For all Joy wants Eternity

For all Joy wants Eternity

Chapter 23


He had no idea what it was that finally made him regain
consciousness. Most probably, it was the cold, though.
He was freezing. The muscles of his entire body clenched
spasmodically in violent shudders that were running through
him; even his heart seemed to shiver helplessly. The cold floor
beneath him sucked whatever traces of warmth had been left
inside from his shaking frame, and instinctively Severus's body
reacted in a futile attempt to curl even further into the
fetal position it was already in anyway. Which was a mistake.

A sharp rip of pain shot through his completely stiff limbs and
joints, pain that forced his eyes open and drew an abrupt groan
from his dry, aching throat. Inhaling on a trembling hiss, the
Slytherin reflexively lifted his body a little from the icy ground.

And was punished for the attempt immediately.

Nausea and dizziness fell upon him the very moment he tried to
focus on his surroundings. His visual field narrowed, and wave
after wave of a wildly roaring sound flooded his ears and head,
and whatever room he was lying in began to seriously spin at a
frightening speed. Severus could only surrender to the fierce
protest of his body, and when he let himself sink back to the ground
with a moan, he felt the vile taste of acid rapidly rise up the back
of his throat.

'Professor?'

The small voice that had rung out from somewhere to the left behind
him cut through the plainly physical reactions dominating the Slytherin,
just in time to keep him from emptying his stomach of even the last
drop of gastric juice. It was also all his brain needed to finally
jump-start, to break free of the powerful grip of his hurting,
failing body. Hurled back into reality by a single word, memory
slowly began to creep into Severus's mind, the events of the past
hours gradually getting clearer and clearer.

Or how long had it been?

Closing his eyes again, Severus tried to somehow calm the turmoil
he felt raging inside. Having learned the hard way to better listen to
the signals his body sent him, he forced his mind's fluttering
impatience to rest. Pushing himself wouldn't get him anywhere but most
likely only make things worse, and no matter how desperately he needed
to find out about what had just happened, about what they had just
tried to do, he knew he had to take things slowly. So after swallowing
hard several times, the Slytherin coerced himself into some deep, even
breaths before he trusted his body enough to allow him to speak without
having to be sick at the same time.

'Potter.' Even after only a single word did he have to re-gather his
thoughts once more that somehow, most annoyingly, managed to slip
his mental grip over and over again? ‘Is there a particular reason why
you're still gracing me with the dus pls pleasure of your presence?'

There was not even the slightest hint of the usual menace in his
voice. He could tell that as soon as the first sound had left his
lips, and if he was honest, he didn't really care at all. There was
simply no point in attempting to intimidate someone who had just
shared his mind - and along with it all the horror, pain and
humiliation that lay hidden there. Severus sighed inwardly and
listened to the tiredness that colored his words instead, as if the
complete exhaustion that had seized him had edged into each syllable
that fell from his mouth. At least his mind seemed to be working more
or less perfectly again. Pictures were flooding his inner vision, and
emotions he had banished earlier were triumphantly breaking free.
Questions began to form, their screams echoing from the inner walls
of his skull, demanding answers, demanding action. After his
breakdown...how long?...what had happened?...the Dark Lord?...Hogwarts?...
how many?...Albus?...and Remus? Remus. Remus...

The boy's voice again.

'I couldn't just leave you here...' Potter stopped as if he was
waiting for a reaction that never came. '...and I wasn't sure what I
was supposed do after he...after he had vanished.' Another pause that
was filled with nothing but Severus's heavy breathing. 'I was scared.'

Severus heard the boy's last words without grasping their meaning, or
he would have truly been surprised at the Gryffindor's confession and
the slightly frightened tone that had crept into the boy's voice.
But instead, all of the Slytherin’s being was completely focused on
another part of Potter's answer.

'...after he had vanished...'

Deliberately, Severus quenched all of the spring tide of hope that
fought for the right to rise within him. He could not allow himself to
believe yet, he didn't know what had truly happened, there were so
many possibilities, and nobody could say for sure...

He didn't have more time to keep himself from giving in to what he
so desperately hoped for. A too familiar spark of alarm had sprung to
life, and all of his subconscious was yelling its warning message at
him.

Someone was coming closer.

He could clearly hear the low noise behind him, followed by hesitant
footsteps that definitely headed in his direction. Not prepared in
the least yet for dealing with Potter's approaching him, but clearly
aware of not having the slightest chance to avoid the confrontation
either, Severus did his best to ignore his quivering arms and the
re-wakening nausea his movements caused, and struggled to at least
push himself up into a half-sitting position. The small difference
between helplessly lying on the floor and the illusion of at least a
little dignity a straightened upper body represented would help him
deal with the effects of the Ritual, now that he heard Potter coming
closer and closer towards him. He felt his body tense, every nerve
reflexively on the alert, waited for the first heralds of the usual
agony, of the mental collapse, for the strange mixture of searing
fire and icy cold to take hold of him.

Only none of that happened.

And suddenly, nothing else mattered anymore. Not his still rebellious
stomach nor the cold that had not yet stopped making hhivehiver. The
swirling thoughts behind his eyes had come to a halt, his heart had
stopped beating. His entire body seemed to hold its breath as he
watched a young Gryffindor kneel down, only a foot away from him.
There was nothing else this worn-out being of his was able to focus
on, his world had constricted to the sight of a teenage, green-eyed
boy who did nothing but look at Severus Snape just as silently as he
was close to him, before he slowly raised his left hand, holding a
very familiar wand out to the Slytherin.

'You lost it when you fell.' Potter's voice, colored with just the
slightest touch of uncertainty, merely scratched Severus's perception.
The boy's green eyes flickered up to the unblinking stare of his
teacher. 'I thought you'd want it back before...before we return to
the castle.'

Had the circumstances been any different, nothing would have saved
the boy from a vicious reprimand, along with caustic
congratulations on his remarkable presence of mind, but Severus was
still caught in this unbelievable closeness of another body. A
closeness that did not affect him. A body that did not harm him.
Proving all of his instincts wrong, which had so rapidly formed after
Lupin had unwittingly triggered the Ritual's first reaction that
summer in the Shrieking Shack. Laughing in the face of the part of
his brain that still screamed at him to jump up and run. It felt too
good. Never in his life had anything felt that good. A bright, warm
flame of flickering, disbelieving hope had broken out somewhere
inside him, melted its way through the freezing cold he had felt
before. And with each moment he faced the boy kneeling in front of
him, still holding out his wand, with each second that passed without
hurling him into the physical and mental chaos of the Ritual,
something else replaced the hope burning within him. Something more
solid. More reliable. Something like the first traces of certainty.

And so Severus decided to take the risk and trust the absence of the
Ritual's effects that was singing through his body, pulsing through
his veins. Yearning for the final confirmation, for the last piece
to fall into place, he lifted his hand up to where his wand was
offered to him. Slowly, gradually, the Slytherin closed what was left
of the distance between Potter and himself, a distant fraction of his
mind realizing how his hand was steady as it hadn't been in months,
and then he reached out, felt the smooth wood touching his palm, his
fingers closing slightly around his wand, his grip getting stronger...

...and then his thumb very deliberately brushed against the hand of
the completely silent and motionless boy.

In that moment, when his world did not break down, when neither his
body nor his mind fell apart, Severus was finally ready to believe in
the fact that they had actually, truly defeated Voldemort.

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They all lay on the floor before him. All of them motionless, stunned,
and tied up with magical bonds, which glitteringly announced the
powerful alarm spells no one other than Albus Dumbledore himself had
put on them about twenty minutes ago. Remus knew that those enchanted
ropes would warn them immediately should one of the captured Death
Eaters do so much as move, but still he had returned from the Great
Hall to check on the eleven unconscious forms again himself. He didn't
know exactly what the reason was that had forced him back into the
transfiguration classroom once more, after they had all gathered in the
Great Hall, surviving teachers, Aurors and students alike, to find out
who had made it through the last two hours alive. All he knew was that
an irresistible force had drawn him here, and so he had come. He was
aware that he should be with the others now, that he should tend to
victims of curses, to injured children and colleagues, that he should join
the small parties that were presently searching the castle for those
who had not been so lucky as to not lose their lives or who had ended up
too heavily injured to follow the call to the Great Hall. But despite
all that, here he was.

Taking one more step into the room, Remus thought about closing the door
behind him, but some strange urge to somehow maintain a connection to the
low humming of voices that could be heard from the Great Hall made him
change his mind. Instead, he walked even closer towards the
paralysed bodies lying on the ground, while a part of his mind pondered
on why he was here.

And another part of it was very aware of the answer to that question.

These...persons were the last link he had. The last possible contact.
The only ones who would have known Voldemort's plans, who probably had
been with him until shortly before the attack on the castle had begun.
Right now, no one else would be able to tell him. No one else but them.
Only they would know.

About Harry.
About Severus.
Severus...

Remus stopped in front of a pair of boots on a sprawled form before
him. He felt the stinging in his eyes, but it were not tears that burned
behind his closed eyelids. Actually, his eyes were as dry as they could be,
dry and hot and aching. Each blink hurt as if his irises were coated
with rough, leathery dragon skin. He didn't know what tore more at his
heart, the knowledge of not having been able to protect and defend Harry
when they had come for him, or the fact that Severus had not been among
the Death Eaters they had encountered in the castle. Neither among the
dead nor those still alive. Considering this, there were not many options
left. Most likely, Severus had been ordered to attack St. Mungo’s, and
they knew from the Aurors that had been successful in defending the
hospital and had joined their own fight for Hogwarts right afterwards, that
only one Death Eater had managed to escape from London alive, but
severely injured. So even *if* Severus had been that one, even if he had
been able to slip from the deadly, furious grip of the Aurors at St.
Mungo’s, he now was somewhere out there, unable to call for help, most
likely seriously hurt. Probably dying. Perhaps already dead.

And if he hadn't been at St. Mungo’s...

A fierce shudder shook Remus's insides. His brain simply refused to
even think about the possibility of Severus having been with Voldemort
tonight. Despite the frightening alternes, es, he was most afraid of
this final option. All of his instincts telling him, as absurd as this
might seem at first sight, that the gravest danger for the Slytherin had
been waiting there. At the side of his former Master.

Pressing his thumb and index finger against the bridge of his nose, the
werewolf closed his eyes. They still didn't have the slightest idea yet
exactly what had happened a little more than half an hour ago, when the
strict discipline and most effective subtlety that had marked the Death
Eaters' attack until then had suddenly ceased to exist. It had been as
if the invisible hand which had seemed to direct each move of their
enemies had suddenly vanished, from one moment to the next. By no
means had it been easy after that, but they had managed, with the force
and power of their own determination, with a courage born of despair
and fear for the lives of so many innocent children, as well as with
the help of the victorious Aurors from St. Mungo’s. In the end, they had
defeated them. All of them. Still not knowing what had been the reason
for the sudden weakening of the attack, for the sudden lack of a
supervising and commanding spirit.

Of course there were speculations, theories, high hopes. But no one
dared voice those thoughts. Nobody trusted the whispering voices in
the back of their heads, not in the face of a still missing Harry Potter,
not in the face of the horror they'd just been through. There was too
much fear left to let anybody truly trust in what *could* be. It wasn't
enough that they all knew that Harry had most likely been brought
before Voldemort after he had been ripped from Remus's care. Or that
they all knew about the outstanding intuitive capabilities and
breathtaking power the boy possessed and had proven over and over again
when it came to magic. No. No one the Gryffindor had met or been able to
talk to after the fight ended had dared to openly believe in the
one reason for their victory that they all hoped for: that Harry Potter had
indeed succeeded in defeating Voldemort.

Remus himself hadn't even gotten so far as to become aware of his own
thoughts on the matter. His mind was fogged with fear for both Harry and
Severus, his thoughts occupied with visions of different situations, all
of them featuring the boy, the Slytherin, Voldemort and how this
confrontation ended with torture and death for one of the first two or
both, either because Severus blew his cover too soon or too late...
The werewolf couldn't help but literally taste the despair and desperate
rage the Ex-Death Eater of his visions felt in that conflict, could
sense his emotional pain in the face of the certainty that whatever he
did, it would be wrong, that he had failed them after all, that he had
not been worthy of Dumbledore's trust in the end, that he had not been
able to protect Harry Potter in the very moment it would have been most
important. And then, he died, slowly, in pain, in purest agony...

The noise of now slightly louder voices drifted through the open door
from the Great Hall and knifed through the horrible pictures that
tortured the werewolf's inner perception. Slowly turning his head half
way towards the classroom's entrance, Remus opened his eyes again.
The emotional color of what he perceived from his fellow Order members,
from the students and Aurors out there had changed. He could feel it.
The first traces of relief and the easing-off of tension curled around his
half-animal perception, and he could clearly sense something like
reluctant, slightly disbelieving joy.

Feeling how his hands involuntarily clenched into fists, Remus spun
around, sensing a dangerous growl breaking free from deep within his
throat. Before he had noticed it, he was already on his way to the
door, this time with the firm intention of throwing it shut, to close
himself off from those first signs of after-battle euphoria. If all
of the wizarding world begin to celebrate their victory tonight, even
though they didn't even know yet how deep that victory went, Remus was
not ready to do so. Instead, he felt contempt rising within that would
have surprised him by its fierceness, had he had the presence of mind
to realize and rationally observe it. But all Remus Lupin wanted right
now, all he cared for this very moment was to silence those cheers that
grew still louder, to shut up the sounds of celebration that spit in
the face of his fear, his hurt and sorrow.

Until he had actually reached the half-open door. Until his auditory
senses actually perceived what those shouts coming from the Great Hall
were about.

Until he heard, loud and clear, how Harry's name was ringing through
the corridor, through the castle, through his own mourning mind. Until
it echoed from the walls of his hurting heart.

Until he found himself running towards the warm lights that announced
the source of the loud chattering, screaming and yelling, that now
seemed to be the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard in his life.

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The Great Hall resembled an anthill. Everyone who was able to walk was
on their feet, and wizards and witches of every height and age were
whirling through the big room, all of them busy with the obvious attempt
to somehow get closer to a knot of people right at the hall's center. A
few of the students were so respectful as to let Remus pass by, but still
the werewolf wasn't able to move nearly as fast as he felt the burning
urge to do. With each step, the Gryffindor craned his neck to catch at
least a glimpse of who it was standing in the calm eye of the wildly
shifting crowd, only to be pushed further away from his destination
over and over again. The wild anticipation and joy he felt mingled with
hot frustration, and it took all of his well-trained patience to accept
he had to go the long way to finally get where he so desperately needed
to be. Only after Remus had been forced by the swirling mass of people to
go halfway round the Great Hall did he manage to get close enough at last.
Close enough to let his eyes finally put his wildly beating heart and his
fiercely flapping hopes to rest with the soothing certainty the scene that he
saw evoked inside him.

Harry, flanked by a still extremely pale and shaken Ron, as well as a
beaming Hermione, who was crying at the same time nonetheless. Albus,
who had put both his hands on the boy's shoulders, attentively listening
to whatever story it was that Harry was telling him, the warmest, kindest
smile on his weathered face that Remus had ever seen there, and he had
been blessed to see a lot of them. A smile that was edged with pure
delight and most profound pride. A smile that, impossible as this might
seem, deepened now, became even more intense as Albus lifted his head
slightly at something Harry had said and looked up at someone standing
behind the young Gryffindor, someone the werewolf could not identify
until a head in front of him moved slightly to the right, allowing him
a perfect view of the group at the center of everyone's attention...

...and the pieces of his heart that had exploded with nameless joy at
the sight of the man Albus's incredible smile had been directed at
smashed hot and wild against the inner walls of his body.

Severus.

Remus felt how his legs were about to give way beneath him. Reflexively,
he grabbed for the next shoulder within reach for support, not caring
about who it belonged to or what this someone might think of him. He
couldn't afford to break down now. He needed to drink in the sight of
that man, couldn't miss one moment he had the chance to watch, to
carve that picture into his memory forever. The white, almost
transparent skin and the dark rings under the still darker eyes. The
exhaustion that was engraved into that face, and the remnants of pain,
mental and physical torture that had left its traces written all over
the fierce, clearly defined features. And yet, even though it still
showed how close the Slytherin had come to being broken, Severus held
Albus's glance, accepted all that lay in the older man's smile and eyes
with a small nod, and then Remus noticed Minerva coming up at the side
of her colleague, beaming up at him, laying a hand on his forearm with
a rare gesture of affection.

The scream of warning got stuck in the werewolf's throat, which had
suddenly contracted into a tight, useless lump of tissue and muscle.
Forgetting about any politeness or consideration, he had already begun
to fight his way through the wizards and witches before him, carelessly
pushing bodies aside in the attempt to get closer, never taking his
eyes from the scene in front of him, waiting for Severus to collapse
under the effects of the Ritual any moment.

But he didn't.

And realisation hit Remus like a sudden punch to his stomach.

Feeling how powerful, unrestrained relief and joy bubbled up inside of
him, the werewolf stopped dead in his tracks, a wide, boisterous grin
having begun to slowly spread across his face. His entire being actually
ached with happiness. Too much was happening at once, too many tragedies
were suddenly dissolving with Voldemort's defeat, and somehow his soul
was simply not big enough to grasp all of the ecstasy that now
unexpectedly surged through his body and mind. He felt how all of it
kept building inside, how his emotions were searching for an outlet,
how they swelled and grew until he couldn't help but allow them to break
out in a weird crostweetween a sob and a cry, or was it something between
a moan and a laugh? He couldn't tell. But it was enough anyway. It was
enough, through all the chattering noise around them, for Severus to
hear.

Cold, dark eyes, clouded with fatigue and weariness, lifted and searched
the part of the crowd were the werewolf was standing. Remus didn't
dare do so much as move for fear of somehow destroying that most
precious moment, of somehow missing the second the Slytherin's look
would catch his own. Still, he was not really prepared for the powerful
jolt that shot through his body when their glances finally, actually met,
when he saw warmth exploding in Severus's eyes, when he witnessed how
the other man's stony, unmoving face softened into grateful relief and a
small, barely noticeable smile. A boiling river of heat suddenly rose
behind the Gryffindor's own eyes and ran down his throat until it
reached his waiting, quivering heart, leaving a gleaming trace of small
fires on its way. Still completely paralysed by the silent connection
they held despite all the noise and turmoil of joy around them, Remus
saw Severus drawing up his worn-out body to its full height, turning
towards him, making the first step in his direction, and he hadn't known
that his heart was able to beat even faster than it had so far, felt how
his entire body began to shiver with anticipation, began to move forward
now himself...

'Professor Lupin!'

The loud cry ripped Remus from the trance the sight of Severus had
sent him into. All he had time for was one slightly confused blink
before he realised that the skinny, dark-haired figure, calling his
name again, was hurling itself towards him for all it was worth.

Only a moment later, the werewolf found himself struggling for his
balance, almost knocked over by the fierce embrace with which Harry
Potter had flung himself into the older Gryffindor's arms.

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Severus froze in place as soon as the boy's scream had rung out. Even
if the Dark Lord himself had risen that very moment and ordered him
to describe what he felt now that he saw Potter throw himself at Remus
Lupin, he would not have been able to answer. Not for the life of him.
All he knew was that something was shattered right then, something that
would have been very special, had it had the chance to be at all. He
saw the werewolf stumble backwards slightly, saw how his arms came up
to close around the slender form of the boy, how the dark head buried
itself somewhere between the older wizard's collar bone and neck.

The sudden fierce and bitter pain that rose in Severus was overwhelming
in its intensity. He knew it must be written all over his face, must be
screaming from his eyes, and he could feel his insides shiver with it
in perfect synch with his hurting, wildly beating heart. The genuine,
unrestricted joy of seeing the Gryffindor imploded at once, and the
indescribable, still unbelieving relief of being freed from the Dark
Lord's ritual was drowned in the too familiar feeling of being rejected.
Refused. Of being second choice at best. Of being denied the one
thing that he had ached for so very long: to finally physically touch the
man who had come to mean so unbelievably much to him. To feel at
last what he had been forced to restrict to words and looks for so many
months. To let his body communicate and manifest what his emotions
and his mind already knew.

But obviously, once more the boy-who-lived had had other plans for him.

Through the haze of his wildly boiling feelings, the Slytherin felt the
well-known weight of Remus's gaze searching for his own before he
actually saw those eyes locking on his. Shining with a silent plea for
understanding and something else Severus didn't care to even think
about, the look the Gryffindor sent his way only fueled the searing pain
and disappointment that were raging within the Slytherin. Unable to get
his emotions under control and knowing he would not be able to witness
this scene any longer, he took a step back, away from the Gryffindor
reunion that took place in front of him. His blind glance glided past
Albus, ignoring the concerned look the Headmaster was throwing his way,
past Minerva, who had turned to Remus now as well, past and over the
sea of faces around him, in search of a safe refuge to set his eyes
upon.

A silver-blond shock of hair caught his attention.

Whatever had been left of his own relief about Voldemort's defeat and
his overwhelmingtitutitude for being freed of the Ritual fell victim
to the violent twist in his heart when his gaze focused on one of the
Great Hall's corners.

Behind the remnants of several tables and benches, huddled together
like a bunch of freezing animals trying to keep each other warm, were
about thirty students, looking just as lost and abandoned as he himself
was feeling right now, had felt for the better part of his life. And with
his back to the wall sat a boy he only knew too well, arms wrapped
around the knees he had drawn up to his chest, holding his blond head
high with the last remains of his pride, his face an unmoving mask of
stone.

His Slytherins. Draco.

Severus was almost able to see the dense aura of grief and pain in the
worst case and confusion and fear in the best that was hovering about
those children and teenagers who had probably just lost fathers and
mothers, brothers and sisters or other members of their families. Who
were sitting in their corner, completely alone, probably not even knowing
but only suspecting about the losses they had suffered. Who were
waiting for whatever was going to come their way now, who were left
behind among the celebrating rest of the wizarding world, alone with
their hurt and their fear. And Severus knew them well enough to know
after one closer look into those faces how afraid they were...

He wasn't prepared for it at all when suddenly Draco turned his head
and their glances met, easily bridging the fathomless depth filled with
joy and excitement that lay between them.

And all of a sudden, Severus realised that he himself was on the wrong
side of that abyss.

There was not even a trace of reproach in those gray eyes, nor hate nor
rage, but nothing else either. No requests, no demands, no expectations.
Those eyes were sure to get nothing in response, so they were not asking.
Not for help or understanding, not for support or sympathy. It was a
look that spoke volumes of the complete loss of trust in others, of the
certainty of being left all by themselves. Of the painful awareness that
there was absolutely nothing and no one to rely on anymore. Of all the
constant, dark companions that had their firm place in Severus's life,
even though he had thought, felt, hoped this to be otherwise until only
a few moments ago...

A light weight on his shoulder abruptly shook him from his musings.
After so long without any physical contact with others than Voldemort,
even the slightest brush of another body shook him to the core, and so
he didn't have any control at all over his head which reflexively
snapped around to the source of the hand that was still awkwardly
touching him.

Minerva's face, unusually soft, was only a few inches away from his own.
The deputy Mistress had obviously just returned to him from greeting her
former student Remus Lupin, and the honest smile on her face that could
be just as stony and cold as Severus's own made her look at least ten
years younger.

'Poppy is about to have a look at Harry over there, Severus, and I think
it would do you good to give her a chance to check you over as well.'
She gave the Slytherin's shoulder a slight squeeze. 'Please, Severus. To
ease the concern of a very worried colleague.'

Severus forced himself to gaze over at where Minerva was pointing. Poppy
was already examining Potter, who was sitting on one of the tables which
had not been damaged during the fight. Granger and a great part of the
Weasley family were right beside and behind the boy, all of them
speaking and chattering at the same time. The Slytherin was able to make
out the pretty face of Cho Chang who stood a little behind Potter, and
from the corner of his eye, he saw Finnigan and Longbottom fighting
their way through the crowd to their housemate. Albus was there as well,
throwing his former spy a most soothing, inviting smile, his warm blue
eyes sinking into Severus's own, and the contrast to the empty stare he
had just shared with Draco made the Slytherin actually shiver.

And then, he saw Remus.

With his back to Severus, the Gryffindor had squatted right before Potter,
listening attentively to whatever it was the boy was telling the circle
of people around him. The roar of voices that filled the Great Hall still
did not allow Severus to hear, but he saw how the werewolf's shoulders
shook slightly with laughter in response to Potter’s bright beam. The
warmth, comfort and affection which lay in that little scene before him
filled his heart with a longing that was not new to him. It had been
something he had never had, but had always wished for, something Albus
had been the first to show him years ago. Something he had always yearned
to be part of, had longed to be welcomed to. To the side where there
was sympathy and love. To Albus's side. The side Remus was on. Had been
on all his life.

The side that had never truly accepted him and that never would. That had
shown him more than once that this world of warmth and light was not for
him. That didn't see him as anything more than a necessary evil. An
non-trusted intruder.

A blind passenger.

Slowly, the Slytherin turned his head back to where the children once
entrusted to his care were still sitting, where Draco had looked away
from him again by now. Expecting nothing anymore. From anyone. Not even
from their Head of House.

Minerva's voice again.

'Are you coming, Severus?'

It was at that moment, precisely, that Severus Snape took sides one last
time in the war that should have been already over for him. With one last
look into the gentle eyes of one of the few men he had ever learned to
trust in his adult life, and with one glance over to the other he had
learned to love during the past months, the Slytherin silently accepted
his own realisation of where he belonged. Returning his gaze to
Minerva and slowly shaking his head, Severus Snape turned on his heels
and began to walk over to the now probably loneliest children in the
wizarding world.

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The stone door slid shut behind him, leaving nothing but a cold, innocent,
bare wall that no one would have expected to shelter the remnants of
Slytherin House. Not that there was much left of the pride and determination
that usually resided here anyway. Nothing but tears and despair and sorrow lay
behind that hidden door tonight, and not even rage had made its way into
the dungeons - yet. He knew only too well that this would change soon
enough, but until then, there was nothing left for him to do anymore.
During the past four hours, Severus had gathered information about his
students' relatives, had delivered sad news as carefully and gently a
h
had been possible for the reserved man he was, had listened, comforted,
in some rare cases even held. Had done everything within his limited
powers to let those children know he was still there for them.

For some of his older students, it had been more difficult to accept his
honest offer of help and support than for the others. To realize that he,
whl ofl of them had thought to still be a loyal Death Eater, had
obviously not only been with Dumbledore in the end but survived all
of it as well, while their fathers, mothers and other relatives had died,
been injured or captured, was not something he expected them to take
lightly. But for whatever reason it was, after the first minutes of open
disbelief and more than a little mistrust which could have easily turned
into hostility, they had been seeking his company and attention just
as all the others had. He knew from Albus that his students he had found
in the Great Hall had not supported the Dark Lord's side during the
battle, so maybe their own choice of sides had made it easier for them to
understand his. On the other hand, there was a likely chance that with
the first shock gone in the morning, the painful fury he knew would seize
them all would also turn against himself. He would have to wait for the
day after to find out whether Draco and the others still truly
trusted him despite his betraying the Dark Lord and thus having been
at least partly responsible for some of the casualties among the Death
Eaters...

Feeling literally dead on his feet, Severus slowly fell back against the
comfortingly solid stone behind him and allowed himself the luxury of
closing his aching, tired eyes for a second. For several seconds, to be
exact. The past hours had taken their toll on him, and any outsider not
knowing the Slytherin would have expected him already to have collapsed
a lot earlier that night. Aside from being the only one helping his students
deal with the hurt the last battle had inflicted on them, it had been just
another fight to finally get permission to let his Slytherins return to their
common room and dormitories. The still enormous mistrust of the present
Aurors and the arrived Ministry authorities of everything that was
somehow labeled with a snake had made this task a loosing battle, had
it not been for Albus who had finally managed to make even Alastor Moody
agree to Severus’s request, even though anyone who cared to watch could
see the great reluctance practically screaming from the scarred face. Not
that a lot of people noticed the little, but all the more heated discussion
they had had, not with the celebration of Voldemort's final downfall in
full swing. The entire Great Hall had erupted with post-battle relief
and euphoria by then, and not even the normally unacceptable conditions
under which he had finally been allowed to lead his students back to the
quiet dungeons had dampened the wave of warm gratitude that had flooded
the Slytherin, now that he had been able at last to get those children
away from the thick atmosphere of ecstatic triumph which seemed almost
obscene to him in face of the pain and despair that shone on so many
of his students' faces. Without the slightest verbal protest, he had
agreed to take every Slytherin's wand from its owner as well as to
magically seal the Slytherin common room for the night - by then, he had
been ready to promise anything to get his House's children and teenagers
out of the Great Hall...

Forcing his eyes open, Severus slowly pushed himself from the supporting
wall at his back and began the short walk to his own private rooms. The
small rational part of his brain that was not aching with tiredness yet
noticed how little effect the battle had had on the dungeons. Compared to
the Great Hall, the Slytherin part of the castle seemed not to be touched
by the events at all, probably because the Death Eaters had not gotten
that far, or maybe because of some weird kind of romantic nostalgia that
might have taken hold of them. Each stone, staircase and alcove, each
torch, sword and chain still was as and where Severus remembered it,
letting a strange, surreal feeling of this being a day as any other sweep
over him as he walked. Every gargoyle he passed gave him back a little
more of his composure, with each step he took he felt the protective walls
around his heart growing stronger. Down here, nothing told of death and
pain, or a war that had just been won. Nothing he came across on his way
to his quarters bore witness that this night was any different from the
countless nights he had spent in those underground corridors before. Down
here, nothing reminded him of the biting pain the image of Potter in
Remus's arms had evoked. Down here, he was not an unwelcome intruder to
the perfect red and gold Gryffindor world, but was instead exactly were he
belonged. His existence slowly re-arranged itself to the well-known
routine of not being accepted anywhere else except in the dungeons, and
by no one other than those who lived here. Not even trying to fight the
most familiar bitterness that rose within him, Severus abandoned himself
to the awareness that some things never changed. No matter what he
had been through, no matter what might have developed between him and
a certain Gryffindor ever since Voldemort's return, what truly mattered was
most obviously still the same as it had been before.

And he knew, should he allow this awareness to truly sink in, it would
tear his soul apart.

It was just then, tly,tly, that he rounded the final corner that still
separated him from the quiet and solitude of his rooms. When Severus
Snape, who had never been shaken easily by anything, stopped dead in
his tracks, while his heart constricted into a tight ball, only to burst
a split second after. When he realised that he had been wrong. So very
wrong.

Because suddenly, nothing was the same anymore. The order of things that
he had just been about to force himself to accept again came tumbling
down with a bang, and fighting against the flashes of ridiculous hope
that sparkled through him, Severus found himself staring in genuine,
breathless disbelief.

Staring at the man who was sitting on the floor before his rooms,
knees drawn to his chest, head resting upon his folded arms, apparently
fast asleep.

Staring at the silent, unmoving form of Remus Lupin.




Author’s note:
Well, that was another chapter that took me awfully long tst. st. The thing is that
my life is *extremely* hectit at the moment – I finished my thesis five weeks ago,
applied for several jobs and even got one…which meant organizing a very hurried
move to a new town which still isn’t completed yet *sigh*. But be all that as it
may – this was chapter 23, and I truly hope you enjoyed it!

Cheers and salve,
Kat

@Vertigo:
And thank *you* for your review! It’s right that the Death Eaters apparently didn’t
have much difficulties getting Harry in the end, but I think that with a full-scale attack
on the castle which is still full of children, teachers and present Aurors/Order members
were busy enough preventing loosing Hogwarts to Voldemort, so taking care of Harry
was Remus’s job alone – and yet we don’t know what exactly happened in the
classroom of Defence against the Dark Arts…

As for Voldemort’s betrayal-quote – you’re definitely right, it was very fortunate that
former Mr. Riddle didn’t have the time to make his announcement real!

And finally – thanks a lot for your good wishes concerning my thesis! They were very
appriciated!!

@ @_@:
So good that you’re still with me! Thanks for your comment – and I can’t wait to
See what you think of chapter 23!!