Last Secret ofDumbledore_11

Chapter 11

Lost in the middle of vast pristine white immensity, the world seemed so pure and quiet.  Radiating peaceful joy, Lily was stomping beside him, her cheeks pinked with the cold. She was tightly bundled up in her black winter cloak.

The night had been cloudless; the snow mantel had harden on its surface, forming a crust, which slightly withstood under their boots and then yielded with a crunch, which seemed deafeningly loud in the hushed land, only troubled with soft plops of snow clods falling down from overloaded branches.

An icy air was burning in his neck and purifying his lungs. His eyes stung, and a few tears leaked out.  He was feeling light and happy, though -  as light and happy he imagined he could be.

Lily reached out for his hand and set off running, pulling him with her. The white coating was thick, and soon they fell. Lily's laugh chimed clear and communicative. They got back on their feet. He helped her dust away the snow stuck on her back. Their breaths were misting the air around them. Lily smiled at him. It felt like a bright ray of sun.  She was so…

"Flap, flap, flap…flap, flap, flap..."

She looked around; he pulled his wand out.

"Flap, flap, flap..."

A sporadic flurry flapping was agitating the bottom of a bush a yard or two away from them.

They got closer. Lily crouched down. Severus pointed his wand.  The flapping resumed frantically while she stretched her hands and groped inside.

"It's a baby raven!" she exclaimed "It think it's wounded its wing."

She stood up, the poor animal cautiously cradled within her gloved hands. It dared not move a feather, seemingly then fear-struck. Lily 's eyes fastened on Severus's, pleading him with that look of hers he could not resist.

"Heal him, Sev…"

But the cold air had been biting him harder and harder at his neck.  A strange feeling of disconnection had befuddled his mind. The swelling of his heart had subsided, too. It lay now chilled and heavy within his chest, like an oil-smeared cormorant on a beach of Brittany after a shipwrecking.

"What for, Lily? It's only a bird..." But there was no disapproval in his voice, only disillusioned curiosity.

"He deserves to live…Sev...Any life is precious …"

The freezing little thing shrieked in her hand when he cast the healing charm on it.

"Second chance, Sev…who knows…"

She turned toward the forest, opened her hands, and swooped them up toward the sky. The raven soared into the thin winter air, its wings gliding almost noiselessly while its caws echoed far in the distance.

They watched it fly away above the tree tops, a dark spot in the all-white deserted heaven. Soon it vanished, simply its cries resounding long afterwards.

The burning in Severus's neck had become so intense it was hardly bearable now. He staggered a bit.  Lily whirled around and smiled to him. He smiled back bravely, drinking in the sight of her.  Her hair was shining like a heartwarming fire.

But a sudden and dazzling shot of pain threw him down to his knees. He sank up to his waist in the cold cotton coating. Despite the tremendous effort it required, he lifted his head, panting: it was night-dark, and Lily was but a mere figure running away in the ethereal brightness of the moonlight.

"Lily!!!!!!!!!" he bellowed, hearing the despair of his own cry. "Lily!!!!!"

"It's too late, Sev... It's too late," said Lily's voice, unmoved and echoing between the frozen hills, like the raven's caws. "I did my best to warn you….warn you…warn you…"

"Why do you hang on with those guys, Sev? They're creepy…creepy… You're not like them...are you?.... are you? …are you?"

Again, he huddled down, biting his lips under new throes.

"Lily…please…wait…wait for me…"

He forced his breath in and out, as deep as he could through his clenched teeth, in an attempt to slacken his taut muscles, to set himself free of this invisible stranglehold.

This pain is real. Wake up, Sev! Wake up!

The pulsing and burning fangs that had been gnawing on his body harder and harder would not let him go.  It had dragged him out of his sleep into a state of half-slumber, where reality and dreams intertwine. His mind was now floating in this strange state of consciousness at the edge between two worlds.  He stirred in his bed, entangling with his sheets, which were ice-cold compared to his feverish skin's temperature, as Lily's silhouette merged with the shadows looming over the horizon.

Lily was gone forever, and the fairy grounds had turned to a frozen hell, a death-pale and soulless place. He wished to lie down just there, to let himself be covered by a snowy shroud and never wake up again, but slowly, pristine glitterings and bluish shines tinted with red, and the dreary scenery dissolved into Hogwarts's blood-red lit headmaster's duty. Severus found himself now sitting behind the headmaster's desk. This…this was no dream, he realized; this had really happened. It was some days since, but it seemed so long ago and at the same time so recent to his hazy and pain-dazed brains.

His left arm lay stretched out, palm up, upon the desktop. He had rolled his sleeve up to his elbow and was staring, eyes unfocused, at the moving mark branded into his flesh.  The thickening obscurity added gradually its toll to the blurriness of his vision.  Nevertheless, he did not light any candle. This darkness harbored a strange and soothing quietness, and thus he reclined on it. He had not much to allay his torments those days.

At any rate, the burning pain induced by the snake's venom wickedly recalled him the burning of the mark that night…

It had become more and more intense in the course of these last hours…The Dark Lord was angry, very angry; something had upset him…Potter might have accomplished his task, whatever it was…It might be time to tell the boy…Where was that snake now? Where was Potter?

He was so lonely, so lonely, to carry this task out, but oddly it did not weight on him anymore – or he had got so much used to it that he did not feel it anymore. He knew he had the strengths to fulfill his mission. He sneered inwardly: that old Dumbledore had been right in trusting him with it. Actually, the only thing Severus feared was to fail to tell the boy in time. That was the only thing that mattered now:  secure the boy's path and lead his steps toward his necessary end.  He swallowed back the profound gall which had risen up in his mouth at this thought.

His right hand opened the first drawer, picked up a dead, withered ash tree leaf and put it in the palm of his left hand still resting upon the desktop.  Magic flooded pleasantly through his frame, and he watched as the leaf engorge with sap and unfold, as blooming and green as if he had just picked it up. He stared at it for a long while, then set it back into the drawer, where it slowly withered back.  His heart had dilated under a fresh surge of pride and bitterness.

What would you think of me, Lily? See …see where all this had led me…see how I devote every single fiber of my being to the cause…see the man I became…

The mark tingled nastily. Soon, very soon, the Dark Lord would come back to Hogwarts, where it had all begun, where it would end. He, Severus Snape, had played his part well – with portraits as his only confidents and support – since he had to murder the only man who ever truly trusted him. Trusted him, indeed, but not to the point of telling him the whole plan, either.  Severus Snape had always been only a pawn on the chessboard.  Invisible but crucial, though. Crucial? He mocked himself. Don't boast. You were at the root of this, Sev...YOU told Voldemort the prophecy; have you already forgotten?

He shuddered and sighed. It was almost amazing how he had managed to walk so far in this gaunt shell of a man. Not that he cared about his handsomeness - or rather his lack of, he had somehow always known he was ugly and had quickly learnt to value other qualities in himself. But it was obvious that his body had been strained close to its boundaries. Lately he had even tended to avoid watching his reflection too carefully when he had to set his eyes upon a mirror, for his personal hygiene or for a strict minimal checking of his outfit.  He had the diffuse foreboding that he was slowly and steadily walking toward death since a year ago; no need to witness it.

Anyhow, he had been dying a little more every day: bearing contempt, hatred, and fierce resistance from students and teachers united, while striving his best to protect them all on the sly; keeping his guard up round the clock to preserve his life from a premature ending, which, no doubt, any member of the Order of the Phoenix would have gladly bestowed upon him if given any opportunity to; and at last, but of the uttermost importance, acting his Death Eater role so well that he had managed to stay in the Dark Lord's good books until now…while, watching over Potter whenever he could.

Oh, yes… Even the dear good-hearted Minerva had manifested his execration up to a level he would have barely foretold. It strongly worked each of her old features each time they met, whether unexpectedly or on duty's purpose.

If only it had only been this…

Dark shadow in the now dimly moonlit headmaster study, Severus breathed deeply once more. He hoped it would be soon over.  He was tough, yet he was not sure how long his strengths would last henceforth, and besides, he was not especially prone to enjoy extra work concerning that matter, not anymore.

It was odd, how wading through these awful months following Dumbledore's death he had reached a peace and firmness of mind; he never thought he would in his whole life.

  Peace of mind….or the quiet desperation of self-renunciation?

A tremendous stab, bringing stars in front of his eyes, pierced his left arm. Alecto Carrow had found someone. Potter. The young headmaster stood up.

"Severus…"

Severus turned, scowling, at Dumbledore's portrait hanging behind the throne like chair.

"Good luck…"

Severus did not reply, merely acknowledged, rushed to the doors and left the study in which he had only been a temporary substitute. He had already waived everything in this life, even accepting leading Lily's son to his death. He was ready to fulfill his mission to the very end, whatever the cost. His sole hope was that his soul, if not too much mangled by his deeds, would be granted a peaceful afterlife - if ever there was one.  

In his Hogwarts hospital bed, Severus stirred again; his shirt adhered unpleasantly to his sweaty skin. His mind had emerged into consciousness, clouded with the gloomy feelings of this recollection.  The angry and bitter snake prowling inside his stomach had also reawakened. Passing years had mollified the intensity of his spite, and he was better at taming it also, but it was still dwelling in there, ready to bounce up on its coils and bite.  

A peaceful afterlife, he brooded.  A peaceful afterlife…or even the mere void of nothingness, at least an end to this miserable life…. that was what he had wished once his mission accomplished, not this…not surviving!

His distraught heart began to strike his ribcage fast and disorderly. Waves of sadness rippled over him, tightening his mangled throat. He shuddered and lifted a hand to his neck, which was pulsing with pain. He had probably slept long, and the effect of potions had worn off. His fingers probed the bandage for a short moment while his chest began to heave. He let his hand limply slide down onto the mattress. He swallowed hard. Dying looking into Lily's eyes would have been an appropriate mead for his deeds… Not this… not this!!

His breath had become shallow and quick. Each intake of air took to knifing his wounds. He felt giddy and pitiful. Feeble as he was, he should not rouse himself like this, of course he should not.

His strong will managed to temperate his heart's distress, and within a few minutes, he cleared his mind. He opened his eyes, blinked at the ceiling, and closed them again, listening to the slight hubbub suddenly animating the ward, focusing his brain to identify each and every single noise,  but all too soon the whirl of bitter thoughts came back.

Madam Pomfrey had said he was a "kind of a hero now", if he recalled her words correctly. "Kind of," he sneered inwardly. Of course, he could never be a true hero, at any rate. Humph. This was ridiculous. He did not care about this anymore, did he?

And yet, there was a time when the true Slytherin he was would most probably have maneuvered to turn that kind of situation to his best.

But now what?  (He would have let out a wry snigger if he could.)

The worst of all, actually, was the price for this ridiculous belated fame. That his heart's matters had been spread out for the world to trample on it, and he, being alive to see that… The more he thought about it, the less he could bear it. Once again, life was so unfair with him…He should be used to it, he mocked himself again.

The sardonic train of thoughts ran forth, like one's legs walking by themselves on a familiar path. Maybe this was a blessing...Who knew after all? Maybe he had not done enough to make up for what he had done, and if he had died, he would only have burnt in hell. Ah-ha...or someone had decided this would be a better chastisement for Severus Snape? Brilliant …or even better, he had been granted a new reprieve, an extra chance so he could be redeemed. What a joke! Honestly, had he not done enough???!!! Did he not deserve mercy?

He exhaled hard, fighting to calm down; he did not feel like rousing himself too much again.

A little voice at the back of his head murmured that he might finally start to live for himself. Nonsense! The irony of this, nevertheless, was that he was perfectly aware that he had precisely reached enough maturity to live an independent and rightful life. But no. He fostered no such desire anymore. No, not since long ago, not since he was a boy or even young man dreaming of his brilliant future. Well - not exactly. To be honest, he had sometimes strongly hoped this day would happen, in his deepest moments of despair. But now, it was over. It was too late. His striving had drained all strength from his core.

Even the small relief of knowing he had succeeded in his mission had already faded away. The relief of being exonerated of his traitor etiquette, he did not care about. They may loathe him, despise him, curse him; he did not care, as he was so used to it.

No...There was nothing left, nothing to live for, nothing else that he could do for Lily now…

He shivered.  His chest constricted. It would have been so easier if he had died…

You gave me the strength to live through; will you give me the strength to live forth? Lily…

As if the inconveniences due to his wounds were not enough, the muscles of his back were taut, most unpleasantly stiff. He tried to roll over.  It resulted in a fantastic shot of pain in his neck. He had to renounce. His powerlessness struck him hard, swamping his chest with bitterness and anger anew.  He had endured a lot of varied injuries along his life, but he had almost always been able to help himself.

There was a high-pitched outcry, somewhere up in the ward, then Madam Pomfrey' s voice exclaimed, "Oh, dear! Dear! Dear!". which was followed by more noises of moving, the  scraping and clapping of shoes on the floor, and the banging of doors.

Oh! He hated being there; he wanted his rooms, quiet, privacy; he wanted to get back in the shadows of the dungeons.

He noticed some soft whispers and rustles that were growing louder above the indistinct background noise, as though a small crowd were approaching. They were certainly visitors for an injured lying in a bed close to his. Choler inflated within his gut, making it, at least, easier to fight despair back. He kept his eyes closed and did his best to remain still: if he were lucky, these people would think he was sleeping and would leave him alone. Don't they dare disturb him!

The steps stopped. This person, whoever it was, was not very fit, he thought from the loud puffing.

"So! How is our favourite headmaster? " boomed a well- known voice.

Out of surprise, Severus cracked his eyes open on… Horace Slughorns' chubby face.
Blinking and wincing, Severus lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the bright light. There was definitely no mercy in this world.

"Good to see you alive and kicking, Severus!." exulted  his visitor. "I have certainly seen you in better shape, but I'm sure you'll be up on your feet in no time, and I'll rejoice at seeing you stride along corridors and send rule-breakers and dunderheads to detention."

"Certainly, Horace…If you say so… " Severus replied with a delicate strain of sarcasm in his hoarse voice.  He dispensed himself to elaborate further; it was not worth an extra whip of pain.

He dropped his arm back down on the bed and glared at his stout colleague, slightly squinting his black eyes at him. What does that old Slughorn want, exactly?

For a second, the latter pulled a slightly embarrassed face, although his watery eyes were still sparkling.

"Oh, stop looking at me like this, Severus!"  he teased genially, while the tips of his moustache rose. He looked like the cat that got the cream.  "I've brought you something that will help."

Severus's eyes followed the plump hand as it plunged inside the velvet waistcoat and withdrew with a tiny vial, proudly flourishing it.

"Here you are!"

Scowling and staring at the green and slightly fluorescent liquid, Severus did not turn a hair. The pudgy fingers popped off the lid and shoved the vial under his nose.

"So, what do you think it is? "

Severus's brow creased deeper. But his natural intellectual curiosity took over, and he tried to gather his brains to find out the essence of the vial. Werewolf blood, unicorn hair…

"Energy replenishing potion," cut in Slughorn  "- my personal recipe! It will fill you up with fresh strength within a minute!  I brewed it myself, of course," he asserted with a broad, satisfied grin. "And now, down with it!"

Severus pretended not to have heard and peered at the jovial face. After a short but close examination, he could tell the man was indeed extraordinarily relieved. However, he doubted this emotion was genuinely consequential to the survival and recovery of his former pupil and colleague. This looked rather like self-relief: the joy a man feels when against any hope and clue he has been proven right in the end.  This wizard was a braggart about his abilities to judge peoples' character; he must have hated being mistaken about his Slytherin's fellow commitments.  Surely, only hearing about the background story could have relieved him so much, not seeing Severus Snape still be in the land of the living.

"Please don't be difficult, Severus; drink it," insisted Slughorn.

"Oh, come on, Horace…don't you see he needs help?" interfered the tight, but slightly wobbling voice of Minerva McGonagall.

Bewildered and strongly embarrassed, Severus frowned and swept his gaze beyond his corpulent visitor. The sight made him arch an eyebrow. They were all there, Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout - all those who had chased him out of the castle that night-  standing  in a row at the end of his bed. Deep inside his chest, something wrung; his hand clenched convulsively on the sheets. He glared at them, scowling.

Flitwick looked rather contrite and grave, wagging from one foot to the other; Sprout was smiling poorly, and Minerva…

Minerva was watching him with great concern.  She hastily joined Slughorn at his very bedside, and it was obvious from the rosiness on her cheeks, her brisk and slightly shaking demeanours, that she was greatly moved and relieved also. She snapped the vial out of Slughorn's hands and turned to him.

"Let me help you."

He scowled deeper while she leant forward, gently slid a hand under his head and very carefully helped him to lift it up a little.  Despite her precautious gestures, the move sent a rush of pain, like a burning flame running through him. He gritted his teeth, trying not to let out a single sound.

"Here."

She pressed the brim of the bottle to his lips; he complied, and she slowly poured the potion into his mouth. He swallowed, but could not help the twitching of his features.

"Poppy said it was also time for another dose of pain-reducing potion."

Without slackening her support under his head, she stretched a hand toward Slughorn, who gave her another vial, and she tipped the contents of it the same gentle way into his mouth.  He swallowed again, and she guided his head back down on the pillow. After that, she even wiped his lips with a cloth.

It was very odd. Very odd, indeed. He supposed he felt a little like a sick child nursed by his mother, although he had no recollections of his mother taking care of him that way.

A strange, warm, and tickling wave raced through his body from head to toe, and he immediately felt better, not so dead-weary anymore; the pain wore off greatly, too.

But now, lying so, with all these people watching him, appeared suddenly all the more inappropriate, almost humiliating; his embarrassment raised a step higher; a hot flush surged upon him.

He tried to prop himself up on his elbows, struggling to sit up. Minerva nimbly reached out to replace the pillows behind his back, and he settled down, avoiding meeting her gaze.

He could not help his mouth from twitching in a sneer. She and the others were indeed all of a sudden so well-intentioned and caring. The last time he had seen her, she had attacked him fiercely and without warning; they had been in such a fury against him - they had been determined to kill him, actually.

"Well…well, Minerva…how is that, that now…that I deserve so much of your consideration and… solicitude?" he asked softly.

At least half-reclined on the bed, the first shock of their visit overcome and filled with fresh energy, he felt a little less helpless.

She sighted. "I owe you an apology, Severus."

"You owe me?" he retorted wryly.  

"I'm sorry, Severus." She looked at him as for understanding, but he barely glanced up and just waited quietly, not expressing anything but scorn by pursing his lips.

"I am sorry for this wild and deliberate assault on you during the night of the battle..."

"And we're grateful you only defended yourself and did not try to hurt us," cut in Flitwick's whining voice.

McGonagall nodded at the interruption, but her gaze remained steadily fixed on Severus.

There was a short silence. Severus looked up and held her gaze this time. His heart was beating faster; his lungs were strangely oppressed. He did not even hold any resentment against them, did he? He had played his act so well, they could only be fooled. So why did they bother with an apology? Why did they even come to visit him? Oh, how much he despised their miserable attempts to apologize.

"I'm sorry for my distrust…" she pursued, "and for my nasty and malignant behaviour toward you all this last year, Severus."

"We all are," squeaked Flitwick.

Suddenly, Severus felt cornered, utterly trapped with no way out in this hospital bed. Despite his tenacious resistance, a wave of pure distress broke upon him. A lump rose in his throat; a bitter taste at the back of his mouth tightened his jaws; his breath went shallow;  he struggled hard not to shout at them that they were liars, that they haven't cared a whit about him and that they still did not.

All this last year, he had had to bury his feelings, his needs, his true self so deep, that he had most of the time grieved to have become a complete stranger to himself.  But this - this threatened him like an earthquake; this threatened to crack his walls and to resurface a huge and possibly uncontrollable amount of tormented jumble.

"Enough!" he roared as loud as his mangled throat would allow him, but inside, he felt like crying.  Their pathetic pleas were motivated by guilt. They just wanted to ease their consciences.  Who would ever be truly sorry for Severus Snape?

"Severus…" pleaded Minerva worryingly; her tone was unusually unsteady. "I only mean to express my deepest..."

"Enough of this!" he snarled, casting them dirty looks.

There was another moment of silence, much thicker this time.  His outburst seemed to have subdued some of their enthusiasm.

Oh, yes, of course, sometimes he had wished that Minerva, at least, would have guessed, but it was better she had not; she would have blown his cover and the plan likewise. Anyway, he did not want their pity. He abhorred being pitied.  He breathed deeply, mastering distress with embittered, disillusioned cynicism once again. He wouldn't make a fool of himself. He scanned his visitors with a cool, bottomless gaze, rolled his eyes, and then spoke in a slow, low voice.

"The war, Minerva…it was war…. You've barely seen the tip of the iceberg." He paused a few seconds, his glare defying her to interrupt. "We all played our part as well as we could."

Then he crossed his arms upon his chest. He had meant this to be the end of this issue.  Obviously Minerva was too much of an unsubtle and stubborn Gryffindor to get it.  She shamelessly trampled straight on his expectations.

"Yes, Severus…certainly…but some of us played a much harder and risky part," she insisted, stressing her words with meaningful looks.

He thought for a second of turning his face away to conceal the hotness he felt rising to his cheeks, but he relinquished.  It would have been a worse avowal of weakness. He must have blushed only a little a bit, after all. But then he caught the glimpse of an indulgent smile on her benevolent visage and knew she had noticed.  A flame of anger whooshed upon him.  Was his fierce will to put a brave face on, to refuse any apology and gratitude what amused her?

"I thought I had said this was enough, Minerva,"  he replied icily. It did not sound as convincing as it should have, though.

She leant toward him, laying a firm hand on his arm and searching his eyes. He flittered them down at her hand, profoundly uneasy.  Gryffindor's stubbornness should be damned!  He wanted to withdraw his limb from her grasp, but somehow, he was like paralyzed between contradicted desires: the snake within his stomach was hissing angrily, eager to bite, but an urge to weep was also seeping out again, from deep inside.  He ground his teeth and looked up at her, taking great care to keep his features closed and sardonic.

Her mien was as solemn and tight as if she were standing in front of anyone who's anyone, about to discourse, but her eyes softly glowed with sadness and awe.

"Severus Snape," she stated, "you'll stay forever in Hogwarts's history as the bravest teacher and headmaster this school ever housed. In the name of all the staff, I thank you."

He held her gaze the briefest moment more and then turned his head away with a lazy, dismissing gesture of his hand.  

"Who cares, Minerva?"

It was so tearing inwardly that he had to curtail his sentence. The muscles of his jaws were tightened. He swallowed the sour taste in his mouth hard. He knew she was trying to give him a bit of what he had immensely needed: sympathy, recognition, and gratitude. But it was too late. He was far beyond this. He did not care anymore. The Dark Lord had been undone…Lily's son was safe…That was all that mattered.

"And that's not all, Severus," Minerva added, breaking the silence before it became sheer embarrassing for both of them.

She went round the bed and grasped his left forearm. This time, he tried in earnest to snatch it out out of her grip, but she seized him a little tighter, and he was too weak to fight. So he scowled up at her, his dark eyes flaring.

"Let go of my arm!"  

He broke into a raw cough and glared at her as though she were responsible for it.

"You might not have already noticed," she said, ignoring his looks, "but..." Her eyes smiled, and she pulled his sleeve up to his elbow. The skin was pale and bluish veined, with apparent tendons, but unsoiled.

"You are free from this infamous stain now." There she smiled in earnest.

Severus's right hand, that had hung in mid-air a few seconds, at the ready to help his left arm in his fight for freedom, dropped down on the sheets. The Dark Mark had vanished. Not worn out or faded, but completely and utterly vanished! His first moment of surprise overtaken, he finally withdrew his arm from her grasp and stared down at it. His flesh was clean. The mark had died with its master…  Free ... no, he would never be free. His soul would always bear Lily's death and his numerous errings.

His fingers grazed tentatively along the pale flesh up to the mark. No burning, nothing.  He rubbed a little firmer, like he mechanically used to do before the Dark Lord returned.  A second later, he shuddered under a violent tremor. A well-known and unpleasant feeling had sprung up like an abruptly awoken ugly beast.

"No, Minerva, it's not gone. It left a scar, inside," he murmured.

Maybe it was better so after all, he thought. Yes, it was. He did not want to forget. He would keep this scar as a constant and ever-reminder of his wrong choices and mistakes.

He slowly lifted his head and surveyed the room. The sun was brightly shining throughout the ward. Others injured were quietly resting in their beds; Madam Pomfrey poked her face out of her office, peered around a minute or two, and then retreated. His gaze drifted back to his visitors. The genial Horace Slughorn had joined the other staff members; his large frame was leant against the bottom guardrail of Severus's bed, and all of them were now chatting pleasantly. Only Minerva was still standing very close to him. He observed her out of the corner of his eye. She looked a bit disappointed and pained, as though she had imagined this discovery would have been a great comfort to him, a sort of reward she thought he had earnestly deserved, and from which he had been deprived unexpectedly.

"At least no one sees but you…" she said, sounding truly sorry.

He nodded imperceptibly – he did not feel like pressing on her dashed hopes. He did not know exactly why, but no, he would not be sarcastic, not this time. Pulling his sleeve down, he cast a glance through the window at the brilliant green Hogwarts grounds, which could be seen from here, and then stared back absent-mindedly in front of him.  He was free from the Dark Lord, at least and at long last. He was free. Free from two masters. But it had not brought him the relief he had expected it would, the relief he dreamt of in his moments of anguish and despair. Indeed, he felt rather empty and bereft. How could this make sense? There was only one thing left, said a little voice at the back of his head: Forgive yourself.  No way! As he quickly pushed the indecent thought out of his mind, a soft pressure on his shoulder made him flinch and tense up.

"Severus..." said Minerva's voice, thick with emotion.

He initiated a move to wriggle his shoulder out of her hand, but he had barely squirmed when she spontaneously took her hand off. He hoped she would not make a habit of doing this, of touching him like this every ten seconds. It caused his heart to waver, the snake within his stomach to hiss, and his cheeks to flush. It was most unpleasant.

"I truly wish I had known…" she offered. "Dumbledore held you in a great esteem. He always trusted you.  He…he," she stuttered, "he told me explicitly that he was absolutely convinced in your loyalty… He would not hear a word against you!" She made a short pause while she inhaled a bit noisily. "I deeply regret…" she proceeded. "I wish I had known….If you ever need anything... in any way…please come to me."

Come to you?  Severus scoffed inwardly, tussling with what felt like an army of tiny spiders crawling upon him. What makes you think you could help me in any way? Why would I seek your help? But there was something, indeed. It had just popped out in his mind. He glanced up, sideways, at her black, stern, and pointed hat-capped figure. A little smirk twisted the corner of his mouth.

"Minerva, would you tell Potter I want my memories back?"

She emitted a small, muffled squeak. It seemed his brusque request had taken her by surprise. He peered up at her face. She quickly steeled herself, raising her eyebrows above her glasses.

"Don't worry about them," she asserted. "They are safe in the headmaster's office, in the Pensive, exactly where Potter left them Friday night. I haven't brought them back to you yet, because" - she cleared her throat - "because we need them to clear your name."

We? immediately registered Severus. So he was fully back in the team, then? Just as if nothing had ever happened? He sneered inwardly again. Well, she was rather thinking about other members of the Order of the Phoenix or about any of her acquaintances.  Anyway, he had not asked her anything. What was she doing clearing his name behind his back? She had a strange glint in her eyes. He frowned and folded his arms over his chest.

"Err … Minerva?! We need you here!"  shouted a cheerful voice. Both Severus and Minerva turned their heads. Horace Slughorn was gesturing dramatically. "Minerva, come please! We need you!"

She moved to the company at once, not forgetting to give Severus a kind you-won't-get-rid-of-me like-this look before she left. He slowly leant back against the pillows and sighed.  Minerva was sincere; he could not deny her that. But she could not understand there were wounds too deep to heal and deeds beyond atonement…

"And now let's celebrate together with a good meal!" exclaimed Professor Slughorn above the indistinct chatter, beaming at Severus.

The round wizard gracefully flicked his wand, together with his colleagues, and Severus watched, confused and mortified at the appearance of a neat table and its set of tartan cushioned chairs precisely across from his bed in the middle of the aisle.  A second later, the table bent under an incredible amount of varied food: pies, roasted meat, porridge... wine bottles, and dishes. Slughorn gloated there was even crystallized pineapple. Severus's widened eyes roved over the whole scene.  It was actually a fair miniature imitation of the school welcoming feast.  Sprout and Flitwick began to fill plates, loudly informing that there was enough food for everyone here, and Sprout set off to carry up the plates thus prepared to the injured up in the ward.

"Sybill, will you take some soup?"

"What about you, Miss Brown? "

Standing on the threshold of her office, Madam Pomfrey looked a tad cross, but when Sprout handed her a plate with a disarming smile, her face eased, and she smiled back.

  McGonagall had settled in a seat beside Flickwick, but Slughorn was still standing up, bustling about the table. At last, he turned toward Severus, smiling broadly and carrying a small tray, where lay a glass of red wine, a plate filled to the brim, and a piece of bread.

"As far as Madam Pomfrey is caring, I will nonetheless bet you still haven't tasted any substantial meal since you awoke, have you?"  he said shrewdly and looking utterly delighted. Severus supposed it was his derailed face whose sight the man enjoyed so much, for he was not making any particular effort at the moment to smooth his features, and nothing, indeed, was going on like he had expected.

"That's not really your concern, Horace…"  he snapped, quirking his brows at the overloaded plate the fat wizard was bringing to him. "Really, you go too much out of your way."

"Stop sulking, m'boy…and enjoy company for once," was the pesky rejoinder.

The so admonished man scowled; however, he unfolded his arms and let the fat wizard put the tray on his lap. Actually, he had not eaten anything substantial for days. He looked down his nose doubtfully at the roasted potatoes and grilled sausages. His body would certainly be grateful, but his stomach? He was not so sure, and above all, he doubted he could bring this down his mangled throat.

"Cormac, my boy, some sausages?" asked Slughorn, turning around. For the first time he was here, Severus paid attention to the human being occupying the bed beside his and recognized the young Cormac McLaggen.

"Well, Professor," replied the handsome boy, "my parents should arrive any minute now… to take me home…" There, he glanced at Severus. Severus watched him blankly for a second, then smirked, and before looking away, looked down upon him with his best professor's air. Why should lying in beds next to another in the same hospital, suffering with injuries inflicted during the same battle, or even being a bloody war hero should affect his behavior toward pupils?

"Oh, you can still eat something before you go, my boy!" proposed Slughorn in his boisterous ways, " and besides, your parents are very much welcome if they wish to join us!"

The moment the enormous professor took a step toward the profusely furnished table, the doors  swung open, and  a tall, blonde, and  pretty woman entered, her arm hooked under her husband's, who was also tall and athletic looking, although his face was much more common than his wife's. McLaggen had luckily inherited the best of his each parent's genes, thought Severus.

McGonagall rose and greeted them warmly, performing her duty of Head of House perfectly well and then took them to Slughorn's care. But the latter enthusiastic summons could not convince them to join the party. Mrs. McLaggen hurriedly gathered his son's belongings in a duffel bag while her husband helped him out of the bed.

When Cormac McLaggen stood, propped on crutches, Severus saw that the golden boy had lost half of his right leg during the battle. He looked away, fighting a qualm and feeling so very tired with all this, too tired, indeed, to risk meeting the mother's eyes, yet he discreetly beheld the reaction of his fellow Slytherin.

Slughorn muttered something that sounded like "Girls love pirates", but his manners had been deprived of their dashing exuberance as if he had just been splashed with cold water. He watched the family leave, hovering thoughtfully beside the emptied bed.

Horridly pathetic, sneered Severus for himself.  Squinting down at the tray on his lap, he let out a short sigh, stuck a bit of potatoes on his fork, and nibbled on it. His stomach was rumbling. He was alive. He had to eat.  He had not much time to experiment whether his throat would tolerate the food or not, though, for a very high-pitched voiced Minerva McGonagall exclaimed, "Horace! What have you been thinking?"

Severus lifted his nose from his plate. She was rushing toward him, looking indignant. His eyebrows raised slightly, his brow furrowed, but he was almost amused.

"Minerva...I…" mumbled Slughorn, offering one of his fluffy smiles.

But Minerva had already been swept by her colleague's round body and peremptorily took the plate from Severus's tray.

"I'll give you something more appropriate."

Already, she had wheeled around. Severus's mouth twisted in half a smirk as he watched her dart to the table and hurry back with another plate. It was filled with an odd-looking mashed mixture.

"Potatoes with chicken and varied vegetables," she announced, putting the new plate on his tray.

He scowled deeper, looking down at the food, nevertheless very pleasantly unsettled by her gesture.
"Baby food!" he sneered, looking up at her. "I still have my teeth, though..."

"Oh, Severus..." she chuckled. "Witty as ever.  You're better, indeed, I see."  She paused, then her lips parted again, but they only trembled imperceptibly and then closed again. Her voice seemed checked, but her eyes, her eyes, as if her heart were overflowing through them, expressed how sorry she was, how much she wanted to make things right. Her hand glided toward the tablespoon as though she wanted to pick it up.  He forestalled her, slamming the utensil against the tray.

"Minerva!"

They faced.  He fiercely held her gaze for a full ten seconds, then blinked and turned slightly away.

"I can feed myself, Minerva," he said, very low. "It's all right."

She nodded bleakly, sighed, and finally cast him a brief, small smile, and left to resume her seat at the table. He slowly released his grip over the tablespoon and then arranged himself back against his pillows.

He had to concede that all this - the egocentric old Horace brewing  a potion for him, Minerva's words and attentive gestures, that meal, even the pathetic apologies - it felt good, even if in an odd way. It painfully racked, pressed and pierced, in so many sore spots deep inside him; these oozed again, but it also smelled like a glass of wine to a teetotaler. It was tantalizing. Surely, it flattered his ego. Acceptance, friendly care…such a tiny bit of them tasted like a treat. There was such a long time he had not got a mere breath of them. It seemed ages.

Actually, what was most unnerving, above everything, was that all this was given to him by people from the good side - righteous people - humph, he must be going a little mad with the poison to start gratifying people with that kind of adjective. Well, at the very least to ordinary mortals, they were indeed.

Sure enough,  their so amicable attitude would not last. He was not so naive as to believe it would. But just for the moment, he might indulge himself to relish in it - if he could do that without breaking his walls.  He breathed deeply and swallowed hard through his clogged throat. Yes, he could try that. He breathed deeply again and focused on his love for Lily, engraved in the deepest part of his heart, on the sympathy he had felt emanating from Minerva, and even - why not after all? - on the riddance of Voldemort .  Gradually, slight soothing warmth – bitter still, but soothing nevertheless – began to diffuse within his chest.  Everything considered, it tasted not so unlike a little piece of dark chocolate after a head-to-head with Dementors.