Chapter 34: Coming home

The Hogwarts grounds were covered in a thick layer of snow that grew by the minute, heavy flakes still tumbling down from a dark grey sky. Only the moon saw Arthur Weasley carefully slipping and sliding across the courtyard towards the tall entrance doors. A gloved hand banged against the heavy wood as he shouted:" Filch! Mister Filch! Are you up?" For a long minute that felt like an eternity in the freezing cold there was no answer, then the left side of the door opened with a tortured squeaking sound. Argus Filch did not look happy. A worn-out brown bathrobe covered light blue pajamas with cat paw prints on them. There was a nightcap, slightly askew, on his head and a steaming mug of what appeared to be tea in his right hand.

"What?" he asked in a tone befitting his appearance.

"I am looking for … someone". Arthur had decided on the spot to divulge as little information as possible. There were already too many people who knew way too much at this point.

"You don't say." Filch was as grumpy as Arthur remembered. "I thought all your brats were home for the holidays. Lost one of them?"

Arthur shuddered in the cold, pulling the coat closer around his freezing frame. Filch eyed the embroidered flowers and the seams with a mixture of haughty amusement and exasperation. "In a manner of speaking", Arthur admitted. "And I need to speak to Professor McGonagall. It's urgent."

Between Filch's legs a streak of grey shot into the snowy night. The caretaker sighed deeply, watching his cat frolicking after the snowflakes dancing in the courtyard. Then he opened the door wider and stepped aside.

"You know your way around the castle." He shuffled back inside and towards the kitchen, mumbling under his breath about crazy wizards and getting too old for this. Arthur stepped inside, closed the door and shook of the snow from his coat. His eyes scanned the familiar halls and he allowed himself a moment of nostalgia before making his way towards the quarters of the Gryffindor's head of house.

She was sure there would be a bruise around her wrist in a few hours. Severus had let go of her after just a moment, but his grip and been like a vice, as if he had been holding on for dear life. His hand was in hers now, her thumb drawing soothing circles on his clammy skin. He looked more relaxed, not peaceful, but somehow at ease. She allowed herself to feel hopeful.

One last look in the mirror right in front of him confirmed what he felt – he was back in control. His slightly dusty jacket was buttoned up to the neck, the only white of the shirt underneath showing at the cuffs. His hair was as presentable as it would get without a wash or at least a comb. His face was pale and calm and stern. It didn't hurt to look at himself. That was an entirely unfamiliar sensation and he didn't know if to be bewildered, relieved or just thankful. Maybe he didn't need to decide just yet.

All around him the walls were covered in mirrors, reflecting back nothing but himself. Behind them, he knew, was his life. Everything he cherished and held dear, everything he feared and dreaded, every bit of shame and regret – all of him. It had been lovingly, painstakingly and thoughtfully cleaned and sorted.

He was ready. Now all he had to do was get out of here and face what lay outside of him. Severus took a deep breath.

With a shuddering breath he opened his eyes and Minerva could have sobbed with relief.

"Severus?" she whispered, afraid that any loud noise would startle him. The younger wizard blinked, swallowed and turned his head towards her. She smiled at him and when he groaned quietly and closed his eyes again, she laughed quietly.

"Not what you expected, waking up in your former teacher's bed, was it, lad?"

One corner of his pale lips quirked upwards. He looked at her fully. "If am honest, I didn't expect to wake up at all." His voice was slightly hoarse and he cleared his throat. By his expression it was obvious that a thousand possible questions were flitting through his mind. Minerva waited patiently. There was no rush, now that he was finally awake, lucid, talking. They had time.

"Thank you" was what he finally settled on. How long? When? Why? How? All those questions could wait. "Thank you for being here."

She managed a watery smile. "Always."

He pushed himself up on his elbows and struggled to get up into a sitting position. Her first instinct was to make him lay down again, to rest a bit longer, but she knew better than to push him. He had been pushed far enough, and she trusted him to know what he could and could not take. He seemed to be himself again, if a little softer around the edges. Silently she offered her assistance in getting him into a sitting position, then moved back to give him some space while still being close enough to grab him should he have miscalculated his strength. He looked down at his chest, then at her.

"Did you sleep on me?" he asked incredulously, slowly picking off cat hair from his shirt.

"Yes, I did. Are you complaining?"

He smiled, a small but genuine smile that made him look younger, like the closed off boy she used to know.

His mouth was just opening to give an answer when there was a knock at the door.

"Minerva?" Arthur Weasley sounded winded and worried. "Is everything ok? Is Severus with you?"

The head of Gryffindor house stood up, straightened her crumpled dress, smoothed back some strands of hair that had come loose from her bun and looked at her former student, her colleague, head of Slytherin house – er friend. He nodded. She went to the door and opened it.