XXXVIII

The wind blew fiercely, kicking up a thick veil of dust on the blood sodden ground of the battlefield. The gusts of wind sounded of fierce fife music, whistling and vexing. Carcasses lay motionless, their eyes open and glazed over by a thin, yellowish film. Carnivorous animals had already emerged from the forest, their eyes filled with bloodlust ready to feast the decomposing human bodies. Vapid wolves with blood crusted paws growled as they fought for one cloaked body, tearing off its silken cloak first, and then prepared for the great feasting.

The black figure that walked amidst the ruins of the once picturesque village was not disgusted. He had seen this far too many times to pay particular attention to it. Despite this, he was keen on getting out of this land, and above all, ready to start a new pursuit—a pursuit were he sought to find his very heart which had seemed to have disappeared amongst the rubble. Eager to get out of the hilly plain, he limped as quickly as he could; keeping an eye on his left leg which was barely able to be dragged behind his right. It convulsed with pain, but he barred his teeth and persevered through every jolt of sickening agony.

On the ground, meters away from him was a small braided band with a doe carving made out of a small, fine piece of wood. He knew what it was, of course, as he had made that very bracelet for Lily so many years ago. He even remembered the exact way he had carved it, lacing a single memory into each and every scrap of dark, ebony wood that was taken off so that a pulchritude doe would be in place of them. Letting his bleeding heart take control of his actions once more, he picked it up with grace and stowed it away for the safest keeping.

Hobbling out of the village, he turned to look at the blistering flames which engulfed the village in a swirling dance of reds and oranges. The smell of charred bodies and rotting flesh made the sensors in Severus' nose burn, and his eyes sting until allergy-caused tears had beaded onto his thick eyelashes of black.

A pain in his chest had suddenly formed when he remembered what exactly had happened not too long ago. He had barred witness to it, yet had he chosen to be an "innocent" bystander. He felt derisively inclined to further loathe himself. Bystanders are not innocent. They in fact are the worst evil doers of the world, for they have enough heartlessness to let everything around them collapse, just so they can be the last one standing in the rubble. Another mistake, another misfortune, and he was running out of room to keep on tallying; a prisoner keeping count of the days he had left.

The center of the village stood only on its thinnest columns of sandstone. The buildings around it, built weaker, had been completely collapsed on the ravaged ground. Stone was upon glass upon wood upon human bodies and excrement. It was blackened and changed; the feeling of dread was still within every square centimeter of the land. Severus could no longer recognize his solace.

Flames, so violent and scalding danced with the sky of a late dawn, orange and lavender, but quickly growing grey with smoke. Scathingly, he bit his tongue. His eyes widened: It couldn't be—not another message of impending doom; no it couldn't be that. The flames had not formed words, he wanted to convince himself. It was impossible! Unthinkable! Ineffable! It was damning to even admit this…this hallucination! Yes, that's what this thing was, just a senility of the wavering mind, nearing what?—40 years of age. Shutting and fluttering open his eyes; the scene had finally beaten his brain into a state of acceptance. "Morta" was inscribed on the smoldering land of once was prosperity. "Morta" for all things must die, perish and wither into dust and nourishment for the Earth to move on, to move forward.

Dumbledore, with his silvery beard and hair blowing in the wind, who seemingly erupted the flames, was now (what appeared to be) floating to Severus. If Severus had a decisive thought left within him, he would have probably thought himself to be once more in Purgatory. But he was in fact very alive, his heart still beating a mile a minute and rich blood flowing through his veins.

"Come, my boy, the time has from for me to show you a great many things," Dumbledore preached. He took Severus by the arm, and Severus leaning on the old man walked into the forest. Not too far into the destructed, burnt forest, Dumbledore halted, gazing upon a large elm tree with a distinct knot right in the center of its enormous, burnt trunk. The leaves on half the tree were burnt to a crisp, as well as the trunk which was facing the south. Dumbledore circled the tree several times, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. A few grunts and thoughtful "hmm's" had also made way from his throat.

Transfiguring his wand into a great, ornate staff of alder wood, flecked with real bronze and gold, and embellished with vines which wound down its entirety, Dumbledore tapped the ground at the root of the trees. An oblong of land swooped up into the air and floated far above their heads in the greying sky. Floating prisms of crystal formed stairs down the seemingly infinite passage. Curiosity peaked; Severus wondered which mysteries laid in the bowels of its depths.

"I'm inclined to say: So start's our greatest adventure. What do you say, Severus?" Severus simply nodded in wonder to Dumbledore. "Watch your step, we wouldn't want you falling," Dumbledore caringly intoned, in the process succeeding in creating a slew of demotivational, sardonic comments in Severus' speedily filling head. Comments such as 'If I don't trip down these steps, I expect that someone else will die down these very steps in due time—perhaps some bint with a bad back.' Sighing, he followed Dumbledore down the winding passage. 'Indeed, our greatest journey begins…But it would be easier if he told me what the journey exactly is.'

The transparent crystal steps shifted with Severus and Dumbledore's every step, almost as if they were trying to make it easier for Severus to move down to his unknown destination. Floating candles diffusely lit the room, and the shadows of the two men had taken up most of the light. Severus, missing a step rather clumsily had begun to descend down the tunnel-like passage, his hair whipping over his face, so he couldn't see the elaborate obsidian walls, nor see what lay at the bottom on his descent. He couldn't only speculate. Where there orange tasseled pillows there to magically greet him, or as it jagged edges of acid covered stone which would bring him to death's almighty greeting instead?

Just at the last conceivable moment, Severus used the magic left within him to slow his fall to a near halt, and gently float down onto the grey granite, a feather drifting slowly. Dumbledore came rushing, his robes of silver and royal purple billowing in a rushed manner. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw Severus get up, perfectly alive.

"You gave me quite the scare. This old heart can't handle things like that, Severus."

"Honestly, Albus, there's no need for anyone to…lay down dirt over my grave just…yet." He annunciated clearly, falling back into his hardened shell, and returning to his acerbic disposition of what once was.

Sirius Black disheveled and with a face of ash, appeared through the misty portal-way which was nearly indiscernible from the rest of the tunnel. Mutely, he took Snape on his shoulder and helped him through the portal way, a pang of sorrow in his chest. Evaporating, Severus felt a rush of bliss surge through his hollow cavity, before appearing in an underground village, a safe haven of sorts.

Words could not convey Severus' elation as he saw the bodies which he thought to be dead, recovering. The casualties lied on straw-like textile of cream in the center of the village. Healers from parts unknown wore white caps on their thick, greying heads. Round faced woman wearing pale bandanas on their heads carried medical supplies and water to the patients, whilst the men, built strongly carried soiled clothing to be washed at a launderette on the eastern corner of the underground haven.

"Eh, Snape, we've got to get you fixed up, an' all. I know it probably hurt, but you better get a move on, we've got someone waiting for you," said Sirius worriedly, his grey eyes clouding as he spoke. There was a clear residue forming on the brim of his eyelids, but Snape himself could not believe it, nor could he imagine it in his wildest dreams that he would procure Sirius to admit such a thing. They were not "friends", but they were the merest of acquaintances, people who knew of each other's existences, and accepted them. How could he feel so strongly for Severus? Severus knew for a fact that in his past life, Severus and Sirius would never have even spoken kind words to each other, much less shed a caring tear for one another. Seeing this now, he was in shock and disbelief, but he was also touched more or less.

The bare truth was that seeing Severus risk so much, not for himself, but for the livelihood of other (though he knew Severus would never admit it), had made Sirius' emotions pour out similarly to when Regulus had been marked. He had heard from Reg that hours ago a tragedy had taken place. Sirius chose not to fathom it. "Death Eater," he once claimed Snape to be, "pure-blooded filth, worthless," all of these among the diverse, scathing remarks that had been formed in his mind and said through his thick, now dry lips. What he now saw in Severus was a man who was scarred, both in and out, with emotional scarring that was irreversible, and facial scarring from the result of his heart reaching out to Lily once more…

Lily, Lily, the woman that made every man suddenly care, care to improve, care to show the saint within, care, not because she was someone to worship, but because she was a beacon of hope. Severus, his clothing ripped and tattered, clearly revealing the bloodied masses of flesh on his slightly atrophied muscles, seemed frailer than ever before. His face even more gaunt, his eyes more even infinite and blacker than the storming night sky, had all made Sirius want to collapse into a mass of bathetic flesh and splintered bones. Furthering examining him, he realized that Severus had completely lost his Death Eater's cape, and was wearing a grey button down shirt, which was cut at the breast pocket, and trousers of stable black, unbelievably torn on both legs. Severus' left hand was crushed and bruised, and his left leg bleeding and in an indescribable state. His face, was something else, though his nose remained intact, his eyes were blackened, his lips blistered and bleeding (mostly from the hungry feast of kisses he and Lily had shared), and his forehead and cheeks were covered with tiny, coagulated scratches.

Walking Severus over to a steel table, Sirius told him to stay there until someone came for him. So Severus stayed there, sitting still, and thinking of Lily, and where she had gone. He still grasped the doe bracelet in his hand, hoping that he could soon return it to her. He watched Sirius stumble away, nervously trying to find someone for Severus. Who that someone was, was exactly what was intriguing Severus. Every time that Sirius had said "someone" his words seemed to stumble. Foolhardily, Severus hoped that it was someone that he knew, someone that he could trust which would heal him.

The domestic, slightly primitive villagers were scrambling to help the casualties of stupidity and violence. It was well known in the wizarding world that underground civilizations were rather behind their time. The women in this village were particularly repressed; the women from parts unknown were assigned the job of healing, could not use magic to help the injured. The men would help with the medical effort, but there were not enough hands on deck. The village consisted of white stone cottages surrounding a diminutive village square, and in the precise middle was the village hall, which served as boarding for those who could not fit on the streets of the village. Women were moaning in pain, some were giving birth at this very moment, blood and new bodies crowding the street at a rapid rate. Injured men pretended to be well, to be uninjured and strong, but eventually broke and accepted help. The bandana-headed woman suppressed their emotions long enough to more from one patient to another, yet most failed to do so. There is nothing more human that blood and tears, sweat and tragedy, solace, and then disappointment. This immense effort was affecting everyone, and Severus himself could barely manage to just sit placidly on a steel table, waiting for someone to help him, when he so badly wanted to heal others.

His mind was taken out of the gutter when someone lightly tapped his shoulder. Lily, her eyes blanker than his, if possible, was regarding Severus with silence. She took antiseptics and cleaned off the wounds, then took yellowed bandages and wrapped his leg up as snuggly as she could. Tentatively, she took his left arm, and did the same, but there was one aspect which was different. Her eyes could not be unglued from the black mark on Severus' arm. It was condemning, but entrancing. Lily now focused on the wounds on his chest, scratches and bruises that had come from her own hands and the impact of her body against his as they had crashed to the ground, the inn having toppled over them. The gentlest of touches were saved for the fixing of this area. She unbuttoned his shirt and threw it on the ground, a small house elf with heliotrope colored eyes picket it up and stumbled away into unknown territories. Lily spread her hands across his chest, and then explored him, her emerald eyes speaking to his, an implied language that neither could understand, but at the same time both could completely fathom it. When he winced as her supple hands passed over his scars, she stopped, a look of concern passing over her lightly scratched face. Once more she bandaged him up. Nodding at him, Lily turned to leave, motioning for him to sit at the table until Sirius came to take him.

Instead of doing as Lily had wanted him to, Severus hopped off the table and grabbed her, neither emitting a single word. He lowered himself to his knees, inhaling deeply as he tied the doe ankle-bracelet to her ankle. He stood up, watching her stand complacently. She turned quickly, fidgeting along the way, her arms wrapping around him in a welcoming hug. A whimper came from her lips, but did not evolve into a sob. Her body was radiating the words "thank you". Letting go of him, Lily stood in front of him, looking him up and down. It was excruciating to see him so injured and only because of her, for her.

Lily's white nightgown was ripped to shreds on its lower half, and her calves were scratched, just as the rest of her was. The lace of her nightgown was hanging off of the initial fabric, and was covered with blackened mud. Her lips were just as bruised as Severus, caking with blood and still yearning to feel him upon them, even if it was just one more time, but she restrained her yearning. Her hair was tangled and oily, unmanageable and reminiscent of Hermione Granger's wild mane. Her cheeks were void of color, and she seemed to have aged beyond her years, though she still appeared inanely beautiful.

Dumbledore clasped his long-fingered, veiny hand upon Severus bony shoulder. "I do hate it when couples are separated during a time of war, Severus. Don't you think she has the right to know, hmm?" The codger's eyes were insipidly twinkling with romanticism. Severus stabbed the man with silence, in hopes that he would just let it go, and that Lily would let her memory waver, just this one time. But being Severus, luck was never with him. In a voice just below a whisper, "You see Lily, Severus works for me, and me alone. He is invaluable to the Order. Whatever tension is between you two should be dropped, for you are both fighting for the same thing." Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles and nodded, before turning, and with a profound display of magic, healing those who were injured with a gaily wondrous ornamentation.

Lily stood dumbfounded, her mouth gaping like a fish imprudently trying to filter oxygen through dry air. At a stopper in her decisive process, Lily couldn't come up on conclusive thought. Would she slap him, hug him, kiss him, love him, loathe him, and show him spite for never telling her, never trusting her enough for this kind of information? She felt betrayed, even more so than when she had seen the mark on his arm. He was a double agent for Dumbledore himself. So much emotion was boiling over in her that she became as occluded as Severus, so hollowed by the stirring of vapid, wretched poultices within her. Lost in the vast calamity of this unfathomable ordeal, she fled, much like a coward, away from all that she could, all which was tearing her life away piece by piece. Insanely, she covered her face, before coming upon the absence of thought and apparating to whatever hell she could find, because she knew it would be better than just being here, in turmoil. Deserting Severus, she left him to look at the stop where her feet had just stood.

Sirius had come to retrieve Snape, only to find an irreversibly broken man on his knees, a husk of life, and his hands at his sides. Blackness took over, from the ceiling to the ground, from East to West, and North to South, from diagonal to diagonal, encircling everything, until there was an absolute nothing, a vacuum. If Severus' heart had stopped beating, he wouldn't have known it, nor cared in that moment.

Lily had apparated to the one place she could find comfort: A yellow kitchenette, small, but always smelling of something roasting in the oven. She sat at her kitchen table, her hands on the oak surface, tapping it lightly. Lily's mother screamed when she saw her daughter, defaced and taken away from her. Violeta Evans could truly admit that her daughter was no longer a girl with a pink bow in her hair and a massive lollipop in her hand. Lily was a woman who had seen life, breathed it and spit it back out ferociously. She dropped the ratty dishrag that was in her hand, and enveloped her daughter in a hug. Lily was ridged, and Mrs. Evans' heart had broken upon feeling her callousness.

"I loved him. He loved me. I slept with him. He made love to me, and I to him. We whispered words to each other in the night, and made each other feel like angels and gods. I kissed him, and when he kissed me, we fell into another dimension. But here I am, back in your arms, like the hour after birth, still so new to life. He betrayed me, and I betrayed him, by leaving him to shatter even worse than I." But Lily never spit those words out. They were held on her tongue, and replaced by the straining pulsations of her heart.

Severus and Lily, though on two sides of the spectrum, were split in half. They felt annihilated and unrestorable. That night, once upon a midnight dreary, when ravens rapped upon chamber doors, and men were out hearing laments of lost love, reading lore long forgotten, Severus and Lily were in their beds, haunted by one another's ghosts of what had been, and what could have been, but never what was. The end of their final year of Hogwarts was nearing, but it wasn't the only end that was coming. What that end was, neither could face it, but it was most certainly not an end to their odyssey for love, for that was written in stone.

A/N: And the plot thickens. This was one of my favorite chapters to write! I hope that you enjoyed it, and will continue to read. At this point, it can really go anywhere. Sorry for the late update. I could not get a hold of my laptop in time.

Best Wishes,

E.S. Grey