Kémya

by CypressWand

They used to be friends. After their fight near the end of their fifth year at Hogwarts, they drifted apart as strangers. He had chosen his path, and she had chosen hers, never to meet again. But sometimes the story of two people isn't over after they go their separate ways. Not when their paths cross once more in the most unlikely of places. At the bottom of the Great Lake.

43. Auld Lang Syne

A/N TW: suicide

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Auld Lang Syne

'I think you'd like it up here, Sev,' said Lily as she gestured towards all the things that lay scattered at the Pinnacle of Orthanc. 'See, Gríma has brought me so many things I might as well take up permanent residency. I've got a little makeshift roof. A big pile of blankets. You would love that. I even got some books and my very own chair. Breakfast, lunch and dinner is served on the dot. On one side you can see mountains, and on the other the Gap of Rohan. Now I've got some stories to tell you about the great realm of Rohan. It's where I met Éowyn, and Théodred, and Gísli, and –' she stopped herself from speaking, and started laughing through her tears.

Mentally she felt herself shifting in and out of focus. She caught herself talking to Severus for hours on end, imagining him sitting in that very chair, listening to her attentively. When he stopped responding to her blabbering, because she could not think of the words he would say, only then did she realise she was still being held captive, and that she was all alone. It shattered her heart over and over again. Trapped inside an endless loop of nothingness. Standing on the ledge no longer feared her. The roaring fires from below offering her a chance at sweet relief. But as she closed her eyes she felt his arms around her, and they kept pulling her back in.

She knew Christmas had come and gone. At home, it would have been the first Christmas without her, and she wondered if her parents and sister had bothered celebrating at all. A part of her wished they had. To move on and to learn to live a life without her. And now it would be New Year's Eve. Watching her father light fireworks. Colours filling the night sky with joy and celebration.

Before attending her first year at Hogwarts, she had dragged Severus out to her family to come and celebrate with her. He had asked her father what was so special about one year turning into another, to which he had answered; because despite all the struggles, tragedies, and hardships of life, time went on. The old could be laid to rest, so the new would have the space to arrive.

Gríma had given her a bottle of wine the day before. Half of it was gone, and the other half she had kept particularly for this very moment. She poured herself a cup and began to sing out loud;

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

and auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my jo,

for auld lang syne!
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,

for auld lang syne.

'Remember how we sang that song with the rest of the neighbourhood, Sev?' she said towards the empty chair. 'Can we go back to that moment just once more? The moment before Hogwarts? Before magic? The moment before it all?' But the vision of Severus' face morphed into her father's, who smiled and shook his head at her. Time goes ever on and on.

...o0o…

The Great Shelf was a place of unexpected comfort. Shielded from the world beyond, Severus had not slept this well since his first sleepover at Lily's place when they were small. Today was the day Gwaihir was to take him to Rhosgobel, and Tilion must have taken notice, for he protested loudly when he was being saddled up again.

Having counted the days, he knew that today was New Year's Eve. It brought him back to when he had celebrated the day on the streets of Cokeworth. Erwin handing him a lighter to light some fireworks he had bought. Making Lily laugh as the sparks burst into colour high above them. The people drinking and singing in the streets. He remembered the words all too well, and sang the words quietly under his breath.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup!
and surely I'll be mine!
And we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my jo,

for auld lang syne.
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,

for auld lang syne.

'It is all weaved into the music of the Ainur,' said Gwaihir, who must have overheard him singing to himself.

'The Ainulindalë,' said Severus as he stopped humming to himself. 'Goldberry taught me about it. I suppose this particular song was weaved to remember what has been, and what shall never be again.'

Gwaihir lowered his head so Severus could climb up on his back. 'Rhosgobel lies in hiding on the very southern borders of Mirkwood,' Gwaihir said. 'Aiwendil is a master of shapes and changes of hue, and it is therefore that he is not easy to find. Not unlike a wood mouse hiding under root and soil.' With his talon he picked up Tilion, who huffed in protest, but let himself hang limp in defeat nonetheless.

'What does Aiwendil mean?' Severus asked he as he secured himself on Gwaihir's back.

'Friend to Birds,' Gwaihir answered, and with a great beating of his wings he took to the skies. 'He came to Arda to serve Yavanna, Queen of the Earth.'

Severus remembered what Goldberry had told him. Yavanna, the creator of the Two Trees. Of which the seed of Laurelin resided in his Ring. During the White Council Radagast had bowed before it, honouring its very light. Gwaihir turned southwards. The peaks of the Misty Mountains lay stretched out before them, and to the East lay the dense Mirkwood forest. He knew that in its northern parts Legolas' father, King Thranduil, ruled over his realm. And if he looked far enough into the distance, nearly invisible in the fog, the tall peak of Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, could be seen.

...o0o…

Eileen and Petunia had boarded the train back to London. At the Three Broomsticks earlier that day, Alice, Mary, James and Sirius had gathered to share their goodbyes, and promises of writing to each other were made. A heavy silence fell as the train left the station. Their journey to Scotland had been meant to find peace in the disappearance of their loved ones, but they now returned with far more questions made than answered.

Petunia looked at Lily's trunk up on the rack, and wondered how her parents would react at her return. She thought about asking Eileen to Apparate them back to Cokeworth as soon as they had arrived in London, but a part of her didn't want to deal with the New Year's Eve celebrations. It would be the first time without Lily, and she didn't want to deal with all the misery that was bound to linger at home. Spending the night quietly at the Leaky Cauldron seemed best. She could deal with the consequences later.

Eileen didn't seem to be feeling any better. She had stored her son's trunk on the seat beside her, and fumbled with the tassels on the straps. She didn't know in what state she was going to find Tobias in. The house would probably be in completely chaos, not to mention that Tom Riddle's diary was lying around like it was just a worthless piece of junk. She was thinking about all the things Tobias would do and say to her, when she was pulled out of her thoughts by a group of singing students.

We twa hae run about the braes,

and pou'd the gowans fiiiiineee!

But we've wander'd mony a weary fit,

sin auuuld lang syneee!

Through the door's window the four Gryffindors they had said goodbye to this morning, suddenly appeared before them, singing loudly.

For auld lang syne, my jo,
For auld lang syneeeeee!

We'll take a cup o'kindness yet,

for auld laaaaaanggg syyyneee!

Sirius bowed deeply as he blew out the final note, and Petunia and Eileen couldn't help but burst out laughing. 'What are you all doing here?' Eileen asked as she opened the door for them.

All four of them held up a letters addressed to them as they crammed themselves into the compartment. 'You should probably open the window,' said Mary as she pointed outside. 'Poor owl's having a hard time trying to keep up.'

A large snowy owl was desperately trying to keep up with the train. Its big yellow eyes seemed to say that it was mere moments away from fainting, and swifty Petunia opened the window to let it inside. With a somersault the owl landed on the floor, and stuck up two paws in the air with two letters attached to each leg. 'I'm so sorry!' she said to the owl as she unbound the letters, and tore off a bit of a sandwich she had brought for the owl to eat. 'What's this all about?'

On the envelopes she saw that one was addressed to Eileen, and handed it over to her.

Petunia Evans
Room number 4
Three Broomsticks Inn, Hogsmeade

'The letters came in right after ye left,' said Alice before Petunia could make a comment. 'They're invitations to the Order of the Phoenix.'

'The Order of what?' said Eileen as she tore open the envelope.

'I've heard about it from Lily,' said Petunia. 'It's Dumbledore's Order. She told me she intended to join as soon as she would graduate from Hogwarts.'

'So much for a secret Order to remain secret,' Sirius said with a tilted eye. 'But that doesn't matter now. We're all invited to come to Augusta Longbottom's shop at Diagon Alley first thing tomorrow.'

Eileen was still reading through the letter. It became clear to her that it was a secret society founded by Albus Dumbledore several years ago, and was meant to form an alliance of those willing to fight against you-Know-Who's influence. Professor McGonagall must have taken over, as she had signed the letter with an angular looking autograph at the bottom of the letter. 'Did you bring the thing you have found, James?' she asked as she shoved the letter back in the envelope.

Alice and Mary shot a questioning look at James. 'It's nothing,' he said to them with a shrug and a grin. 'But you'll find out as soon as the moment for it to be revealed arrives.'

'Sounds exciting!' said Mary.

'Yeah,' James answered with a sigh, and looked away. 'It might.'

...o0o…

I will come home. Probably after the new year. I promise.

Love,

Petunia

Arnica cradled the letter Petunia had left against her heart. 'It's been two weeks,' she said to her husband, and wiped a stray tear from her face.

Erwin walked up to her and pulled her into a tight embrace. 'The year is almost over,' he said calmly, and placed a kiss on the top of her head. 'She'll come home, like she said she would.'

Outside they could hear the neighbourhood preparing for the midnight celebrations. But this year Erwin hadn't bothered buying any fireworks. Without their daughters, there was nothing worth celebrating left.

They had spoken often about it. The feeling of their absent daughters had left a hole in their hearts that went beyond grief, anger and despair. It was a void in which all life no longer held meaning. There was only existence, in which no love could thrive.

Arnica had gone off to the kitchen to make tea. Erwin found himself staring through the window to the street outside, as he often did these days, and tried to shake off the image in his mind of two tombstones baring his daughters' names on top of empty graves. In the distance he heard a haunting sound grow louder. The loud humming of bagpipes roaring through the streets. By the sound of it, there had to be over a dozen pipers marching nearer, and the voices of hundreds of singers following them.

We twa hae paidl'd in the burn,
frae morning sun till dine!
But seas between us braid hae roar',
sin' auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my jo,
for auld lang syne!
we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

At once the street was filled with people's laughter. The sound of the bagpipes filled the air, and it pulled Erwin back out of his darkest thoughts. 'What were you thinking about?' Arnica asked. Erwin hadn't noticed she had joined him by the window, and handed him a cup of tea.

'I was thinking about Severus,' said Erwin. 'But seas between us broad have roared. How could we have missed it all?'

Arnica squeezed his hand in reassurance. 'No matter what trouble he got himself into,' she said, 'I also know that he would never give up on Lily. No matter where they are – I know that in my heart they are together.'

The sound of the bagpipes was fading into the distance, and a soft pecking sound against the kitchen window could be heard. Arnica walked back into the kitchen, and found a small tawny owl holding up a letter for her. 'Erwin,' she called out as she let the owl swoop in, 'you should come and see this!'

Arnica had untied the letter from the owl's paw and fed it some left-over chicken from the fridge. 'Could be from Petunia?' she said as she handed to letter to Erwin.

'It's not her handwriting,' said Erwin as he read their address on the envelope. Swifty he tore the envelope open and held up the letter so they could read it together.

For a moment they read in silence, taking in everything Minerva McGonagall had written to them. 'But what does it all mean?' Arnica asked after she finished reading. 'The Order of the Phoenix? A meeting in Diagon Alley tomorrow?'

'It means,' said Erwin, and he felt his heart sink to the floor as the reality set in, 'that we're going back to war.'

...o0o…

It was an hour before midnight. Tobias had spent most of the day smoking cigarettes and drinking whisky. Not that he ever cared much for drinking, but today was a day worth celebrating, or so he made himself believe.

Spinner's End had fallen into disarray. Everything was covered in a layer of dust. Any food that was left in the pantry was long gone, but he didn't care. Any feeling of hunger or thirst had long since left him. There was only Tom Riddle's diary, and his diary alone. Even with the diary closed, Tom Riddle was right there by his side, protecting him from harm. Protecting him from any enemies that were lurking outside. Protecting him from the enemy within.

In the distance he heard the pipers play, but he knew they would not cross the bridge towards Spinner's End. The pipers never did. No-one ever did. Who would ever want to cross over to a place where life was not worth celebrating. Where the scum of the earth was left to live out the last of their miserable days.

But he was more than scum. Tom Riddle had shown him that his deeds were not in vain. The diary had given him visions of glory. Of being saluted, and honoured as he left his life of service willingly. Of Lieutenant Evans bowing before him. Of Grindelwald anointing him with water from the Holy Grail that he had found for him. The trenches in France had turned to green pastures, and all basked in the golden light of the sun.

He gently stroked the cover of the diary, as if he had a cat purring on his lap. With trembling fingers, he opened the diary and grabbed his fountain pen.

Tom Riddle. Are you there?

Yes

I have told you everything about my life, but there is still so much that I do not know about you.

What do you need to know

All I know is about your life at Hogwarts. But are you still out in the world somewhere? What must I do to be in your presence?

I am still alive

This diary has kept me alive

Please tell me where you are.

You already know

Tobias stopped writing, and wondered how it was possible for him to already know where Tom Riddle resided. I already know? How am I supposed to know? He took another sip of his whisky and continued writing.

Do you have another name?

You know because you told me

That day you went to Malfoy Manor,

and found the white peacock feather

Are you one of the Malfoys then? Tobias was feeling more confused than ever, and felt he was getting agitated over the diary's cryptic answers.

No

You told me you heard them speak about a Dark Lord

The One that they Honour and Serve

From all the glorious images that Tobias had been given to see, something dark now crept up from the depths of Hell. The sunlight faded from the pastures, and it started raining bullets, filling the trenches with a river of blood.

Tom Marvolo Riddle. He saw the words appear on the page, and the letters danced around until it formed a new name.

I am Lord Voldemort

From the centre of the page a black spot appeared, and it grew and grew until black ink filled the diary, and stains covered his hands. Tobias shut the diary as fast as he could, and the ink faded away. The glory faded from his mind. The Holy Grail was out of reach. The hunger returned. His house turned bitter cold.

With the diary in hand, Tobias walked up the stairs and entered Severus' room. The bloodstains from when he had hit the wall with his fist were still there, and he didn't bother wasting another thought on it. He pulled open the drawer of his son's desk, and placed the diary beside the peacock feather. On a piece of paper he scribbled some words to Severus, and placed it in the drawer among the other things that lay scattered in there. Once he closed it, a small spark of life came back in his heart. As if at least one of his many sins had been forgiven.

Not daring to look behind, Tobias closed the door and made his way downstairs. He grabbed the bottle of whisky and his winter coat and made his way outside. He walked with an air of determination, and yet he had no destination in mind.

The water underneath the bridge still flowed gently along its snow-covered riverbank. Leaning against the railing, he took another swig from the whisky and lit a cigarette, and a blanket of stillness washed over him. In the distance he heard voices singing, and listening carefully he heard the words to Auld Lang Syne. He climbed up on the railing and sat down, letting his legs dangle high above the river.

And there's a hand, my trusty fiere!
and gie's a hand o' thine!

The words reminded him of Eileen. They had met singing this very song, and she did take his hand in hers. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes as he thought about her, and for the first time since the diary had come into his life he wondered where she was. 'I'm so sorry, Eileen,' he whispered into the sky, and his voice trembled with emotion.

And we'll tak' a right gude-willie waught,
for auld lang syne.

The clock struck midnight. Church-bells chimed, and fireworks illuminated the sky. But all seemed grey, and meaningless.

'For auld lang syne, my jo,' he sang through his tears. 'For auld lang syne. We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne. I would give anything to be back where we started.'

His cigarette extinguished, and the bottle of whisky slipped from his hands as he closed his eyes. The laughter of celebration faded in the distance, as if life had closed the door on him in another room, and he was left behind. Without fear nor hesitation, Tobias leaned forward – and fell. And as the rocks below the surface broke his body, his soul kept soaring in search of adventure. Released from the prison within.

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A/N Auld Lang Syne is a Scottish poem written by Robert Burns, and loosely translates to "For Old Times' Sake." Traditionally, it is still sang to bid farewell to the old year, but it can also be heard at funerals, graduations, and any other happening where a farewell is met.

It's standard English translation is as following;

Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne?

-Chorus-
For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

And surely you'll buy your pint cup!
and surely I'll buy mine!
And we'll take a cup o' kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

(Chorus)

We two have run about the hills,
and picked the daisies fine;
But we've wandered many a weary foot,
since auld lang syne.
(Chorus)
We two have paddled in the stream,
from morning sun till dine;
But seas between us broad have roared
since auld lang syne.
(Chorus)
And there's a hand my trusty friend!
And give me a hand o' thine!
And we'll take a right good-will draught,
for auld lang syne.
(Chorus)

A/N A/N Rhosgobel is Radagast's place of residence rather than a type of rabbit (as the Hobbit movies implied). It's exact location isn't set in stone. It is either located between the Carrock and the Menn-i-Naugrim (Old Forest Road) [Unfinished Tales chapter 2, or was implied by Gandalf to be on Mirkwood's southern borders (not far from Dol Guldur) [The Hobbit chapter 8].
I chose the southern border because it brings Severus closer to Lothlórien.