Chapter 23
On a normal day, he wouldn't recognise his first breath straight from sleep. Something about this first breath, however, is quite significant that he delays opening his eyes for a second more just to take another one. Again, he can't place his finger on what precisely it is, he only understands that this second breath is just as significant as the first. The third breath that he takes, he treats with deliberate air, savouring its empty scent as it travels down to his lungs.
'Hmm,' he lightly appreciates and then deeply inhales again.
He wonders, what day is it today? Clearly, it isn't a normal day, or he wouldn't be halfway to revelling in something as basic as breath coming through his nose and into his lungs. What is so special about this morning, this day, that the first thing to come to his mind isn't that he has to open his eyes to the reality of the roles that have been given to him by two separate wizards? Somehow, did he fall asleep with her by side and so the change in the air?
He'll look.
He doesn't want to forget about his significant breaths yet, but it is better that he discovers his blissful reality than continuing to take peaceful breaths. In fact, should it turn to be blissful, he will continue to breathe as he is. And if not that way, then so be it – who would he be, in that event, to impede the natural misery of his existence?
All right, he'll look.
But first, one last breath. A long, deep and adequately savoured breath… Into his lungs, and…
A pair of eyes; he meets a pair of eyes staring into his. From their odd positioning, whoever they belong to, is looking at him from above, and if that is the case, then he can assume that something happened to him.
'Can you hear me, sir?' a voice he doesn't recognise asks him.
Fitting that he doesn't recognise her voice – she clearly doesn't know him if she would ask him such a daft question. Does he not have ears to hear her?
'You are in a hospital. I am a nurse. My name is Priscilla.'
Hospital. Nurse. Both are proper Muggle terms. What would he be doing in a Muggle hospital, supposing that it is all real and he isn't slowly losing his mind from being headmaster?
'Sir? How do you feel?' she prods again, her voice gentling seeking his response as her eyes blink above his.
He ignores her, of course, closing his eyes for good measure. Clearly, there is something that he is missing, something that he cannot remember, hence the goodness of his breaths. Oh, that's what he couldn't place his finger on, their significance lies in whatever he cannot immediately remember. With his eyes closed, he pushes himself to think back to the last thing, and…
He'd been in a corridor with Carrow… The Dark Lord, he'd apparently sent for him, and then… The Elder Wand. The snake. Her voice calling his name. Her eyes looking at him from above. And the Potter. He remembers telling Potter to take his memories… It was important that he saw what was in those memories.
So then, he survived that pain? The snake's attack?
'Nurse?' he wonders through closed eyes and vividly-returning memories, however, now that he has spoken, he notices how dry his throat feels.
'Yes sir?'
'How did I come to be here?'
He hates to ask, to be so vulnerable to another person when he doesn't even know what sort of state he is in, but what else can he do? Supposing that harm was meant to befall him, would he be at a hospital.
'She said to call her as soon as you awoke,' the nurse explains. 'Please remain calm, I will get her right away.'
No sooner than she's spoken the words, he hears her move away from him, and though he is sure that her eyes will not meet his now, he chooses to keep them closed as more and more of the previous events become perfectly clear in his mind. Behind closed eyes, he replays everything that happened, and once he concludes the Dark Lord's failure in killing him, he can only imagine that she must've done something to save him and smuggle him off to the last place that any wizard would think to look for him.
His Miss, thank divine magic for her, only she would've done this for him, no one else.
She's been readily available for him, it appears. That being the case, she will soon be in here with the nurse, and he would rather that his first look at her is not from an odd angle, but from the door. Supposing that there is a door, he would like to fulfil his part of gratitude by meeting her when she enters through the door then follow her walk to his side with an unwavering stare and what he expects will be a very happy heart.
His heart. Oh, his heart will be very happy to see her, but before his heart can take her in, he has to open his eyes and prepare himself appropriately.
He remembers only one other time when he wanted to look his smartest, and that time, he'd stood in front of mirror. As much as he'd looked forward to teaching his first Defence class, that feeling will never compare to the anticipation of watching her walk to him. It's with the help of that thought that he snaps his eyes open, quickly getting them accustomed to the light surrounding him, now that there's no head above him to buffer the influx, and then feeling that he has a good hold on himself, begins to lift himself upright. Settling himself into a sitting position is no bog matter for him. In fact, it takes him no longer than two long breaths to compose himself enough to get a good look around the room, and scowl at the sight of the lilies placed on the bedside table.
Surely, she didn't leave them there, did she?
He's never been fond of flowers, although if from her, he understands the Muggle gesture. He still doesn't like that they are there, decorating the table, but if they must remain, they will remain. Heck, if it will make her feel better to know that he appreciates her efforts, he will even go as far as to mention their presence and – His thought abruptly cuts off there in tune with the door opening, and where he should see a smaller body, much hair and teary eyes staring at him with a little bit of hesitation, he sees Minerva McGonagall.
The disappointment.
It's as though the Hogwarts poltergeist sneakily poured a goblet of ice into his open mouth, which uncomfortably travelled passed down his throat, to rapidly freeze both his lungs and heart. He wanted – No, he expected a comforting warmth inside his soul, not this harsh cold, this disappointment.
'Severus,' Minerva greets, taking her final step inside and softly clicking the door shut behind her,
His eyes travel to the door, of course, focusing on it instead of her while his mind accepts that no one else will walk through that door, and he will simply have to bear the cold within him.
'You are in a private Muggle hospital,' she tells him, moving closer and closer to him. 'They've taken excellent care of you here. I am glad to see that you have made your full recovery.'
But will she really not come through the door?
His eyes stay fixed on it, watching and waiting for the pleasant surprise to happen and melt away the bitter cold inside.
'Severus?' Minerva wonders, her tone urging him to look her way.
Why must she look at him that way, as though he were fragile, and she needed to be extremely careful with her movements? His ailment is fragility, doesn't she know?
'How did I come to be here?' he repeats to her what he had said to the nurse.
From her, however, he hopes to hear more about a certain person's role in him being here and who, for the love of life, removed her from his bedside? As sure as magic is superior, she wouldn't not be by his side, that simply isn't who she's shown him to be.
'I arranged for it with Poppy. One of the doctors here is the mother to a former student of ours,' she explains. 'You might remember him, Mister Harrison Conlan?'
'And what else?' he wants to know, not in the least interested in hearing about a former student.
It's with the slightest of smiles that Minerva takes the last to his bed and then tells him, 'You survived, Severus.'
Survived? Is he to take that to mean that he did what others who were to meet the same end as his didn't? And if so… Oh, be still, you frozen heart, he scolds himself, remain as you were and do not look for hope where there is none; haven't you seen who the eyes opened to? He should rather ask for clarity, if really, he lived, but no, that would be a stupid question.
'The Dark Lord?' he asks rather, keeping his eyes attentive to the slightest of changes on her face.
She could very well tell him something with her mouth while saying another thing with her reaction, and that is what he hopes to catch with his own eyes.
'Gone,' she nods with no hint of deception on her face. 'His body was disposed of.'
He had gone the first time too, he remembers. People had talked about their freedom and their relief, and he had run to a secret place to finally uncover his own arm and have a look at it… His clueless heart is telling him to do the same now, to see if it has truly faded, but… A faded Mark will only mean that he has the potential to come back, and he would honestly not know that until he has a proper idea of what has happened while he was lying here in the hospital.
'Harry Potter?' he asks in an even tone, which he isn't sure how he manages despite his wild anticipation to hear the answer; to him, hearing anything about Harry Potter is the next best thing to knowing something about her.
'He survived,' she says as though relieved. 'We'd believed him to be dead, but it turns out that he had only hoodwinked Voldemort into believing it.'
Harry Potter hoodwinking the Dark Lord? At a time before he learnt about the Horcruxes, he wouldn't have believed such a thing. Knowing what he knows now, on the other hand… Also, what a relief that she didn't have to suffer through the death of her beloved friend – he would've hated to see the loss in her eyes.
'As for Bellatrix,' she carefully pronounces, her eyes purposely trained on him, 'you needn't worry about her. I have taken care of her.'
Bellatrix, he hurriedly remembers. How could he have forgotten about her so easily? Now mentioned, though, he can cast his forgetfulness aside to bask in what Minerva just relayed to him. To do that to the fullest, he closes his eyes and begins to imagine how terrible her wailing sounded as she physically burned and burned with the knowledge that he was behind her suffering.
'Thank you,' he whispers just barely, but it's a sentiment straight from his core.
No matter that he wasn't the one to do it, he's He'd charged Minerva with that task because he knew that she would do it as he wanted it done.
'Is there anything else that you would like to know?' she questions, her tone seemingly hinting to something in particular.
Hmpf!
She has nothing on Albus if she believes it all that it would take to gush him open to her liking! Rather than making futile attempts, she should go and receive some lessons from Albus first.
'Is there anything else in particular that you wish to tell me?' he returns, just then opening his eyes to look into her.
'No,' she moves her head from side to side. 'Only in the case that you wished to know a particular thing.'
'Oh?' he mockingly teases. 'In that case, have they told you when I will be released from their custody?'
Her response, exactly as it is, is why she should go and receive some lessons from Albus' portrait. He, at least, was a good enough of a sport to laugh it off when his intrusive questions were rebutted with what he didn't expect. His face never dropped as Minerva's does, neither did his eyes rebuke him as hers are.
Really, that ought to teach her to think herself so capable of getting answers from him.
26Chapters
The silent tears come hours after Minerva has left, a little after the nurse on shift turns off his light and the darkness gives him all the room to recall everything that Minerva told him. They pour from his eyes, right down to his neck, and for the first time in what he can remember, they aren't accompanied by any negative feeling. If anything, each tear to leave his eyes feels like unwanted weight lifting from his soul.
That he no longer has to take instructions from another being, that he is truly left to decide his way as he sees fit, and that come tomorrow when he leaves this hospital, the only thing that will have his loyalty tightly-bound, is a young lady who's confessed to wanting to love him, he will not hinder these tears from falling.
26Chapters
What a curious thing his freedom is, he realises as he stands before Hogwarts' gates. Surely, it wasn't supposed to lead him back here, at least not immediately.
Just last night, he promised himself that he upon leaving the hospital, he would do as he pleased. He believed it too, thinking that he would head to his own home first, conduct his own investigations about what truly happened, determining the climate in which he is, and then only he'd return to Hogwarts. Yet here he is.
Should it really surprise him, however?
In truth, he supposes that in as many ways as it matters, this place is part of his freedom. Inasmuch as he was bound to servitude within the castle's walls, it's also here where he found his more precious freedoms. Without his wand as well, where better to be than here until he can get it back. In that mind, he closes his eyes, mentally calling Fawkes to him, and knowing that he's been heard, he only opens his eyes once he is sure of where is standing.
'Shouldn't you be at home?' Minerva meets his arrival with amusement and they both follow Fawkes with their eyes as he settles into his usual place.
Shouldn't she be inside her own office?
'I was sure that you would go home first,' she continues, and as she rises from his chair, he looks around for any changes that she may have made while he was away.
He finds none, the only difference in his office being her in his chair, and as comforting a thought it is that he wasn't so quickly forgotten, seeing the attentive portraits behind her brings with it a certain pang. Had he died, he comes to understand, his portrait would've been added up there with the lot of them, only, he wouldn't have been animated as all the others are.
What a jarring thing to realise so early into his freedom.
So then, is this is how his freedom will look like?
Will he continue to realise that his freedom will have to be borne with bitter realities?
At least in his servitude, he was kept company by his misery. His misery was something that he understood and knew very well, but this…
This isn't how freedom is supposed to look like, is it?
Did something go wrong for him, and now he cannot rely on his freedom?
Desperately needing an answer to that, he shifts his eyes back to Albus who looks back at him with a passive expression.
'Have I fulfilled my vow?' he asks the portrait.
'You have,' Albus nods, his face taking on the sincerest expression of gratitude.
Then why is there a heavy lump in my throat? He silently pleads this to Albus, hoping for an answer that will do away it the lump.
'You are free to do as you wish, Severus,' Albus tells him – whether he reads the question in his eyes or he simply speaks from the heart, he doesn't know, he only knows that his freedom may turn out to be just as much a prison as servitude had been.
Where will he go? What will he do?
He always lived his life in such a way that he had nothing of substance, believing that he would die, and now that he hasn't, where will he begin to enjoy his freedom? In the miserable routine that he has allowed himself to cultivate all these years?
Desperate for answers again, he turns to Minerva, searching her eyes and looking for a reason, for anything to inspire hope in him.
'I do hope that will continue to be the headmaster, Severus,' she says to him. 'It is only just that you continue in your post as you've been ordained in it.'
That?
He doesn't know if his heart sinks, but it certainly doesn't rejoice at the idea. As a headmaster, he was even more hated than as the Potions Master, so how could he return to it as a free man?
'I cannot continue to be the headmaster, Minerva,' he delivers quietly, the thought of saying it louder frightens him, oddly.
Through a deep from, apparently unable to understand him, she wants to know, 'Why ever not?'
Because he cannot and will not subject himself to open hatred when he doesn't have to. Really, he's expected to put himself on the hatred altar for no reason at all? No, he doesn't want to do it any longer.
'You are better suited for the role, don't you think?' he replies. 'Won't they much rather prefer that you were the headmistress?'
She shakes her head at that, asking, 'What of justice, Severus? There was never truly a chance for you to reign as you saw fit. I daresay that I wouldn't have agreed with your every decision, but neither did I agree with Albus at all times. You deserve the chance to be your own headmaster.'
His eyes stray to the said man's portrait, thinking back on all the times that he also didn't agree with Albus.
'Look at me, Severus,' Minerva urges, and he does, turning back to her slowly. 'In your absence, the remaining board of governors and those at the Ministry agreed that should you wish it, you can continue in your role as the headmaster. They have all considered your position in Voldemort's fall and with Harry's word defending you, no one has condemned you.'
'No,' he answers simply, because he simply doesn't want it.
Is it a prestigious title? Yes. Is it something that she was proud of? Yes. Would it give him the fair chance to demonstrate what he is capable of? Yes as well. But no, he does not want the responsibility.
'What will you do then?' she wonders honestly.
He wonders that himself. While he will need something to keep himself busy with, he will have time to think about that later.
'I will live, I suppose,' dryly leaves his mouth in as flat a tone as he is looking forward to his new life.
A new life, freedom, his own choices, what will all of that look like? He's spent his life so secluded from everything and everyone that he might never truly know how to integrate himself into the existing communities. For all he knows, his Death Eater acquaintances have fled, leaving him by himself.
Oh, his life.
'Yes,' she kindly smiles at him, 'I suppose that you are right. You will live.'
'The students have taken their exams?' he asks, just so silence doesn't pass between them and he is confronted with the idea of packing up his belongings for good.
Before answering him, Minerva curiously looks him over, tilting her head to the side and then draws her eyebrows together as though coming to a certain conclusion.
'I offered Miss Granger and her friends the chance to sit for their exams along with the other students,' she begins. 'Weasley and Potter refused, of course, choosing to start Auror training right away.'
So, she's been in communication with her? She'd hinted at it at the hospital, but her approach had been wrong, equally as it now. His heart may be greedily hoping to hear more about her, even just the smallest of morsels, however, he will not fall into her trap.
'The students have taken their exams then?' he remarks, that way dodging the path that she'd set before him.
'She hasn't,' she stresses. 'She will return next term for a full year of study, I believe. She couldn't live with herself if she didn't get her marks in the right manner.'
This Minerva woman, she really believes herself clever, doesn't she? Who ever assured her that he could be bamboozled?
'Minerva,' he scoffs her name, clearly letting her know that she will get nowhere with him.
It isn't so much that he doesn't want to hear about her from Minerva, it is more that he would rather that she be honest about her questioning. Were she to ask plainly, he might be inclined to ask his own questions. Of course, he would never get into detail, but he would ask about the surface things, such as how she is and where she is...
'As you wish,' Minerva appears to resign. 'There's another thing that should interest you anyhow.'
First shuffling about the table and then the drawers, she produces three things from one of the drawers, placing the items on the table for him to see. He instantly recognises the phial of memory that he gave her, and then his wand... His wand – he'd be a liar he said that seeing it lain down as it is doesn't feel like a personal attack. It's in one piece as she promised it would be, but where is she that she couldn't bring it to him herself? He wants her, to see her, only that.
'That?' he points a finger to the second phial.
'The memories that you gave to Potter,' she tells him, soon after adding a sombre, 'You will have to forgive me, Severus, I looked at those as well.'
'I'm not surprised that Potter didn't guard them,' he eyes the phial. 'You have nothing to apologise for.'
'Yes, well, considering how he announced it to everyone, I suppose that it can't be considered an intrusion, can it?' she gives off a nervous laugh, and he can only ask himself what precisely he thought Potter would do with the information presented to him. 'I am apologising, because I didn't do anything to Bellatrix Lestrange,' she finishes.
What? Never mind Potter for now, what does she mean about Bellatrix?
For his sanity, he must know, 'Is she dead at least?'
At this point, he will take what he can get. Even if another killed her, for a reason completely unrelated to her sin against him, he will accept it. Minerva must only tell him that she is dead, at the very least.
'Of course not,' she answers, seemingly finding the idea absurd, if her expression is anything to go by. 'I have her captive in my father's shed.'
She –
Honestly, he can only raise a questioning eyebrow at her – surely, she's jesting; Bellatrix, held captive in a Muggle shed?
'Oh, believe you me,' she responds, 'I would have enjoyed using some interesting spells on her, but I restrained myself for your sake. I hardly had the chance to let out all of my anger and frustration with everything that happen. Doing horrible things to her would have been a route that I took, however, I believed it important to you that you dealt with her. She didn't have Miss Granger violated, did she?'
Thankfully, 'No,' he says with his chest, not in the way that she is thinking.
'That's a relief to know,' she sighs. 'After that Dolohov threw a killing curse at her – no one knows how she survived it, really – it was the last thing that could've experienced.'
Damn all living things and their fathers!
That idiot Antonin tried to kill her?! And she accepted him that same night, not telling him anything about it?
Oh, if anger could speak, the whole country would hear his this early in the morning.
'The killing curse?' he asks too harshly, too loudly, and just now, he's realising he moved too fast to Minerva's side to stare her down. 'When was this?'
And damn it, why didn't he hear anything about it?
'The night of the Weasley wedding, apparently,' she shrugs at him. 'Surely, you would have heard about it. I learnt of it from Remus and Alastor. You didn't know?'
Shaking his head and looking at the blank space next to her head, he answers, 'I knew about the curse, I only didn't know which.'
And as far as she told him, she didn't know either, she was also just informed that a curse had been thrown at her.
'I see,' she accepts. 'And now that you do, may I ask, what now?'
'Did Antonin live?' he wants to know first.
'I believe so, yes.'
Good, but Antonin is for a later time.
For now, his head turns to his wand on the table, his hand reaching out to pick it up. At the first touch, a wave of unrestrained power washes over him from the inside out, reminding him of who he truly is, and it's in this moment that he comes to a final decision.
'Where is your father's shed?' he returns his eyes back to Minerva, who's clearly taken aback by his question.
Nonetheless, she lets out a short, 'Oh, of course, one moment, I shall take you there,' before summoning her cloak to neatly cover her.
Good, she's not wasting any time. Very good.
'Bring the Pensieve,' he requests as he grabs his memories and turns towards his floo.
26Chapters
He is not nervous, no, never, although...
How does he put it?
Yesterday afternoon, he woke up to Minerva's basic news, followed by his release from the hospital this morning, and lastly, he is a closed door away from coming face to face with Bellatrix. He's not had the relevant amount of time to fill in the blanks, conduct more investigations and then take the time to order his life for the better, yet he's about to confront Bellatrix with all of his hatred. It feels as though he's gone from inactive to fully mad in a matter of hours, and so he is unsettled on how he truly feels.
He is not nervous, however, and to prove that to himself, he keeps from pulling in a short breath as his hand closes around the door's handle.
'Close the door, will you?' he asks of her, right after pulling it open and stepping in.
Dank darkness greets him, enveloping him and for a moment, he allows it to. Just this once, darkness can welcome him. In fact, he's rather pleased with the idea that Bellatrix is somewhere inside here, so curious to know what is happening that she isn't even making a sound.
Oh, he's got her exactly where he wants her.
Minerva did well in apparently keeping her with no wand and explanation. He can imagine that these eight days must've been torture for her, although compared to what he will do to her, she's better off as she is now.
'Really, Severus,' Minerva quietly chastises, stepping next to him, 'have you forgotten how to light a room?'
Because he knows that she will take care of it, he doesn't give her a response, instead, he folds his arms in preparation for the oncoming light. From whichever angle Bellatrix catches sight of him, he wants to appear as composed as ever. His... Excitement shouldn't be noted.
'There,' she announces after flicking a switch, the result filling the shed with bright yellow light from the ceiling.
Already familiar with lightbulbs and electricity, his eyes travel around the shed's shape, looking for her, and precisely where a few tools are kept, he sees her. His heart moves from place, of course, reacting exactly as is fitting to in the presence of an enemy – he can only hope that her widening eyes don't catch the reaction.
They continue to grow wider, as she leans her head on her shoulder, as a scornful smile crosses her face and as she rises onto her feet, seemingly inviting him to come closer.
It's there in her posture, even though she says nothing to him, she's daring him to make the first move or say the first word, but he is no fool - he will not be forced into feeling like the one who is bound. To demonstrate this to her, he turns his attention to Minerva, patiently giving her the floor to say something, anything.
'Mrs. Lestrange,' she begins, directing her attention to the other witch, 'I see that you haven't moved from where I left you.'
In response, Bellatrix makes a sound, part dismissive and part irritated and then looks directly at him, demanding, 'What's this, Snape?'
There, she broke, he celebrates internally, what did she think, that he would bow to her while she was bound?
'It's a shed that hasn't been used for years,' he answers knowing how she will take it – he wants the satisfaction of her irritated curiosity.
And irritated she is, for her unamused, 'What am I doing here?' leaves her mouth exactly as he expected it to.
'You will find out,' he says to her, and to Minerva, 'Undo your wards and hand back her wand, if you would.'
It happens in a flash, Minerva moving extremely fast for her age, bringing out the Pensieve and wand at once, tossing it to Bellatrix with her next move and suspending the Pensieve in the vast space between the three of them at the same time that Bellatrix catches her wand with a loud cackle.
He doesn't need to wonder if Minerva lifted the warding confines, because no sooner than she grasps the wand, does she send a Crucio his way. It stings him instantly, forcing him to lose his physical composure by doubling over in pain while waiting for it to pass.
'Severus?' Minerva calmly volunteers her assistance.
'No,' he answers.
This is simply Bellatrix at her core. This first Crucio, he took simply because he is able to, and the one to follow, he will accept as well. In truth, he will take as many Crucios as Bellatrix needs him to – Minerva should not concern herself with that.
'And you!' Bellatrix shrieks, lifting her wand, therefore her Crucio from Severus and allowing him just enough of a moment to regain his mobility and see her send a curse Minerva's way. 'Crucio!'
'Leave her, Bellatrix,' he warns even as Minerva deflects the curse to one side of the shed. 'You are not of her class.' Neither magically nor humanly. 'She is a mere spectator. You have my word that she will do nothing to you.'
Laughing ruefully, Bellatrix throws, 'You traitor!' at him, all the venom of a Basilisk within those two words. 'Your word is worthless to me. I do not trust you! You helped in the destroying of the Dark Lord.'
'I did,' he proudly claims his role, crossing his arms once again to his preferred way of composure.
'You've always been a traitor!' she angrily shrieks, her feet beginning to move. 'I always knew it!'
Again, he is proud to admit, 'Yes,' without falter, because that particular role, he excelled in, and no one will ever be able to stand before him and say otherwise.
'You dare!' she blows up even more, her wild hair becoming wilder and her face contorting into red fury. 'You dare admit that you betrayed my lord?'
Just as angrily, she spits another Crucio his way, hitting him nowhere in particular and everywhere all at once, and still, he doesn't defend himself from the attack. She needs him to feel her wrath, and so he will indulge her just for a bit more. What he will not do, however, is express the pain vocally, he will only wait for it to end.
When the pain ends, he once again gathers himself to full height, places his arms at his sides and tells her, 'I did not call you here, nor did I have Narcissa protect you to discuss any of that,' in as firm a tone as he is serious. 'I have you here, Bellatrix, because I need a specific memory from you.'
That appears to stun her, rendering her still for a moment until her curiosity gets the better of her and she walks all the way to him, coming to a stop only when they are front to front with their eyes solely set on each other's.
'A memory?' she asks.
'Yes,' he answers without missing a beat. 'I shall trade you for one of my own, closely related to the one that you have.'
'What could a memory possibly to do for you, Snape?' she utters, disgusted and disbelieving all in one. 'You stand before me a traitor, and I shall kill you for it. No memory will free you from death now that you've shown your face. The Dark Lord may never return, but you shall die for what you have done.'
There is absolutely no law against one's own delusion. She may and is at liberty to believe what she will, however, he knows the truth and her delusion will not save her from it. It's just as well that she is a curious one, and she wants to be the one who kills him for betraying the Dark Lord, otherwise she would've attempted to Apparate away by now. It's high time, though, that he tells her the reality of this meeting, because as he said, his interest isn't discussing anything to do with the Dark Lord.
'Bellatrix, listen well to the words that I will say to you.'
'Pft!' she scoffs. 'And why should I listen to you?'
'Curiosity is keeping you here,' he reminds her in a matter-of-fact tone, and then not to waste time, waves his hand towards the Pensieve to beckon it to them.
'Why have you brought me here?' she insists, her patience apparently wearing thin.
Apparently, she's also inattentive, because he already told her that. Although, to be fair, he didn't tell her the whole truth – he will do that right away.
'I wish for us to view your memory first and then we shall view mine,' he spares her a quick side glance while extracting his memory. 'Afterwards, I will leave alive.'
With Minerva, of course, but yes, alive.
She responds with a grating cackle, disbelieving at best and condescending at worst, which, no matter which, he allows her. If she only knew how much he is allowing her this morning, she would put her entire soul into every rebuttal that she makes.
'Fine,' she accepts at last as her laughter dies down. 'Which memory do you want?'
Oh, how long he's waited for this moment.
So much, he's longed for this very question that he nearly cannot believe his ears. Half of him almost wants to ask her to repeat it, but seeing as he's wanted this for so long, he settles for basking in the feeling of triumph before he tells her which memory to give him.
'When the Snatchers brought Harry Potter and his friends to you, you interrogated the girl alone,' he explains. 'That is what I would like to see.'
'Her interrogation?' she asks, somewhat disappointed. 'It was nothing of significance. She stole from my vault-'
'She had not,' he is quick to correct, harshly cold about it too that she's shocked into silence for a moment.
Nothing of significance, she's declaring? They shall see about that!
'How do you know that?' Bellatrix presses. 'That sword had been in my vault and suddenly she had it? Unless...' she studies his face, 'You had something to do with it, did you Snape?'
He smiles at the question, mostly appreciating that she, unlike any other Death Eater, fully put her chest into finding any mere situation to accuse him of disloyalty; she was never wrong, and she isn't now.
'You were curious, I believe, Minerva?' he looks to his left, completely ignoring the question and making Bellatrix look at her in wonder.
Obviously, she doesn't see where this is leading, and no, she doesn't need to. It's enough for him that she pulls out the memory, but if she had any real sense, she would be connecting now to when he stabbed her. His line of talk now isn't different from then – he made it clear that she committed a sin that afternoon, and at last, she will find out which very soon.
'The memory, Bellatrix,' he returns his gaze to her as Minerva scoots closer to them. 'If you would extract it for me to see. As we view mine, you will surely understand what you are seeking to.'
She doesn't like his answer, that he can see on her face, but even so, she utters a frustrated, 'I'll get it,' then proceeds to draw out the memory from her head without trouble. 'There,' she waves it between them.
'Place it inside,' he urges with his free hand, 'then we shall all step in to view it.'
Upon dipping it inside, she looks up at him, telling him, 'You first,' evidently not trusting them to allow her first entry.
'Hmm,' he accepts, but inside, he prepares his heart to witness his Miss being tortured.
26Chapters
Being an outside observer, he realised while inside the Pensieve, enhances everything, from partiality to helplessness. Even now, barely a proper minute from viewing as her screams filled the room, he cannot shake off feeling helpless. It was as if he stood by and let her experience such pain, such torture, and the feeling will not go away.
'Severus?' Minerva lightly touches his elbow for attention.
No, he needs a moment to compose himself.
He doesn't even try to hide the effect seeing her torture had on him, seeing as in just a little bit, they will see it for themselves. He does shoot Bellatrix a silent stare, however, desperately needing to confirm that yes, he absolutely, to the end of the world, detests her very existence. Was he not so bent on riding her from the world, he would hold her captive for the rest of her life, endlessly torturing her.
'What?' Bellatrix after a while of his stare. 'That's all there was to it. You see, nothing like you were expecting, was it?'
Letting out a calming breath first, he says, 'Now we view mine,' bringing out his own memory to pour it into the Pensieve.
Once again, he prepares his heart to witness himself doing the torturing this time around.
26Chapters
For an extended moment once they come out of the Pensieve, Bellatrix is stunned to the spot. As she is, also outnumbered, it would be so easy to disarm her, tie her up right here and now, then dispose of her swiftly. It's only that he wants her of his intentions, and at long last, the time has come for her to learn it all.
'Surely, you've understood my issue against you?' he brings up, now tired of her inexpressive behaviour.
That snaps her right out of her silent disbelief, instantly triggering her to pull out her wand and point it between his eyes.
'You are filth, Snape!' she cries, beginning to poke him with her drawn wand. 'All the while, you have been ruining everything! You stood by his side, trusted by him, yet you deceived him all the way to his demise! I shall make you pay for all of your treachery, you unworthy creature! You will not come out of this alive, I swear to you!'
A very predictable 'Crucio!' leaves her, inspiring thick red veins to appear on her forehead, but it never lands on him. He efficiently causes the spell to bounces off and away from him, following it with a quick disarming, sending her wand into Minerva's hand.
The witch!
What did she think, that he didn't feel like strangling her as he watched her sending Crucio after Crucio onto his beloved?
The stupid, stupid witch! Her time has arrived, and this time, there is no Dark Lord to save her!
'You shall die by my hand for what you have done to my darling, Bellatrix,' he informs her coldly, his dominant hand reaching to grab her by the neck. 'I shall stand here, and listen to your screams until they have drowned out her screams from my memory.'
So, stunned she is again, he notes. And now look, she's futily grabbing at his hand with both of hers, helplessly trying to pry his hand off her neck, but it's of no aid. His hand will not yield simply because she is putting up a small fight. It's not as if this is a thing which he concocted overnight, and so easily fragile to any counter attack. But since she is feeling so powerful, he silently dares her, she should fight him. She knows wandless magic as well, although whether as advanced with it as he is, isn't his concern.
'You dared to make her suffer so and believed that I would let it be?'
'You are filth,' she screeches, still struggle to get free by hand. 'She is filth just like you and you have never been more than filth.'
Hmpf! Then by the hand of filth for filth, she shall die!
'Be thankful, Bellatrix that I have no desire to rule as he did,' he uncharacteristically consoles her, 'for you would have suffered greatly now, then lived on to continue suffering all of your days. That is what you truly deserve for what you have done to her.'
Having said that, he loosens his hold but just so he can toss her backwards onto her backside, where he pins her to the spot with a bit of his magic. All of a sudden, she cannot speak, because he has made it so. Her mouth can open and close all it wants, but no sound will leave her mouth - in any event, he has no need to hear her say anything to defend herself, insult Miss or mention him being a traitor. She had her Crucio and cackling moments, now it's his turn.
'Break her wand, Minerva,' he requests, conjuring a small phial and a box of matches into his hand while she steps over to hand the two wand pieces to him.
'They're hers,' he says, tipping his chin to Bellatrix and that way asking for the broken thing to be tossed in that direction.
He appreciates Minerva's compliance very much, and much more, her silence throughout it all. He is nearly all certain that she has some questions, yet she hasn't asked him a single thing. One could almost say that she understands his position that he has no interest in diving into details or exchanging many words, providing backstories and such.
'Stand back,' he calmly instructs Minerva.
And then with as much time as he feels he has, takes the necessary three steps to her and reaching her, crouches down to her level. He says nothing to her, he only brings his eyes level to hers in order to memorise the look in them before he sets her ablaze. There's nothing more to say; he told her that he would be the one to leave alive, so no further satisfaction will come from rubbing it in. Even as question and hatred swim in her eyes, he says nothing at all, and at last gets up to begin pouring out the petrol in the phial.
First, he pours it in a small circle around her, keeping her closed in, and then with that done, he pours the remaining over her head, watching it run down her hair, face, and finally, her robes. After that, he produces the matchbox, slowly pushes it open and pulling out a single match, strikes it on the side, immediately setting it aflame. His eyes quickly confirm the flame and then without preamble, drops the matchstick on her head. Her hair catches flame at once, eating right through to her scalp and only then does he release her vocal bind.
'Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!' she shrieks with nowhere to go as her hands helplessly look for a place to touch for relief. 'Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Uuuuh! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!'
Her screams bring tears to his eyes, and inexplicable lightness to his heart – his hand begins to rub over his heart, relieved. Never again will he be haunted by Miss' cries of agony, and now, with this promise fulfilled, he can move on to properly loving her.
'Severus.'
Minerva.
He did it. He wants to turn to her and tell her that for once in his life, he's fulfilled all of his vows and no longer owes anyone anything, but he simply cannot look away from the scrambling, wailing witch before him.
That is what it feels like!
She'd received help from Antonin, helping her in holding Miss down while she attacked, but he didn't need help in dealing with her; she should feel everything about being stripped off power and being brutalised as though she wasn't of any value. She should scream and wail, possibly hope for redemption and forgiveness while doing so, just as she didn't have the mercy to spare an innocent girl when she had the chance to.
'Severus,' Minerva tries again, only this time, she moves in front of him to grasp either side of his face. 'There, there,' she whispers, her thumbs wiping away at something on his cheeks.
Never again will Bellatrix have the opportunity to hurt the one that he loves, neither will she have to live in fear of Bellatrix ever finding her for some form of revenge. She will only go on to live her life, happy and fearless of much else. Thank whatever deity exists for this; that he survived enough to avenge her in this final and complete manner, thank that deity.
'You've done well, Severus,' Minerva tells him, keeping her voice quiet, which is what finally gets him to pay attention to her, although it's the understanding look in her eyes that pushes him to collapse his forehead on her shoulder and simply remains there, comforted.
26Chapters
'The Ministry is holding one of those celebratory, commemoratory events on Saturday night,' she announces.
He stops looking through his drawers, opting to meet eyes with her for this bit.
'Is my presence required?'
'Yes, quite,' she smiles at him. 'They've held it off for as long as they could while you recovered, but I am afraid that the families of the lost would like to bury their dead and attempt to move along. I couldn't not appraise them of the headmaster's recovery.'
Oh, for the love of magic, Saturday night is a night away from tonight. When, between tonight and tomorrow night, is he supposed to settle everything in his life before being forced to attend an event? As Severus Snape simply, he could have refused the invitation, but as headmaster, every social obligation is attached to him.
So, in other words, 'I am obligated to face people who have been made aware of a lie?' he wonders, although hopes not.
'You gave Potter the memories,' she returns as if that miraculously acquits him of attendance.
Does she not understand?
He still has much to investigate. He can't simply go out into the world without proper information on what happened - he just can't, he'd be the only clueless fool among them. On top of that, they all heard some things that he'd never planned to share with anyone else.
'I didn't give them to be shared with the bloody world,' he defends his decision. 'But of course, what had I expected? Potter's a dim-witted fool, who has no sense to understand a point of context when given to him.'
'Og,' she mock laughs, 'what a terribly redundant descriptor there.'
'He should have understood to guard such delicate information,' he maintains.
'Yes, that's all right,' she dismisses, 'but my point was that Miss Granger will be there.'
One after the other, involuntarily, he pulls in a sharp breath, holds it in, lets it out, blinks at Minerva, pulls in another breath, and then...
His heart starts to beat. Faster and faster. Excited and happy. Eager and hopeful. And then he blinks at Minerva again, then swallows to moisten his suddenly dry throat...
'Yes, we correspond about you at least twice a day,' she confesses, somewhat slyly. 'She will be there.'
But this woman...
He blinks at her for the third time, wondering why in the world she didn't say anything to him, especially after her father's shed just an hout ago. He'd been open to receiving all sorts of news then, and had he known, he wouldn't have returned to the school with her if she'd paid him.
'You've withheld this information, why?'
'I wanted you to ask,' she shrugs, quickly glancing at what he assumes are the portraits, 'but you are so damn stubborn in keeping her guarded that I couldn't accept defeat and simply volunteer that information.'
'Are you certain?' he doubts. 'Were you not against my interest in her?'
Not that it matters anyway, seeing as the only thing that will keep him from having anything to do with her, is her not wanting him anymore, but still, he must ask.
'Leave things passed in the past,' she waves a away, mockingly offended. 'Only show up at the Ministry and make her proud to be seen on your arm. You'll look wonderful in a Muggle suit, I believe. Oh! I have just the thing for you.'
Hmm, Minerva.
He lazily looks at her, watching her assess him with her eyes and making calculating expression, and he simply... There's something about her right where she stands... Perhaps it's the Bellatrix matter, or maybe it has to do with the role that Albus charged her with, but whatever it is, he likes whatever this is between them. It's as if there's no barrier keeping her true self hidden anymore, and he really appreciates that.
Strange how one shared moment can effortlessly open a special door.
'Forgive me, Severus,' she says from absolutely nowhere. 'I can understand why you would look at me as you are when I haven't been on your side,' she tells him. 'Please do forgive me for every nasty thing that I said to you and for all else. My helplessness turned me into what I was with you. Truly, forgive me. I will never again doubt you.'
'Leave things passed in the past,' he calmly replies with her own words, although in the deepest of his heart, his vindication could never feel stronger than this - it's a feeling quite possibly level with his love and appreciation for a one Miss Hermione Granger, if he's being honest.
If he were alone, he would surely burst into a laugh of relief, expressing his triumph, but in her company, he restrains himself. There will be a time and place to reflect on all that he has said, done and heard since awakening.
'All right,' she takes his word with a small nod. 'Dapper up, then,' she advices. 'You have only one day to organise and adorn yourself well. Every eye is sure to be on you soon.'
Ah, did he ever mention the many joys of his life?
What does he care about every eye? There remains only one pair of eyes that he wants to see, and today at that, not surrounded by prying eyes.