Typical Disclaimers Apply

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! They were lovely.

Now for the last of my dedications: These next (well last) few chapters go out to RadicalReason. I don't actually have a set-in-stone length for the story, especially because the alternate ending may actually have to span two chapters (it depends on how big a document the site will let me cram into one chapter).

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Esme was pacing. Why was she pacing? Simply because there was nothing else to do. She had read all of Snape's books. She had sewn herself a set of ill-fitting robes made from the curtains. She had created a likeness of herself made completely out of food. In six weeks she had done everything she could possibly do without leaving the room. And now that she could do it without tearing holes in her legs, she was walking around the room.

"Severus, I'm bored!" she whined for the fourth time that day. Snape, who was bent over some bits of parchment, looked up at her irritably.

"What, pray tell, do you expect me to do about that?" he asked sarcastically.

"Entertain me," she said, finally flopping down into an armchair. "Bellydance." Snape's large nose crinkled up in distaste.

"Ah, no." He turned back towards his work. "Isn't there anything else you could do besides complain?"

"Clearly, there isn't," she replied smoothly. "Hmmm," she said, looking about the room. "I could cut your hair!"

"No."

"I could paint the walls!"

"No."

"I could—"

"Get down!" Snape suddenly snapped. Out of the corner of his eye he'd seen something flicker in the fireplace. The unlit fireplace. Fortunately, Esme was out of view.

"Snape?" The familiar voice barked. Leaving Esme, Snape strode over to the fireplace where Bellatrix Lestrange's head rested. She sneered at him.

"Bella. Dear, sweet Bella. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Snape caught Esme's eye and grinned. Bellatrix's sneer turned into a snarl.

"The Dark Lord's on his way to the school," she said coldly. "There is a matter to which he must attend. He should be there in about ten minutes."

"Oh?" Snape drawled. "And what matter would that be?"

"I—it doesn't involve you," she growled.

"Oh," Snape purred. "He didn't tell you, did he? Not after that absolute disaster of a kidnapping. To think, you couldn't even contain three teenagers!" He shook his head and clicked his tongue. "How the mighty have fallen."

"So, it's true about Esmeralda Black?" Bellatrix snapped. "She's dead? Alecto finished her off?" She smirked, "Or was it you? I've been hearing both."

"Yes," Snape said lazily not answering her second question. "Poor Bella, you didn't even get to kill your arch nemesis. Nothing's working out for you, is it?"

"Mind your tongue, Snape," she growled menacingly. "You watch and see who the Dark Lord chooses to be at his right hand."

"Yeah, I bet it's me," he said conversationally. With a furious snarl, her head disappeared from the fireplace. Snape turned away and grinned at Esme. "Apparently, the Dark Lord's coming."

"Joy of all joys," she said sarcastically. "Shall I prepare a feast? Or will a simple sixteen-tiered French cake do?"

"Actually," he said carefully, "we should probably hide you."

"No. I don't have the energy. I've tired myself out complaining." He stared at her, one eyebrow arched rather high. "Oh, come on. I could sit very still, and you could say I'm a statue. Or, even better, tell him you've taken up taxidermy!" Snape's look of confusion turned to one of revulsion.

"What a disgusting idea!" he said. Then he leaned down and scooped her up. "No, I think I'll simply hide you in the bath."

"You're putting me in the bathtub? That's a horrible idea!" she protested, trying to kick him. "Come on! Just tell him you made me into a stuffed toy!"

He nearly dropped her. "No!" Carrying her like a groom might carry his bride, Snape trudged towards the bathroom. He'd tried to keep everything the same since he took over Dumbledore's post, so it was rather lavish. The floors, combined bathtub/shower, toilet and sink were all a pure, shimmering gold. The shower curtain, towels, washcloths, and bathmats were all a plush, deep crimson. It was all rather shocking, upon first sight. But Esme had seen it before, so the only shock she received was when she looked into the mirror. It was there where she saw a sight so horrible, so absolutely terrifying; it made her scream at the top of her lungs.

"What is it?" Snape gasped, nearly dropping her.

"It's—it's," she struggled, for the horror was far too great for words. "I have a grey hair!" she finally shrieked, almost breaking into sobs. Hanging right behind her left ear, sticking out like a star on a cloudless night, was a single, iron-colored, strand of hair. Snape glared at her.

"I'm dropping you in the bath now." He unceremoniously dropped her onto the floor of the tub. She looked up at him, wrinkling her nose.

"I'll get you back for this," she said, only half-serious. Her eyes danced.

"You already have," he said somewhat sadly as he turned and left. He'd been doing that lately. She'd joke around, maybe say something silly, hoping to make him laugh, but the darkness would fill his eyes again. He'd look far off for a few moments, sometimes he'd say something somewhat morose. It wouldn't be long until he was back to normal.

It was less than half an hour before someone new joined Snape in his office. The door to the bathroom was slightly ajar, so Esme could hear most of what was being said.

"My Lord, if there is anything with which I can assist, just say the word and I'll do so." Ugh, she abhorred Snape when he was so submissive. It was much more entertaining to listen to him tease Bellatrix.

"No, Severus," she heard Voldemort sigh dramatically. "I don't need you—yet. Although, if you'd like to do my grocery shopping, I'd be quite pleased."

This seemed to catch Snape off guard. "O-of course, I'd be pleased to shop for you, My Lord," he stuttered. "B-but I thought Bella did all of your shopping…and laundry."

"Ah, yes, Bellatrix," he let out another theatrical sigh and Esme imagined him collapsing into a chair. "It seems, Severus, that she is not the woman I though she was." Before waiting for Snape to ask, he continued. "She had all three of them in her grasp—in chains too!—but she failed to even kill one. Just one! Is that really too much to ask?"

"No, My Lord. Bellatrix was wrong to not kill the teenagers."

"And now all of my dreams for us have been shattered!" He was practically wailing. "Now, once I kill Potter, I shall never be able to take her as my queen and populate the world with our many, many children. But alas! Her name has been sullied, and I shan't ever make her my queen!" Esme had to stuff her fist in her mouth to keep from laughing. Snape remained silent in what must have been utter horror. "Severus," Voldemort began, "may I…use your lavatory? Nature calls even to the Dark Lord."

Again Snape was silent for a few moments. "Yeah," he finally said awkwardly. Esme's heart began to pound. The walls of the bathtub were quite high, but Snape hadn't drawn the shower curtain! If Voldemort were to just peek over the edge….She didn't want to think of it. She quickly curled her feet up and pulled her head under her robes. Maybe, if she could just look like a pile of laundry…

The sound of Voldemort's urine hitting the golden bowl was nauseating. As was the thought that crossed her mind right after that: Dumbledore had been naked in the very spot where she lay. Oh, how she wanted to vomit. Finally she heard Voldemort exit the room—without washing his hands—and return to Snape's office.

"Severus, really, I'd have expected better from you!" he admonished.

"Better than what, My Lord?" Snape sounded tense, like he was speaking through his teeth.

"Throwing your wet things into a bathtub is no way to dry them! They'll wrinkle! Here, let's go get them and I'll show you how to properly set a clothesline."

"No!" Snape shouted. "That's okay. Honestly."

"Oh," he said, a bit put off. "Well, if you insist."

"I do. I really, really do."

--

Sirius trudged up the halls leading to Snape's office. What was he going to do, offer his condolences? A fat lot of help that would do. But Snape had to be suffering too; he had loved her as much as Sirius had, perhaps even more. And Ginny had left him and Pomfrey with Esme, praying they could save her.

A shiver ran through his body. He was nothing but skin and bones now, almost as bad as he'd been after leaving Azkaban. And he was just getting worse. The nightmares were back to haunt him: Lily and James, staring at him with cold, accusing eyes. It was his fault for giving Pettigrew power. But he'd meant well hadn't he?

So it was true. The road to Hell was paved with good intentions.

A password for the stone gargoyles, along with the summons, was written on an old piece of parchment. A house-elf had delivered it that afternoon. Now it was evening, and, under the Disillusionment Charm, he could put it off no further. He murmured the password, "Acid Pops" and the gargoyles leapt away.

Ascending the staircase, he planned his confrontation. Would he hit Snape? Would they draw wands and simply duel it out, each blaming the other for the death? Or would Snape simply apologize, and tell him that Esme asked for him with her last breath?

He knocked on the heavy wooden doors. How many times had he been in that office, either for punishment or reprieve? And what would he receive now? The door opened, and, for a moment, he and Snape simply stared at each other.

"You came," a voice finally breathed, but it wasn't Snape. Instead, a familiar body stepped out from the shadows. Esme Black, with her long black robes and her sparkling blue eyes, was stepping towards him.

And, for the first time in a long time, he saw her smile.

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A/N: That was an awfully upbeat chapter. I wonder what's planned for the next two…