, hun, but let's put things in perspective. A greater purpose? Romanticized? What dream world have you been dwelling in since the last war?"

"I'm just saying its human nature, whether we like it or not. People don't take things as seriously as they used to. They don't understand the price they may have to pay, the price the ones they love may have to pay. Its ludicrous to think that these children could possibly be prepared for an all out war."

"Weren't we only children when the first war came?"

"That's beside the point!"

"Its exactly the point! There comes a time when innocence must be lost—who are we to say when that moment must be? Some of these so-called children will fare well; they are strong and ready for the challenges. Others will flounder, falter and fail, remaining immature, children, unable to grow ever beyond the age in which the death of their innocence occurs. "

"Speaking from experience, eh?"

"Oh stow it, you old cow."

"Old COW?!" Mildred raised herself in what she obviously thought was a menacing fashion. Juniper's bright green eyes flittered between Anubis, Mildred and Willow for a few moments as the silence thickened, Ivy's lips pursed in a manner that meant refusal on an apology, before Professor Lunar broke the silence.

"I think we are all getting carried away and need to take a moment to calm down. Mildred, please, have some tea. I mixed up a batch of some peach just for you the other day." Mildred nodded her head tersely, large earrings bobbing in response as she stalked over the long wooden table pushed against the left wall of the teacher's lounge.

"A war is coming," Juniper continued, keeping her voice as level as she possibly could, while absently waving her wand. The kettle scoured itself and began refilling with water from the sink, "we can not change that. We also cannot allow ourselves to become divided. In order to stand up against a force as strong as Voldemort, we must be strong within." Her eyes rested on Willow a moment too long and instantly, she regretted it.

"Why are you staring at me?" Willow demanded, eyes flashing.

"No reason. No reason at all, Willow." Juniper took a steadying breath, and turned to Anubis and Ivy, who was sitting sullenly, thin arms crossed over an equally thin chest. "We need to set an example for the students, we need to remain strong and unwavering in our line of duty. We need to prepare and train these children and young adults for what they will face in the coming months—"

"We know this, already, June." Ivy spat.

"I know, I am just reiterating a point. We need to stop contemplating the ways of why, destiny and all that jazz and just focus. I am not saying forget what will happen, and I am not saying to dwell on it either."

"Well, then, what are you saying my dear?" Anubis' heavy voice warmed Juniper's heart.

"I am just saying for all of us to watch our tongues and tempers. I am sick of the constant bickering and cut downs. And I for one am not tolerating it anymore. Is that clear?"

"Crystal." Willow stood with an air of authority and marched to the nearest exit, wrenching the door open, she stormed from the room, cloak whipping behind her. Ivy followed swiftly, shooting Juniper a murderous glare.

"What was that all about?" Juniper sank wearily into her seat, resting her face in her hands, aware that the only noise Mildred now uttered was a soft slurp as she drank her tea.

"I don't know, Anubis. I wish I did. Sometimes—"she hesitated "Well, wish in one hand, they say." She finished lamely, standing with the careful stretch of woman three times her years.

"I am going to go prepare tomorrow's lesson. How is the tea, Mildred?"

"Delicious, honey, thank you very much. Don't let those girls get you down, dear. Beauty isn't forever, you know." With an agreeable nod, Juniper left with purpose and care in every footstep, her mind full of questions.

"I can't stand that shrew." Anubis muttered darkly.

"Who? Miss June?"

"No, no, Willow. She has got a lot of nerve, her and Ivy both do." Anubis sipped her coffee, annoyance etched in every feature.

"Oh I agree, darling. That girl has attitude and little brains to back it up. But as I've said before—and I'm sure you remember, she will get her come-uppance. It's only a matter of time." Mildred licked her lips, checking for any remnants of the tea she had finished, "That was just like the tea back home. Juniper knows her leaves, I tell you what."

"She knows a lot of things, most of which I am sure she is keeping to herself right now." Anubis adjusted her robes, and raised herself, cup clutched tightly within her elegant fingers. Mildred blinked in a bewildered sort of way, as she cleaned the cup with a wave of her wand. Anubis met her glance and then nodded very slowly. "Yes, I am sure of it." Mildred nodded briskly and with an elegant imitation of a bow, swept from the room with unusual grace for someone her size. Anubis stared absent-mindly at the wall before her, twirling her mug.

There is definitely a few nuts missing from the tree in Willow's head, that was for damn sure, and if it hadn't been for Juniper's power in her school back in the states, then Ivy and Willow would have been on their asses, jobless, and none would have to tolerate their ridiculous presence now, she thought to herself, a twinge of annoyance catching her off guard, Why can't Juniper see what horrible people they are? They've never done a thing to prove themselves worthy of the care and respect she and hundreds of other wizards give them—but how? Why? It was in that moment, the realization hit her with the weight of a thousand stones. What are they planning? And-more importantly-who are they planning it with? Fear sent her stomach lurching. Without even thinking, she bolted from her chair and out the door, not giving a backward glance as her ceramic mug smashed to the floor.

"No, no, hun, you don't want to do that! It will cause an adverse reaction that will be most unpleasant. Now, let's look at the order of ingredients that Professor Snape recorded on the blackboard earlier. See? Powdered wormwood, then dried owl droppings—you don't add your essence of mandrake until line six. Now, isn't that much better than smelling like a dead animal for five days? I thought so" Professor Lunar gave a small pat on the back to Seamus, who smiled gratefully, before gliding towards the table of none other than Draco Malfoy, whose face seemed to turn a faint shade of pink when she stepped next to him.

A slight rush of jealousy caught Snape by surprise as he watched that small frame stoop over the steaming cauldron, as her lips parted in a most delicious smile, that showed her white teeth, that filled her face with an exotic beauty. He felt his insides squirm uncomfortably when she touched the broad shoulder of Malfoy, before turning to another student. Her approach to teaching the class seemed to be the polar opposite of his methods—and it seemed so dramatic as to mean it was purposeful. Then the anger would fill him, the thoughts of how dare she and who does she think she is, only to be intensified when he realized that those lagging students were now flourishing under her attentive eyes and adept fingers.

He wanted to curse her into oblivion.

Allowing the curtain of dark hair to mask his features, he glowered at the students nearby, causing several to cringe and begin stirring more vehemently. As he relaxed his stance, and began to move back towards his desk, it seemed as if something very soft had tickled his arm. He froze, feeling as if a thousand buckets of ice and snow had just been poured over his head, as he turned and came face to face with her. Her heavily lashed eyes were unblinking as she met his own brooding gaze, only her gentle breast moving, ever so slightly as she breathed. His eyes traveled to dark lips, shining and soft, then neck-elegant as a swan's, the color of tea, her scent filling his senses, like the water and mint, with dark jasmine, and a brooding, mysterious scent, like the full moon on a spring night--and he was torn desperately. Rage had surged through him only seconds before and now, suddenly, he felt like a schoolboy again. His large palms were sweaty, his once comfortable robes seemed to itch all around, he felt tall and towering, and he couldn't seem to think clearly.

"Professor Snape," she murmured, squeezing by him. Her hips ground against his leg, as a desk pushed into her very round rear; she arched her back like a stray cat, attempting to not brush too much of herself against Snape, but only succeeding in grasping the attention of every single male in the dungeon, as her robes stretched across her petite frame ever so slightly. Snape shot her a murderous look, moving out of her way immediately. She sent an equally frightening grimace in return as he nearly knocked her down in the process. Gripping the edge of a desk, she nodded very carefully, "Thank you, Professor. I do so hate it when people get in my way." She finished curtly as his back receded from her. He pointedly ignored her for the remainder of the hour.

When the classroom was filled with a bilious cloud of thick smoke, only then did Snape see a flicker of panic in Juniper's eyes as they ushered the coughing students into the hall, attempting to quell the flames that had begun to lick the ceiling from a bubbling potion, whose contents were streaming over the edges of a cauldron on the floor. The purple and blue flames were rather difficult to extinguish and a thick sheen of sweat had bathed Juniper's brow as she shouted incantations by his side. Her hair was frizzed and her robes singed when they finished, but her cheeks had an attractive flush and the flashing in her eyes was downright adorable--or so he thought. The feeling of them working side by side, as a team once more, brought back such powerful emotions ..

One glance at the mess, and he knew the cause.

"Longbottom, Potter; detention and ten points from Gryffindor." Protests began to fill his ears, "Class dismissed." The bark startled the students no more than usual and each quietly gathered their things. Juniper had not bothered to argue his sentencing of the two as the room emptied and they were alone.

"Thank you for your help." She stood stock-still, knuckles white around her wand.

"Thank you." He replied, stowing his own in his pockets as he moved closer. He could smell her, the rain, jasmine, and mint; mingling as one perfume with the acrid stench of the mess those wretched students had caused. Her nose was practically touching his, her breath warm on his lips. "Juniper, I-"

"I can't do this. Not again, Severus." She whispered, swallowing thickly. He cupped a hand to her jaw, feeling the smoothness of the skin beneath calloused fingers.

"Just once, can't we forget the past, can't we forget what happened?" he begged, his voice the merest trace of murmur. Tears were shimmering in her eyes, so brightly green they could have been jewels.

"I can't." her voice was resolute as she stepped back, almost stumbling over her own feet. "I want to, but I can't." it was as if a knife of the sharpest blade had punctured his lungs and he sagged back, knowing he should have expected this.

"Go." His voice was raspy, harsh in a way she knew to be familiar, "Go. Get out. NEVER COME BACK! Isn't that what you had planned?" Juniper flinched slightly and a tear slid down her cheek. His heart broke in half. "Isn't that what you planned?" he roared a second time.

The brunette shook her head in disagreement as she stood her ground a moment longer.

"No." it was a forced, choked whisper, before she turned on her heel and was gone, his screams echoing behind her.

"Then why did you come back?"

The swell of violins and cellos filled the orchestra hall, as heads craned on necks to peer between shadows towards the stage where an elegant line of dancers turned and glided in time with the melancholic notes that thrummed and vibrated from the domed ceiling and within the balconies of royals, high officials and other important figures of Britain. Several well maintained mustaches and beards were hiding frowns of worry and mouths drawn in tight lines of deep thought. Women smiled politely however, others fanned themselves in boredom with worn and wrinkled playbills. All were clothed in elegant silk and satin dresses, fur stoles draped around their shoulders, expensive jewelry glittering from every neck, ear, and finger; hair perfectly coiffed in the latest fashion; each becoming more dated, less immaculate as the hall raised itself towards the darkened bellows of the back, where one particular group of people would have been unnoticed had it not been for the garish color of the young women's cloaks, which were a vibrant red and the other a vibrant green. Their smiles lit their faces with an unnatural glow, lips parted slightly in awe as the dancers turned on perfectly pointed toes and began to glisside offstage. A dark haired man sat to the right of one, his hand entwined with hers, lank greasy hair hanging about his thin, sallow colored face as he sat languidly back in his chair, a playbill rolled up in the other palm.

"Oh my, look at how lovely her arabesque is!" the one with the green cloak exclaimed as the prima ballerina made her entrance.

"I know! And the costume! Do you see the glittering on her left shoulder? Freshwater pearls, I would stake my life on it—and black, too, no doubt." The one is red replied, long nailed fingers barely pointing.

"Do you see, darling? The pearls? Aren't they lovely?" she breathed in his ear, and he felt his heart warm.

"They would look exquisite on you." He whispered back, laying a sensuous kiss on the base of her throat. She blushed, her smile deepening.

"Someday, maybe." She murmured. His heart thudded at those words. Someday, maybe. "Someday, soon." He reproached, kissing her fingers.

"You're making me ill." The voice to their left hissed slightly, smirking all the while as they took on the shamed look of puppies. The final notes of the piece began to gain in speed, and all were on the edges of their seats as the end of the first act came to a sudden climax, followed by darkness and the loud abundance of applause. Hands groped for purses and canes as the bodies rose and began to exit the theatre into the lobby, which was as deliciously decorated as the cushioned seats and plush carpeting of the theatre itself. Glasses of sherry and brandy passed from vendor hands to darkly colored lips and parched throats, as the chattering gossip of the wealthy exuded the air.

The trio themselves were draining mugs of hot buttered rum, as they stood under the snowy eaves and awnings outside, their breathes vaporous clouds before them. Here the poor, who could not afford a membership with committee and boards of the numerous theatre houses, gathered to smoke their fags and drink their ales. While the wealthy patrons sat on velvet couches and in dark paneled parlors, they froze the tips of their ears and fingers in the icy winter roads and on the slush covered sidewalks. Though none seemed to care as their equally excited chatter shot back and forth between huddled groups of freezing young men and women. Their only contrast in gossip was that most of these vagabonds seemed to care for the artistic merit of the show more so than the color of Miss So-and-So's hair or whom Mister Big-Man-This-and-That was sleeping with this week.

"Oh please, that's ludicrous." The young woman in red flipped a lock of jet black, slightly curly hair over her shoulders, ears jingling as several silver pairs of earrings clattered against one another, pale skin almost the color of snow exposed to the cold. Her hazel eyes glittered as she took a long drag from her cigarette. The full yet broad lips that wrapped about the tip were a shade of red that matched her cloak; which was a rich, wine-colored brocade, lined with black fur. While she was obviously the descendent of wealth and power, she chose to spend her hours in the company of those less fortunate. After all, appearances can be deceiving, and she as no fool to this logic. The young woman in green smiled in a pained way as she sipped her drink.

"It's true. I'm telling you, one of these days, they are going to link smoking to death, you just watch. Its not good for you." The dark haired man beside her exhaled and kissed her cheek with all affection.

"Tell death I'm ready and waiting." He and the raven-haired woman shared a laugh as the green eyes of his love narrowed.

"Oh, very funny. You're a real ham, let me tell you. I'm serious, even if you aren't. What a joke, to tempt death. You know—" but he never did get to know, for at that precise moment, an explosion like no other ripped the sky in twain, as a thundering roar sounded from deep within the opera house. Several cries and the thousand shrieks of the people trapped inside flung them into the streets, as bits of wood and cement, plaster and charred paint rained upon their heads.

"What the hell?" a strangled voice gasped beside him.

"It's an Enclayrous bomb!" he shouted, keeping his arms protectively about the two, as the green-clad woman struggled to free herself.

"Enclayrous or not, they need help in there!" her voice was at a panic pitch.

"Calm down, Juniper! There's nothing we can do now, except get away. The fumes from that bomb will be filling the street in no time and if we aren't somewhere safe, we'll need just as much help as they do." His voice was guttural as he silently prayed they hadn't already begun to inhale the noxious fumes. "Cover your mouths with your cloaks and follow me!" He saw the tears in Juniper's eyes as she did as she was told, their hands gripping one another's tightly as he led them away, down dark alleys and back streets in the direction of the nearest train station. Sirens had already begun to fill the air; several flashing lights sped down the frozen roads towards the burning opera house.

"We should have done something to help them." Her voice cracked as they wove along, and he had to bite his lip to stave a reply.

"We couldn't have done anything to help them, Juniper." Her friend reasoned in a low, regretful tone. They had reached the trains, the dim glow of the lamps and lights a comfort in the stark white of the drifts of snow that surrounded. A delicate tumbling of snowfall had begun as they had stood outside and now it began to swirl about rather swiftly.

"We need to get out of the city." He reasoned aloud, more to himself than to them, but they were reassured none-the-less, and the darker of the two women stepped forward with a brisk nod.

"I'll get the tickets, you two stay here." He watched her stride confidently to the ticket master, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited behind an elderly woman, a young married couple and their newborn son, and another, almost dwarfish young man who was currently acquiring his ticket, before he turned his attention back to the disparaged eyes of Juniper, who was watching the thick clouds of green and yellow smoke fill the dark night sky a distance away.

"Are you alright?" he inquired, taking her shoulders in his large hands. Slowly, her eyes met his, tears gone but pained still.

"I dropped my mug back there. It's alright, isn't it? No one will be angry, will they?" she was gone, somewhere else in her head. With a deep sigh, he drew her into his breast.

"Yes, my dear, its quite alright, no one will notice or care. I'm sure it will be fine." He held her tightly, aware of how thin and small she was, how fragile she could seem at times.

"I love you, Severus." Her lips moved against his chest and he breathed a sigh of relief that she could still recognize him. They didn't seem to have breathed in any of the smoke after all.

"I love you, Juniper." He murmured, stroking her hair. Their friend was beside them before long and handed him their tickets. As they boarded the train that was waiting at Platform Eleven, its engine groaning with desire to depart, the thick torrents of steam its chimney spewed melting in the cold air, he realized that the young couple was familiar but took no notice as he helped the two women to climb aboard, tucking his ticket into his pocket. How the dark lord had managed to plan an attack without their knowledge at a place someone should have known they would be at disturbed him, but not so much as the sight that haunted his mind as the train pulled away and a second explosion, a lesser explosion rent the night sky in half. He could see the bodies that had fallen to the floor in the lobby of the opera house playing in his mind like film; could see them writhing in agony as their inner organs boiled and burst, could see the skin bubble and ooze on the faces of strangers-while they had raced away from danger like sewer rats and cockroaches, him shielding their innocent minds from the horror he had witnessed. With an involuntary shiver, he drew Juniper closer into his side and stared out the window at the fronts of the shops and stores he so knew and loved in London, and left his home far behind, the contemplative face of the woman across from them etched in his memory like a mask, a chilling reminder that he possibly hadn't saved them as well as he had hoped.

lyrics © Left Behind by VNV Nation