I held a jewel in my
fingers
And went to sleep
The day was warm, and winds were
prosy
I said, "Twill keep"
I woke - and chide my
honest fingers,
The Gem was gone
And now, an Amethyst
remembrance
Is all I own
Emily Dickinson
………………………………………
The soft pattering of tears against the starched white cotton of a hospital bed caused the headmaster to lift his head from the book he was reading.
The window beside him was glowing. It was early evening and the flush of late sun was almost salmon colored on the ripples of the curtains and the folded linens of his private room in the hospital wing.
Madam Pomfrey was busy in her office, filing paperwork and scratching away with quills on this and that, and her door was slightly ajar, which leant another beam of light to the dusky hues.
The room smelled faintly of eucalyptus and mint and the scent of dinner in the Great Hall also permeated, adding warmth to the sparse atmosphere.
Another tear hit the sheets and Albus quickly dislocated the small hardcover to the side table.
"Minerva," he whispered.
"I can't." She softly sobbed, unable to formulate the words she feared to say. Blinking, the tears that brimmed were displaced onto the sheets with a pit-a-pat and she sighed.
She was not one to lose herself so easily, yet her eyeglasses had been removed and her normally strict stature was slumped in defeat. Her eyes were red and swollen and the lines that showed her age seemed to deepen in the twilit shadows.
Now, everything had changed and the hell they'd all been forced to face was only beginning.
The sterling strands of Dumbledore's beard picked up the coral of the sunlight and the twinkle of his eyes could be compared to gemstones – perhaps from tears, perhaps from the sheer anguish of the precious minute. Like a phoenix in its dying days, resplendent in weakness, his radiance was wistful and rare.
"Shhh," he said softly, pulling her down against him to rest her tired body on the slightly tender flesh of his shoulder. He felt like ice to her, even through the cashmere of his dressing gown, and it roused a new wave of tears.
She relaxed into the mattress finally and pulled her feet up so she lay beside him – her heavy fatigue easing but her throat lump deepening.
One of her hands found its way to his chest where it finally rested over his heart. When she could feel it beating she was satisfied enough to swallow and speak again.
"I can't do this, Albus." Her voice was so soft it muffled slightly in the sheet and caught in her throat. She smelled like an apple orchard and he was instantly thrown two dozen years into the past, an afternoon they'd shared alone by the lake in June. He closed his eyes in effort to retain the memory.
"You can't do what, my darling?" he asked and held her lest she fall apart again – lest he fall apart.
She breathed him to indulge her melancholy. The white grey of his beard was once more auburn in the light and she could momentarily reminisce. Imagine they were once again spring lovers with a thousand years to live.
"Headmistress," she said abruptly. "I just… can't." She cried softly as he stroked the loose tendrils of her pearly hair. "I'd sit in that office and brew your tea, watch the years go by in the company of a phoenix that has your eyes… And every conscious second I would walk the halls, the grounds, breathe the air… I'd think of you…"
Dumbledore tightened his grasp and lost himself in the fragile motion of his thoughts… his memories, flooding back with a force that could not be controlled.
"My fate is worse than yours, love," she ventured, "because I'll be here without you and I won't know how."
At this she came undone. The wind blew against the window and sent a few dead leaves fluttering by.
"Hush," Albus whispered as a gentle tear slid from his weary eye. His vision became cloudy when he realized the simple truth they two lovers faced. Their time together was indefensibly approaching end.
And he was dying.
The Elixir had been administered in a weak enough dose to slow the process, yet in thirty days he would be gone. In thirty days Minerva would be the new Head of Hogwarts and the world would salute one hundred and fifty two years of his life.
The soft stream of light from Poppy's office disappeared as she discreetly closed the door.
"No goodbyes… not yet," Minerva said after a few moments. "I'm no good with goodbyes."
"The same goes for me, my love." The tears were falling freely now and for the first time in a very long time he felt afraid.
"Oh, Minerva," he whispered as he rocked them both gently.
"My Minerva."
………………………………………………
"What happened last night?" Neville asked in a trembling voice. "I can't remember anything, Yeva! I feel horrible!"
"Obliviate, Neville," she said through gritted teeth. "Your memory of last night was obliterated."
While everyone was dining in the Great Hall, the fourth floor corridor was deserted. The stained glass window at the end of the hall coruscated on the Persian carpet.
Neville's expression instantly turned from cloudy confusion to a thunderstorm of anger.
"Who the hell did it?... It was Malfoy, wasn't it? What happened, Yeva? TELL ME!" He was shaking with rage and fear. He squinted and pushed a panicked hand through his curly brown hair. "Some Head Boy I turned out to be!"
Yeva reached up on tiptoe and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You're a charming Head Boy, Neville, don't say that." She sighed and her hand returned to her side.
Neville turned to lean against the stone of the wall in exasperation, his eyes wide. He looked a mess with his disheveled hair and wrinkled school shirt. His cloak hung from one shoulder and his maroon striped tie was loose around his neck. Yeva couldn't help but notice the fact that his shirt was unbuttoned halfway, revealing a pleasingly sculpted upper body.
"Try to calm down," she whispered in her signature accent. "I will tell you what happened, but you'll have to promise you'll stay calm. I can't have you doing anything crazy."
Neville looked bitter but it did not change the fact that he needed to know. He nodded. "All right."
"Draco Malfoy saw us together at the ball. We were talking and I had my hand on your arm. Being the arse that he is, he made a scene and nearly blasted a hole in the wall. He cast Obliviate on you and dragged me out into the garden, intending to have his way with me, but I escaped before he could do anything of long-term damage –"
"I'm going to kill that bastard!" Neville screamed. He clenched both fists in seething rage and stood rigidly as his face colored.
Mrs. Norris tiptoed down the corridor and hissed at Neville's outburst.
"Neville, please! It's not helping."
"I know." He bit his lip. "I'm sorry. I just…" He trailed off in a quiet voice that resembled that of a first-year on their way to Hogwarts for the first time.
"What?" Yeva asked softly, stepping closer.
Neville noticed the slight swing of her hips and the way her button-down flattered the curves of her upper body. Her dark hair was pulled back loosely and fell in small layers around her face and those thrilling indigo eyes were sparkling in the orange hues of the stained glass.
"I just… I care about you… a lot." He blushed then cringed. "And that piece of trash hurt you. You can't expect me to just take it."
"If only it were that simple," she replied, averting her gaze. "There are things you don't know… Things not safe to talk of here."
"You can trust me. I promise I can keep a secret!" The little boy Neville was back and it made Yeva smile a little.
"In time, I will. Right now I'm enjoying this peace of mind – the calm before the storm, if you will. I'm content knowing that you don't hate me." She looked away. "And it kills me to know that you eventually will."
In a stunt of daring, Neville stepped closer to her and lifted her chin with his hand. "Now who is being ridiculous? Yeva, I could never hate you."
She instinctively pulled away, remembering her earlier conversation with Hermione. If Hermione had reacted that way, how could Neville, the son of two Aurors mentally destroyed by her leader, the Dark Lord, actually forgive her?
"You don't understand."
"I would if you'd tell me," Neville replied, eyes sad.
"I can't now." Candidly, she scanned the hallway. "When Dumbledore returns to the Great Hall, come and find me. By then things will have settled as much as they are possibly going to." She looked around hurriedly. "If someone sees us they'll get suspicious. I can't risk hurting you."
"I'm the one that's hurt you, Yeva. It's killing me to see you like this," said Neville. He took a deep breath. "Do you trust me?"
All dangers of their situations melted for a moment in the young Slytherin's eyes. Malfoy and the war were forgotten. Emerald and scarlet bled together in a rare moment. Lions and serpents were meaningless.
And Neville was only a boy standing before her – standing before her and caring, really caring. It was something that she missed so much that her eyelids prickled with tears.
"Of course I trust you," she said in a voice she didn't have the strength to give.
……………………………………………
Snape leaned against the window of Dumbledore's room in a panic. His left hand smoothed the raven wing of hair from his forehead and his eyes were squeezed shut in distress.
The clothes he normally adorned he had discarded and instead, in his hurry to remove his killing robes, pulled on a pair of gray trousers he hadn't worn in years and left his white linen shirt untucked at the waist. To be quite honest, he looked like a drunk, and if it hadn't been for the empty condition of his stomach, he would be retching at that very moment… possibly all over the floor. There was no room for shame.
He reached into his worn pocket for the charmed clove cigarettes he always carried and swore under his breath when he realized he had left them on his office desk. The need of a nicotene fix on top of the rest of it all was too much.
Reality was a torment that would not leave his soul alone. Dark circles hung below his soapy eyes and now they seemed so like black pearls, clouded in death.
The skin on his face was sticky from temperature change and dirty sweat. His chin was covered in stubble and it was not suitable for him at all. At one time, he might have cared.
"Don't you dare do anything rash." Dumbledore's voice cracked like a whip on a carcass. The exchange was not pretty.
"I fucking killed you," Severus answered through a lump in his throat that resembled a double edged sword. His voice was sore and hissed, and he stared motionless, shaking in rage. The French grey of evening was a sallow chalky color, unappealing in the two wizards' periphery. "No matter what you say, Dumbledore, I might as well have cast the killing curse…"
"You didn't know," he replied sadly. There was a pause, a break of silence that was unnecessary. Yet, the headmaster had come to a point of no words… not at that moment. Everything seemed lost.
Then, surprising and strangely relieving as it was... Severus Snape cried.
From where he lay on the hospital bed, Dumbledore could not see his face, but he could hear him. And like a cough it started deep in his strained throat, guttural as his voice already was. His shoulders shook like a scared child and each rigid movement hit the walls of the room with a wave of electricity… Albus was again staring at the broken man who'd come to him so many years ago. The comparison was tragically absolute.
All those years I thought he'd changed, I thought I changed him, Albus thought.
And now those years have gone and we've returned to where we started. He breathed the medicinal air deep to fill his lungs.
"I am sorry, Severus," Albus whispered ever so softly as he settled down weakly against the pillow.
To that, Snape turned, thoroughly damp and distraught. Rage and disbelief colored his wet cheeks. A few strands of moist hair stuck to his forehead and as he moved closer a sob escaped his wild lips.
"What for? You're sorry?" Snape sputtered the questions like that of a first-year. His guard was down; the façade was wiped away completely. "You're dying, Albus, and it's my fault… this is my fault… my fault… my fault…"
Each time he repeated it he mentally stabbed himself.
At that point the whimpering escaped his throat again and he looked to the dying light of the window where he breathlessly found no comfort. Tears poured from his eyes in a storm that had never touched him before. Years and years came racking out in a disastrous thunder. Snape was bawling like a child – sniveling like he did as the lonely student that he was… the child that became the killer… that had become the child again.
And Dumbledore just stared at the ceiling. His eyes were again gem-like as they had been earlier with Minerva.
"I am sorry, Severus," he repeated as he lowered his gaze. "I'm sorry." Barely more than a murmur.
Snape gripped the windowsill and staggered, pain overtaking his inconsolable body. The reality was too much now. It was all too much.
"What are you sorry for, Albus? What?" The whining sound of the words was foreign even to him. "I am the one who has failed you. I am the one who will live on knowing I was responsible for your death."
"You are not directly responsible for my death, Severus. I have no doubt in my mind of the intendment of your heart… and I am sorry, not for you, but for what I have in fact failed to see all along."
Snape lifted his trembling head to fix Albus with an unsure expression. Both of his dark eyebrows furrowed to a pained knot between his eyes.
Dumbledore continued wearily; his honesty was soft spoken and pure, but his face held the burden of age.
"Sometimes I forget, Severus… the range of my power as headmaster. My administration is displaced when I view you as one of my problems, and I am sorry." It seemed lonely all of the sudden. The room turned hollow as the headmaster moved his gaze astray. The moon was gold in the sky beyond the window and the cloud cover threatened rain. A few minutes passed between them before Albus finally attempted to lighten the mood.
"Let us not dwell on these things now... Come and sit with me, Severus," he said through a smile as he patted the arm of the nearby chair. "Harry sat with me all afternoon before Minerva came and I am deprived of your company as of late."
Snape visibly relaxed and regained his composure within seconds. Then he moved to sit in the armchair at the bedside.
"Yes, I believe it would be wise to digress," Severus said as he sighed and brought his forefinger to the bridge of his nose. "For my sanity at the very least, however selfish it may be."
"Nonsense." Dumbledore chuckled.
Once Snape had settled himself into the chair he spoke again, seriously. "Albus, I must insist upon cancelling Wednesday's Order meeting. You are not well enough at the present time. They may panic… prematurely."
"Nonsense!" Dumbledore laughed. "If there is one thing I've learned about life, it's that I need to live it! I've booked a swing band, Severus… and a shellfish buffet! Festivities are the cure, I say!"
Snape's lips twitched. "That was quite the Albus Dumbledore reply," he said through a sneer. "And you are expecting me to attend this abomination, I suppose?"
Dumbledore's face was plastered at once with a silly grin and his eyes twinkled playfully. "Why, of course, my boy! Of course!"
"I wouldn't have expected anything less. However…" He held up a hand. "I will indulge in your… festivities, if it will please you." To that he smirked a little.
"And everything is set for your vacation?" Albus was baiting him now.
Snape snickered. "Hardly a vacation, Albus. Hardly."
"Italy is such a delightful place." Albus sighed. "Wizarding Tuscany is one of the tourist capitals of our world, Severus, as I am sure you know."
"Don't remind me."
"I mean no harm, only to suggest…"
"Oh damn. What is up your sleeve now? What ideas could possibly be hiding in that bedpan?"
Dumbledore fixed him with a theatrically serious glare and then burst into laughter. Snape smiled.
"You see, Severus? You're not so much the brooding artiste we know you as. Your sense of humor seeps through from time to time."
Snape narrowed his eyes.
"Alright, speak. I haven't got all night."
"Hermione Granger will accompany you to Florence."
Silence.
"I haven't the time for obtuse jokes, Albus. You –"
"I am completely serious, Severus. I will not have you laboring away in one the world's most beautiful cities alone!"
"Preposterous!" Snape rose swiftly to his feet. "Miss Granger knows nothing of the complications of this potion! I am not… will not…" He trailed off due to the fact that Albus was laughing so hard he looked as if he might explode. His face was cherry red and he resembled a sunburned elf.
"What the bloody hell is so funny?" Snape near-shrieked.
"Your fly is undone."
Severus immediately glanced down at himself and noticed that Albus was quite upsettingly correct.
"You see, Severus? You can hardly dress yourself. How do you expect to finish this potion unassisted?" Albus' eyes were twinkling.
Snape frowned and proceeded to reach downwards and securely zip his pants, immediately covering the hint of his black boxer briefs.
"You josh at a time like this?" Snape said, tight-lipped. His brow furrowed and he walked again to the window sill. "My habitual trousers have button closures, Albus. I have not worn these in years. I am hardly in a sound state of mind here, as you must realize, and I admit it only because you are so damned clairvoyant."
"Exactly my point."
When Severus disregarded reply, Albus said, "Miss Granger is the only one at Hogwarts that appreciates you as much as I do… Perhaps, I daresay, even more."
Snape snorted.
"It is true, Severus. She respects your methods. She is quite perceptive and intelligent and I am certain –"
"Too perceptive for her own good," Severus snapped. "I cannot deny that Miss Granger is our best student here, yet the fact remains that I cannot work with her!"
"Can't, Severus?... or won't?" Albus fixed his gaze to shiny black eyes that concentrated above him.
"Albus, please, on the contrary. Miss Granger has shown much less respect in recent weeks. Do not ask me to put myself through such agony. She is chattering, abrasive, and…" He paused. "She is unsettling, to tell you the truth. I cannot work well in such an environment. Our last conversation was most unpleasant and nearly turned violent. Lupin could accompany me."
"Severus, I will not deprive Hogwarts of two professors for a week. That is not wise. My decision is final. This potion is vital to our success." He sighed wearily. "I am tired now. Poppy will castrate you if she finds out you're in here this late. She probably will force me to stay in bed for another day and I must return to the office tomorrow. I have many things to do in the next month."
There was a long pause before Severus opened his mouth to argue again.
"My decision is final," Dumbledore replied.
"Then I must agree," Snape snapped and sharply nodded. "I am afraid I owe you everything."
The weight had only momentarily been released from his shoulders and the sadness had crept in again, clouding his vision for a swift moment. He longed for dreamless sleep.
When he turned to exit and lift the door latch, Albus spoke up once more in a tired voice.
"I know for a fact the last conversation you had with Hermione was in the garden. And I understand that it was hardly violent." He smiled. "When it comes to communication, you are impossible, Severus. You would be quite surprised if you simply allowed yourself to listen to what she has to say."
