A/N: The italics are going to be flashbacks just so you know. Enjoy.
Paradoxical Headaches
Reappearing in the Shrieking Shack, Severus instantly drew in a sharp breath at the sight before him, as a chill swept down his spine. There before him was the exact spot he had lay dying two years ago. He closed his eyes, swallowing back the turbulent emotions. That day all his regrets, all his hopes and dreams reared their way to the forefront of his mind and forced him to recognize the startling revelation of how he had completely wasted his second chance.
Up until that point, he had lived his entire life solely for Lily, for making things right with her in order to be with her finally. His happiness and life hadn't mattered in his mind until that critical moment. Then, like a light turning on, he saw the truth he had fought so hard against since her murder—the woman he had spent his lifetime loving had never, nor would ever, reciprocate those feelings. Not only because she was dead obviously, but because she had made her choice long ago, and it wasn't him.
Though, it wasn't until a week after the Final Battle that he finally gained his much needed closure and put the matter finally to rest. While he had been recovering at St. Mungo's from his severe wounds, Minerva had been cleaning out the ruined Headmaster's office, only to come across accidentally a letter with his name on it buried in the massive rubble. Having been able to barely stay awake for more than an hour at a time, he forced himself to read that letter, to soak in each word Lily had penned for him. The minute he finished that letter, though, all traces of his perfect Lily were obliterated from his mind. However, he truthfully had no inclination to speak about that letter in detail ever again. Soon enough his past self would read it, and all would be revealed.
Drawing in a shaky breath, Severus could feel his insides clench even tighter as another wave of memories assaulted him. This time his mind concentrated on the memory instead of his distracting thoughts. The memory quickly overpowered him, forcing him to recall those painful moments.
Pain. Unbearable pain tore through him. He could feel the blood seeping freely past his trembling fingers that were losing the battle of stopping the profuse bleeding from his neck. His death seemed to be just like his life was, long and painful . . . and alone. He fought against the approaching darkness bravely, not ready yet to let go of life. He had to know. He just had to know if that damn boy he had spent so much of his energy with keeping safe, so much of his time with preparing, so much of his broken heart aching by forcing himself be near and remind him of his beautiful Lily—he had to know if the boy lived.
And then there was a flash of familiar green. He yanked the blur closer immediately, knowing in the back of his mind that it was the boy who was kneeling before him, not Lily. He had to let the boy know, know the truth for once. So much of his time spent with the boy over the years was trying to get the damn child to think and see the bigger picture.
Only for Harry would he open himself up in that manner and give the boy his memories. Only for Harry would he allow himself to be so vulnerable. Only for Harry, the boy who might have been his son once. Only for Harry he would do all this, because it was only because of Harry that he realized that he, the Dark Lord, and Harry had one thing in common—they were neglected boys who called Hogwarts 'home' while seeking second chances at life. And they all, so far, had failed. He would not let that poor boy fail . . . not this time. He'd give the boy a better chance. So, in that moment, he gave all his knowledge, all his insight, all his everything to the boy . . . so for once there would be a success.
However, as Severus did this, the darkness settled around him. He silently pleaded for anyone out there to help but no reply came. It was then he knew. He would not live to see if the boy prospered. He would not live to see if darkness was finally vanquished for good. He would not live to see any dawn rising over Hogwarts, bathing it in its rich warmth. He would not live. For he had failed. Again. Darkness had won, and he had let it.
He drifted off into the black nothingness of death. It was over. And he had lost.
"Oh, Headmaster," chided a soft, amused voice in the darkness. "You only lose if you refuse to ask for help." A red-haired woman in an airy flowing dress slowly appeared out of the blackness then with a faint smile on her lips. "Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it. Remember?"
It was chilling to hear Dumbledore's words spoken from her lips.
"Lily?" Severus breathed, barely believing his own eyes.
The woman laughed quietly, her vibrant green eyes sparkling radiantly in the calming white light that surrounded her. "No, Headmaster. I'm afraid I must disappoint you." She sighed softly, giving him a sad, knowing smile. "I admit, though, I've taken her likeness in order to speak with you. It's quite frankly easier for the both of us this way."
Easier to use the image of a woman he loved more than anything? Preposterous. He wondered how . . . it, whatever the thing was that stood before him now, could think that.
"Well, I could always use my other form, if you'd rather," the woman looking like Lily replied with a shrug. In a blink of an eye, she morphed into a puffy cloud-like substance floating in front of him. Red, green, blue, and yellow beams of light shone from pockets in the object every now and then, like sunbeams shining through the clouds. "However, my creators always thought this form would be unsettling for the others," a voice said from the colorfully-lit cloud.
He stared at the thing in disbelief, wondering if his afterlife was going to be yet another lifetime of torture for him.
"What are you?" he finally asked, curiosity winning out.
"The result of combined magic from the four most powerful witches and wizards of their age," the cloud's voice answered instantly. "I believe you commonly refer to them as Hogwarts's Founders."
"What?" This thing was from the Founders' Age?
Laughter slowly filtered out of the colorfully-lit cloud. "Your confusion is understandable. You did not become headmaster in the usual manner." Which was the understatement of the year. "So, you do not have the luxury the others before you had. No matter, though. You'll comprehend soon enough."
"Is that right?" he mumbled under his breath.
"As you well know, Muggles were leading a worldwide crusade against witches and wizards at the time. This action resulted in my creators constructing Hogwarts, an institution where young minds could finally learn to control their magic properly and gain a place of safety. Towards the end of constructing Hogwarts when the world was looking exceptionally dark, my creators decided it was in the best interest of the school to include a method that future leaders of the school could call on in times of need, i.e. me. Thus, the quaint 'Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it' was born." A soft laugh then echoed. "Since I know you enjoy conciseness more than anything, I'll speed this explanation up. Awry spells that hit the castle's walls rejuvenate me by reactivating the spell my creators used in my creation. With each bit of magic and more portraits added, I strengthened and grew, learning things my creators had not even dreamed of then. It was much like a child becoming an adult. Occasionally, I'd make my presence known with the headmasters and headmistresses, taking a form that he or she found most calming and speaking with them to offer any insight in times of need. All of this—every bit of it—is a result of their powerful magic and their love for the future children that would pass through our halls."
Severus rubbed at his neck, closing his eyes briefly. He didn't know what to think anymore.
"I regret that I did not show myself to you earlier, but I assumed my appearance would only cause a distraction that we both know would have been disastrous. Not to mention that of all the others, you are likely are the most stubborn of them."
Severus couldn't help but snort at that, reminded of something his mother had said long ago.
"Yet here we are," the cloud's voice happily declared. "You've finally asked for my help, so help I shall give you."
The traditional colors of the four Houses started to glow brighter then, filtering further out of the cloud and bathing him in the warm lights. Before the heavy darkness lifted and he was carried away, though, he saw next to the colorful cloud a flickered image of a large floating crystal in the middle of an unfamiliar room. Reflected on this pristine crystal's surface was an image of him smiling.
"Because something tells me, Headmaster, that your story isn't quite finished just yet."
Quickly coming back to himself then, Severus sighed, shaking his head to remove all remnants left behind. That had been the first and last time he had ever seen the cloud of Hogwarts, as he had later named it. There had been others who swore some person of their choosing came to them during the Final Battle to save them, he knew, but as far as he himself had learned, he was the only one, past or present, who saw its true form. On his last day ever at Hogwarts, two days after the Final Battle, he called out for the cloud to reappear in order to ask it how it had saved him from certain death, but he received no word or even acknowledgement from it.
Rubbing at his tired eyes, Severus sighed, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor across from where he had nearly died. It was eerie to be there in the Shrieking Shack, knowing what he knew. However, it was the only place he could think of that was close enough to Hogwarts and deserted with no chance of anyone stumbling across him.
Pulling the leather-bound Secrets of the Darkest Arts out of his pocket, Severus pushed back his uneasiness and opened to the first page. His eyes quickly moved over the words, soaking in every word and detail as he read the dark book. Several times he paused to let his head fall back against the wall and closed his eyes for a few minutes to recall happier times in order to protect himself from the darkness attempting to creep into him. However, as soon as he felt centered again, he trudged onward and continued reading.
"You know it's funny, Severus," a female voice suddenly announced.
He snorted softly, glancing over at her as she sat at the beautiful mahogany desk working tirelessly on her research for yet another night. His lip curled upwards slightly into a half-smile as he waited for her to continue, watching her patiently. He loved these moments more than anything.
"I've been sitting here for, what, an hour possibly?"
"Three actually," he quietly corrected, leaving off the fifty-five minutes that he had been counting silently in his head.
She laughed and rolled her eyes in response. "Fine. Three hours I've been here, and I've yet to add anything to this stupid thing tonight." She motioned towards her opened journal filled with her elegant cursive.
"Perhaps we should retire for the night, then?" he suggested, hoping it sounded offhandedly and not at all like he was looking forward immensely to such a thing.
"Maybe later," she replied, her attention returning back to her journal. Her quill quickly moved ferociously over the page as she jotted down her sudden thought.
He sighed inwardly, trying to ignore his pang of disappointment. He supposed that he deserved that feeling nowadays, considering he had let another woman in after swearing them off for so long. However, she wasn't just another woman, though. No. She was his wife. The mother of his— He stopped in mid-thought instantly and frowned as he noticed his wife rubbing her swollen abdomen again. She had been doing that a lot lately.
"Are you well?" he asked as tactfully as he could manage while feeling the overwhelming dread starting to settle in.
"Hmm?" She quickly turned her head to look at him before her eyes narrowed in confusion.
"I asked if you are well," he calmly repeated.
She shrugged and shook her head. "I'm fine. Maybe a little sore from sitting for three hours, but I'll live. Why?"
"You keep rubbing your abdomen as if you're in pain."
"Do I?" She then laughed. "A habit, I suppose. But you're right." Her smile widened, causing her eyes to light up even more. "Like always, I know." Pushing herself up, she paused for half a moment to blow out the candle prior to walking towards him. He quickly stood up to join her, and together they headed to their bedroom.
Once he was satisfied his wife was comfortable and content in his arms in their bed, he felt himself relax slightly, chastising himself brutally for worrying and making a fool of himself in the first place. He was absolutely ridiculous nowadays. A mother hen, Minerva had called him just the other day. But Poppy and Minerva both said his overprotective behavior around his wife was to be expected considering that he was going to be a father while still learning to be a husband as well.
"May I ask what it was you were thinking about tonight, if not your research?" he asked finally, unable to hold the question back any longer. He felt her laugh silently against him before she replied.
"It's rather stupid, I admit, but I was thinking of the ramifications if someone returned to the past and just, well, used a well-placed Killing Curse on Riddle before he became the Dark Lord."
His brow raised slightly before he glanced down at her. "I see."
She shrugged, running her fingers tenderly over his left forearm where the Dark Mark had been. "Yeah. It wouldn't work, though." She sighed quietly and shook her head. "Even if the formula did work and someone could return to the past, by returning to the past in the first place, that person would have then already altered the original timeline and caused a bunch of unknown variables to come into play."
"Ah," he said quietly, unsure of what else to say. Her research, even with her help sometimes, sounded way too complicated for his liking and truthfully gave him a bit of a headache at times.
"Disregarding the fact that time is a fluid thing for the most part, unless the future person had a list that stated where Riddle was on such and such day and knew beforehand what day he had returned to, there'd be no telling where Riddle was on a specific day. So, that'd be problem number one. Finding Riddle. Problem two is making sure that you don't disrupt the timeline in such a way that makes it so you aren't born or die before you return from the future or whatever."
"A temporal paradox," he stated proudly, thankful that he had been forced to watch Star Trek so many times in his childhood.
"Precisely. Problem three is, well, if you get caught after killing Riddle, you risk further destabilizing the timeline even more. Let's face it. There'd be two of you, and the Ministry would likely figure it out eventually."
"And problem four?" he asked, knowing that there was another one.
"Problem four is that everything I've found thus far in my research is that the universe and timelines have a habit of balancing themselves out. If you change things like killing Riddle before he becomes the Dark Lord, another person will become just as bad. The old 'For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction' line. So, by doing great good, it may—probably—cause bad things to happen as well."
He frowned but chose not to argue. Temporal paradoxes and the like were her thing. Potions and spells were his, which he was grateful for every day. Her stuff was just—it was all migraine inducing in his mind. If she didn't love it so much, and if he didn't love her so much, he'd admit that he wouldn't even bother to give her an ear to listen to when time travel was involved.