Typical Disclaimers Apply

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The first thing Esme noticed was her hands. Her hands had never been ugly, per se, but lately they'd been rough, red, and dry, cracked around the edges. Especially after Alecto had attacked her, when they been all horrible and scarred. Now they were soft and white. Her nails were clean and clipped neatly, instead of chewed and peeled. Her hands were soft. A sob died in her throat. Her hands had never been soft.

She looked up around the thicket of trees. One of the many tiny streams that ran through the forest was frozen like glass. Rays of starlight reflected off of it and caught on the trees. A single green leaf was twisted in midair, stopped in the midst of its last dance. Below the trees lay her body, cradled in Snape's arms like a child. Even from a distance she could see a single teardrop glinting like crystal, resting just below his bottom eyelashes. Her hand still rested in his, the crimson stains spreading onto them both.

How good it would feel to go over there, to lay her hands on his hair, tickled by an invisible breeze. But it wasn't possible, and she knew. Even if she stayed, there would always be that thin veil dividing them, separating the dead from the living.

She took a few hesitant steps, but her body moved easily, light as wind. Her hand ran across the bark of an old tree, but she couldn't feel it. At the stream she dipped her fingers in, but it was like touching air. The water rippled though, soft waves crashing through the ice. When she pulled out her hand, it returned to her glass-like state. She could see herself. The scars from her face had disappeared, just like those of her hands. Blue eyes still stood out against freckled skin, framed by clean black hair. She reached out to touch the image, for it had to be an illusion.

"Yes, it's quite astonishing isn't it?" Esme whipped around, her heart pounding in her throat. Behind her was Albus Dumbledore, looking happy and healthy, although still quite old. "I remember catching sight of myself for the first time." He chuckled, "Quite the experience."

"You're—you're dead!" Esme gasped. Perhaps not the wisest thing to say, but it was certainly accurate. Dumbledore let out a hearty laugh, one that she had never heard in all the years she'd known him.

"That's true," he said fondly, his blue eyes glittering. "As are you."

"I noticed," she said dryly. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to take you, as some so fondly call it, 'behind the curtain.'" He smiled at her; the blue of his eyes was traced with something darker.

"Do we have to go now?" she asked softly, looking over at Snape. There were flowers in the forest, she realized, and she wondered if she could pick some, maybe make a bouquet, and leave it for him when time began again.

"No," he shook his head, looking slightly defeated. "Not quite yet. You see, there's a rule: You must take no fewer than five people to judgment." He shrugged unapologetically, "Somewhat silly, but it's just how things are. So you'll just have to wait for a group." He smiled again, "But really, those who die in great battles such as this are the lucky ones, they usually get taken within a few hours. I, on the other hand, had to wait around for three weeks before anyone would bother to take me. It seems there are some problems in the Middle East that had to be attended to." Esme stared at him.

"I still have no idea what's going on," she protested miserably. "Why are you here?"

"Excellent question!" Dumbledore said cheerfully, as if he was back in his teaching days. "You see, I am the first deceased person to have a great impact on your life. Which really makes sense, although your parents are dead, they didn't really influence you that strongly." He shrugged, "Still, I am here to give you the answers to life's questions."

Esme stared at him, "Excuse me?"

"Ask me anything," he clarified, "and if I can, I'll give you an answer."

"Alright," she screwed up her eyes, thinking hard. Now was her chance to learn anything about anything! There would be no more fog, all was hers to know!

"What," she began, bending down to pick a flower, "is the capital of Nova Scotia?"

"Halifax," he said, without skipping a beat. "Any serious questions?"

"Is this real?" she asked somewhat bitterly. The flower preened and shone under her touch, but she couldn't tear it from the ground.

"I don't know what you mean," Dumbledore said honestly.

"Am I going to wake up tomorrow, twenty years old again, before all of this shit happened? Will I go back to the start, when things were easy, before Voldemort was back, before I was married, back when I trusted Snape and Bellatrix didn't want to kill me? Back when I could leave Hogwarts without facing any repercussions?"

"This is real," Dumbledore said, "but that's not saying you can't go back. You have every right to live in your memory forever." He peered at her over his half-moon spectacles, "That is, if you want to."

"I don't," she sighed.

"Good," he smiled at her. "Do you have any other questions?"

"Yes. Why did you hire me in the first place? I mean, I never really wanted to be a teacher until you offered me the job at the end of seventh year. Even then, I thought I'd just work here for a year and then go do something, you know, useful with my potions skills." Dumbledore nodded sagely.

"Yes," he said softly. "I wish I could tell you, Esme, that I thought you would make a great teacher. But that would be a falsehood. I was actually fearful that you would abuse your power—and you did." Esme nodded fervently, remembering how earlier that year she'd rushed down the halls, taking points every second, but only from Slytherin. "But eventually you rose to your place and you did whatever you could to protect your students. I must honestly say that I never expected that." He paused for a second looking away. Esme followed his gaze, falling on Snape again.

"I wish I could say it was match-making," Dumbledore said, not taking his eyes off of Snape. "I knew, long before he ever told me, long before even he knew, that Severus was in love with you. And I disapproved. You were very young, and I felt it almost frightful that he could feel such an attraction towards you. I figured it as lust," he shook his head sadly. "An old man's mistake. I hadn't believed that love knew no age. That is," he paused, "until the end of your seventh year. Until then, I was hoping to find you a foreign Potions Master to study under. Von Straus in Switzerland was my first choice. But really, I wanted you away from the school, Esme."

"Why?" she dared to ask.

"I did not trust Severus Snape around you. But then came your N.E.W.T.s. And many of them you passed wonderfully. In fact," he added with a twinkle in his eye, "your Potions scores were the highest I'd seen since Severus himself. But then came your Defense Against the Dark Arts test—you do remember who administered it?"

"Severus." She grinned, "Because Lockhart was incompetent."

"Exactly. Do you remember the final test of the exam?"

"No," her brow furrowed and her smile faded quickly. "I just remember that I passed out."

"Yes," he said softly. "But until I tell you what happened then, I must give you some back-story. You see," he began, "I have lied to you as I've lied to many. There's no such thing as a Protector charm." Esme stared at him.

"What the hell is a Protector charm?"

Dumbledore looked at her sadly, "It's simply a myth. One in which the 'Protector' swears to watch over a loved one with their life, and by doing so that person has a very low risk of dying. But in reality, it's simple a way of giving someone false security. Severus, however, believes it to be real. As does Sirius, and many others. Only a few living wizards know the truth. The Protector charm is only a farce made to give comfort. When it's cast, it does nothing but force the caster to lose some oxygen." He finished sadly, his eyes losing their sparkle, and Esme wondered if he had once been a caster, fooled by the legend.

"So Severus isn't really attached to me by some complex spell?"

"No," Dumbledore said. "Not by a spell." He looked away from Snape and back at Esme. "The final test was one to produce a Patronus. Not just any Patronus, you had to produce it to fight off a dementor." Esme looked at him, feeling sort of horrified.

"I don't understand."

"Needless to say, you were one of the first to take the exam and to get far enough to fight the dementor. And it was the first, and last, year we had them." He looked hard at Esme, "Esme, you were given the Dementor's Kiss during that test."

"That's not possible," she said flatly.

"It is. According to Severus, you were doing well until you lost control. You must have heard something….It doesn't matter now. The dementor overtook you before Severus could fight it off." Esme stared at him, her eyes wide.

"That doesn't make sense!" she protested loudly. "I'm not…I have a bloody soul!"

"Yes, you do," he whispered. "The dementor did not fully administer the Kiss, but it succeeded in taking enough to leave you less than human."

"I'm human," she disputed coldly.

"Yes," he said. "There's a way to help—to cure someone who has been Kissed, although not fully, by a Dementor. They must be given the Kiss of Light."

"The Kiss of Life?"

"No, the Kiss of Light. Listen when I talk. The Kiss of Light can only be administered by someone who would willingly give everything to that person. Now, please take to mind that though many people would give their heart to someone, there's only one person in the world with whom you can share your soul. Someone who would leap off of a mountain if it meant that person would live another day. Someone who would give their soul, if only it meant that their lives would be whole. There aren't many people like that left in this world."

"So you're saying Severus…gave me part of his soul," Esme whispered.

"Yes."

"He loved me," she swallowed, her fingers playing in the grass. "He always loved me?" she looked at Dumbledore for the answers.

"He always loved you." Esme's insides twisted around. She felt the tears pricking behind her eyes and wished Dumbledore would go away and leave her to cry.

"I…I can't believe…I was so stupid!" she gasped.

"It's best not to dwell in painful memories, Esme," Dumbledore said gently. He touched her arm. His hand was warm. "You must set the past free."

"You're right," she said, wiping the tears away. "You're always right, aren't you?"

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded. "And of course, you must always have your soul near you," he said, returning to the topic at hand. "So you understand, you had to stay at Hogwarts. And in return, you had almost no chance in getting hurt. You see, the love that he offered you in that one movement was stronger than any Protection spell I could cast."

"Then why am I dead?"

"Ah yes, you'll find that out very soon."

"…Okay," she didn't really see it as wise to argue with him. "What about Sirius?"

"Ah, Sirius. I must say, I was rather displeased when you chose him over Severus. But that was your choice to make. Whether or not you regret it…"

"I just," she looked over at Snape miserably. "I wish I was able to talk to him again…"

"Don't worry," Dumbledore said kindly. "You will be. Someday." He rose to his feet, "When I leave, Esme, everything will begin again. And you'll be left watching it, but you can't intervene. You've returned to the earth. If there's anything you'd like to do before time continues for you, please do so now." He looked at Snape pointedly.

Esme, understanding, rose with him. With slow, deliberate steps, she walked over to Snape. Lowering herself down to his face, she raised her right hand, the same one that was resting in his, and stroked his cheek. "Goodbye, Esmeralda," she heard Dumbledore say from somewhere very far away. "For now."

"Goodbye, Severus," she said, letting her hand fall as time began again.