Chapter 9
This last night before the students leave for the break tomorrow should not be spent walking about the school's corridors. There should be no reason for this, but really, what would Hogwarts be if not filled to the brim with delinquents for students, deviants for ghosts and manic monsters for pets? He can at least take solace in the promise of tomorrow being a relief, but as for tonight, he's on duty to walk around and make sure that no one is running amuck.
He's walked around seven corners so far, reaching his eighth now and still, he's found nothing. If he finds nothing around this corner, surely, he'll find Peeves and ask him to take him to where trouble is. It would be a waste of his time if he doesn't deduct points tonight, assign detention for after the break, and just outright say something terrible to a student. If he can't spend tonight by himself, neither in a lesson with her, then someone ought to pay for it.
Rounding the corner, he meets with Miss Parkison, nearly colliding with her, only just stepping aside to prevent the collision.
'Professor!' she gasps, giving him a look that he instantly recognises from years of seeing it.
'Do watch where you're going, Miss Parkison,' he tells her, but he's really only waiting for her to report what she's thinking to.
'It's Granger, Professor,' she offers as though to explain her haste. 'She's that way, but she doesn't want to punish them. She'd rather talk to them than deduct points. Some prefect she is!'
He looks at Miss Parkison, quite aware that were he to ask her why she's left her prefect partner, she'd excuse it with going to find a teacher, but he still wonders why she'd leave her partner. His concern doesn't involve making her do anything against her will tonight, and so instead of asking her to go back and deal with the delinquents along with her partner, he chooses to ask about her.
'She's where?' to which Miss Parkison jerks a thumb behind her and he silently dismisses her by taking his first stride past her.
Tomorrow morning, she'll board the train together with her schoolmates, or so he assumes. If not that, then she clearly has no plans of meeting with him during the break. It's strange enough that he's going to see her at all tonight, when thanks to Horace's dinner, he believed that he wouldn't get to see her at all tonight. However, who is he to turn away a self-presenting opportunity? He already happened to be going that way as it were.
He walks further to where Miss Parkison pointed, quickly passing a stairway on his left, giving it no importance at all, until her voice sternly calling for a stop halts him. Unwilling to believe that she's talking to him, he rounds on his feet, his eyes immediately looking all around for her. How could he have missed her? Determined to find her, though, he brings his eyes to the stairway that he neglected and only seeing her then. Right then, every sense of his comes alive; his ears open to the sound of running feet, his eyes become aware of the stairway beginning to move, and then the two little boys climbing up the stairs away from her, while she carefully begins to take steps upwards to them.
Damn it, what does she think she's doing!
A low humming sort of fright spurs him to move quickly, doubling back to the stairway, even with it moving out of place. That unhearing girl – how many times must he repeat for her to be careful! She's on a swinging stairway, for the love of magic, what does she think will happen if she continues to move towards those boys, who don't know any better than running away from getting into trouble? Even he won't be as stupid as to fight a moving stairway. Here he is, much more accomplished than she is, and yet he's using magic to land him only three steps behind her, getting ready to catch her when she tumbles back.
'Stop running, you'll fall!' she urgently tells the boys.
At the warning, one of them looks back, probably to see how far they've gotten away from her and apparently seeing him behind her, gasps, 'Snape!' which in turn causes the other boy to look at back. In the commotion, she looks back as well, but in looking back, she evidently activates the castle's magic to do what it does right when it doesn't need to, and the stairway stops moving. With a forceful jerk, it comes to a still, causing her to falter, lose her balance in the next second, resulting in her beginning to fall back.
'Careful!' he involuntarily lets out as he firmly plants his feet on the stair to better catch her.
As for the boys, realising that they too will suffer tumbling falls of their own, he stretches out his left hand, his physically weaker arm, and throws an encasing barrier towards the boys. It'll stop them from falling further down the stairs, and then keep them held where they fall. Confident in what his barrier will do, even if it won't soften their fall, he brings his arm back just in time to support his dominant hand as it grips her shoulders that are fast reaching him.
Both of his hands manage to catch her shoulders, holding her still, lest she hits into him, sending him back with her. Instead of remaining still in his hold, however, she tries to spin around and carrying the force of gravity with her, so as not to be pushed back by her, he's forced to remove his hands from her shoulders to her waist, where they find a better hold around her as he pulls her back into him. It's a sudden thing that he wasn't prepared for, neither the onslaught of her, all of her, pressed into his front, nor the tinge of intimacy that it brings about. Nothing could have prepared him for holding her like this, and her hand frantically finding the side of his thigh to hold onto.
Biting down on his teeth, he closes his eyes to brace through the closeness, the urgency and the consequent sensations. It's a dumb, quite reckless thing to do, only, he can't think of another way to endure it all without being completely overridden.
'They'll fall,' she breathlessly says, tightly squeezing his thigh, which is enough to rouse his eyes open.
He doesn't immediately see past her hair, and so adjusts his head to see what he's missed. The boys, he finds, have fallen, gracelessly toppled onto each other, but they've gone no further than he knew that they would. At this angle, he tries to get a glimpse of her to see how she saw what she gasped, to find her eyes closed.
Amused, he lets out an audible smile, one, for making him doubt his magic for a fraction, and then two, for how amusing it is that she'd be frightened by something so small. Really, she can silence Dolohov with no problem, but she can't watch a small accident? Indistinctly, there's something a little joyous about the thought, that to muffle his impeding laugh, he drops his head, partially burying his chin and nose into her hair.
'Are they falling?' she quietly asks. 'I'm afraid to look.'
He doesn't really believe that he would care if they were falling, to be honest, because between this – whatever this is – and worrying about delinquents falling, there wouldn't be a competition. For the moment, he'd only like to take in the smell of her hair, remembering that she's holding onto a part of him that no one has ever touched, that she's close-fitted to him without trepidation and then form the corresponding memory for a later time.
'They aren't falling,' he breathes, struggling to right his head from her hair. 'You can look.'
In the following moment, he feels her hand release him, following that with a squeal and hearing that, his arm automatically knows to tighten around her while his eyes to open to see the horror that she's apparently found.
'They're on top of each other,' she tells him, sounding horrified, also letting him know what her idea of horror is.
She made him doubt himself again, does she know? Even after seeing it with his own eyes that his magic protected and then held the boys, he still flared up in panic when she reacted with fright. After many months of lessons with her, he should be accustomed to her reacting enthusiastically about small things, but apparently, he relies on her reactions to determine his response to things.
'They fell,' he tells her, still struggling to release her. 'It was inevitable.'
There should be distance, he knows. He should pull his arm away, that he also knows, but the formation of his memory isn't complete yet. Also, had she really wanted to be free from his hold, she wouldn't have shied away from pushing away. Nearly instantly following his last thought, she begins to unfold herself from him, slowly removing his arm, to then take a step upwards. Had he known that the last thought would turn out to be a jinx, he wouldn't have played it inside his head.
'They should probably see Madam Pomfrey, they could be hurt,' she says, briefly looking back at him before returning to the boys.
'They're fine,' he insists. 'Their Houses will suffer the punishment, however.'
Gasping at that, she takes another step upwards only then to ask, 'They'll get House points taken?'
Miss Parkison was right, he observes, she has no intent on punishing reckless behaviour, but he will not stand for that. So quick she always is to tell him how unfair he's being and how this and that isn't fair, and yet when faced with exacting justice, she opts for a weaker course?
'You decide,' he announces, making her turn to him. 'Either that, or detention with Mr. Filch.'
Incredulously, her mouth hangs open as she protests, 'Not with Filch!'
Just this once, he'll ignore her lacking respect for the caretaker to rather focus on making her be the one to punish the boys. She must learn that being lenient at all times will get her into serious problems one of these days. With that thought, he reaches out to pull her back to stand at his side, at least assured that she doesn't have any bias towards her own House if any of the boys happen to belong to her House.
'They won't have a better detention with me, that is certain,' he tells her, letting go of her and using that same hand to break the barrier keeping the boys.
Side by side, they watch the boys lift themselves up from each other and then the stair, coming to stand – albeit disorientated for a moment – on their feet, facing the other way.
'How many points will you deduct?' she looks at him.
'How many should I?'
He wants to look at her as well, meet her stare with his own, however, he's quite enjoying the exchange between them, not all that sure how she'll respond to him and how he'll respond to her. The little taste of obscurity that's between them is rather thrilling to him tonight.
'Five?' she wonders.
His face continues away from her, now watching the boys turning around and freezing once they see him waiting for them a few steps down.
'Are you sure?' he mocks. 'How about three? Sufficient for all the rules that they broke, don't you think?'
She pulls in a sharp breath - of course she does -, demonstrating that she doesn't appreciate him teasing her that way, but as he thought before, all of this is an experience that's thrilling to him, and so will not be interrupted with measured moves and responses. As naturally as everything comes to him, for her, he'll deliver it.
'Ten,' she states, 'and detention with you.'
Ha. He could laugh. In which castle would he be willing to assign detention under her terms? Yes, he'd wanted to give detention to any student that he found breaking the rules, but that never included him being the one to handle their detention. There are only a few students whose detentions he'd be willing to handle, for personal reasons, not the entire school.
'And what will I do with them?' he asks, tearing his eyes away from the still boys to look at her this time. 'No. Present another option.'
To immediately answer him, she pulls a deep frown, then saying, 'You only want them to have detention with Filch,' as if accusing him of being unfair again.
'I want them to not repeat their foolishness.'
'Then you teach them through detention,' she insists.
'Miss –'
Magic, this girl; he nearly called her Miss Granger just now. He's refrained from calling her at all since his apology to her, always referring to her as 'her' inside his head and to her, 'you,' but there are moments when she irks him so much with her defiance that he feels the need to call her by her proper name.
'I'm to push your lessons from of my schedule to accommodate the delinquents?' he chooses to say rather than saying her name.
It won't happen, plain and simple.
'Don't be silly, of course not,' she casually returns.
'Precisely,' he agrees, once again ignoring what she just said specifically. 'Present another option, I said.'
Conceding, she looks back at the boys, also saying, 'Fine. Twenty points and detention with Filch.'
'Twenty points and detention with Mr. Filch?'
Just in case she didn't hear herself, also to take his victory at what he's made her do, he repeated the punishment.
'Yes,' she replies and to respond, he holds up a finger, telling her to hold on and then looks towards the boys, beckoning them over with his hand.
'Miss Granger,' he gestures to her beside him, 'has something to say to you.'
Because his eyes are on them, he watches them exchange looks, look at her next, before looking back at him. Whatever they are thinking, they had better think twice with him standing with her. She may have allowed them to keep running away from her with no consequence, but he will not permit foolery in his presence.
'Twenty points from Hufflepuff, and detention with Mr. Filch after Christmas break,' she tells them, although not with the assertiveness that he'd like her to exude.
She's better than being this undemanding. She has power, if she isn't aware, and such power as she has must be used appropriately. What's more, he is here with her. In the same way that she can let her guard down in their lessons, knowing that he is there, she should trust him to rescue her if need be.
'You're not a teacher,' one boy whines, 'you can't give us detention.'
It seems that even the boys don't take her punishment seriously, not with those defying scowls painted on their faces. Whoever said that Hufflepuff only house polite and meek students?
'She is a prefect,' he tells them firmly, 'and well within the realm of such authority. Get back to your common room before you cost your House more points.'
The boys hear him, but still send her a dirty look as they walk down past them. She's the first of the two of them to turn around and follow the boys with her eyes and when he follows her lead, turning, he notices Miss Parkison approaching the stairway.
'Professor Snape,' Miss Parkison calls, 'Professor Dumbledore asked me to tell you to see him in his office as soon as you were finished here.'
Miss Parkison shoots a glance at the one next to him, which involuntarily makes his look at her as well. He finds concern on her face, as though she wants to say something, but concerned with the summon himself, he dismisses her concern.
Did Albus see what happened here?
He didn't see anything, but Albus is known to roam around the castle quite as he pleases. More than that, he has his other spies to give him news. Although he did nothing wrong with her, he can't fight the uneasiness that's now settling over him.
Come what may, he needs to leave in search of the headmaster now.
26Chapters
She told him that she wouldn't be bringing McLaggen to the dinner, but there the boy is, carrying two goblets of drinks towards where she's standing. She also gave him a disapproving look, one that seemed to say that he was out of his mind for saying that he'd feed her a potion to fixate on Potter, and yet there she is, proving that he was right after all.
Now, if only that made him feel as triumphant as he'd like it to – his flattened feelings could do with a surging boost of victory.
What, he wonders, is she going to say to him now that he's caught her clutching onto Potter's arm, standing impossibly close to him - might he add, as though Potter's the one who'll save her from whatever thing has her looking tentatively displeased? As if Potter would have half the influence that he'd have to extract her from this dinner! That's him rather; she mustn't forget whose abilities she trusts more.
It would be quite easy to complete his walk towards them, say only one word to her – come, most likely – and then smugly watch her pry herself away from Potter. No one would dare to stop him, he's sure, but he won't do it; simply knowing that he can get away with it is enough for tonight. Another reason is that when he parted with her some hour earlier, he hadn't expected to see her again until after term started. He'd already accommodated the reality of not seeing her for a while, thus, as much as he could pull her away from the party with no problem at all, he won't do it.
What he will do, is spare her a look as he delivers Potter's message from Albus. Should she happen to call him or say something, he'll hear her, obviously; otherwise turning his back as soon as he's spoken and leaving her to deal with the two boys on her own ought to teach her to listen to him next time. He isn't pleased by the idea of allowing her to suffer, except, she ought to learn to hear him.
26Chapters
Truthfully, he is wary of Albus; summons these days, be they late or early, always displace him in a way that they've never done before. Suspicion does that to a person, he supposes, setting nerves on alert at all times. Since Albus managed to talk to her alone, he's been treading carefully around him, answering to every call right away, being available for whatever service was required from him, and making sure to keep himself in the strictest order when alone with Albus. With Albus, one can never be fully assured about anything.
This particular call is presenting to be a safe meeting with Minerva here. Although, he has no way of knowing if Minerva is only here as part of Albus' plan, because surely, Albus has filed away how easily he'd given himself away previously to her accusation. Suspecting all of that, he nonetheless crosses into the office to take the seat waiting for him. While he could be dramatic about the call, demonstrating just how much he dislikes that he was pulled away from his preferred solitude only two days into the break, he'll not do so. In the beginning stages most importantly, he needs to be attentive as to why this meeting requires him to be here without the other Heads of Houses.
'Albus,' he nods, settling into the chair and then turns to the chair next to his to acknowledge the other presence, 'Minerva.'
'Severus,' he is welcomed with a warm smile by the older man.
Could smiles talk, he silently evaluates the other man's face, people would hear the truth behind Albus', assuredly. The headmaster is well trained in offering genuine warmth and welcome through his smiles, that to the one who doesn't know that Albus Dumbledore doesn't do things without a motive, they'd be as a relaxant potion to tense muscles.
'You haven't been to meals since the students left, Severus,' Minerva remarks, distracting him away from Albus' smile.
'I've been eating,' he assures her, barely glancing at her before returning to Albus.
Her concern would otherwise be appreciated if it wasn't cutting into his time alone. At another time, he'd have been quick to quip with something, entertaining her even.
'Good to know,' she says appreciatively. 'We were only wondering how tutoring Miss Granger is faring.'
They were wondering, she says. His eyes return to her, his mind already making the distinct connection. The interest in the lessons is too sudden, aside from the fact that she didn't phrase her words as a question. He finds nothing accusatory on her face, which leads him to Albus.
'Don't look at me,' Albus amusedly dismisses. 'Minerva wanted to know how your interactions look like, but alas, I have no clue as to how your lessons are going.'
And he should believe that, should he?
Considering that Albus cleverly caught her alone, spoke to her alone, and then had her tell him that he had stopped by, he carefully stares at the man, trying to determine if there's any truth to what he is being told. He can only really think towards suspicion at the headmaster, to be honest.
If only Albus would conclude his findings for once, and then hand him the verdict. If only he would stop half-circling around and then seemingly stepping away from a certain point.
How long must he be placed in this position of constant suspicion and carefulness? There really shouldn't be a problem as far as he knows, because in the end, he's only a servant. Albus knows that he agreed to things and his word, apart from his emotions, has always been his honour.
'And has she asked Horace how he fares with her?' he presents to Albus, wondering if he's falling into a trap set for him.
It wouldn't be far-fetched to wonder about a trap, for honestly, after so many months of classes, what could possibly cause Minerva's curiosity? Up until today, the only account of interest that she's shown in the lessons had to do with asking him to schedule the lessons according to her timetable. One time, Minerva apparently expressed disappointment in her for not being in lessons, but that has no bearing on her true interest.
'She is right next to you, Severus,' Albus gestures to Minerva with his blackened hand. 'Won't you direct your question to her?'
Only because he's directed to, he turns to Minerva, though doesn't repeat his question with words. If she truly is in cahoots with Albus, he's wary of her as well, and so will be treated.
'I spoke to Horace, yes,' she answers. 'He doesn't engage with her much apart from telling her what to brew apparently. According to him, she doesn't speak much to him either.'
How strange it is for her to begin the meeting with wondering how the lessons are progressing, only for her tune to now change to how much of a talking relationship he has with her. One thing should have nothing to do with the other. What does he have to do with how she chooses to interact with Horace? Also, if Horace is satisfied with her brewing, that should be enough. Precisely what are the two trying to find out really?
'What has you believing that she speaks much to me?' he wonders.
'Don't be ridiculous, Severus!' she warns with eyebrows drawn together. 'Unless you seal her mouth while teaching her defence, I refuse to believe that she doesn't ask you questions.'
Without proper conscious thought, he scoffs at the mention of sealing her mouth. In which magical world would that be a possibility? She surely wouldn't be afraid to abandon the lessons if she believed that he was mistreating her. The very fact that Minerva would believe that she would stand for such behaviour.
What of her does Minerva really know, then?
Believing that she, Septima or Fillius would have better influence on her compared to him, is that truly the extent of her certitude?
'She is who she is,' he answers, proudly certain about it. 'Neither would I bother with her if she wasn't an adequate enough student to grasp what I teach her.'
Actually, and this he thinks while turning back to Albus, he wouldn't bother with her at all if he didn't dig himself into a particular space with her. One decision, though harmless at the time, brought him to this space, and he now can't think of what it would be like to go through term without their nightly meetings.
'Thank you, Severus,' he hears Minerva say beside him, a note of mirth in her tone.
What interests him more than looking to see if Minerva is smiling at him, is the oddly mollified expression on Albus' face. It could be counterfeit, a clever disguise to the real expression underneath, however, it would be a lie to say that it doesn't look convincing. Another lie would also be to say that he appreciates Minerva's appreciation – what warrants it?
'For what?' he asks her, his eyes still on Albus's face.
Albus, evidently satisfied with what he's found, should please do him the courtesy of answering him, because he doesn't understand the push behind that contrast in his life. It's that for the things that he doesn't require gratitude, for the things that he does willingly without external influence, he's thanked. For the difficult tasks on the other hand, the more burdensome of things and when he feels entitled to gratitude, he never receives it.
'Tell him, Minerva,' Albus calmly says. 'I imagine that he must feel as though he's not doing more than is his duty as her teacher.'
'Thank you for seeing her for what she truly is,' she responds right away. 'Under your tutelage, she will do far better than she would've.'
Moved by the first part of her sentence, he returns to Minerva, only sounding out a quiet, 'Hm.'
True, with Minerva here, this is presenting to be a safely innocent meeting, however, can he really lower his inhibition and pass this meeting off as something insignificant?
26Chapters
Unfortunately, declining the invitation to dinner wouldn't have done. For all that is sacred to him, he would've liked to be excused from gracing the Malfoys – and their relatives by extension – his presence, except, courtesy dictates many things that can be highly unpleasant. Here now, though, he'll take full advantage of the opportunity to speak to Draco.
'I'd like a word with you, Draco,' he calls to the boy passing by him.
Draco, although pausing his steps to spare him a look, doesn't look the part of one willing to engage in a conversation with him. Had he been looking to engage with anyone, he would have made his appearance in the drawing room sooner than now, and certainly not accompanied by his aunt.
Ah, Bellatrix, he would've preferred not to see her past the initial welcome into the drawing room some time back.
'I would rather not, Professor,' he says after looking at his aunt as if seeking her approval on what he said.
'He's got everything ready, Snape,' Bellatrix craftly offers in a taunting voice. 'There's no need for you to involve yourself in his affairs.'
Paying her absolutely no mind for the first few moments, he keeps his eyes fixed on Draco, looking only to study the boy. There's no ease on the boy's face, he notes; the air of self-importance that Draco used to keep around him, certain of himself, of his name and his inheritance of legacy, has now been replaced by a downtrodden countenance, quietly begging to be released. Little does he know that with Bellatrix at his side, it will only continue to get worse for him.
'I was addressing the boy, Bellatrix,' he says at last, only briefly glancing at the enthusiastic woman. 'Save him the insult implying that he cannot speak for himself. I'm quite certain that he does not appreciate it.'
'He's my nephew,' she coldly says to him, beginning to circle the boy like a possessive animal and then leans in close to Draco's ear. 'Do not trust him, Draco. Snape is able to talk himself out of everything. The students. Harry Potter. Dumbledore. His loyalty. He could betray you, and the Dark Lord would hear his excuse.'
'Are you suggesting that I am fooling the Dark Lord, Bellatrix?'
It's a deliberate jab at her, spoken just with the right amount of contempt, that effectively has her hesitating in movement as well as speaking as her mouth opens to say nothing. A mocking smile would accompany the provocation well, and he would otherwise show her one if it weren't for Draco appearing to take in Bellatrix's words. Most likely, he's calculating if he'll be safer with the one who has the Dark Lord's ear than with the one extremely zealous for the Dark Lord.
'Surely,' he carefully continues, hoping to steer Draco towards him, 'you wouldn't want word to get back to the Dark Lord that you think him a fool for trusting me.'
And magic, would he do it! If only to rattle Bellatrix, thus removing her from further influencing Draco, he'd take word back to the Dark Lord. After all, as she just said, of the two of them, he has the ear of the Dark Lord better, and as just as she doesn't understand about him, he is not above stooping to the floor with triviality.
'You wouldn't dare blaspheme my name to the Dark Lord!' she crazily shrieks, springing out from behind Draco into him as her forefinger points to her chest. 'I, his most faithful, most loyal, most -'
'Bella, enough!' Narcissa's sudden interruption stops her from saying more.
At once, Draco removes himself from their small group, rushing away towards the dining room and leaving him to turn his gaze away from Bellatrix to Narcissa. In his mind, if it will fire up Bellatrix with indignation, he'll take absolute pleasure in shifting his care from her to her sister. She should know her place, if she would; his care is better spent on things of substance, not futile witches like her.
'Dinner has been served,' Narcissa calmly announces to them, that being the only warning that there'll be no more discussing of this.
26Chapters
Three days before the break, she'd looked at him for a moment, giving him the impression that she was struggling with herself before she quietly asked him why wizards celebrate Christian holidays at all. Her argument had been that their very existence contradicted the belief of Christianity. Quiet, he'd stared at her, waiting for her to further explain her reasoning, only to hear her follow that up with asking if he celebrates it in the true sense, or if he would be celebrating it with his family this year.
Caught off guard by her questions, firstly by the rapid change and then not immediately knowing how to answer her, he tarried in giving her an answer, which was apparently enough to make her change her mind. He looked on as her face took on the expression of recalling something and soon after, she asked him something to do with the lesson that she interrupted a few moments back. He'd forgotten about it, only being reminded of it now as he arrives here, to emptiness, to no family, from dinner with the Malfoys.
He's not in the best of spirits, to be honest.
There's a thing about spending Christmas eve alone that's dampening to his spirit.
This year especially, he shouldn't have to spend this time in this manner. Around this time of the year, he feels the pang of loneliness the most. When he imagines others, even Death Eaters, being joined together with their families, enjoying meals and laughs together, while he only keeps to himself, the desire for more than being alone overtakes him greatly.
Properly thinking back to then, it seems that she'd wished to know his plans for Christmas and perhaps, even his view on Christmas. Who can tell him now how that particular conversation would have gone had he only given her an answer to grapple with? He wonders, had she known that he'd be invited to dinner with the Malfoys and only as an attempt to strengthen his dedication to assisting Draco, would it have made her invite him to dinner with her family instead?
It wouldn't be out of place to imagine that she'd have no qualms about extending an invitation to him, not with how he's come to know her over the course of lessons. Without a doubt, he wouldn't have gone, but the invite would've meant something to him. Her invite at least would've been genuine, considerate and particularly tender, unlike the obligatory invitations that he's received over the years.
Just to think that this could have been a different Christmas for him, if only he'd said something to her. Or perhaps, the bleakness of his room is infiltrating his good senses, muddling them to the point of indulging in a fantasy that's only possible and likely inside his head, never in real life. It's fitting, he ruefully accepts, that he would concoct a soothing image to act as balm on his emotional ache for belonging and being wanted for simply being himself.
There's no point in dwelling on what ifs now, however.
No matter what she would've done, it won't change his current reality.
He is better off falling into bed until tomorrow evening when he has to visit Godric's Hollow.
26Chapters
Very early on Christmas morning, the feeling of someone watching him wakes him. His startled heart sharply spikes him from his sleep, causing his eyes to shoot open before their time. Silently, he'll admit to being forced from sleep, but he will not succumb to scrambling out of bed in haste. Startled though he is, his dignity hasn't left him and so will not demonstrate his slight fear to the one watching him. Ever so slowly rather, he rises his to a seated position, letting out an irritated, 'Yes?' before he's able to see Lefa's tiny form at the foot of his bed.
With only an outstretched hand, Lefa answers him, offering him something, which he, believing it to be a letter, wordlessly summons it to him. He wonders who it could be from as he begin to open the white envelope; considering the ungodly hour, also that wizards don't typically use white envelopes, the sender must be in a hurry for him to receive the message. In that mind, he breaks the seal, slipping his fingers inside to then look up at Lefa.
'What is it?' he asks, finding the creature's continued presence unusual.
More unusual, is the expectant air about him.
'Does sir like the present?' Lefa returns to him.
A what, did he say?
He will admit that magic is glorious and wondrous, however, quickly looking at the envelope in his hands, he doubts that something like this can be named a present.
'Who sent it?'
Who in the world would be as abnormal as to tell Lefa to deliver a letter, ordering him to call it a present?
'I mustn't tell sir,' the elf meekly shakes his head.
Hearing that, he considers all of it for a moment. Lefa is usually swift to appear, deliver, work and leave. He isn't the sort to dally, and so why not this time? Who really is behind this? And for what reason? Albus wouldn't use Lefa, neither would the Malfoys, which leaves only one person as the culprit.
The air around him all of a sudden feels different, apparently influencing his heart to beat differently as well. To contest it, he sits up properly, convincing himself that she wouldn't. She wouldn't, because it's far too early in the morning, and her last missive came with a breaking bird.
It cannot be from her.
He holds his breath in any case, knowing very well that he's doing something useless, and that the answer will be revealed whether he anticipates it or not. That thought helps him return to the envelope, coming out with a cardboard card. He instantly recognises the card from his younger years when his father would bring them home for show – in case visitors stopped by.
On the cover, is a Muggle Christmas tree complete with its supporting ornaments and lights. Seeing the tree, he then releases his breath to open the card and confirm what he's been doubting. A Muggle carol tune hits his ears before it's fully opened to reveal the words engraved into it, their golden colour shining at him as he reads, 'Wishing you a very merry Christmas.'
And that's all.
There's no signature, no other message, only those words and that tune, but the simplicity of it weakens him greatly. Overcome by the depth of something so simple, he looks up at Lefa, meaning to tell him that he cherishes it more than he could ever like it, but the nod from Lefa tells him that he doesn't need to say a single word. Whether the elf understands his look well, or his answer is painted on his face, he's only grateful that he doesn't need to say anything.
No word would be equivalent to the intensity of his feelings; not how valued he feels, not how touched he is, and definitely not how forcibly he's struck with tender emotion by something so small and simple. As Lefa vanishes from his sight, leaving him alone at last, he slowly returns to his card.
Once more, he reads the golden words, this time hearing a soft melody echoing in the air from the tune. Craving to hear the melody in the air, he closes the card, straining his eyes to concentrate on the softness of the melody and closing his ears to savour it all the more. It's unlike a sound that he's never heard before; a serene rhythm of sound surely made of peace, joy and everything pure.
And ah, it's an overtaking sound.
To enjoy it without hindrance, he leans his back against the post behind him, pulling in a long and satisfied breath. The last of his expelled breath fades into a soft appreciate laugh, one that lightly shakes through his chest as a single thought fills his heart.
Thank the Grangers very much for reproducing.
26Chapters
As per tradition, this evening, he stands before the Potters' grave with his hands deep inside his coat pockets.
His eyes stare nearly unblinkingly at the tombstone, reading the writing over and over as his heart silently prays for forgiveness for what his stupidity cost them. Were it not for him, they might've still been alive. As he ought to be, he laments that he didn't know how to make a better choice, that he acted rashly and landed himself into a group of men and women who didn't care to follow the laws as law dictated. His lament is as much for himself as for the Potters who paid the price for his stupidity.
Peculiar, though, where he would torment himself with blame, especially knowing that he would never again see Lily, that she would never eventually forgive him, he doesn't feel as strongly about the part concerning her. It's as though a thick wall was erected between his feelings and knowing that he'd never be able to see her again; the feelings are there, though not as intense as they used to be, and the knowledge is there, though nearly having no connection to his feelings at all.
Honestly speaking, it's beyond his current understanding to know how it came to be like this.
Despite his Patronus no longer doing what it used to for him, he never imagined that on the one night of the year where he had the chance to see her, he'd feel a separating block from his feelings to her. He's never been as delusional as to attach his Patronus to her, he's only ever found comfort in it, because it came to life from the happiest memory that he ever had – a memory to do with her. As such, he always knew that his Patronus' purpose wouldn't change his feelings for her, except, here he stands and nothing is as it ever was.
And he just doesn't know what happened.
What does it mean - is he becoming something else, something different from himself?
He isn't one for suppositions and assumptions, and yet Sybill had once mentioned something about his cards. Only one visit to thoroughly enquire about his 'supposed' cards wouldn't hurt him, would it? If only to see if somewhere between last Christmas and this one, he was bewitched to this current state of his.
26Chapters
'I believe that Draco is close to whatever he has planned.'
Were Albus to ask him for proof, he would have none to give. His statement relies on his own intuition, greatly influenced by Bellatrix's attitude towards the boy. She is far too protective of him, and if Draco has brought her into the plan, there's no telling what could happen and when it will. Albus simply nods, though, simultaneously giving off the air that his concern's something bigger than his own death.
'Aren't you worried?' he asks the older man, who in turn lets out a soft sigh.
'No,' he admits with all sincerity. 'I have full faith that you will see to it that he isn't the one to do it, Severus. You understand how incumbent it is that you do it. You understand that gaining the Dark Lord's trust is crucial for everything to fall into place. You'll be favoured greatly, Severus and he will honour you above all.'
So he's heard said to him a few times too many. He quietly nods, though he cannot help it feel as though Albus is coaxing him to remember his duty. There's no need for that, if Albus would care to remember that he won't go back on his word.
'Is something the matter, Severus?' Albus asks, seemingly worried.
'I only find it unsettling that you would be so calm about your death like this,' he answers honestly. 'Have you truly lived enough to plan your own death?'
'What more do I have to live for, if I cannot sacrifice my life for a better world?' Albus asks.
'Sacrifice,' he repeats with as much conviction as he doesn't have.
That is such a strange notion to come from Albus. To hear the words spoken so freely when sacrifice is one of the more taxing things in the world, is baffling to him.
'Yes, Severus,' Albus nods thoughtfully. 'I would undoubtedly prefer not to die, but how much longer will I be selfish? We cannot afford to think of ourselves individually when there's an entire generation of innocent people who deserve to live life in abundance, a safe life, free of fear.'
'It's not everyone who appreciates a sacrifice, might I remind you,' he returns deeply, especially hating that the opposing side to sacrifice is named selfishness.
'That has no bearing on the sacrifice itself,' the older man disagrees, sitting back in his chair. 'Willingly given, a sacrifice covers as many as who want to accept it.'
'And unwillingly given?' he challenges, because lately, he is dreading the day when he will have to sacrifice himself.
The part about selfishness is also slowly gnawing at him, beginning to make him uncomfortable. More so when Albus' eyes stick on him, something clearly going on inside his mind.
'Why don't you come with me to Grimmauld Place tomorrow, Severus?' is suddenly voiced.
Never mind that his answer never came, what is Albus up to now? One thing that he's sure of, however, is that Albus won't tell him what he's planning, that there'd be no use to him insisting. For his own sake, he might as well go along with the change.
'There's an Order meeting?' he tests.
'Remus is returning tonight and I'd like to speak with him.'
'I would rather entertain Rubeus than spend my time in Lupin's company for leisure,' he replies.
'He's been out by himself even on Christmas,' Albus says much like he's pleading for some pint of understanding from him. 'Won't you spare some empathy for him?'
'Take Nymphadora,' he offers instead, 'she'd be overjoyed to spend time with him.'
That would be the most logical choice, naturally. She'd be far more willing to pay Lupin a visit than anyone else.
'I'm asking you, Severus,' he's told through a soft chuckle. 'It's not good for you to spend this season by yourself. Wouldn't you like to bring in the New Year surrounded by your comrades?'
No, quite honestly. He would only really like that the New Year holiday passes and lessons can resume – some lessons significantly more than others.
'Unless you are directly giving me the order to attend, then I will not be accompanying you.'
'What a shame,' Albus expresses, 'because Molly has agreed to cook for Remus.'
Only Molly, he notes.
There's a long drop of testing in that last sentence, but he will not fall for it. Inside, his heart is already putting the pieces together that if Molly will be doing the cooking, then the entire Weasley clan will be there, meaning that she's bound to be there.
One very important thing to remember now, though, a sobering push to decline the invitation, is that Albus wouldn't push him to simply go for nothing. While there, he will either be observed, or he'll be tested for a giveaway once he has run into her.
Does he want to go? Absolutely. There is no question about it. His mind still has it perfectly recorded how easily they'd fallen into a partly domestic interaction at the Weasley home, and that alone would have been the motivation to leave with Albus, however, he doesn't like this about Albus. His cunning is too controlling and calculated towards a part that has nothing to do with anyone but the him and her.
'I will not attend,' he determines with finality.
It's safer not to, because with the Christmas card that she sent, he isn't sure what actually seeing her might lead him to do.
26Chapters
He never truly knew that it wasn't good for him to be alone.
Albus mentioned that it wasn't good for him to be alone during the season, and whether he meant that as a trap or a real point of care, just when does Albus suppose that he ought to have considered such a thing?
Was he supposed to have done it when he had a living family and still felt alone, or perhaps when he no longer had anyone, when he was all alone? In his being alone, understanding that no one wanted him beyond what he could do for them, when was he supposed to consider the impossibility of not being alone? And truly, having lived that way for as long as he has, was he expected to know any differently – any better, perhaps?
Although, yes, here and there in his life, he's fantasised about companionship, always keeping the woman faceless, named only 'wife,' so as not to be as despicable as imagine the woman that he'd have loved to have for a wife, it never seriously occurred to him that he shouldn't have been alone in life. Granted, he doesn't have much, if any of a life to share with someone else, though he certainly could've bestowed his devotion on someone.
Someone who would value it, taking it for what it was; a woman who would welcome the New Year in by his side, telling him of her plans and he of his in return. Together, they would have spent the remainder on the previous year holding their hands fast together and he would tell her that he loved her just as the New Year struck in. He never would have been alone then, and he certainly wouldn't he been raising a glass of drink to his lips sans a celebratory toast.
Happy New Year to himself, he bids as he swallows the strong liquid.
That is, as happy as his usual agony and misery can be.
26Chapters
More than he thought that he could meet her as the students disembarked the train, he felt the strongest urge to forego that easy route and rather look for her within a crowd. It seemed right to him, for whatever reason, to make himself go through the task of actively looking for her until his eyes found her. The moment that they did, he felt a tug of pride, as though he'd achieved something monumental, and then basking in that pride, he began waiting for her to look for him as he'd looked for her.
Watching her move about the Hall, telling this person here something, and that person there another, it hit him quite forcibly that it pleased him to watch her just as she was. In the pit of his stomach, a soft rumbling surfaced while his eyes continued to watch her move about, consumed with her prefect duties. He can't give himself an explanation for his reaction, neither is he very pressed to give it importance, because really, for this reason, he made sure to arrive late; he needed this to occur.
This, as he's referring to it, doesn't have a name per se. The only sure thing about it is that for far too long, he's had reasons for doing what he does, motivations for actions, and yet with her, he's wholly coming to terms with the fact that simply because he can, he does things:
Spontaneous things like look for her at times. Uncharacteristic things like kiss her hair without proper conscious thought. Uncanny things like look forward to seeing her after periods of not. Baffling things like hoping that she'd touch his hand more often. And protective things like be defensive and alert when she's mentioned by any other member of staff.
Really, one would say that he was bewitched to this point.
Even so, bewitched by divine magic or not, he continues to look her way with no trace of shame, until eventually, walking a younger student towards the Hufflepuff table, her eyes stray from her path to the catch sight of him. Once their eyes meet, she appears to freeze before his eyes, staggered enough to abandon the younger student to make the rest of her walk alone. His own body notices that his own body appears to freeze with her, becoming tightly rigid and somewhat fizzy with a strange sense of anticipation.
Just what will she do next?
Doubtless, he'll not move from where he is, but what will she do?
In this chaos of students piling into the Hall, friends welcoming each other with loud tales, boys and girls separating from each other to take their proper seats, would she cross them all to reach him, if only to ask if they are to have a lesson tonight?
To his very bad fortune, though, he never does get to find out, because the headmaster, the disruptor that he is, calls for 'settling down' just then, causing her to uproot herself and get back to helping everyone else remain arranged in their places.
Magic take note, however, that he's not yet finished with her for tonight.
26Chapters
Simply put, he likes the image of her standing in the doorway, presenting herself with a happy smile on her face. The picture is like a much-needed embrace, her innocently expectant eyes acting as the pull that's drawing him close to her, and her loose demeanour resembling the desire that's keeping him deep in the embrace.
'Good evening, Professor,' she softly says to him, her voice sounding like a light caress within the embrace.
You came, he wants to welcome her with, except, his mouth doesn't move. Not beyond the twitching motion that it does to resist a smile of welcome.
He'd hoped that she would come to him before the night was over, although in truth, he somewhat expected a note of disappointment in the end. Throughout the Feast, she held herself in a different manner somehow, that he caught himself wondering if over the break, she changed her mind about him, or their lessons rather. To now see his hope manifested in the flesh, to have it cemented into him that concerning her, his hope is indeed always rewarded, he wants nothing more than to stretch out his arms to bring her to him.
'Enter,' he trains his mouth to detachedly say at the very last moment instead, feeling at least that he must control himself beyond his desire.
His body on the other hand, has no qualms about moving a little way into her path, that way going against his mind, to bump into hers as she comes into his office. It's a brief touch, his arm barely grazing against her shoulder, and should she look at him in question, he'll excuse it with a little clumsiness on his part, but the graze is sufficient for now. After all, making do with little has been a constant throughout his life.
26Chapters
'All right, concentrate. It's not that hard to do,' she says to herself as she re-settles cross-legged on the floor.
Deliberately situated behind her, supporting himself in the most unusual position of a squat, his curiosity is at its highest, simply anxious to be close to the 'something' that she apparently has to show him.
'Encouragement is meant to come from the observing party,' he says to her, recognising that after a while she's yet to show him anything.
It's no matter really, that her unknown attempts have yielded no results so far, because observing her is proving to be a much better wonder to him. It's only the second night after the break, and already he's noticed that him being behind her doesn't do anything to her anymore. Neither does she stutter in her movements, if he happens to catch her off guard. Of course, she still lags a little initially, but wholly, she seems to have trained herself over the holiday on how to hide her true reactions.
No one can ever say that learning isn't a strong point of hers, he supposes. The thing about that is, however, that he isn't all that sure that he likes it. Appreciates it, rather. Curious, yes, he's curious about it, about how deep it runs, but he cannot say that he likes it. It's a little too overthrowing to his logic. Even now that she's ignoring his statement, seemingly concentrating on whatever she's doing, he's interested to know what happened during the holiday to cause this subtle change.
As she begins to conjure up three candles, situating them around herself, his interest is captured mostly by her ease. Very long ago now, he saw her conjure up butterflies, so seeing her bring candles to life from the air is nothing, and yet there's something different about this conjuring. She's concentrating so, and soon the ambience in his office becomes thick with magic, that even he gets a taste of a light power that he's never before had come from a student.
'What should I suppose you are attempting?' he softly questions, purposefully leaning to her for his, 'Jinxing my office?' to sound like a very provocative taunt to her ear close by.
Suddenly, there's a break in the ambience, the power that'd begun to float about the room disappearing at once. That's how he knows that broken her concentration, taking note that his taunts could possibly still be a sensitive point for her.
'I'll get to showing you,' she snaps, sounding frustrated, but never once looking back to show him even an irritated look. 'Let me concentrate, please,' she adds after a while, a little calmer than before.
Smiling, he nearly throws his hands up in surrender, ready to give her the time to concentrate as she's requesting, except, at the last moment, he decides against it. In a real situation, she'd be lucky to even have a recuperating moment, so, no, he won't allow her any concentration time. Despite his steady, 'Carry on,' encouragement to her, he has no plans for reprieving her for longer than a moment until she's figured out what he's doing, and has found a way to work on her magic despite it.
26Chapters
It is decided; on his birthday, he wants another card from her. She is to blame entirely for that desire, for she was the one to send him a Christmas card, and then she was the one to return from holiday somewhat different in how she carried herself, making him curious about what she learned over the break that shaped her to such, confidence, should he say? Would that new confidence still allow her to do certain things?
All that being what it is, the consequence is him wanting another card. A base desire though it may be, he won't accept to be ashamed for wanting something that's bound to lift his spirits, telling him that he's valued. More so, he'll be shameless in going about it the way that he's chosen to.
'I'd like a potion, Horace,' he carefully presents to the man as they walk from the staff room next to one another.
Only slightly turning his head to the side, the older man wants to know, 'Which is it?'
'One which needs to be brewed on the day that I wish it,' he chooses to tell Horace, very educated on how to approach this subject. 'It's for the ninth of this month, the day responsible for my existence. I'm told that it should be celebrated.'
There, he's planted the information that he needs to be passed along to the fitting party. If there is something sure in life, it's Horace and his propensities. Having now planted the information, there's not much else to do except to indulge the man for a little while longer. Horace's responding chuckle is at least proof that he'll have to entertain the man for a little more before they part ways.
'And you'd like to celebrate it with a potion?' he's asked. 'I could think of far more enjoyable things to ingest than a potion on one's birthday.'
'I wish only to have this potion, nothing else,' clearly leaves his mouth.
What he really wishes, is for her to learn about his birthday and then send him another Muggle card, complete with a birthday tune and hopefully gold letters that read, 'Wishing you a happy birthday.' One could argue that he could simply tell her that his birthday will be in two days, but who would he be if he didn't stingily hold onto his dignity through stubbornness?
'Very well,' Horace nods. 'I will have Miss Granger brew it for you. Harry Potter remains my best student in Potions, however, seeing as she's already brewing, it won't hurt to ask her to brew it for you. Don't you worry, Severus, I'll supply it, only tell me the name.'
'It is appreciated, Horace.'
And he will be expecting his card.
26Chapters
Not long after she's settled herself into her chair, after she's pulled out her wand and her notebook, just as he makes to close the door, Albus appears in the doorway.
'Severus -' he begins, only to cut off at seeing her in the seat. 'Oh! Miss Granger.'
Seeing the headmaster, his chest immediately hardens, a quiet dread filling him like it hasn't in a while as three long steps bring Albus too close to them. For a reason that he doesn't know, he looks at her, catching her just as she respectfully gets up from her seat.
'Good evening, Professor Dumbledore,' she says.
'Miss Granger, it's of the most importance that I talk to Professor Snape,' Albus tells her. 'Would you mind missing your lesson just for tonight?'
'No, Professor,' she answers and then looks his way, but when he doesn't say anything to stop her, she bids them, 'Goodnight, Professors.'
'Goodnight, Miss Granger,' Albus says, his eyes leading her out of the office.
He watches until she's disappeared from his sight, but he still continues to look at the door, wishing that she would at least wait outside the door until Albus leaves.
Tonight; it was supposed to be tonight that he received her card – if only she would wait for Albus to leave, no matter how long it takes for him to leave.
He's been waiting all day for this lesson, looking forward to the moment when she would hand him his potion together with his card, but now she's left, and he only wishes to run after her and call her back. He cannot, he understands, but no one ever said that he can't want things that he cannot have. They can meet tomorrow, he knows, but he'd like tonight to be the night that he receives his card; he's been waiting and anticipating all day for their lesson.
'May I have your attention, Severus?' Albus sounds to coax, which works, because he does turn said attention to him.
'Is something the matter?' he asks right away, wishing to get to the heart of the matter as fast as possible.
The sooner that he can be finished with Albus, the sooner that – he swears that he will – he can go and find her and bring her back to his office. It's important to him that tonight he receives his card from her own hand.
'Well,' Albus softly begins, 'I will get right to the matter. I find myself rather troubled this evening.'
For the sake of privacy, he moves to close his door and gestures for Albus to have a seat as he takes his own seat.
'Is it your hand?' he wants to know, his eyes drifting to the hand in question.
'No, no, nothing of the sort,' he's told with a head shake. 'Although, I am unsettled by what I happened to witness today.'
The dread from moments ago returns to him so intensely that even as he looks the other man in the eye, daring himself to remain calm, he's only expecting to hear the worst. His skin begins to warm abnormally, his mind feeding him that the expected worst has to do with Draco most likely. Should he be correct in assuming that, he's soon to do the deed – tomorrow night even.
'What was it?' he asks through a heavily thudding heart.
Before, probably before he met her at the Weasleys for lunch , he wouldn't have been this dreading of something that he'd already known. Yet look at him now, desperately in need of more time; one more week, perhaps or another month, if he's fortunate. As long as tonight isn't the night that he receives the final instruction to leave everything behind, he prays.
'Not much,' tiredly comes from Albus. 'In fact, to the one not familiar with you, Severus, it would be just another thing to witness. Just as those odd times in the Great Hall, where you approached a one Miss Granger.'
It's to do with her?
Well, that knowledge isn't much more welcome to have. If anything, his dread doubles as well as the heat attacking his body.
'When was this?' he wonders, but his mind has already gone to this afternoon.
'This afternoon,' Albus confirms.
Solely because Albus has touched on this subject quite a number of times before, he remains silent, cleverly waiting to hear what will be said to him instead of attempting to save himself. In the unlikeliest case that he's referring to something that has nothing to do with her, he should better preserve himself rather than giving himself away with a defensive response.
In reality, it's as Albus said - it was nothing significant. She'd only run to catch up with him and then they walked together, discussing something that she found in his book. For Albus to be concerned about it, he must have noticed how carefully he lessened the length of his strides, thus slowing his pace down in order to prolong the walk.
'Can I ask, Severus, have you declared yourself to the girl?'
Declared how? And declared what?
Assuming that he understands that correctly, Albus means to know if he's given her more than an inkling that he cares for her. That couldn't have been avoided, unfortunately, not with the pushy way in which she behaves with him. Surely, if she doubted his care for her, when he placed his protection upon her a second time, would have done away with her fluctuating certainty.
'Will you understand, Albus –' he tries to explain, but that sentence alone sparks a flare in the man that he instantly rises from his seat.
Even his white hair seems to flare uncharacteristically as he demands to know, 'What possessed you to do such a thing, Severus? We are so close to the end, and you are willing to risk it all? Surely you of all people know how emotions complicate the desired action!'
'Would you hear me, Albus?' he tries again, getting onto his feet as well.
'You could falter where you ought not to falter! It isn't prudent that you revealed yourself to her. You have thus created for yourself a realm of false expectations and most likely, an error in the fight we have so long strewn out! You were foolish to declare yourself to the girl!'
The urgency in his tone is real, he can forgive it, as for the inconsideration of his words, he is unwilling to accept them. Albus shouldn't stand there, glaring at him with wild eyes and then expect him to take the insults that are meant for him.
'Foolish, you say?' he shoots, poison coating every single word.
That he, at this stage would be called foolish as if he were a teenage boy lost in the world and looking for an accepting place of belonging. It's unbelievable, coming from Albus – completely incomprehensible.
'Dare I say even reckless, Severus,' Albus hotly returns just before brings his arm to the open and shrugs back his sleeve. 'My hand, Severus,' he brandishes it between them. 'I am acutely familiar with how emotions complicate matters. For a tiny moment, I allowed my emotions to guide me and look what the result is.'
There's no comparison, he wants to spew out as a cornered dragon would do. Unlike Albus who was reckless enough to allow himself to get carried away, he knows how to carry himself, to tuck himself in and take what he has been dealt. His whole life, he's known to fold into himself, and he sees no difference now.
'I am to commit an Unforgivable soon,' he reminds the man, omitting that it's by his orders, not his own will, 'should I really consider it foolish and reckless to leave behind a pure legacy, with at least one person?'
'But you have no place making such leaps in decisions, Severus,' he's ardently told. 'You are for a greater cause, and before then, you are to keep your emotions free.'
A load of filth, that is. How many times has the old man told him to reconsider his feelings towards Potter? He's a verbal hypocrite! He says one thing, believing another and then turns around to say another thing as it pleases him.
'Am I to have nothing to cherish, Albus?' he wonders, his eyes penetrating deep into Albus', searching for an answer within them as well.
'You have Lily,' the other man replies enthusiastically like he's been waiting to say. 'Has she not driven you all these years?'
That stings his body to weakness.
Terribly so, that he's only able to dejectedly speak her name.
'Lily.'
Lily is dead.
Going by that logic, he might as well cherish that first glorious meal he remembers as an eleven year old at the sorting ceremony. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, is a heartless and cruel man. That he would be so uncaring as this – and that after all that they've endured together.
A small sigh leaves Albus, making him appear to be worn by the conversation, but still he says, 'Yes, Lily Potter, Severus. Hear reason, will you? Perhaps at a later time if your sentiments still remain, you could pursue something with her, however for now, it is my advice that you cease to have her in your influence.'
This man wants him to give up the only thing that alleviates the thought of what his life will become in a short while? For the love of sacred things, he isn't asking for redemption in her, and he very well knows that come the day of the Unforgivable, she'll be lost to him forever, so why must he surrender?
I am myself most with her, Albus, he wants to say, only, he finds that he cannot speak.
Also, that's not as straightforward a confession as it should be. It's quite loaded and meant in depth. When he is with her, his mind is focused only her and not burdened with everything else.
'Understand that she is a child,' Albus cries as if reading his thoughts. 'Her interest and wonder will wane, given time. She will go on to become a great witch, and meet a suitable young man, independent of her life at Hogwarts. Young ones make decisions that seem everlasting in the moment, when in reality, they grow out of their choices. Allow her that liberty to create her life.'
Albus is resorting to this, is he?
He looks at the old man, trying to understand if he's intentionally hurting him, or if there's an ulterior motive behind this. Why should he allow Albus to sow seeds of doubt in him? She's returned to him on her own accord, never because he threatened her to. Doing his best to hold himself together, he continues to study the man who's currently reminding him of his own father; accusing him of things that he never would do and like a little boy, he stubbornly refuses to doubt himself because someone makes him feel that way.
'That worthless, am I?' he struggles to say, feeling it immensely in the moment.
Only Albus would have had the power to make him feel that way, because she never did. He is evidently so worthless that he shan't have any emotions, never make any memories and certainly not make it difficult for anyone to dispose of him once his use has been depleted.
His heart is aching in truth, shedding silent tears that no one will ever see.
To be confronted so harshly with the truth, and worse, by a man that he cares deeply about, a man that he's going to lament killing.
'Hear me, Severus,' the older man softly begins to say. 'What we are engaged in is tightly knit. There is a purpose, and you have a purpose. There's an order in which things have to be done, and surely you understand that neglecting even one portion of that order destroys everything in the chain.'
He doesn't need to be told that.
'Do not make this about value, for you are valuable. Greatly so. I value you more than you will ever understand, but the order in which things must be done, must be preserved. We cannot be individuals who think individually, when we are part of a larger group. Why do you think we are called the Order of the Phoenix? We are the servants of the community, and you swore to make place within the chain of order. Our mission is to do what is fitting for a whole rather than an individual. Your value has nothing to do with any of this, please understand that.'
Apparently not, he ruefully accepts, for if there was ever any value to him, it would have been considered.
Feeling drained and not afraid to show it to a man who's seen him beg for help before, he slowly eases himself into his chair, placing his elbows on his table, to then clasp his hands together before him, forming a thin triangle.
'I trust that your private lessons shall no longer be,' Albus tells him with deceiving softness.
He trusts, ha!
If there was ever a better way for the headmaster to force his hand, it is that.
Everything in him feels to die, his will, his ability to stand up for himself, his strength – all of it seems to die, and truly, he's only a sentence away from collapsing onto the floor. Still, though, he fights himself, reminding himself that with her, concerning her, his hope has merit, and so he shouldn't just surrender without trying.
'Albus, understand, I beg,' he breathes, keeping his face looking at his hands. 'I have no plans of acting inappropriately with her. I only wish to impart her with the sufficient knowledge to defend herself and her friends. Surely you remember the Ministry incident?'
He'd like to continue seeing her, especially now that she seems to be surer of herself. He'd like to continue telling her not to compare him to Potter. He'd like to keep hearing her asking questions about him.
He cannot tell Albus any of that, unfortunately. It'll give him more reason to insist on the ending of the lessons.
'It was most unfortunate, yes,' he agrees, 'however, she will distract you. Unlike Lily has kept you firmly determined all these years. I have watched the two of you for a while now, and she, out of everyone in this school has the potential to really care for you beyond your position as a teacher.'
'Headmaster,' he braves looking up. 'Simply for the time I have remaining, that is all I ask.'
Shaking his head as an answer, denying him the request, Albus then says, 'I needn't tell you to never be alone with her, Severus, I believe. Please, do have a good night.'
At once, Albus disappears from his sight, leaving him to wonder if the appropriate response would be to bitterly weep in lamentation or rebel against the order given - he feels ripe to in either case.
Undecided as to what to do, he drops his head onto the table, swallowing a large lump down his throat, but determined not to shed a tear tonight. Not tonight.
He instead covers the back of head with arms, remembering how when he was a small boy, even before Hogwarts, his years involved Dementors quite often. They would show up in the park where he escaped his house, and he hated with a passion how they could always find him, always trying to torment him with misery.
As a man now, he is realising that his current Dementors aren't simply content with tormenting him with misery; these Dementors speak, one offers him smiles even, and then order him about as though he has no will of his own, leaving him no means of fighting them off.