Chapter 1
It was the first year, out of Minerva's entire career, in which the castle fell completely silent as soon as classes ended. The last bell rang and all life vanished - then as the night fell, all noises became suspicious.
How she missed the constant hubbub, how she wished she would find again the rebellious students who tried to hide in empty classrooms after curfew, whose giggles she could still hear! But Hogwarts had lost its soul, and her own footsteps rang false.
She was heading toward the staff room where she usually spent the night if she could not sleep, a small act of rebellion whose significance she was only half aware of. That room had been, after all, a friendly and welcoming place for as long as she could remember. Going there daily gave her a semblance of normalcy.
A noise made her stop.
She instantly drew out her wand, ready to confront one of the Carrows or any other threat prowling in the dark. Another small noise, like that of a wounded animal, echoed through the corridor.
'Lumos.'
She gasped. Standing a few feet away, one hand on the wall, the other pressed against his chest, was Severus Snape. His whole body was violently twitching; his glimmering eyes were looking right into hers.
'Go away', he said in a hoarse voice. Minerva did not move, though her hand made a slight, almost imperceptible movement towards him. Then reason took over instincts, and it fell back against her robe. She was struck by how pale he was: she had seen him unwell before, countless times actually, but never to that extent.
'I see that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did not give up on his old habits,' she said coldly.
A thin trickle of blood ran down his mouth.
In the past months, Minerva had felt such pure and vibrant hatred towards him that she had thought she would rejoice in seeing him like this. It was the kind of hate that was so overwhelming, so life-threatening that one could either go mad, or sit with it long enough to uncover its real name - Grief. And that was all she could feel at this very moment; all she could see was a broken, pathetic man who had once been her friend.
Breathing heavily, Severus suddenly grabbed his stomach and groaned in pain, swaying dangerously. Before she knew it, she was standing by his side, supporting him as he passed out.
No, he would not die in her arms, she thought. This mental statement was not made out of empathy, or if there was some it was quickly discarded to the back of her mind: no, Minerva told herself, he would not die in her arms simply because it would be unfair of him to do so, because it would be unfair of him to inflict even more distress on her, to have her of all people look at his still body like she had had to do with Albus. She could not bear it again; he had no right; he had done enough.
The door leading to his apartments was opened. She quickly conjured a stretcher and entered the room, carefully placing him on the bed before turning back to search his bathroom cabinet for healing potions. She knew his apartments well: she had been in his living room more times than she could count, usually for tea or something stronger; or, as she liked it, for something stronger into the tea. She had also, sometimes, nursed him in his room when he was too sick to protest and Poppy too tired to fight him. It had often happened after he was summoned.
'Minerva.'
She stared at him. Now that she could see him clearly, she fully realised just how terrible he looked. With the exception of his cheeks, which were bright red, his skin looked deadly white; one of his wrists, torn at an unnatural angle, seemed broken. She could not help herself.
'I'll call Poppy.'
'Why... would you?'
She blinked.
'You are unwell', she responded matter-of-factly.
She did not know if it was the fever or if the man had just gone mad, but he started laughing and she stood back, almost frightened.
'How did you manage... to survive that long?'
He started coughing and closed his eyes as some more blood ran down his mouth, staining the white pillow. Minerva, grabbing a towel, wiped his mouth.
'I could ask you the same question.'
But, as if burnt, it was his turn to fall back violently: using his valid hand, he pushed the towel away and tried to get out of bed. She blocked his way, narrowing her eyes:
'Do not move.'
'Stop it, Minerva! I d- don't ne'd your pity and you know you don't want- don't want to help me. Just leave.'
She stared back at him and caught his arm firmly. He winced. She would not argue with him - she could not. For the first time in her life, words failed her and only physical strength felt like the right way to communicate.
'Don't... touch me', Severus said weakly.
'Then don't move while I am calling Poppy. And lie down, you are going to faint.'
'She won't come... she doesn't... I must not... bother her.'
Minerva straightened up and crossed her arms.
'Did she say that?'
He didn't answer.
'Really. Well. I'll still ask her.' She took a chair and pushed it closer to the bed. He coughed some more blood. 'You must be bleeding internally. Take this', she added authoritatively. It was a vial of blood-replenisher potion. His black eyes met hers yet again.
'You don't want to do this.'
This time, Minerva truly felt angry. Why must he constantly remind her of what had been done? Could he not be silent for once in his life?
'I don't, she whispered, more to herself than to him, aware that she held little control over her voice. But I am not going to let you die here. I am not one of yours.'
A strange expression crossed his face, and he closed his eyes.
'Please… leave' he said weakly. 'I do not... require your assistance.'
'You do', Minerva replied firmly. He re-opened his eyes brutally.
'I killed Albus.'
Minerva shivered. She felt furious, a wave of cold anger running through her body.
Why must he make her hate him so?
'Don't say his name', she said coldly. 'Do you have no dignity? Isn't it enough to be a murderer? He was your friend,' she added with disgust.
His only response was to laugh. It was a desperate, horrible kind of laugh which quickly transformed into more coughing sounds. Some blood spilt from his mouth. 'Then why are you here, Minerva? I am a murderer. I killed Albus: he- he pleaded for me not to. He was not- he tried to catch his breath – he was not - my friend.'
Minerva lost it. Since she had first seen him in the corridor contrary impulses within her had fought to surface, one of them terribly violent: with a flick of her wand she sent him flying across the room, right into the wall. He brutally fell to the floor. Then he stopped moving, and so did she.
They had known each other for years; they'd learnt about each other, slowly, they had been colleagues, heads of rival houses, friends. Then he had betrayed them all, lied to them all, and she could not understand why. So she had searched for a clue, for anything she would have missed: she had found nothing. Thus he had destroyed even more, for all those memories were now tainted with pain, betrayal and disbelief. As she stood over him, Minerva then thought confusedly that at least she would remember this moment with satisfaction, that there could be truthfulness and coherence in violence if there had been none in times of friendship.
But his gaze was unfocused; some more blood was running down his face. He was miserable.
The poor man.
She thought he was going to say something, but his eyes rolled into their orbits and he simply passed out. Liberated from the weight of his gaze, she felt her anger instantly vanish and found herself kneeling over him, wondering what to do. This time her disgust was self-directed and the pain she felt when that realisation hit her was more than she could bear.
'Severus', she called blankly. He did not stir. 'Severus', she repeated, this time with more conviction. He did not move.
She cursed and stood back up, heading towards the door.
'I am not helping that man, Minerva. I have told him already. I just cannot - you should just let him- let him-'
'You do not think that.'
Looking defeated, Poppy sat on one of the infirmary beds. She sighed. 'No. No I don't. But we cannot help him. Not in good conscience.'
'We cannot let him die in good conscience either.'
But she shook her head. 'You-Know-Who always made sure he would come out alive of their... meetings. He needs him. He will not die.'
'I think there is more to it than what was done to him tonight', Minerva replied. 'Please, Poppy. Do not make me beg. Not for him.'
Poppy carefully considered her colleague's face - she seemed to read in it something that made the dilemma slightly easier for her.
It was about Minerva, not Severus.
'Just let me get what I need.'