Fanfiction based in the world of Harry Potter, created by JKR. Her characters are hers. Original characters are mine. No pecuniary rewards. Please see first chapter for full disclaimers and description.

Thank you to my Betas, Elaine and JL. Any remaining errors are my own.

Please see my livejournal, I am weasleyfan, for more specific information in regards to this story.

Chapter 50: Coping

"What happened?" Rowena asked frantically as she barged into Dumbledore's office, dressed in rose colored satin pajamas and a flowery dressing gown, her braid sleep-mussed. She stopped and stood stock-still as she looked at the stricken faces of the occupants.

Severus looked as cold and implacable as though carved from finest marble. Minerva was ignoring tears running freely down her face as she tried to comfort Harry who was curled into a ball, sitting on the floor, hiding his face in the circle of his arms wrapped around his knees, sobbing. Hagrid was in no better state, leaning heavily against a delicate bookshelf which appeared to be bowing under his weight, also sobbing unrestrainedly. Filius merely looked too sad for words.

Rowena had been awakened suddenly by an odd sensation, not unlike the pain of the severed Bond at its worst. The flash of light which the others saw clearly was so instantaneous her sleeping mind had not registered it, nor would it have been likely to wake her in and of itself. Indeed, she had seen no one else traversing the corridors when she rushed to Severus' quarters and then here to Albus' office when she found them empty.

The sudden pain had actually worried her that something had happened to Severus. She would have been weak-kneed in relief to see him sitting there so calmly, if she hadn't recognized his icy demeanor as that which concealed his deepest pain.

Only when her eyes caught sight of the Phoenix, hiding his head under his wing and already molting a few vivid feathers from his tail, did she begin to piece things together.

Albus had created their original Bond; it would make sense there would be some sensation involved if something happened to him, even though he was not part of the connection. It was perhaps a leap of reasoning which had very little foundation, but when she combined that bit of information with the clear emotional distress of the diverse group of individuals in Albus' office, she really thought there was no other logical explanation.

"Where is Albus?" she asked fearfully.

"Gone!" wailed Hagrid in the same tone he had used to answer Severus nearly half an hour before. "Gone! He wen' out there an' fought You-Know-Who alone, an' now he's GONE!"

Rowena paled and stared at him in open-mouthed shock, looking frantically from one individual to the next, trying to find someone to deny the ridiculous claim.

The only sound in the room was a sudden hiss of pain as Severus clutched his left forearm before standing to stride briskly out of the room.

"There is a breach in the East Door. I suggest someone repair it with all due alacrity, or Albus' sacrifice is for naught," he said through gritted teeth. He did not even spare a glance for Rowena as he walked right past her and out into the dead of night.

She wanted to try to stop him, but he was gone before she had the chance. It was Albus' protection Severus always said spared him from expected participation in some of the 'darker' activities when he was summoned. If Albus really was gone, what would happen to him?

Without Albus, what would happen to any of them? How could they hope to win?

She sunk into a vacant chair near Harry and Minerva and added her hopeless, frightened tears to theirs.

The location was the Malfoy estate, surprisingly enough, and there was clearly a celebration going on within. Severus adjusted his Mask more comfortably over his face, squared his shoulders, and entered through the secret door Lucius arranged solely for the Faithful.

It was no great challenge to find the nexus of the party—the ballroom in which Severus had killed a woman nearly a year before. The Dark Lord was seated in a high, throne-like chair he always conjured for himself regardless of where he held court. It was exceedingly tall, so even Macnair, the tallest among their number, had to look up at him. It also allowed him to be seated when he wished—or needed to—in order to conceal the hated weakness of his physical body.

Severus ignored all the other masked revelers and approached the chair directly. Bending gracefully to one knee before it, he brought the hem of the Dark Lord's robes to his lips.

"Master, you have achieved a great victory tonight. The entire Wizarding World will be forced to pay you homage," he said calmly.

Cold laughter sounded above him, but he was not yet given leave to rise, so remained in the half-kneel on the hard floor.

"Yes, everyone, everywhere," Voldemort all but shrieked, triumphantly. "Rise and advise me. I considered pressing my advantage after savoring the Fool's death. But something was not right, Severus. I would like you to advise me."

Severus rose fluidly and stood in attentive silence, as though clinging to his Master's every word.

"Dumbledore and I have often dueled. He was a worthy opponent. Only lucky chance has kept him alive this long, but always it was an exciting battle. Tonight, he came to me like a sacrificial lamb. Did you know we were attacking the school?"

"No, my Lord," Severus answered, careful to maintain eye contact with the inhuman red eyes of his 'Master'. "There were no alarms. As you know, all Professors' quarters are connected to the alarm wards of the school in such a way that if any attack occurs, the alarm sounds throughout all areas which are exclusive to teachers and staff. The student areas are not connected to avoid 'frightening' the children. I am often awakened to false alarms caused by creatures in the forest or students out of bounds.

"However, tonight there was no alarm at all. Initially, I thought my rooms had been deliberately excluded from the newest round of upgrades; his trust in me has been wavering, as I have informed you. I was sleeping and did not know of the attack until a strange flash of light woke me."

"Yes!" Voldemort exclaimed, though his voice was more troubled than triumphant. "What was that light? The Fool approached me and blithered away about the strength of love until I thought perhaps his plan was to kill me from the sheer boredom of his drivel.

"I told him to draw his wand and fight, so I could kill him and return to the task of demolishing his beloved school. He said, 'Hogwarts will be standing long after you are gone because it is protected by the strength of love'.

"When I leveled my wand at him, he did nothing, Severus. NOTHING. He merely smiled at me until I could no longer bear the sight of his face and I killed him."

Voldemort fell silent and toyed with his wand, tapping it idly against his other hand. Severus stood rigidly, allowing no reaction, expectantly waiting for further information or questioning.

"He was quite mad, my Lord," Severus said at last when nothing more seemed forthcoming. "Perhaps he had finally gone round the twist?"

Voldemort made a small sound which from a human might have been a chuckle. From him it was just an unusually rough hiss.

"Perhaps, Severus. But there was no body. The instant my curse hit him, there was that explosion of light—it looked as if the sun had fallen out of the sky right onto that school. For a moment I was overjoyed, as I thought the Imbecile had tied the existence of Hogwarts to his own existence so by killing him, I had destroyed the school as well. But the light was gone in an instant and when my eyes could see properly again, the school suffered no visible damage and there was no body."

With this, an abnormally flat, thin tongue snaked out of the lipless mouth, snake-like, tasting the air.

"I couldn't even taste him there anymore, or the charred remains of his worthless flesh.

"If you saw the light, even in the bowels of your dungeons, then it worries me even more. What happened?"

"I do not know, my Lord. If you wish it, I will endeavor to find out," he said, managing to put in just a hint of reluctance into his tone, as though he was dreading a return to the castle.

"Very well, Severus. I am not unaware of your trials within the school. I need you there a while longer. I have not yet defeated Potter and without your presence there I might not learn the truth of Dumbledore's final actions. Perhaps he isn't really dead at all, but used some form of cheap trickery to conceal his flight? No doubt he could feel my awesome power and was becoming afraid of me…"

"A very viable theory, my Lord. I, too, would question the absence of a corpse."

Voldemort waved him away as though he was an annoying insect, apparently bored of the conversation.

"Yes, yes. I don't desire platitudes, but answers. I will summon you in a few days' time. Make certain you have those answers."

Severus bowed again and made to move away, but was called back by his final words.

"Oh, and Severus, my dear boy," the high voice sneered in cruel mockery of Albus' frequent appellation for him, "I think I have settled on the proof of your loyalty I will require—but we will discuss that at our next chat. Off with you now."

Severus turned on his heel and left, icy dread warring with abject grief in the painful, gaping hollow that should have housed his heart.

The fathomless pitch-black sky seemed to swallow up even the memory of light as he made his way up the path from the gate. The darkness of the night was only matched by the bleak emptiness of his soul; his strides had less of his usual easy grace and more of a doleful trudge as his worries weighed heavily upon him.

"It is always darkest before the dawn, my boy."

He couldn't tell if this was his fatigued mind playing tricks on him, or a memory surfacing just when he needed it most, but the words were so crisp and clear in his head he almost could see the azure twinkle in the beloved old face.

The grief threatened to consume him. The self-deception he had believed for nearly 17 years was crumbling all around him. The myth of his strength, his fortitude was an illusion, entirely sustained by the presence of the man who had been father, mentor, brother and friend in one. He had deceived himself as to how heavily he relied on Albus. What a fitting irony, that. He had spent the last six plus years harping on how much Potter relied on Albus to pull his arse out of self-inflicted fires--only to now realize how much he had relied on the man for the very same thing.

Without Albus, it was far more likely the Dark Lord would eventually decide his presence at Hogwarts was no longer needed. The thought that he might be ripped from this last bastion of sanity to reside in the depths of Hell itself was untenable.

Without Albus, it was far more likely some bureaucrat in the Ministry would decide his crimes outweighed his 'usefulness' after all. They might very well come and snatch him up to rot in Azkaban without even the dubious promise of the just reward of a Dementor's Kiss, since they were no longer working for the Ministry.

Without Albus, there was no one, in the Order or out, with whom he could speak freely. Granted, he rarely took advantage of that aspect of the relationship, but it had been a comfort to know it was THERE. Even Rowena could not truly be trusted to be an outlet when his sense of hopelessness needed venting. Not that he feared she would ever betray him, but any new knowledge she attained would place her at even greater risk.

Without Albus, there was no one to continually assure him—with something akin to 'proof' as he had done with his simplistic symbolism of the black and white boxes—that he, Severus, was not as vile and despicable as he knew he was. Rowena's assurance of the same thing was far too easy to brush off as her own innate naivete.

Without Albus, his true 'status' struck home more savagely than it had ever done before. He had never even given the matter a thought until now. First, because he was too far lost to Darkness to care and, later, because he had Albus, so he had not felt the truth of it. Indeed, when Albus had been there, it hadn't been true—because Albus was there.

Without Albus, he was an orphan.

It was near the dawn at present, being nearly five in the morning. He entered his chambers silently and went to his private potion cabinet. There was no point in sleep now—he would merely be more miserable and out of sorts than if he went with no sleep at all and used potions to maintain himself. He would require more sleep for it later, but as he could now be fairly certain not to be called for at least two days, that seemed a viable option.

He doubted he would sleep well without the assistance of total bodily exhaustion at any rate.

This whole plan would have been effective, as indeed it was one he had utilized often, if not for one small glitch.

Rowena Lupin was in his chambers.

She was sitting in his chair, at his desk, apparently waiting for his return. He hadn't seen her until he lit the candles in the area to find the endurance potions he would need for the day. But there she was.

He was instantly angry! He had no energy to be dealing with whatever new crisis likely drove her here at this hour! He certainly did not want to comfort her in her grief over Albus—(she had not known or liked him nearly as well as Severus had, so how dare she pretend to grieve for him at all)—when he was entirely unprepared to face his own grief at this moment.

He did not recognize his instinctive response to this loss—the response which had driven him to poor choices all those years ago. Anger. Rage. It was how he dealt with his sister's death, his mother's, and now was on the verge of doing the same to deal with Albus'. He probably would have done, if not for her.

She didn't say anything, so he was unable to snarl the appropriate level of scathing sarcasm to whatever platitudes she wanted to spew at him. She merely stood up from the chair and took the two steps forward necessary to close most of the distance between them. She gazed up at him, her large doe eyes full of compassion and concern, silently offering her presence and her comfort.

A word. All it would require is a single word and he could easily destroy months of hard-earned, barely rebuilt and fragile trust. He could go back to his life, his existence as it was before she entered it, and live what remaining time he had in relative solitude.

He stood silently for long, long minutes, glaring at her savagely. She didn't quail under his gaze—but she made no further overtures, either. She was here, of her own free will. It was up to him to accept or reject her.

His world was crashing down about him. He had always known it would. He deserved nothing more. With Albus gone, his miniscule hope for the future was gone as well. If the Dark Lord didn't kill him, the Ministry would see to it he was incarcerated or worse. There was nothing… NOTHING that he could offer her.

He also had no more strength left, at the moment at least, to resist the offered and desperately needed comfort. He did not trust his voice; his throat was far too tightly constricted in grief, but he managed to open his arms slightly and shrug half-heartedly. It was the best he could manage in his miserable state, but it was enough. She stepped into them, rose up on her toes, and wrapped her arms around neck and shoulder, to hug him tightly, fiercely, as though if she could squeeze hard enough, she might manage to hold the crumbling remains of his spirit together.

Instinctively his body relaxed into her embrace, even if his mind still raged inside. His arms enveloped her, his face turned to nestle into her hair, the scent of her soothing some remote, subconscious part of his wounded soul.

He was lost and alone in a dangerous vortex of torment and deception. His only constant, unchanging feature in the ravaged landscape of his life had now been ripped from him, forever gone.

He clung tighter to the warm comfort in his arms, burying his face further into her hair, unaware of anything but the savage, raging pain inside of him.

Severus Snape wept.

He gripped her so tightly her feet nearly came up off the floor, her toes just touching the ground. He held her for so long, she feared he would fatigue himself further simply from the exertion.

She didn't try to 'hush' him as people often do when soothing grief. First of all, there was no sound, even if she could tell by the shaking of his body and the unevenness of his breathing, he was crying. Besides, she wouldn't embarrass him by acknowledging the tears, no matter that it was a normal human reaction to something so tragic as that which he had suffered tonight, on top of a lifetime of other tragedies. Severus Snape was not a man to willingly allow himself to be 'human'. Reminding him he was, regardless of all his valiant efforts to the contrary, would not help him.

Instead she just stood there and held him, gently stroking her hand through his hair or against his back, silently assuring him of her presence.

Slowly, she became aware of the lanterns in his rooms gradually lighting. He had explained this to her before—being in the windowless dungeons he had conceded it was easier to wake and keep his body's 'internal clock' oriented if he had some indication of the time of day. The lamps and candles would gradually increase their flames and brightness to mimic the slow approach of dawn.

And he hadn't slept!

"Severus," she said softly. She had no idea how long they had been standing there, an hour at least. His body relaxed slightly and his breathing began to regulate, but still he said nothing and did not move for long minutes.

"Severus," she whispered again. He released her suddenly, but just gently enough she didn't stumble backward when her feet made firm contact with the floor again.

"Go, before Garvey learns you were here," he said brusquely, turning away from her and back to his potions cabinet as though there had been no interruption. His voice was hoarse, but controlled. "No doubt Minerva will want everyone at breakfast as usual."

"You need to sleep!" She said, stepping around and putting a hand on the cupboard door before he opened it.

"Lupin," he said with weary annoyance, "I have no time to argue with you and no energy to point out the obvious. I have no idea what Minerva will tell the Ministry, but there is going to be an enormous amount of chaos over this. There is no time for unnecessary luxuries like 'sleep'. Get out of my way."

Rowena, however, merely gazed at him with her enormous brown eyes; worry and compassion still all over her face, while one hand pulled a necklace out of the neck of her robes.

No, not a necklace, a time-turner.

She gave him a small, sad smile and held it up.

"The advantage of having a sister-in-law who's an Auror. I went to Number 12 tonight after you left to let them know what happened and she lent this to me." She shrugged. "We can't change what happened, but we at least don't have to face the day on no sleep on top of everything else."

"You went to Grimmauld Place after what I have told you about floo travel?" He asked angrily.

"Yes, but I Apparated," she said with a shrug.

"Ah, brilliant," he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "Because it is so much safer to leave the bloody wards with Death Eaters about and Apparate away. I thought you had a drop of sense!"

"More than a drop, thank you," she said, laying a hand on his chest as though to placate him. "Remus came to see me after we visited Lizzy's baby and I told him about your worries over the floo network. I wanted to be able to see Katrina. I thought to ask Albus to make me a Portkey, but I never had time."

Her voice broke and she blinked back tears, reminded afresh that now there never would be time to ask.

"Remus showed me a bend in the tunnel under the Whomping Willow where it leaves the Anti-Apparition wards for about eight feet. So I went in there and Apparated."

She jumped and flinched as his fist hit the cupboard door behind her.

"Trust that bloody werewolf to know of a weakness in the defenses and not tell anyone about it!" he snarled.

"Severus," she said gently, once again stroking her hand across his chest still trying to soothe him. "He thought it would be a good idea to have at least one place accessible from the grounds which was safe for Apparition. Albus knew about it."

"Oh, that is soooo reassuring," he said sarcastically, his anger getting the better of him. "We all know that Albus was a great one for being safety conscious in all things! Like making that blasted tunnel to begin with! I suppose neither he nor your brother thought to consider that since Harry bloody Potter knows of the thing, it is very possible for the Dark Lord to know of it as well?

"Not to mention your brother's dear friend and fellow Marauder, Pettigrew?"

"Okay, I've had enough of this," she said, matching his anger with exasperation..

"The path to the Shack has always been outside the Anti-Apparition wards once it left the school grounds. It was the new wards we installed last year that protected the whole length of it, except for that small section. Pettigrew has no way of knowing any portion of the path is unprotected. He hasn't been able to get inside since You-Know-Who returned, Albus has seen to that. And he hasn't the skill in mathematics or the memory or sense enough to correlate the path with above-ground geography. Don't you think if Pettigrew knew of it, someone would have used it by now?

"I knew you hadn't slept, and I took what I believed to be adequate safety measures to find a way to help you."

Her voice broke again, and her expression of irritation crumbled to one of sorrow.

"It's not much, but I wanted to do something. The others all took Dreamless Sleep potions from Poppy shortly after you left. You're exhausted. You're angry. You're hurting. Today is going to be hell for you. I just didn't want you to have to face that with no sleep. If I could do anything about it, you wouldn't have to face it at all, or at least not alone.

"This," she held up the time-turner again, "is the only thing I can do. I've been waiting for you since I got back from Number 12. I'm going to use the bloody thing to get some sleep whether you do or not. I wanted to do something for you.

"Let me be here for you, Severus. Let me be with you. Please?"

He looked at the hourglass dangling from the chain and back into her earnest face. Perhaps it was his emotional, physical and intellectual exhaustion all working against him, but the decision was not difficult to make. He looked at the clock on his desk; it was nearly seven. They were expected at breakfast by eight-thirty. He sighed, ran a tired hand through his hair and nodded.

"Very well, Lupin," he said gazing down at her. "We will be able to sleep in the second bedroom I had Albus add here last year."

He pointed at the door in question and shrugged at her inquiring look.

"When I applied for Katrina's adoption, I had to demonstrate I could provide lodgings for her. It's never been used; though I have no doubt Joseph has kept it immaculate. I can't recall the last time I so much as opened the door. There will be no danger of running into ourselves so long as we don't return here before seven."

He waved his wand to open the door, and revealed a room which was utterly unadorned except for the sconces on the walls, the enormous Hogwarts-issue four-poster bed, and a small nightstand to one side of it. The bed was made with soft flannel sheets and thick, warm blankets. Joseph clearly thought his Master deserved some luxury, even if the room was never used.

She followed him inside and shut the door, then moved closer to him so she could put the chain of the Time-Turner around both of them before activating it. When the spinning sensation stopped, Severus set an Alarm Charm to awaken them at seven, and moved to the bed. He was too weary to care that he hadn't thought to retrieve a nightshirt and merely kicked off his boots and removed his outer-robe so that he was in his shirt and trousers. Rowena was still in her satin pajamas of before—presumably she had gone to Grimmauld Place and back dressed as such. She slipped out of the flowery dressing gown and slid into bed, beckoning him silently with her arms outstretched.

As fatigued as he was, he truly did not think he would be able to sleep. His mind was whirling chaotically with worry and strain over the night's proceedings; his heart heavy with grief of loss. However, he got into bed and she immediately sidled up next to him, ducking under one arm to lay her head on his chest and throw an arm and leg over him as they had often slept when they were married.

Without Albus, who would officiate if he lived to marry her again?

He chuffed in annoyance and made deft work of releasing her hair from the ubiquitous braid so he could twine his hand in the soft tresses properly. He forced his mind to cease its painful prodding of the 'Without Albus…' train of thought and instead focused on the comfort she was offering so freely. Her hand on his chest stroked soothing patterns across the tense muscles and down his arm.

In shorter time than he would have imagined, or even believed possible, he was asleep. Miraculously, his dreams were untroubled.

As there was no body and no 'official' witness to the event, it was difficult to decide how to inform the Wizarding World of Albus' death.

They needn't have worried.

Sometime in the last hours before dawn, after the unofficial witnesses had taken dreamless sleep potions (or were buried in the depths of the dungeon, arguing) Death Eaters, or at least one Death Eater, returned to the scene of the attack to shoot the Dark Mark triumphantly in the sky. The image was photographed by the desperate, frightened Paparazzi and graced the front page of The Prophet. This was accompanied by a quote from an 'anonymous source' who insisted Albus Dumbledore was dead.

If the report alone wasn't enough to confirm the rumors, the absolute chaos which ensued seemed to give weight to the story. Dozens of people disappeared that morning on their way to work, leaving their homes by floo but never arriving at their destination. The Dark Mark, normally only left clandestinely in the dead of night, shone garishly amidst the slate gray clouds of British autumn weather in the middle of the day as savage but precise hit-and-run type attacks occurred all over the country. Ministry officials, Magical Law Enforcement and Aurors all scrambled to keep up with the reports and emergency calls.

Gringotts was taken—sort of. The Goblins, sensing interruption in commerce and possible damage to their profit margins, utterly abandoned the upper levels of the building—and sealed off the tunnels leading to the vaults. They took all ledgers and documentation with them, wherever it was they went, and left nothing at all of value in the enormous, cavernous bank floor except a few old balance scales and the odd quill and ink. The Death Eaters apparently could not break through to get at the treasures sealed inside the mysterious tunnels—but then neither could the owners of said treasures.

Families who had believed themselves to be in the midst of war had prepared for such a step at the urging of Albus and his supporters and had reserves of cash, food and necessities to get them through a brief interruption of banking business. Wealthy families and supporters of Voldemort were likewise insulated against the economic catastrophe.

However, there were many of those 'in between' who hoped to let the war wage around them without affecting them, or who perhaps preferred to deny that war was occurring. They had made no provisions for such an event. These families flocked to the Ministry and St Mungo's in droves, standing in interminable lines for basic necessities, which were both insufficient in quantity and substandard in quality.

Hogwarts made some attempt to function normally. Most of the older student populace now made a habit of getting The Prophet, so it was impossible to conceal the news of Albus' death from them, nor did they try and make it seem as an unsubstantiated rumor. Minerva cancelled classes for one day only and brought in the counselors Albus had hired last year, as well as any parents who wished to come. Some parents took their children and went home. Some left the country; others left Europe altogether.

Even the likes of the Malfoys, Crabbes, Notts, and Goyles had the audacity to come to the school, ostensibly to offer condolences and assistance. The Slytherin students made reasonable show of grieving along with the rest of the student body and Severus was pleasantly surprised to find there were a good number of those whose grief was real. He hated the prejudice against his House. He hated it more because it so often proved to be founded. These grieving students seemed, in some small way, to vindicate him.

The school governors were in shock as well, unsure what to do. For the interim, they made Minerva the Headmistress of the school and Filius the Deputy Head. Both of them visited Severus on separate occasions to offer their support and condolences, even though they were grieving as deeply as he was. In hindsight, they said, Albus had hinted to them of what he was intending. Their grief was sharper at not having caught the subtle clues in time to stop him, but they were determined to carry out what they now knew to be his last wishes.

Each of them, separately, informed Severus that Albus had indicated he was most worried about the two people he considered his 'adopted' children, even more than he did of all the students who passed through Hogwarts.

Himself, Severus, and Harry Bloody Potter. If he hadn't been in such despair, he might have found ironic amusement in the thought that at least in Albus' eyes, he was 'brother' to the Boy Who Lived to Torment him. Whether intentional or not, that seemed to be the focus—or at least the consequential side-effect—of Potter's existence at Hogwarts. Severus had to be honest enough to acknowledge Potter was suffering over this loss as well. He was pale and sickly and unfocused in any of his work in or out of class.

Even gaudy Garvey managed to be subdued and respectful, though her clingy black robes of 'mourning' were barely less scanty than her 'normal' attire.

But whether it was in the school, in Hogsmeade, in London, in Staff Meetings or among the Death Eaters, one question flew about the most and seemed the most unanswerable.

What had he done? Albus Dumbledore, the eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts, what had he done? Why was there no body? Why was his Phoenix still molting mournfully on his perch in the Head's office rather than following Albus into death as the loyal creatures were known to do? Fawkes' presence gave hope to the few who were not 'witnesses' that Dumbledore was still alive and just in hiding. No one who had seen the obviously mourning bird could cling to that hope. However, neither could they explain why he was still at his perch in the Headmaster's office.

Surprisingly, to Severus at least, part of the answer came from Rowena. He had not had time to see her privately at all since the illicitly stolen hours on the night of Albus' death. She was morose and quiet at the numerous, brief staff meetings.

On the third day after the occurrence, he left as soon as his last class was over. He was reasonably certain he would be summoned again soon, likely this evening, and wanted to visit Katrina before that happened. His growing sense of despair made him more certain, each time he answered a call, that this would be his last.

Rowena was already there, apparently heedless of his irritation over the 'gap' in the Anti-Apparition defenses. He scowled at her darkly, but the frown could not last in the face of Katrina's exuberant greeting. The werewolf and Auror did not seem to be home, so he felt at leisure to linger with her and even read to her before tucking her in bed. Rowena stayed as well; so it was a bittersweet taste of the 'happy family' they might have been if things had been different.

When Katrina was sleeping though, Rowena sat with him in the drawing room, pouring tea and regarding him with the worried expression which had not left her delicate face these last few days.

"You have to go there tonight," she said. It was not a question.

"Likely. I am expecting a summons. If not tonight, soon."

"What does he want now?" she asked, in exasperation, as though the Dark Lord was a spoiled child who could somehow be placated by giving him whatever thing he whinged for the loudest.

"Proof of my loyalty, as always," he said with a casual shrug. "That and to know what it was Albus did upon his death. It disconcerted him enough he did not press the attack that night. Very few things cause the Dark Lord to be worried—he is too insane to recognize the need for caution as often as not. Albus always managed to do it."

"And if you don't tell him what Albus did…" she prodded.

"Rowena, this is not something I'm willing to discuss with you," he said warningly. "You know far more than is safe already."

"Maybe," she said, mimicking his shrug. "But I also think I know what Albus did. Not exactly, but I have an idea."

He shifted slightly in his chair, his glittering black eyes boring into her, but she avoided his gaze, nervously toying with a loose button in the upholstery of the arm of her chair.

"I'll tell you, of course—as much as I know. But before I do, I want you to know right now, I WON'T tell you HOW I think he did it, so don't ask."

He said nothing, merely arched a brow at her as he did so expressively, inquiring silently for her information, without promising not to press for that which she was denying.

"He asked me for my notes on Harry Potter, right after the train attack. Specifically, what research I'd done into what Lily Evans did to save Harry. I think that's what Albus did. I don't know how he did it, because theoretically, what Lily did ought to provide protection for only one person. I mean, most people don't have that much innate magical power to begin with and then, the thing is fueled by love, so most people don't really have that sort of purity of love for more than a very small handful of people, if that."

She looked up at him and smiled wistfully.

"I suppose if there was anyone alive who had enough sheer Magic and enough pure, unconditional love to protect all of Hogwarts, it would have been Albus, hmm?"

"Protect, how, precisely?" he asked, frowning.

"I have no idea. When Lily did it with Harry, she was protecting him one time from a very specific threat. Some of the research I did at the Ministry and the rumors I heard later made me realize the act wasn't as limited as I first thought. Harry's told me a good deal about his experiences with You-Know-Who and how he thinks the lingering protection from his mother has helped him.

"But I have no way to even begin to guess what the effect is of what Albus did. I think if he'd focused all that on one person like Lily did, he could have made that individual bloody near invincible for life.

"What's the effect, diluted out like that and focused primarily on an inanimate building instead of a living being? I have no idea at all. He must have thought it would do some good, though, or he wouldn't have done it, right? I think Filius is trying to look into it, but he doesn't want to do anything obvious or say anything in the staff meetings with Caitlin Garvey nosing around."

"I want those notes," Severus said, commandingly.

"Absolutely not," she said, just as firmly and with the set of her jaw which indicated this would not be an easy discussion.

"I need to know what was done," he said, trying reason first.

"I already told you what I think was done. You do NOT need to know HOW it was done and I'm not about to tell you. I'm not even sure I know exactly. Maybe he didn't even need my notes except to confirm his own information. I'm not giving them to you."

"It would aid me in my work with Potter and the final objective to know for certain how his mother managed to protect him."

"No."

They argued about it for a long time, growing more and more heated on both sides, until the Summons came and he left the house, angrily and without a backward glance.

The reason he wanted the notes and she refused them, were opposite sides of the same coin. She didn't want him to learn and use the ritual to protect her, or Katrina, and thereby feel justified sacrificing his own life. He wanted to learn it for precisely the same reason. He felt his life was already forfeit. Providing that protection in his death might at least give it some worthwhile meaning.

He returned to the castle relatively unscathed, and now made the effort to try to detect any noticeable changes in the building or its inhabitants. Once he had an idea of what to look for, the minute changes seemed glaringly obvious.

Some effects were physically visible--such as the almost natural 'healing' of the hole in the stone wall created by the Death Eaters the night of the attack. Gaps in the stonework of the building itself, caused by the natural aging and decay of the ancient masonry, also seemed to 'self repair'. It was almost as though the building had become a living entity--even more than it normally was with its trick stairs, moving doors, disappearing corridors and the like.

Student injuries seemed to become all but nonexistent. Classroom practice of combative spells no longer resulted in accidental injuries and even Potions explosions seemed more contained.

This last actually vexed Severus greatly and he cursed the Old Fool even as he mourned him. How could students be taught proper caution and respect for the sometimes dangerous and even potentially deadly art of Potion Brewing if they did not face the real consequences in the controlled environment of his classroom? The same for dueling practice—how could they appreciate the dangers of a real battle if classroom mishaps were a joke?

Interestingly, after his lengthy diatribe on the subject in the apparent privacy of his own quarters, the effect seemed to diminish and he once again had to treat regular bouts of boils, acid burns and accidental poisonings. Filius and Garvey also found a return of normal, expected accidents during spell practice.

It was as though the castle had become, in some small way, sentient.

Albus must have been planning his demise carefully for months. In addition to the obligatory portrait now hanging with the others in the Head's office, the Headmaster had also, at some time, commissioned a full-length pair of portraits. These were for Severus.

My Dear Boy,

Will you consider me as narcissistic as Tom if I leave these for you as a gift? I fear you will take my actions harder than anyone else and I had no means to prepare you for such a step. I seriously feared you would go to great lengths to prevent it.

I thought you might like these to guard your chambers. I promise to behave myself and not be as rude as Clara who is hanging there now.

Do not be angry when I ask you to look after Harry for me. We both know you would do it to the best of your ability even if I did not ask. Thank you.

I failed you, Severus, all those years ago when you were my student, when you were like Harry, isolated and alone, I failed you. I ought to have stepped in and helped you, protected you as I have done for him. I did not see the danger until it was too late. Perhaps that is why I've been overly indulgent with him—as though in some small way I can make up for my errors with you.

I have never had children of my own, and you have often heard me say the children of Hogwarts are my children.

I think you know I love you as much as though you were my son in truth. Do not grieve my passing. I am quite content. My only regret is that I will not see you and Rowena on your Wedding Day. Yes, I am certain there will be one so do not roll your eyes at me. I did so want to have cherubs singing.

Do not despair, Severus. Nothing is ever hopeless when there is love.

Albus.

He was painted sitting in his favorite over-stuffed chintz armchair, a steaming cup of tea on a small circular table next to him, Fawkes' empty perch visible off to the side, and a large bag of lemon-sherbets propped open on the table. The enchantment was such that they could to be hung with one portrait outside his main door and one portrait on the inside. A person outside would see his front; Severus, inside, would see his back. However, Severus could hear Albus speak to whoever was in the corridor and Albus could hear him decide whether or not to allow the visitor inside, without anyone on the outside hearing what was going on within.

When Albus wished to speak with Severus, he merely turned in his chair as though it was a swivel chair rather than a very sturdy armchair and visitors outside would see his back and have to call his attention in order to request admittance.

It was really very clever and Albus was exceedingly pleased with himself over the idea. Severus even deigned to hang them, though he threatened savagely if he ever let anyone in, unauthorized. The innocent twinkle of the blue eyes when the former Headmaster said, indignantly… "Who, ME?"… did not reassure Severus in the least.

However, the portrait was a welcome, if melancholy, reminder of what was lost and he was glad for it.

A/N: Next chapter likely sometime tomorrow. The story is now done, and I have nearly all of it back from my betas. I am now scrambling to edit their corrections and suggestions to get the story posted before Friday, can't wait for HBP!