Chapter five: A ghost in my lungs
The fate of the whole wizarding world hung on a fragile hope, an elaborate plan that could unravel if a single thread came undone. Yet, the worst part of the plan was that it demanded a human sacrifice. Severus doubted he would have the strength to go through with it.
How could he, after protecting the Potter boy for seven years, set him on the path that would lead him to his death? Even though he had no fondness for the boy, Severus was appalled by the unjustness of it all. Having no one left to confide in made it even worse. Dumbledore may have used the younger wizard's grief for his own agenda, but as long as he had been alive, there had been a sliver of hope. Perhaps he would eventually have found a way that did not require sending Lily's son like a lamb to the slaughter.
Now, Dumbledore was gone.
Not just gone. Killed. Severus had killed him.
"If only I hadn't been forced to kill him.
If only I hadn't relayed that prophecy to the Dark Lord.
If only I hadn't joined the Death Eaters.
If only I hadn't called Lily a…"
Pointless regrets were eating up his soul. He knew they would not help.
Severus kept searching for Potter in the thick of the battle. He had to be seen fighting the Hogwarts resistance, while avoiding to cause them any significant harm: a dangerous, exhausting balancing act. He could not give in to his weariness, though.
Where was the boy? If only he could find him, he could explain everything, and give him a choice, at least. He could even help him escape if needed – he was Lily's son, Severus would save him if the boy wished it. Although, being a Potter, he would no doubt do the honourable thing. Damn the Potters. Damn Dumbledore. Damn that psychotic, power-mad wizard calling himself Lord Voldemort.
Lost in thoughts as he was, he felt another wizard looking for him. He turned to face him.
"Lucius."
"Severus." The usually proud and haughty wizard had a ragged look about him, his left eye half-closed and swollen. "The Dark Lord is in need of your… assistance. The Shrieking Shack."
Severus nodded, his face a blank mask. He veiled his thoughts, the very thoughts that were screaming, "Not now! I must find Potter!"
It would not do to keep the Dark Lord waiting. He flew to the Shrieking Shack.
"… My Lord, their resistance is crumbling – "
" – and it is doing so without your help. Skilled wizard though you are, Severus, I do not think you will make much difference now. We are almost there… almost."
"Let me find the boy…"
He had to persuade the Dark Lord to let him go and find Potter, but his dark Master had his mind set on the wand that was supposed to yield immense power.
"You killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot truly be mine."
He knew then that it was over, that no amount of pleading would sway Voldemort. He could never save the boy, nor even tell him what was expected of him. Hopelessness washed over him like an icy tide.
Then the snake's cage was rolling through the air towards him –he heard the hideous hiss of an order issued in Parseltongue – Severus screamed in horror –
"No!" He sat up, his whole body drenched in sweat, panting heavily.
Moments later, the sweet smell of fern came over him and a soft arm draped itself across his shoulders.
"Ye're all right, Severus," Morag said quietly. "Ye had another nightmare, is all. Breathe with me noo, calm yerself."
He tried to align his breathing with hers, but this meant he became even more aware of her scent. A ravenous longing stirred inside him, a hunger he had never been able to satiate. Struggling to contain it, he focused his mind on the flickering light of the candle, on the shadows that danced on the disjointed floorboards.
Morag ran her fingers across his brow. Severus tried not to feel the soft tickle of her curls against his skin, her body's warmth against his back.
"I can give ye something for that headache of yers".
She straightened up, about to get one of her remedies, but suddenly nothing mattered more to him than her closeness, and he grabbed her arm. She turned to face him. For a second, he had expected to see Lily's emerald gaze, instead of the young healer's velvety brown eyes.
Ashamed, he let go of her and clenched his fists.
"Talk to me," Morag murmured. "Whit's hurting ye so bad, eh? Ye ken I want tae help."
"It's nothing", he said through gritted teeth.
"Nothing, aye? Dinnae look like nothing tae me. Whate'er is haunting ye will only worsen if ye dinnae face it heid on. But I cannae help ye if ye're nae willing tae let me, Severus."
No one can help me. Harrowing memories swirled in his mind like heavy fumes, and his guilt reeked like burnt flesh. No one should be exposed to the darkness of his heart, and certainly not young Morag. He could not, would not poison her so.
As if she had heard his anguished thoughts, the young witch said softly, "A'm a healer, Severus. I've seen an' felt pain, more than ye think. When ye feel ready tae share yer burden, I'll be there."
She went to the table and brought back a sleeping potion. "Here. At least ye can get some rest." The smell and taste of lavender calmed him somewhat, and he quickly fell into a dreamless sleep as the young witch hummed a soothing tune.
Author's note: The title of this chapter is taken from a song by Florence Welch (Florence and the Machine) called "I'm not calling you a liar".
Glossary of Scottish words and phrases
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