Severus woke on Monday morning after a fitful, restless night of barely-remembered, disquieting dreams. He was left with mostly fleeting images he couldn't piece together, voices whispering on the wind, only one of them discernable. "What spell did he use, Papa? When he killed Vol'mort?"

Sunday had been a difficult day all around. The children had had an entire night between the revelation from James – through his younger cousin Rose, already a prolific reader at four – that his father had killed Voldemort. Hermione had been called in as had long been the plan, and the children had been satisfied. But Hermione was long gone, and the children woke with questions. Al's had come while Severus still lay in bed. The child had crawled up on top of him and had put his small face close to Severus' ear.

What spell did he use, Papa? When he killed Vol'mort?

Unable to sleep any longer, and hoping to clear his head with as much tea as it took, he rose at 5:30, pulled on his dressing gown, and made his way downstairs to the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible. He'd heard Harry and Ginny talking quietly late into the night, and didn't want to wake them any earlier than they had to get up to get ready for the funeral. But when he reached the bottom of the stairs in the still-dark cottage, a soft voice greeted him from the porch.

"Coffee's made, Dad."

Coffee it was, then. He'd had tea in mind, but the smell of the rich brew drew him into the kitchen. He filled a mug then made his way to the porch where he found Harry sitting in one of the comfortable deck chairs, eyes fixed on a distant point on the horizon.

"You're up early," Harry noted as Severus settled into the chair beside him. He was holding his own mug in both hands, and he took a sip as Severus settled in.

"A bit," Severus replied, voice scratchy as it so often was when he first spoke after a night of disuse. "I'm often up by six."

"Ginny's still sleeping at least," Harry said. "I think I kept her up half the night with my tossing and turning."

Severus, who certainly hadn't had a restful night himself, nodded. "I think we'll all be glad to have this day behind us."

"I will," Harry answered. He took another drink of coffee, then smiled wanly "You will too."

"I will," Severus agreed, his voice barely audible.

"Reuben brought me her wand yesterday – while you were still at Hogwarts." Harry's eyes never left the horizon.

Her wand – Carmen's wand. Severus frowned. "Carmen's wand? He brought it to you here?"

"He did. He told me that if they waited to give it to me at the funeral, I might have a hard time parting with it." He had extracted the wand from the pocket of his dressing gown and he placed it on the window ledge in front of him. Severus saw that Harry's own wand, the original holly wand that had given him so much trouble during his last year at Hogwarts, was already lying on the ledge. Carmen's wand was of a darker wood, thicker and stouter than Harry's.

"She's been gone more than two months, Dad. But she's still there – in that wand." He gestured at it. "If I close my eyes with her wand in my hand, I can feel her beside me – behind me. And that's – well, that's not right. She was the leader. She had my back, but she wasn't behind me. She's have never let me go charging in anywhere…."

He trailed off. His breath had caught on those last words as he undoubtedly remembered how Carmen being three steps ahead of him on that last day had cost them her life.

Severus considered Harry's words carefully, taking his time forming his reply. "Her magic was in tune with yours for some time, Harry," he said quietly. "Our wands are extensions of our magic, of ourselves. Her magic will imbue that wand for a very long time – it is the reason we seldom pass wands down from one generation to the next. Why we so often bury the wand with its owner."

Harry extended his hand and touched the dark wand with a single finger, then ran it down the wand's smooth length. "It feels so real," he whispered. "She feels so real."

"Because it is," Severus answered simply. "Because she is."

"Like a ghost," Harry murmured. "Something left behind."

"Not like a ghost, I think," Severus said. "More like a shadow."

"A shadow." Harry had that far-away look in his eyes as he gazed out to see. The barest hint of morning light was visible now, and the cry of a gull sounded above the breaking waves. "Look – Dad – I don't want you to worry today if I'm unsteady when I do this thing. I'll be fine. Let Ginny worry about me. You're going to be there for Hogwarts, and as her head of house, right? Try not to focus too much on me. Even If I – if I have trouble."

Severus, who could too easily imagine the sort of trouble Harry might have, nodded in agreement.

"Today is about Carmen," he said. "I know my place."

His place. His place as Headmaster of Hogwarts, attending the funeral of one of the students who'd passed through those gates.

"You can always distract yourself with what happened yesterday," Harry said. With all that was ahead of them today, recalling that his children now knew the beginnings – or at least the end – of his part in the Great War was not the crisis it had seemed a day ago.

"It was bound to happen sooner or later," Severus replied. "I just never thought we'd be tripped up by a four-year-old reading prodigy."

"Wait until she's at Hog…."

"I'll retire before then," stated Severus firmly.

Harry grinned. He took a fortifying drink of strong coffee.

"No you won't," he said, speaking more to the horizon than to Severus. "You'll be there."

ooOOOoo

As Hogwarts headmaster, Severus would attend the funerals of a number of men and women who had once been his students, and on a few even more painful occasions, of young people who were still his students. He would always spend a day or so in advance paging through yearbooks, student records, even the detention log, and be ready with something to say to the grieving family – something that acknowledged their loss, something that let them know that he remembered their loved one – their prowess at Quidditch or Potions, their propensity for detentions, their seventh-year prank.

He didn't have to do any homework for Carmen. He didn't need any reminders – of her character, her loyalty, her integrity. He remembered her as his student clearly, her decision to become an Auror, her N.E.W.T. study sessions with him in Potions. He vividly recalled the day he'd met Harry at the Three Broomsticks after classes when Harry got his first field assignment, and she'd been there with Harry, and had been introduced as Harry's field partner.

The weight he'd been carrying about Harry's choice of career and the dangers he faced had lightened that day.

He could all too easily imagine the pain her parents must be feeling. He wondered if they had felt comfort – or trepidation – when Harry Potter became their daughter's field partner.

"How was Harry this morning?"

He'd looked up, startled. He'd been waiting outside the Great Hall for Minerva since he arrived at Hogwarts to meet her for the funeral. He hadn't heard her approach.

"He was up by five o'clock," he answered. "He was grappling with some difficult thoughts. He was dressed and ready with Ginny by the time I left – I imagine he'll be there when we arrive."

Minerva sighed. She studied him, then reached over to adjust a button that was not quite in line with the others. "Well, come then. Let's get this difficult day behind us."

Severus offered her his arm, and they walked together to the gates.

Ginny was waiting for them when they arrived at the Torres home where the memorial service was being held. She had the same look of poorly-veiled concern on her face that Severus imagined was on his own.

"Harry's with the Aurors," she said, nodding toward a group of black-robed figures near the ceremony space - a large open-sided tent with rows and rows of white chairs on a raised wooden floor. The tent provided shade against the morning sun and was set up beside a small lake. He watched the queue of friends and family wait to take their seats while Ginny continued. "And he's holding up well enough so far." She smiled, but it was a little too bright and did little to reassure him. "The other professors are already here," she said, pointing at a group in queue. "Go on – I'll be down soon."

"Will he sit with you – after…?"

She shook her head. "He's determined to join the ranks," she said. "And to do it without his cane."

Severus frowned. "But…."

"Reuben has his cane, Severus," she assured him. "I shrunk it and put it in my pocket while he was in the loo."

Severus nodded. Harry was never one to waiver when he'd made up his mind. He was just glad that Reuben – and the rest of the corps – had his back.

He saw Reuben as he and Minerva joined the queue to take their seats He was not with the other aurors but was standing at the lake shore with Harry. They appeared to be deep in conversation, and Harry's body language spoke of resistance and determination.

"Severus – let it go," urged Minerva, taking his arm and steering him up the single step onto the polished planked flooring inside the tent. "He'll be fine."

Body language – Minerva had read his as deftly as he'd read Harry's.

The took their seats as the tent filled. A cool breeze, magical no doubt on this hot, still day, made the wait marginally more bearable.

It may have been years since Severus attended an Auror's funeral, but he had not forgotten – could never forget – the ceremony.

The space was more expansive inside than it appeared from without – the canvas ceiling twenty feet above them appeared domed and wide aisles separated the banks of chairs. A line of white columns that reached to the ceiling spanned the space behind the large raised dais where the celebrant and speakers would stand. The fallen Auror's heavy but unadorned catafalque was placed between the dais and the first row of chairs, all the more prominent without coffin and standard.

The mood in the tent was somber despite the sunny day and the weeks that had passed since Carmen's death. The assembled crowd stopped whispering quietly and shifting in their chairs as Carmen's family walked together down the central aisle and took their seats at the front. They looked stricken, even after living without their daughter for more than half the summer. There but for the grace of God go I, Severus thought, and an odd and unwelcome wave of relief mixed with guilt cursed through him. Beside him, Minerva squeezed his shoulder and he realized he was shaking.

She didn't say anything, but her hand remained on his arm and as the first notes of the bagpipe sounded in the distance behind them, she sighed.

It wasn't a beautiful instrument, and many thought it's sound anything but beautiful as well, but in the deft hands of the Auror's piper, the instrument was capable of the most mournful, sorrowful song.

Severus determinedly kept his eyes forward as a double line of aurors processed slowly forward down the central aisle, walking two by two in formation, then separating across the front and circling back, taking their positions up and down the side aisles. He wondered who was protecting Wizarding Britain today – and was, as always, surprised at how diverse of a group the aurors had become under Kingsley Shacklebolt's steady leadership.

He saw Kingsley, dressed exactly like all the others, as he walked across in front of him to take his place between two younger aurors Severus did not know. They didn't file in by rank or age or seniority at funerals, recognizing death as the great equalizer.

The piper, just behind the assembled now, stopped playing and the aurors raised their wands in near perfect unison and stood at attention.

It was quiet - unnaturally quiet – and the slow, measured footfalls from the approaching pallbearers on the heavy polished floor echoed in the domed enclosure.

The eight pallbearers were chosen from Carmen's unit, and they carried the coffin on their shoulders as was traditional. Of all the aurors present, they were the only ones wearing their crimson field uniforms.

Their progress was agonizingly slow, and it wasn't until they'd lowered the coffin to the catafalque, draped it with the Auror's standard, then moved to their respective sides that the final auror began his slow walk forward.

Severus sensed the collective turn of heads but did not allow himself to turn his own, waiting until he could see Harry's robes in his peripheral vision before he, too, turned his head to follow Harry's progress.

Carmen's boots were tied together by their laces and strung across Harry's left shoulder. They were the boots she died in, and as was tradition, they were exactly as they were when they'd been removed from her feet. They were grimy, sooty. Was it a blessing, he wondered, that the burns from the explosion hid any blood that might have stained them?

Harry kept his eyes straight ahead. His slightly uneven gait spoke to his own injuries, and the expression on his face made it clear that every step was painful in more than one way.

The tent was utterly still.

As Severus began to mentally count Harry's steps, Minerva's hand tightened on his arm. Harry passed Ginny, who Severus now saw was seated a few rows behind the catafalque, on the aisle, with an empty chair beside her even though Harry didn't plan to use it. He stopped at the foot of the coffin and stood there a moment, at attention, then removed the boots from his shoulder and arranged them carefully, side by side, atop the coffin. He seemed to steel himself then, the tension in his shoulders relaxing only slightly as he slowly exhaled. He then reached into his robe pocket and extracted the wand, placed it carefully beside the boots, then rested one hand on the coffin for a long while, head bowed.

When he raised his head, he turned toward Carmen's family.

He stood before her mother first, intending to salute her as was customary, but she quickly stood and embraced him. Severus could hear her sobbing, watched as a moment passed before Harry pulled back just a small bit to rest his forehead against hers before he turned and raised his hand to salute her father, who was also standing now, but he too pulled Harry into a hug.

The absolute stillness in the room was broken only by scattered sobs as Harry walked slowly to the side to take his place among his colleagues.

The lump in Severus' throat was too big to swallow, so large he could barely breathe. He tried to listen to the opening remarks, to the eulogy by Carmen's grandfather, to Kingsley's words of strength and comfort. And when he thought it was nearly over, that Harry had made it, that this day would finally be past them, the celebrant stood one last time.

"The family has informed me that Carmen's partner Harry Potter will say a few final words."

Harry?

Severus jerked his head around to watch as Harry broke ranks and slowly approached the dais, his hand moving from one chair back to the next for support until he was at the lectern at last, gripping its sides as he gazed out at the gathered friends, comrades and family members.

He looked both determined and vaguely ill.

Severus's stomach knotted as he glanced at Carmen's parents. They were both watching Harry intently.

"I didn't prepare anything," Harry started, speaking very slowly, and glancing around to study the assembled mourners. "Carm's parents asked me when I arrived today if I would tell you what it was like working with her. They knew how passionate she was about her career, how much being an Auror meant to her, and they hoped somehow I could convey all of that to all of you, so you'd understand that she'd do it all over again if she had to. That she wouldn't have regretted becoming an auror, or even …. even …dying so young."

His voice broke, and he looked down a long moment before raising his eyes again. He smiled then – a genuine, fond smile, the sort of smile that Severus hadn't seen on him often this summer.

"She was the best – she threw every bit of her heart and soul into her work. She was funny, too, but a real grouch before she had her morning coffee." He smiled at the smiles and nods of agreement before him. "She liked Indian take-away and Muggle pizza. She's the only person I ever met who complained about the food at Hogwarts. She was a whiz at Transfiguration. She had every Chocolate Frog card, and wouldn't trade a single one, even her extras. She loved the Weird Sisters. She claimed she once ate a dragon dung flavoured Bertie Botts Every Flavoured Bean, that she kissed Professor Flitwick on a dare, and that she saw Headmaster Snape and Professor McGonagall snogging on the Astronomy Tower."

There were chuckles all around and quite a few heads swiveled Severus' way. He'd forgotten how tightly Minerva was holding on to his arm when she quickly released it.

"She didn't give me any breaks when she found out I'd be her partner – she expected my absolute best and told me she wasn't about to let me ride on my name, or my reputation, or my stunning good looks." He smiled, a pained sort of smile, and when he continued, his voice was quiet, as if he'd just had a revelation and was sharing it with the crowd before he'd fully digested it.

"She made me a better auror, and she's the reason I'm going back to my job."

He took a final deep breath and let it out slowly. "I miss her," he said softly. "We miss her. And we honour her today – her accomplishments, her dedication, the way she'd drop a report on my desk and say 'Potter – you've exceeded your ten ink-blot limit again' or haul me off to the gym after I'd been up half the night with Gin and a crying baby where she'd toss me a clean towel and tell me to use it for a pillow and take a kip while she worked out."

His voice faltered as he struggled with words.

"She never failed to ask me about them – about my kids. She wanted to make darn sure that I didn't treat my daughter differently than I treated my sons, that I didn't hold her back, that I'd let her pick her own path, just like her parents let her pick her own. Potter, she said, I don't care if she wants to be an Auror or a dragon tamer or the Keeper for the Chudley Cannons – let her follow her dreams.

"She was that kind of person – cussedly determined. She didn't beat around the bush. She dedicated her life to doing what she wanted, what she believed in. From the first day – to the last. I honestly don't think she'd have had it any other way, and I don't think she regretted her choice for a second. Not even – not even at the very end."

He stepped away from the lectern, stepped carefully down off the dais, and as the officiant took his place to conclude the service, Severus watched Harry's slow progress back to his place in the ranks.

Severus didn't know what to think, truth be told.

He thought about it all again many hours later, when he was back at Shell Cottage, and Harry, physically drained and mentally exhausted, had gone to his en suite to soak in the tub and decompress.

All of it.

About Carmen's parents asking Harry to speak.

About Harry agreeing.

About Harry going back to the Aurors – but not before spending a term at Hogwarts.

About his grandchildren following their hearts – even if their paths put them before dark wizards or atop dragons.

About how they would one day find out more things – not just about Harry killing Voldemort, but about Severus himself, and Dumbledore, and that next year at Hogwarts.

About how quickly this summer was passing, how quickly the children were growing.

About Carmen dying, while his son had lived yet again.

About Harry healing.

About Eloise – and how different he felt when he was with her. How different life was beginning to look.

He had taken Harry's customary place in the hammock, and even though he was tired, and the breeze was pleasant, and the sound of the waves eased his soul, he did not sleep.

He'd arrived back at Shell Cottage following the funeral an hour or more before Ginny and Harry had Flooed in. He'd been asleep on the sofa when they'd arrived and had feigned sleep as they moved quietly past him to their room. Harry had settled into Albus' chair some time later– after all these years, it was still Albus' chair in his mind – and had spoken softly.

"I know you're not sleeping."

Severus opened one eye.

"Hard to sleep with all that racket you're making."

Harry laughed quietly. "I'm making about as much noise as you and Minerva were making up on the Astronomy Tower when Carm caught you snogging."

"For the record…." Severus began.

"No need," said Harry with a fond smile. He kept his eyes on Severus for a long moment, then relaxed back into the chair. "I'm glad that's over."

"I imagine you are."

Harry sat in silence for a few moments, and when he spoke again, his voice was even lower. "Did I do alright?" he asked.

Severus sat up, maneuvering himself until he was facing Harry. He leaned forward.

"Yesterday, you had to help explain to your children who Voldemort was, and why you killed him. What you had to do today was even more difficult. You did more than alright – you spoke from the heart. You spoke Carmen's truth."

And now, swaying gently in the cradle of the hammock, thinking back on the day, and the summer, and his neatly divided live of before and after, he dared to think about his truth.

It wasn't the past he had difficulty with, hard as that might be to believe.

It was his future.