To Know Who I Am

Acknowledgements: Huge thanks to my beta reader, ubiquirk, my Brit-picker, Saracen77, and my alpha readers, bluedolfyn and willow_kat. Without all their encouragement and help, this story would probably never have been finished much less polished to the point I dared post it anywhere. And many, many thanks to all who’ve been reading, those who’ve reviewed and those who haven’t.
Disclaimer: If you think I own these characters or am making any money off them, there's this nice room in St. Mungo's for you. It’s right next to Gilderoy’s, and I’m sure you’ll have a grand time together.

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Chapter 23

Celia’s eyes shot open. She took in the cot-like bed, the white curtain surrounding it, and shook her head to dispel the overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

Hogwarts. Hospital wing. Right. What the hell happened this time?

It took her a few minutes. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls. Used ones with all kinds of goopy stuff gluing them together. Eventually, they started to unstick.

They had been rounding up the remaining Death Eaters to be brought in to the Ministry. And then one got up. She’d gotten off a Killing Curse before Celia could disarm her, and it had been heading straight for –

“Severus!” she cried, sitting bolt upright.

There hadn’t been time. She couldn’t reach him to push him out of the way. The only thing she could try to do was use the scythe to deflect it, and she hadn’t even known if that would work. Had it worked? Had she even intercepted the curse at all, or had she been too slow? She whipped off the covers and swung her feet onto the cold stone floor. Before she could get up and get the curtain out of her way, someone else opened it.

“Poppy, where’s Severus?” she demanded.

“You need to lie back down, Celia.”

“No, I’m fine,” she argued. “Where is he? How is he?” Her heart made several fitful attempts to work properly. She took a deep breath and willed it to cooperate.

“You are not well enough to get up.”

“I’m getting there, and I’m well enough to move you out of my way if you don’t tell me what’s happened.”

Poppy pressed her lips together in a thin line.

“Very well.”

Poppy extended her hand, which Celia reluctantly accepted. She did still feel kind of woozy, not that she was about to admit it.

When they entered the next set of curtains, Celia’s heart stopped completely for a moment. He looked so still, so pale.

“Is he?”

“He’s alive,” Poppy assured her. “Barely.”

Her heart resumed beating as she finally saw his chest rise and fall ever so slightly, ever so shakily. She dropped the matron’s hand and walked over to his bedside, gently seating herself on the edge of the cot. She reached over and touched his shoulder, where she knew that silvered starburst scar lay under his clothing. A familiar hum of magic responded faintly.

“What happened?” Celia asked instead.

“According to Harry and Madams Rosenberg, one of the Death Eaters aimed a Killing Curse at him, and you intercepted it with that fancy axe of yours.”

She blinked at Poppy stupidly.

“Well, if that worked, why is he unconscious?”

“While it is possible to block the curse with an inanimate object,” Poppy said, sounding like she was scolding a first-year, “you are not supposed to be in contact with the object at the time.”

Celia shook her head. “Okay, so that explains why I was knocked out, but why was he hurt?”

Poppy shook her head as well, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “We don’t know. Usually the Killing Curse will destroy any object that gets in its way.”

“Well, it wasn’t going to destroy the scythe,” Celia mused. At least, she didn’t think it could have. Her hands itched to hold it and make sure it still felt right, just to be sure. She glanced around quickly but didn’t see it. Not the priority. She focused back on the matron. “It didn’t just ricochet, then?”

“No.” Poppy sighed. “Whatever it did, Severus has suffered severe damage to his heart.”

Celia swallowed hard.

“But I didn’t?”

“No, you were merely unconscious.”

That made no sense. She’d been the one actually holding the scythe when it was hit.

And I’m the one with the hyped-up healing. Right.

“Can you fix it?”

“I’m not sure.” Poppy could no longer meet her eyes.

“Would they be able to at St. Mungo’s?” She hated to ask it. Didn’t want him in some strange hospital. But if they could do more for him, it’d be worth it.

“We have already had two Healers out to look at him. They are as puzzled as I am and equally reluctant to move him.”

Celia eased one of his hands out from under the sheet and pressed it between both of hers. His fingers curled reflexively around hers, and her breath caught. He didn’t wake up. She lifted their joined hands and kissed each of his fingers, not caring that Poppy was still there.

“I have a good bit of hawthorne growing in Greenhouse Five,” she said at last.

“I know. He has been receiving infusions of it since shortly after you both arrived.”

“How long?”

“Two days.”

Two days. She was no Healer, but any Slayer knew the basics, and unconscious for days was bad, especially for non-Slayers.

“Was anyone else hurt?”

“No.”

Celia freed one of her hands to trace his cheekbone and jaw. She barely heard Poppy leave.

~ ~ ~

There was a small dark-haired boy crying in a corner. The room and the house no longer existed, therefore clearly this was not real. He turned to look at what the boy was hiding from and saw his father towering over his mother and shouting at her.

Children often deluded themselves that adults’ disagreements were centered on them, but in his case it had been mostly true. This fight was indistinguishable from all the others. He had done something magical and probably unintentional, and his father could not cope with that. Of course, his father blamed his mother for producing such a freak. He sneered and looked back at the boy. Himself.

He was almost old enough to go to Hogwarts now. Tobias would be relieved to be shot of him for most of the year.

Suddenly he was on the train, meeting other wizard and witch children for the first time. Like most first-years, they were trying to impress each other with what they already knew of magic, most of which was either useless or just wrong.

“Let’s see what you can do then,” challenged one of the black-haired boys he had just met, the one without the glasses.

“Locomotor Mortis!” cast the young Severus in a squeaky voice he hardly recognized as his own.

The other boys were horrified once they realized that Black’s legs were frozen in place.

“What’re you doing throwing hexes like that around?”

“Take that off him this instant!”

“I’m gonna go find a Prefect! Or a teacher!”

His younger self was obviously mystified by their reactions. It was not as though he’d chosen something that would actually hurt anyone.

“Finite Incantatem,” the boy cast, freeing his new acquaintance. He had said the spell with assurance in his voice, but now his lip wavered. He could remember wondering what had been so wrong when the whole point had been to show off their magic.

“Oh, what, is he going to cry now?” Black taunted, clearly recovered from his terror now that he was free of the spell.

“You think you’re tough?” Potter demanded. “You’re just a sniveling coward. Your mother should’ve named you Snivellus!”

“What’s wrong with you boys?” demanded a red-haired young witch no one had noticed before. “You ask someone to show you what they’ve got, and when they do, you go all mental?”

He saw his younger self try to smile at her and then frown instead. Lily shouldn’t have said that. He felt that with as much certainty now as he had felt on that day. It wasn’t just his pride, but no one could ever understand the rest of it.

There was an ache deep in his chest at seeing her again like this, an ache so profound he felt he could barely breathe.

~ ~ ~

“Hey,” Willow said from behind her.

Celia turned and saw both Willow and Kennedy standing where Poppy had left them at the break in the curtain.

“Hey,” she replied softly, gently setting Severus’ hand down and rising to hug them both. “I’d invite you to sit, but …”

“No problem,” Willow replied as she waved a hand and conjured two chairs.

Celia sank back into her spot on the side of Severus’ bed. “Yeah.”

“We came as soon as we heard you were awake,” Kennedy offered.

“I was kind of surprised you didn’t … you know,” Willow added, tapping her forehead.

Celia took up his hand again. “Poppy said no one else was hurt, so I kind of tunnel-visioned.”

Willow nodded. “I can understand that.”

Celia wasn’t sure she did. There was a world of difference between losing someone irrevocably all at once and watching as they slipped away. Neither was exactly easy, but she’d done both, and she didn’t think she could watch like that again, though at least he didn’t appear to be in any pain.

“How are you feeling?” Kennedy asked.

Celia thought about that for a minute. Tired, heartbroken, terrified, take your pick.

“Guilty,” she said at last.

Willow immediately started to argue, “You didn’t do anything—”

“I get that,” Kennedy cut in.

Celia looked at her and saw that she truly did. She swallowed.

“No matter how much magic they have—”

“—they’re still too damned fragile.”

“Oh,” Willow said.

Celia stroked her thumb across Severus’ knuckles. Fragile was not a word she would ever have thought to use to describe him before now. But she was awake and he wasn’t, and she’d been the one holding onto the metal thing hit by the Killing Curse, not that it really worked like electricity exactly.

“Where’s the scythe?” she asked absently.

“Back at the house,” Kennedy answered. “Do you think it would help?”

Celia shrugged. “It was involved. Maybe. Maybe not.” She thought for a minute. “What did it look like?”

Willow looked thoughtful. “When the curse hit the blade it sort of just … diffused.”

“Diffused?”

“It pretty much went from a laser beam to a great big glowy ball,” Kennedy said.

“Oh.” Celia thought a moment. “So, then … what? Severus got caught in the backsplash?”

“Something like that, I think,” Willow replied.

Silence.

“You should come have something to eat,” Willow said.

Celia shook her head. “I can’t leave. I keep hoping …”

“That he’ll wake up enough to tap into your Slayer healing?” Kennedy asked.

“Pretty much.” She’d been begging him for about the last hour to do exactly that. “Kind of useless if you have to be already recovering before you can do it.”

She barely registered when the two women hugged her and said they’d be back later. When a house-elf, not Dobby, brought her a sandwich a little while later, she only gave him a nod of acknowledgement. She kept stroking her thumb across Severus’ knuckles and wishing he would wake up.

~ ~ ~

Lightfeather, Longbottom, and Lupin. Perfect.

He could not fathom why the three of them were together sitting under that tree. Nor could he understand how they could all be approximately fifteen years old at the same time. There was something … deeply wrong with that, as someone would say. He was not sure who would say that since it sounded very odd.

That bothered him even more than the tableau before him.

The three teens were conversing about something, completely indifferent to the other fifteen year old who was hanging upside down, graying pants on display, not ten yards from them. He stalked over to confront them.

“What is wrong with you? Why are you just sitting here?” he demanded.

“I didn’t do it,” Lupin replied, looking down at his knees.

“I’m afraid I’ll drop him if I try and get him down,” Longbottom said with that earnest but frightened expression Severus knew all too well.

“He should have blocked the spell,” Lightfeather answered. “Now he’s just got to act bored until they go away. Only way to handle bullies really.”

Disgusted, Severus turned to his younger self and tried to draw his own wand to reverse the Levicorpus spell. He tried but discovered he did not, in fact, have his wand. At least Potter and Black were nowhere to be seen.

“Leave him alone!” a familiar voice rang out. Both Severuses turned to see a Lily approaching, wand drawn. She quickly countered the Levicorpus spell, adding a Cushioning Charm so that he would not be hurt falling, then rounded on the three boys under the tree. “What’s wrong with you lot? What’s he ever done to you?”

“We didn’t do it, Evans,” Lupin muttered, still looking at his knees.

“Oh, well that makes it all right, then. You didn’t do it, so you don’t have to fix it. Is that what you think, you arrogant prats?”

“Lily,” the adult Severus breathed.

She turned and looked at him strangely. Somehow she appeared both older and younger than she should be. Behind her, his younger self ungracefully disentangled his robes and stood to watch them, mouth agape.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she said softly.

“This isn’t right,” he said. “This isn’t how it happened.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” she repeated.

“I don’t need you defending me,” he snarled, “and I don’t need you telling me what to do!” He wanted to turn and leave, wanted it desperately, but somehow he simply could not tear his eyes from her.

“You think you know,” she said as though he had not spoken.

Tears pricked the backs of his eyes, and he willed them to remain there. There was a place he could let them out, but it wasn't here. He was not sure where it was.

She stepped closer and raised a hand to touch his cheek. He didn’t feel it.

“I don’t think Harry’s the only one who needed protecting,” she said softly.

He tried to lean into her hand, thought for a moment he felt the barest hint of fingers against his skin, and closed his eyes to focus on the ghostly sensation.

A growl sounded, and his eyes snapped open. Next to Lily, Lupin had transformed in broad daylight, and the werewolf was about to bite her. Behind him, Lightfeather had his wand out, and a Stunner streaked towards the ravening beast.

Severus tried to pull her away, to warn her, anything, but suddenly it was completely dark, and he was standing in front of an all-too-familiar house just as the sickening green light in the upstairs windows faded and a baby began to cry.

~ ~ ~

Celia woke with a start when she heard her name being called. In an instant, she dropped Severus’ hand and whirled to stand in a fighting crouch, facing the source of the voice.

Minerva smiled at her sadly.

Celia allowed herself to relax and sink gently back onto the edge of the bed.

“I thought it might be wise not to get too close,” the Headmistress said. Her eyes shifted to Severus’ pallid form. “Poppy says there has been no change.”

“No,” Celia agreed, taking his hand back between hers once again. “She doesn’t know why he won’t wake up. The diagnostic spells show only damage to his heart, not his brain. He should wake up.”

Minerva came closer and looked down at him with an almost maternal concern. Celia was forcibly reminded that this woman had been his teacher as well as his colleague, had in fact known him for well over thirty years. That didn’t seem fair compared with just the few months Celia’d had.

“What will you do if he doesn’t wake?” the older woman asked gently.

“It’s only been a couple of days,” Celia replied. “I can’t think about that yet.”

In the silence that followed, she found herself thinking about it.

“For now, maybe it would be better for him to be in his quarters. Not that I’m sure he knows where he is, but familiar would have to be better, wouldn’t it?”

“You may be right,” Minerva replied. “I’ll ask Poppy about that before I go. But Celia, in the long term …”

“Willow and Kennedy are coming back later this morning, and they’re bringing my … they’re bringing the scythe.”

“What are you planning to do?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “But it was part of what happened to him, and it’s part of what unlocked my Slayer powers. I’m hoping it can help … somehow. I need to try that before I can even think about anything ‘long term.’”

What does “long term” even mean? I’m not sure there's even still a we to be thinking “long term” about.

“Celia?”

“Hm?” She turned to look at Minerva again. “Oh, sorry. Got lost in thought for a sec.”

“Very understandable. I was asking if you thought you would be able to return to class on Monday.”

She sighed. It was bad enough they’d missed two days, and it probably wasn’t fair to drag Pomona back out of retirement when Celia was actually able to teach. But leaving him alone in order to do it didn’t feel right. “Wait, what do the students think happened? What’s the Prophet been printing?”

Minerva nodded. “I believe it would do the students good to have something of a return to normalcy. They know you were both injured helping to capture a cell of Death Eaters.”

“That’s it?” She found that a little hard to believe. “How did you manage to keep the rest of it hidden?”

“Nymphadora and Kingsley were very selective in the Aurors they brought to assist us. And the Ministry has never been fond of panic, which would surely ensue if it were known that this rogue band of Death Eaters had gained access to Hogwarts.” Minerva smirked. “Something which I took great care to remind them of.”

Celia let out a sigh of relief. “So that’s all the students know. Good. I guess it would help if they had one less teacher to worry about.”

“Yes.”

She didn’t want to leave him alone. But if using the scythe didn’t wake him, she’d have to at some point.

“I’ll be back to class on Monday,” she said. “Who’s going to cover Potions though? I mean, Thursday and Friday were obviously a wash, but we never had anyone lined up for Potions. We thought if anyone went down …” It’d be me. And that we had at least some kind of plan for.

“I contacted Severus’ most recent apprentice. She has been given leave from her job at the Ministry and will arrive later this evening.” Minerva took a deep breath and released it. “I have already arranged for her to have access to Severus’ office, but if he has notes or essays in your … his quarters, I will ask you to retrieve them.”

Celia blinked slowly, trying to process this. And trying to figure out how to answer. Severus had most likely changed his passwords and alarm spells already.

“I realize this is probably uncomfortable,” Minerva said. “I don’t know what Severus has or has not told you …”

Celia shrugged. She didn't even know where she stood with Severus, assuming he ever woke up. She couldn't worry about old flames and said as much. She'd deal with getting into his quarters when it became a problem.

Minerva nodded uncertainly. She rested a hand on Celia’s shoulder and squeezed it gently before turning to leave.

~ ~ ~

He was back at Spinner’s End once again. It was a different day, but he could only be sure of that because his younger self was substantially younger. In all other respects, it seemed the same: his father shouting at his mother whilst he huddled in a corner. The smashed toy train suggested today it wasn’t about his magic but was still about him. Why did she not simply agree to discipline him? Did she not realize that witnessing this was far worse than any punishment she could ever have devised?

Setting his jaw, he strode over to tell them both what he thought of their fights, to tell them what their son had become, to say all the things he had wished he could say at the time. By the time he reached them, they were gone. Wormtail was sitting on the sofa instead, wearing that insipid smile of his.

Stomach churning, Severus turned and left the small house, storming down the street, not caring that he was wearing robes in a Muggle town. None of this was real, obviously, so what could it matter? Before he knew it, he found himself at the mill. Music was playing inside. A door opened.

“Well, come on in, Mr. Too Serious for His Own Good,” a green demon said. “What, you think you’re too good to need a sanctuary every once in awhile?”

Severus narrowed his eyes at the demon, carefully keeping his breathing even so as not to betray how much that short walk had cost him.

“I am not currently in need of divination services,” he replied, turning to leave.

“Who said anything about reading you?” the demon … Lorne replied.

How did he …? “How do I know your name?” Severus demanded.

Now the demon looked puzzled. “Don’t you remember?”

Severus merely stared at him.

“Well get inside before the rest of ’em get here, ya big amnesiac.”

Severus turned to look behind him, and a swarm of people in black hooded cloaks were visible some distance away.

“And why should I hide inside an abandoned mill?” he demanded.

“Sanctuary? Anti-violence enchantments? Any of this ringing a bell?”

There was some vague sense of familiarity to what the demon was saying. Also, for some reason he could not name, he had not once felt the need to defend himself from this demon. Pressing his lips tightly together, he nodded and entered.

Loud music and the scent of far too many different types of liquor assaulted him. Perhaps he would do better to take his chances against those Death Eaters. Why were they after him, anyway? They should all be either in Azkaban or dead. Yet despite his desire to distance himself from the music and the clientele, he selected a seat at an empty table.

“Aren’t you going to have anything to drink?” Lorne asked.

“No. Thank you,” he replied.

“Suit yourself,” the demon said with a shrug as he sat next to him. “Doesn’t have to be booze, y’know. We’ve got everything from Gillywater to pumpkin juice to …”

Severus regarded the demon intently.

“Why?” he asked.

“Why what?”

“Why do you have pumpkin juice? You have an American accent, and Americans are not fond of it.”

“I don’t know about that, Surly-cakes. You’ve met one American who doesn’t like it, who’s never been any part of the wizarding world on that side of the big, salty pond, and now you know that all of them don’t drink it?”

“She said … Who …? Why am I here?”

“Killing curse, mystical scythe, woman who loves you, got any bells jangling yet?”

“I do not believe I am the one missing bells or other metaphors for taking leave of one’s senses,” he snapped. Again, it did sound vaguely familiar, but caused him to feel very uncomfortable. The rather bizarre clientele of this odd establishment inside the mill was certainly contributing to that sensation, but not the primary cause of it. That itself was disquieting.

“No, but you’re missing part of the picture,” the demon replied. “Considering this is just a dream, you have to know you’ve been here before. I mean, really, do you think you’d make up something like me all by your lonesome?”

His eyes traveled from the demon’s horns, red eyes, and green skin, which he most certainly could have imagined without assistance, to the red jacket and pale orange shirt, which were a bit of a stretch, to the dainty glass of alcohol it was clutching. That was certainly not something he would have expected his own mind to produce.

“It is not unheard of,” he said, “for a person to combine disparate images in strange ways while dreaming.”

The demon rolled his eyes. “Fine. So somehow you’ve managed to pull together a demon karaoke bar in the old mill by your childhood home, and none of this has any basis in reality?”

“No doubt you represent some of the metaphorical demons of my childhood.”

“Hey, you want to see a demonic childhood, let me take you on a little tour of Pylea. Second thought, you go, I’ll stay. Even with Death Eaters crawling around, this dimension’s a big improvement.”

There were banging noises at the door.

“Don’t worry. They can’t get in. The anti-violence spells on this place are to die for. Or, actually, not to die for.” Lorne grinned. “That’s kind of the point. Anyway, they can’t get in, but you’re not trapped here. You need to know that. Not that you’d get very far with that ticker of yours.”

Something about that also sounded familiar. Familiar and important.

“I am entirely capable of defending myself,” he said at last.

“Cranky-pants, nobody is entirely capable of defending themselves. Not all the time. Not demons, not wizards, not even Slayers.”

“Slayers?”

“They do better in teams,” the demon said. “And not necessarily just their little Slayer squads. Not that anyone in their right mind would call them little, at least not to their faces. A lot of them are pretty short, though.”

Severus found himself fighting the urge to smile at that. Why? Why would a comment on the height of a quasi-mythological girl make me want to smile?

“Looks like something’s starting to jingle around in there,” Lorne said, downing the last of his drink.

Severus folded his arms and began trying to sort out why he would dream about an alcohol-swilling demon in a suit talking to him about the Slayer.

~ ~ ~

Celia caressed the handle of the scythe, its blade, its stake. A little thrill ran through her as her fingertips traced the grain of the ancient wood.

“You know, yew used to be the wood of choice for spears,” she said softly.

“Considering the number of vamps that thing’s dusted without getting dull? If that’s what it’s made from, I can see why,” Kennedy said.

“You don’t think …” Willow began.

“I don’t know,” Celia replied. “I just know this feels different to me now than it did before I came here.”

“But you can still feel it, right?” Kennedy asked. “You can still feel that it’s yours. Even though it’s mine. I mean all of ours.”

“Yeah, I can feel that,” Celia said softly. “And I can feel the mojo Will tapped into when she activated us, and I can feel whatever this other thing is, too. This resonance with my wand.” The same resonance she’d felt between her wand and that tree in Glastonbury. Not the same as the energy that resonated between her and Severus, but similar somehow.

“Does it feel different than before you used it to block that curse?” Kennedy pressed, her voice slightly worried.

“I don’t think so. Did it feel different to you?”

“No,” Kennedy admitted.

Well, then, what are you worried about?

Celia closed her eyes and let her fingers continue to explore the weapon, hoping for inspiration. A sense of calm descended over her. She opened her eyes.

“Where’s his … oh, right there.” She Summoned his wand from the bedside table, then pulled her own from her sleeve.

Same end or opposite?

She placed the two wands next to the stake and felt a resistance, as if she were trying to press two magnets together. When she brought them near the blade, they felt like puzzle pieces locking into place and stayed there when she removed her hand.

Right. Good. So it seems like maybe I’m onto something. You’re not a Slayer, Severus, but whatever this energetic-connection-life-debt-tag-game thing is has to be good for something. And I’m liking that it’s taking to your wand. That’s got to be good.

She sat down on the bed and rested the scythe across him and guided his hands to rest on its handle, then covered them with her own. It was awkward trying to grip both the handle and his hands from this angle, but she managed it. Her eyes slid shut and she focused on the magics she could feel thrumming through the scythe.

She’d thought of several possible incantations, but they all fled her mind. Instead, something new fell from her lips. “What’s yours is mine. What’s mine is yours. Take what you need. What’s yours is mine. What’s mine is yours. Take what you need.”

The metal began to feel warm, but she couldn’t be sure that wasn’t just from having two sets of hands on it.

“What’s yours is mine. What’s mine is yours. Take what you need.”

Now there was no mistaking it. The air fairly crackled with magic.

“What’s yours is mine. What’s mine is yours. Take what you need.”

Instinctively, she moved her right hand to rest on his left shoulder, just over his silvered starburst scar. A rush of magic ran through her.

No, that’s backwards! I’m not the one who needs help this time you stubborn idiot!

“What’s yours is mine. What’s mine is yours. Take what you need!”

Slowly, she felt the barest trickle of energy begin to flow from her. She’d only ever experienced the reverse of this: Willow’s memories of tapping into Buffy’s Slayer healing to regrow her skin and of tapping into Kennedy’s to fix a sprained ankle during a desperate pit stop while they were on the run. The trickle became a stream.

“There’s more where that came from, Severus, and I’ll make more if it runs out. What’s yours is mine. What’s mine is yours. Take what you freaking need.”

The stream became a river. The river swelled, and the current grew stronger. She planted herself firmly in the riverbed so she wouldn’t get swept away.

~ ~ ~

“You know, I’ve gotta give you this much,” Lorne said, wagging his finger. “Some men, when a woman tries to help him out, they get this wounded pride thing. Not you. Oh, you get upset about it, make a lot of the same noises. But you’ve got it stuck in your head that any woman who does something to help you, or worse yet to protect you, is going to come to a bad end.”

Severus looked up from his Firewhisky. He had decided that if it was all a nonsensical dream anyway, he might as well have a drink. He was no longer sure this had been a good idea, as his head was spinning far more than a single drink should be able to accomplish, though the warmth that washed through him with each swallow was more than worth it.

“History would seem to bear that out,” he replied slowly, carefully enunciating his words, “ridiculous as it sounds.”

“So is that why you went for a Slayer?” the demon challenged him. “You figure she should be more indestructible, or maybe she’s pretty much going to die a grisly death no matter what?”

“You’ve read her, is she?” What did that even mean? What would possess him to ask such a thing? Clearly the demon was deluded, though perhaps it would be safest to humor him.

“What? Indestructible or doomed? I’m just a construct in your dream, Sevvie-kins,” Lorne replied. “I don’t know what the real me read except what you heard him say. Heard me say. Something like that.” He shrugged and took another large swallow of his drink. “I’ll tell you this, though: Slayers or not, their destinies are their destinies. You’re part of them, you affect them, but you don’t make them. You’ve got enough stuff you actually did to feel guilty about. No need to go stealing credit for things that you didn’t do. And the fact that I’m telling you this means it should be obvious you already know it.”

Severus really did feel far too warm for mere Firewhisky to explain. No, this was magic.

“What was in this?” he demanded.

“Nothing!” Lorne replied, offended. “And I do mean nothing. As in this is a dream, you big doofus. But what you’re feeling, that’s coming from outside someplace.”

“The Death Eaters outside?”

“What? No! They’re long gone. No, outside the dream, silly. It’s doing things to your ticker, for starters.”

He did feel less out of breath than he had in quite awhile.

“Also, it’s time.”

“Time for what?”

“Time to wake up.” The demon snapped his fingers so close to Severus’ face that he flinched and closed his eyes reflexively.

When he opened them, Celia was leaning over him. She looked utterly exhausted, and he could not for the life of him work out why. Nor could he understand why he was apparently holding her scythe, nor why his wand had just slid off its blade.

She opened her eyes. “Severus?”

He licked his lips, trying futilely to moisten them, and croaked, “Yes?”

Before he could try to say anything else, her lips were pressed firmly against his, and his questions would just have to wait.

~ ~ ~

Celia paced outside the curtained-off area, steaming at Poppy for tossing her out. What was taking so long?

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Willow murmured.

Celia shot her a look. “If a thousand years of magical kids haven’t managed it, what makes you think I will?”

Willow held her hands up in mock surrender as Kennedy laid a hand on her shoulder.

The curtain opened and Poppy stepped out.

“Well?” Celia demanded.

“He’ll need to rest. His heart is nearly healed, but not entirely.”

“Should I …?”

“His body will need to do the rest on its own,” Poppy replied. “Magic cannot do it all for him.”

Celia bit back her opinion of that in favor of, “Can I see him?”

Poppy was about to say no. Celia could just tell. Then she obviously thought better of it, saying, “For a few minutes. But only a few minutes, and if you upset him, your time is up.”

Celia was opening the curtain and stepping inside before Poppy had half finished, though the last bit made her smile. If I upset him, I’ll know he’s back to himself.

His glare wiped every trace of that smile off her face.

~ ~ ~

Why the devil is she just standing there? She looks nearly as horrified as she did that night Potter ruined everything.

“If you regret your actions, perhaps it would be best if you simply left.”

“Huh?” She furrowed her brows. “So, if I’m not sorry for how I reacted I get to stay?”

“Of course it was merely a reaction.” He turned his head away. “One could hardly expect you to do otherwise.”

Slayers save people. That is simply what they do. It would have made no difference had it been someone else standing beside her.

“I’m glad you understand that,” she replied, “and I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

A chill ran through him at that confirmation. It seemed she truly did regret having saved him. “And you have the gall to actually say it? Perhaps there is more of your father in you than I thought.”

Without looking back at her, he could almost feel her flinch. It was far less satisfying than it ought to be.

“You know,” she said, “I get that you want to hurt me back. A hundred points to Slytherin for a direct hit. But I’d think you could come up with something that’d at least make sense.”

Silence.

“If you ever decide to accept my apology, you know where to find me.”

Accept …? Why would he …? He turned his head just in time to watch the curtain fall shut behind her.

~ ~ ~

Celia didn’t look up when she heard the greenhouse door open. Minerva’s footsteps were easy enough to recognize, and taking her eyes off the Venomous Tentacula while she was repotting it would be a Very Bad Idea. Besides, she had a pretty good idea what Minerva wanted, and she wasn’t in any hurry to hear it.

Still, there was only so long she could spend repotting a single plant—even one that fought her every step of the way, never mind that it desperately needed a bigger pot and fresher soil—and finally, she had to call it done, stepping back and trying to wipe the sweat off her face. A look at Minerva’s expression told her that all she’d done was turn the sweat to mud with the dirt on her hands, but she couldn’t be bothered to spell herself clean.

“I find it amazing,” Minerva said, “that after spending the past two days in near-constant vigil by Severus while he was unconscious, this—” she waved at the writhing plant, “—became urgent the moment he woke.”

“I’d let things slide long enough.” Celia glanced around the greenhouse, cataloguing the things she ought to do next and absolutely not in any way avoiding Minerva’s eyes.

“I see.”

She probably did.

“Was there something you needed?” Celia asked.

“There was.” Minerva nodded, her eyes growing severe. “However, I am no longer certain you can assist me.”

“If it’s about getting Severus’ class plans and his students’ essays, either you or”—she tried not to wince—“his former apprentice should ask him what he’s changed his password to.”

Minerva nodded and turned to leave, then turned and said, “I’ve known Severus since he was eleven years old. He is a rather difficult man.”

Celia suppressed a snort. And I thought Giles was a master of British understatement!

“However, he is a dear friend.” Minerva’s tone was laden with warning.

“He didn’t want my apology.” Not that he was making much sense. “I’ll try again in a few days, when he’s feeling better,” she added hurriedly, ignoring the nauseating tug she felt in her belly even thinking of him. “Meanwhile, I think he’d rather I stayed out of his way.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Minerva’s eyes narrowed.

While Celia watched the Headmistress leave, the Tentacula took advantage of her distraction to sting her, raising a large welt on her arm.

“Stupid plant.” She swatted it away and stalked out of the greenhouse to get some salve from her cottage. I wonder if Kennedy’s up for a workout.

~ ~ ~

Hours later, Severus woke to the sound of Poppy’s scolding. For a change, it was not directed at him. That was something of a relief, but it was annoying to be subjected to it nonetheless.

I realize I was unconscious for the past several days, but that is hardly an excuse for becoming so lax in her use of Privacy Spells.

“Honestly,” he heard her say, “were you under the impression that I was so bored you needed to go and get into a brawl so that I could patch you up?”

The reply was so indistinct he could not even tell which student was involved.

“Distracted? Distracted?” Severus could picture the exact scowl that accompanied those words and allowed himself a small smile. “You had no business doing anything of the kind.” A cabinet slammed. “I’d have thought you’d keep Skele-Gro to hand, in any case.”

“I do!”

Well, that was audible enough. No longer interested as the miscreant was not one of his Slytherins—though arguably a Slytherin of sorts—Severus closed his eyes and attempted to go back to sleep.

“Have you ever tried setting your own bone?” A sharp hiss. “Bones?”

Severus winced in spite of himself.

“I didn’t even realize she’d snapped that one too.”

“I’m not surprised.” After a few rustling noises, Poppy added, “And neither of them could set these? I find that hard to believe.”

“Oh, they could have.” Celia huffed. “I’m not sure if this is supposed to be punishment for letting my guard down or some misguided idea of my own good. Maybe both.”

The conversation grew less distinct as Severus finally felt sleep creeping along the edges of his mind, a blessed relief from the tightness in his stomach and ache in his shoulder. So when he heard the curtain around his bed rustle, he was not inclined to open his eyes. It was not Poppy, and childish though he knew it to be, he vaguely hoped Celia would simply leave.

“You know,” she said after a long moment, “I’ve watched you sleep way too often to buy it. So if you want me to go, you’re going to have to actually say it.”

He did not dignify that with a reply, which was not intended as an invitation to pull up a chair and stay.

“Well, if you’re not going to talk, maybe you can at least listen.”

As though she had any intention of giving him a choice.

“It’s been pointed out rather forcefully that there may have been some … miscommunicating going on earlier.” He heard her shift in her seat as if trying to get comfortable. “What with the complete lack of sense and all.” She sighed. “You being mad at me? Total sensibility there. I told you I didn’t care about your past, and then when I learned some of the details anyway, I couldn’t handle it. I’m not sure I could have reacted any differently, but that doesn’t make it okay.”

Something inside him seemed to loosen at that.

“What lacks sense is the part where apologizing makes it worse. I mean, I don’t expect you to just say, ‘Oh no, that’s fine,’ and we go back to how things were. I don’t. But I don’t think I deserve to be compared to that evil son of a bitch for trying to make things right.”

He finally let his eyes open, and he searched her face for any sign of dissembling. He found none. Bracing his hands on the bed, he sat up, the pain in both stomach and shoulder slipping away as he did so.

“That is what you were apologizing for?”

“Of course,” she tilted her head. “Why? What did you think?”

“Then I accept your apology.” He kept his eyes locked on hers.

“And?”

“And I apologize for comparing you to your father.” The words came more readily than he had expected.

She nodded acceptance but repeated, “And?”

Of course she would not let it go.

“I believed,” he ground out, “that you were expressing regret for rather more recent actions.”

“More recent?” She furrowed her brow at him. “What, for using some of your energy? No …” She broke off, clearly puzzled. Then realization—followed quickly by incredulity—swept over her features. “You thought I was sorry I saved you?”

There was not, he realized, any appropriate way to respond to that.

“Are you insane?”

Nor that.

“No, seriously. Poppy needs to re-check you for brain damage.” Celia slid over to sit on the bed, bracing her uninjured hand on the wall behind him, her eyes inches from his. “Did you miss the part where the first thing I did when you woke up was this?”

Fortunately, her demonstration saved him the trouble of replying for rather a long while.

~ ~ ~

While she’d never complain about spending an afternoon in bed together, it was much less fun when the bed was in the hospital wing. Not that he’d have been up for anything more energetic than some serious kissing once he’d gotten with the program. And then the talking. With occasional bouts of more kissing. Definitely not complaining.

He was still an idiot.

Apparently, however, he was back to being her idiot, and wasn’t that a surprise. Less of a surprise, once she got over that anyway, was that he was already using his not inconsiderable wiles on her.

“You do,” he said, “appear to actually enjoy teaching.”

“You don’t have to sound so amazed. You can’t actually hate it yourself. Not all the time,” she added. “Besides, either way, I’ll still be mostly teaching. It’s just a matter of teaching what to whom. And where.”

Where, of course, was kind of a big deal. The big deal. Nice as the past couple of hours had been, she wasn’t remotely ready to move back into Severus’ rooms, and she wasn’t even sure staying here at all was a great idea, though it had its appeal. She snuggled in a bit closer to him.

“Whilst I assure you that invasions by bands of nouveau Death Eaters are hardly the norm, surely you could manage to satiate your Slayer impulses by expanding your off-grounds patrols.”

“Which you would conveniently rearrange my on-grounds patrol schedule to fit? Not sure I’m big on the favoritism, even when it’s in my favor.” She also had a feeling he was going to try to tag along, which was so not happening. “And then I could bring myself to the Ministry’s attention for a third time when I actually find anything that needs slaying. More than ever, I really don’t want them to know who I am. Plus with the visa situation on the Muggle side? And it’s not like I can’t just come visit any time. Or you could even get away once in awhile.”

Also? Much less awkward to deal with the post-argument sulks if I can be not here for a bit. Because obviously that’s not going to stop happening.

“If you are so determined to leave at the end of term—”

“I didn’t say that.” She turned to glare at him. It totally didn’t work from the angle she was sitting at. “Try listening to the actual words coming out of my mouth, okay? There are still a few weeks of school left. I’m just weighing my options.”

A sharp burst of tearful wailing filled the air so suddenly that it was obvious it had been contained by a Privacy Spell before.

“That’s odd,” Severus murmured. “Poppy’s spells are usually more reliable.”

Celia couldn’t decide if he looked shifty as he said that or just annoyed.

“I’ve told you, Miss Hollingberry, that I cannot prescribe potions to Muggles, especially without seeing them.”

“But she can’t get any sleep! And she’s not a Muggle. She got her letter months ago. Why does she have to wait until September? The Muggle doctors have tried everything, but she still has all these horrible dreams!” the girl cried.

“No way.” Celia sat up a bit straighter. “That would just be … no way.”

“And my parents can’t afford to keep fixing doors every time she gets so scared she breaks them!”

Severus’ eyebrow rose, and silence descended again, making it abundantly clear Poppy’s spell hadn’t failed at all.

“Or I might have my work cut out for me here after all,” Celia said. And Giles and Minerva might have to get back to fixing my magical and Muggle papers for the next seven years. Or so.

“It seems you may,” Severus agreed.

That smirk was just begging to be wiped off his face. So she did exactly that.

Fin