The days that followed were some of the strangest in Severus' life.
Firstly, Omegas insisted that Sirius' reintroduction should have been gradual.
"People don't take it well when someone returns from the Land of the Dead, Severus, believe me. It's been risky enough with you. Better to be careful."
Severus had believed her at first, even though he had deemed the explanation far-fetched. Then, when she had left the office and returned with Remus Lupin in tow, he understood.
Omegas knew of Black and Lupin's past relationship: she had seen it in his memories. She hoped to redeem herself in Lupin's eyes by bringing his best friend back to life. He blamed her for the first few minutes. Her mission was to recover the Horcrux that would end a war that had claimed innocent lives for years, and she had chosen to bring back one man in the vain hope of assuaging her guilt.
Then Severus saw the two men hugging, collapsing on the floor, tears streaming down their tired faces, while Omegas watched them in silence. She showed not a hint of emotion, but he knew anyway. All traces of blame inexplicably left him.
Immediately after, it was Harry Potter's turn. For a brief moment he seemed not to believe his eyes. He turned to them in disbelief, as though waiting for an explanation, but the explanation did not come. He finally resigned to believe that his godfather was indeed there, before him, with open arms, waiting for him to embrace him. He, too, gave in to a cry of joy that lasted for at least half an hour.
They were all so extraordinarily happy that Black was there, alive and even in good shape, having eaten and showered, that they didn't even receive too many reprimands when they had to explain to the other members of the Order of the Phoenix how it was possible for a man who had been dead for more than two years to suddenly sit up and take part in one of their meetings.
They explained what they had discovered about the Arch, told of their plan, of the Thestral Blood, and of Omegas' brief death and subsequent resurrection. It was mostly Severus who spoke; she seemed to have lost the ability to do so with anyone but him since the day Tonks had died.
After listening to him in silence, all eyes fixed on him and several jaws having lost the ability to stay attached to the rest of their owners' faces, a hearty applause rose up along the table, led by Harry's hands. It made Severus deeply uncomfortable and, judging by the greenish tint she had taken, made Omegas wish she could swallow another vial of poison.
Only Professor McGonagall, who hurried to signal silence to the others, was able to offer some fair criticism.
"It was reckless, dangerous, rash!" she cried. "I would have expected at least you to show more sense than that, Severus!"
As she said it, the Headmistress' eyes darted sternly at Omegas in a glare that said, 'From you, I would have expected nothing different.'
Surprisingly, Omegas' violet eyes managed to meet the disappointment on her face with far more firmness than the other's admiration. She seemed almost… amused.
"Your stubbornness in not involving the Order in your plans could have left us with an Arch in our hands whose origin and purpose we would not have known," McGonagall continued, her nostrils flaring dangerously. "You could have jeopardised our only hope of ending this war!"
Severus said nothing. The Headmistress was right, he knew it, and he was not used to being reprimanded. For thirty-eight years he had done exactly as he was told, by both sides, without ever betraying himself, should he happen to step out of line.
Omegas, on the other hand, seemed terribly, annoyingly comfortable. She grinned and met the Headmistress' eyes with newfound defiance and a hint of insolence.
"You were rather foolish too," she added sharply. "Assuming you managed to get the snake out, how were you going to destroy the Horcrux? The Sword of Gryffindor is lost."
Severus and Omegas looked at each other. In an almost telepathic communication, they blamed each other for being idiotic enough not to think about it.
That, however, was not the worst of what they would have to endure over the next few days. Once the initial excitement had passed, Severus was forced to realise with horror that Sirius Black was indeed, definitively back, and that not only would he have to endure his presence once again, but that the two of them would be imprisoned there, forced to live together in a castle that felt suddenly too small to contain them both.
He hated him. He had always hated him, and it didn't take him long to remember why.
Black strutted around, arrogant, boasting to anyone who would listen how he had heroically clung to life in such a desolate place—just as he had done when he returned from Azkaban. Every time he went up to the Great Hall and saw him there, at the Gryffindor table, once again seated between a Lupin and a Potter, a wave of nausea rose in his throat that gave him a strong urge to turn around and leave. But he didn't, he wouldn't give him that satisfaction.
Instead, he crossed the hall and reached the High Table in silence. He mostly ate alone now; Omegas, since everyone in the castle seemed determined to applaud her wherever she set foot, categorically refused to leave his quarters. It irritated him. If there was one circumstance in which it would have been useful to show that he, too, was capable of having a friend, that was it.
When, on an evening when the sweltering heat seemed to have given way to a light autumn breeze, he finally persuaded her to get up from her armchair and follow him upstairs, things did not improve.
They walked through the doors of the Great Hall. As soon as Omegas took the first step into the room, a huge round of applause erupted from the Gryffindor table. Severus rolled his eyes and looked at her: she was paralysed, pale and seemed to have shrunk.
"There she is!" exclaimed Sirius, getting up from the table and walking towards her.
She turned her back to him and looked at Severus, her eyes wide. She mouthed something that he read as, "Save me."
"My saviour!" Sirius added.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and cautiously turned towards him.
"It wasn't just me, actually," she said quietly. "I couldn't have done it if Sev—"
He grabbed her arm before she could finish and dragged her to the Gryffindor table. "Join us!"
Omegas swallowed, glanced over her shoulder and mouthed something that Severus read as, "Kill me."
For a split second, he had to suppress a smile. The next one, he was following them with a look of pure disgust etched on his face.
Sirius sat down between her and Harry, while Severus reluctantly made his way to the end of the table. Omegas toyed with the food in front of her as though she had forgotten how to eat.
"So," Sirius started, making her jump slightly. "Harry tells me you came practically out of nowhere."
Omegas frowned and shifted her gaze from him to the boy. "You could… you could say I did, yes," she muttered.
"Ah," Sirius whispered.
Severus recognised the expression on his face. Curiosity, the same one he had been forced to deal with the night he had met her in the Shrieking Shack.
"Harry also tells me that you know a lot of peculiar magic, and that you're quite skilled on a broom," Sirius added.
Omegas looked from him to the boy again, this time with clear disapproval in her eyes.
"Had I known my public image was in your hands, boy, I would have given you more specific information to share," she said coldly.
Harry shrugged, Severus smirked, and Sirius let out a laugh that was clearly too exuberant given the remark. Severus turned to him and was forced to read something else on Black's face, something he didn't like at all. Was that… interest?
Disgusting, bloody idiot. He had barely introduced and was already sniffing her out like a truffle dog. Omegas shot him a furtive look of pure panic that he couldn't return. He was too busy hating Black.
"But what exactly do you do?" Sirius pressed. "Are you an Auror?"
"Absolutely not," she replied. It was in the exact same tone she had used when Severus had asked her if she was a Death Eater.
That hint of disgust in her voice took everyone by surprise. They stopped eating for a moment and stared at her curiously.
"Not that… not that there's anything wrong with being one…" she stammered.
She cast a furtive glance at Lupin, whose recently passed wife had been a staunch and proud member of the Auror Department.
"So what do you do?" Sirius insisted.
Omegas settled in her chair and cleared her throat. "Well, that… it depends on the period, really," she replied. "Lately, mostly, I'd say I've been a Potioneer."
She gave Severus a smile that he was utterly incapable of returning.
"Hmm…" Sirius mused. "Not quite the best period, was it?"
She raised her head and shot him a genuinely puzzled glance. She thought for a moment, then shook her head.
"It was probably the best of my life," she said softly.
The statement was met by a stunned silence. Severus was forced to bow his head and stare at his untouched food.
"You know, generally I don't have much time to pursue my passions," she added.
"Your… passions?" Sirius scoffed incredulously.
"Yes," she confirmed. "If I could choose to be something, I would choose to be a Potioneer."
Sirius frowned. He looked at her as if the idea that someone with the ability to enter mysterious arches and raise the dead would want to brew potions was the most absurd thing he had ever heard.
"Why on earth?" he asked.
Omegas raised her head again and stared at a distant spot just beyond the long table. She smiled—it was one Severus had never seen. It was dreamy. Adoring.
"Potions are extraordinarily neutral," she stated.
She paused, then resumed eating as though those words didn't need further elaboration.
They did, however, for now more than just Sirius' eyes were looking at her in bafflement.
"Neutral?" he asked curiously.
She was snapped out of her thoughts. She looked around and settled in her seat uncomfortably.
"N-neutral, yes…"
"How so?"
"Well," she began, as if on the verge of giving a lecture. "Potions aren't like spells, are they? They can't fall under the definitions of 'good' or 'bad'. Or rather, they could, but no one would ever bother to do that."
A few diners looked at each other in confusion, as she turned her attention to the food once more.
"Excuse me…" Hermione interjected, clearly interested in the matter. "What… what do you mean?"
Omegas looked up at her, then back at all the faces around her. She sighed; when she spoke again, it was in the tone of someone explaining something obvious to someone too stupid to grasp it.
"Would you be able to give a definition of 'Dark Magic'?"
Hermione thought about it, but didn't have time to answer. Ron, sitting right next to her, seemed to have taken the woman's tone as a personal attack and rushed to speak in her place.
"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" he said. "If something can kill, or at least harm, and I mean seriously harm, then it's Dark Magic."
She smirked. "Right. Then Patronuses are Dark Magic."
Harry chuckled. "Patronuses aren't Dark Magic!"
"Aren't they?" she replied. "By your friend's definition, they are. Do you know how much potential damage lies behind Patronus magic? If you can make them talk, you can technically do anything with them. I could use one to order someone to commit murder, and so I would have killed with a Patronus. I could leave here and send one to inform the Death Eaters of our plans to destroy the last Horcrux." She gave him a sinister grin. "I imagine that would have repercussions that would fall under your definition of 'serious harm'."
No one spoke for a while. Then Neville Longbottom seemed to appear out of nowhere.
"But the purpose of Patronuses is to do good, isn't it? To help."
Everyone turned to him.
"I mean…" he said tentatively. "Something can't be Dark Magic if it does good… right?"
He searched for approval in the eyes of his friends. He got it from most of them.
"Let's say you need to jump to the other side of a gully," said Omegas, not bothering to raise her head. "But you're afraid to do it."
She took a moment to swallow a bite, then met his eyes with a hint of condescension.
"Let's say it's a matter of life and death: you have to jump that gully. Now, let's also say I'm much better at jumping gullies than you are. I can easily get to the other side, pull out my wand, cast an Imperius Curse on you and force you to jump," she observed. "I would have saved your life. That's 'doing good', isn't it? Would that mean that the Imperius Curse is not Dark Magic?"
Another brief silence fell; most of the listeners seemed unconvinced. Above all, Lupin had suddenly lost his appetite, his face bearing a bitter grimace.
"What are you suggesting?" he muttered. "That the Dark Arts don't exist?"
Omegas turned to him, lost her grin and bowed her head.
"No," she murmured. "Of course they exist. I'm just saying that their definition is not universal. It varies depending on time, place, what is considered moral or immoral, and the use you make of certain… practices."
She placed particular emphasis on that last word.
"The only logical definition of 'Dark Magic' is 'magic used for dark purposes'," she concluded.
Harry frowned. "What does that have to do with potions?"
Omegas found her smile back at the mere mention of the word.
"Potions are the only thing in the world that isn't judged," she affirmed. "No one cares about the purpose for which they are made. They are considered a simple object, a means to an end. They are not like spells, which are a form of energy, an extension of the wizard or witch who casts them. They are not like magical creatures, which are conscious and can therefore be defined 'good' or 'evil'. Potions are just potions."
She lost her gaze in the distance again and sighed softly.
"Potions are impossible to define. Indifferent to human judgement. Extraordinarily neutral."
The pause that follow that last statement was a bit longer than the previous ones. It only broke when Sirius let out a scoffing laugh.
"I wanted a chat and ended out with a philosophy lecture!" he remarked.
Several around him laughed along with him.
Omegas blushed visibly. She looked around as though only then realising that there were at least two dozen people listening to her words. She smiled sheepishly and bowed her head.
"Yeah, I… I've been told I tend to do that," she mumbled.
Then, for the first time since the beginning of the conversation, she met Severus' eyes.
He knew full well he had completely lost control of them. He knew that there was the same light in his black eyes that he had seen in hers as she had delivered her speech—a speech that managed to make him experience something for the first time in his entire life.
He completely, utterly agreed. He had never heard someone philosophise about the Dark Arts without sounding either sickeningly sanctimonious or simply cruel. It really had been extraordinarily neutral. It had been beautiful, and he couldn't help but convey that to her with the brief glance they exchanged.
A moment later they both lowered their eyes to their plates. They did not speak again until they were back in his quarters.
That night, Severus and Omegas talked. They talked as they had not talked in weeks, in months. She spoke of her travels, and of the many occasions when her ideas about the definition of 'Dark Magic' had been confirmed.
For the first time, Severus spoke of his past. Not about what had scarred him, the traumas or the pain, but about his life experiences. He spoke of how he had ended up in a group of future Death Eaters, and how it had taken him a while to realise that their interest in the Dark Arts was not academic at all. He spoke of what he had seen during his time allied with Voldemort, and what he had been forced to witness when he had to spy for the Order. She listened to him without judgement, only with sincere interest.
Then she spoke again, of the secret societies that were said to gather within the walls of Durmstrang, of how she had managed to stay away from them only because most of them idolised her father, and how the disgust that knowledge caused her far outweighed her interest.
Severus listened to her and something new happened inside him.
The curiosity vanished, for at that point there was nothing he didn't know about her. So did the impatience, for he no longer cared about getting the next piece of information as quickly as possible. All he cared about was listening to her, right then and there, without any hidden agenda.
He had gotten used to empathy by then, and after the exchange they had had about Tonks' death, he had stopped resisting it. It no longer bothered him.
Only something else remained.
It took Severus a long time to understand what it was. At first he simply called it sharing. That extraordinary feeling of having someone to agree with, a mind so wonderfully similar to his own.
When Omegas fell asleep, curled up in the armchair, halfway through a conversation, and he realised that the feeling persisted even when she wasn't speaking, he hastened to call it admiration. Yes, that had to be it. Admiration and respect, the same feelings he had for Dumbledore when he was alive, and which he continued to feel in secret for McGonagall and a few more people in the world.
As he transfigured what he now labelled 'Omegas' armchair' even in private in a small bed, Severus knew that what he felt as he watched her toss and turn in the sheets was not at all what he would have felt if McGonagall or Dumbledore had been there. He hastened to put it down to understanding. It had to play a fundamental role; after all, not only did he share her ideals and thoughts about the world, their past experiences were similar in some ways.
He made his way to his bedroom, and her voice suddenly rang clearly in his ears.
"Nothing bonds two people like a shared trauma," it said.
He was forced to turn around and watch her sleep for a few more moments. He swallowed, and finally closed the door behind him calling that feeling a generic affection.
From that night on, every time they entered the Great Hall, Omegas made sure she was engaged in what appeared to be an intense conversation with Severus and kept her head ostentatiously turned away from Sirius. Severus didn't think he'd invite her again: even an idiot like Black must have realised that she didn't like being around too many people, especially when she was the centre of attention. He didn't bother to point it out, though. The stubbornness with which she avoided his gaze amused him to no end.
A few days later, when the Order met to decide what to do, Sirius stood silently and watched her intently. Severus had the annoying impression that he was waiting for her to sit down so he could sit next to her. She, however, who happened to be both too clever and too antisocial to be bothered, sat between Kingsley and Hermione Granger and gave him a blank look.
Severus felt an overwhelming urge to laugh, but it was quickly replaced by a sense of dread when he realised that the only two remaining seats were next to each other—meaning that he and Sirius would be forced to squeeze into an even smaller space than usual. They exchanged a glance of deep contempt and sat down, turning their heads away from each other.
"As you might have guessed, today's topic is how to retrieve the snake from within the Arch." Professor McGonagall announced, as stern and brisk as usual. "The questions are: how to get in, when to get in, and how to kill the snake once it's out."
Omegas raised her hand.
"Yes, Miss Sylith?"
She made a displeased face, which Severus knew was because she hated to be called 'Miss'.
"Why 'how to get in'?" she asked. "We know how to get in."
McGonagall gave her a severe look from behind her round glasses. "I will not let another member of the Order risk their life, Miss Sylith," she said sharply.
Omegas frowned. "No need for another member, I can do it again."
Several pairs of eyes snapped at her, including Severus'. He made it clear with his next glance that if she even thought about suggesting such a thing again, she wouldn't need poison to end up dead.
She returned the glare with a shrug.
"No," the Headmistress said in a tone that brooked no argument.
"Do you have a better idea?" she asked.
McGonagall raised an eyebrow and looked at her up and down. "Yes, Miss Sylith, I do."
Omegas parted her lips in astonishment. "You do?"
"Yes," McGonagall confirmed. "I was thinking that a vial could be enchanted so that one of our ghosts could carry it. I'm sure Professor Flitwick will be able to come up with a solution, and Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington will be more than happy to take on the task of finding the snake and administering the Thestral Blood."
Omegas fell silent. She stared at Professor McGonagall, her eyes wide and her mouth open.
"That's…" she breathed. "That's… a better idea."
"Your approval reassures me greatly, Miss Sylith," McGonagall replied.
Omegas, completely missing the remarkable amount of sarcasm in her words, gave her a cordial nod.
"Now, we must decide when and how to kill the snake," the Headmistress added.
"Professor," murmured Hermione, her hand raised.
"Yes, miss Granger?"
Hermione lowered her hand. "I was thinking… technically there's still the Basilisk that Harry killed years ago in the Chamber of Secrets. If we could get in there again, we might be able to get more venom and we could—"
"We've already tried, Hermione," Harry interrupted. "I don't speak Parseltongue anymore and I can't remember what I said to open it."
"I know," she replied. "But there must be a way to get in there, right? Another way, I mean… it's still a room, a physical place within the castle!"
"You weren't there," Harry countered. "You didn't see it. The passage is…"
But Severus had stopped listening. Omegas was looking at him intently, and the two of them were having another sort of telepathic conversation.
She gave him a look that meant, 'I have to tell them, you know that,' and he returned it with a glare that meant, 'If they find out you're an illegal Animagus, they could arrest you, you idiot.'
She replied with a fleeting glance at Sirius that clearly meant, 'He's an illegal Animagus too, but no one says anything to him.'
Severus had every intention of retorting with a piercing stare that would have meant, 'That's because he's a dog, not a snake, you absolute moron,' but he didn't get the chance.
"Is there anything you want to add?" asked Professor McGonagall.
The two of them snapped back to present to find that all eyes were on them. Omegas cleared her throat and shifted in her seat.
"I… speak Parseltongue," she said tentatively.
An incredulous murmur spread around the table.
"You do?" asked McGonagall.
She nodded.
"I didn't know that the rare gift of Parseltongue was passed down in your family."
Omegas, not missing the clear innuendo about her father, met her eyes with a hint of bitterness.
"Well, you know my story, Headmistress. I never knew who my mother was. She must have passed it on to me."
She lied so convincingly that for a moment Severus believed her.
The two women exchanged a few more meaningful glances; finally, McGonagall seemed convinced.
"Very well," she said. "We will make the necessary arrangements to retrieve the snake. Once that is done, Miss Sylith will accompany Potter to the Chamber of Secrets to collect the Basilisk's Venom. If all goes well, we could destroy the last Horcrux within a few days. The only thing left to do then is to find Voldemort."
Another whisper, now decidedly concerned, spread through the Order.
"How?" asked Harry breathlessly.
The Headmistress gave him a look somewhere between severe and reassuring. "All in due time."
With that, the meeting ended, and Severus, Sirius and Omegas all stood up at the same time. After exchanging a few confused glances, Omegas walked out of the room without saying anything to either of them. Severus shot Sirius a glare full of pure hatred, which Sirius returned almost identically before turning and walking in the opposite direction.
It was Omegas' turn to guard the shield that day. Her fake galleon heated up right after lunch; she reluctantly got up from the table and put it back in her pocket with a huff.
"What's the point of guarding it anyway?" she asked sourly. "Riddle has every Dementor in England on his side. If he wanted to, he could destroy the shield in ten minutes, and all the Patronuses in the world wouldn't be enough to drive them away. He obviously doesn't care about getting into the castle. He thinks that even if we have the Arch, we'll never be able to get the snake."
Severus pretended to agree—even though the Patronuses idea had been his and he didn't agree in the slightest—and the two went their separate ways.
He spent most of the afternoon in his office, staring at the Arch, wondering what must be on the other side. He had asked Omegas, but she hadn't given him a precise explanation. She had given him her usual mysterious smile and vague answers. He had considered telling her to go to hell and forcing her to give him satisfactory answers, but he had ultimately found himself staring at her face without being able to say a word.
He just stood there, wondering how it was possible that a face could be so damn difficult to decipher for someone who had spent his life trying to read other people's expressions and had always succeeded. He smiled, in the privacy of his office, and allowed himself to admit how extraordinary she was.
Looking up, he realised that it was already eight in the evening and that he had spent the entire afternoon lost in thought. That didn't surprise him. What did surprise him, however, was not to find her beside him, just as lost in her own thoughts.
He absentmindedly walked out of his office and climbed the stairs to the Great Hall. He paused just before the entrance and glanced around, expecting to find her sitting at the Slytherin table, mouth full, gaze lost. When he didn't, for some reason he lost his appetite. He turned and headed towards his quarters, planning to wait for her there.
Crossing the dungeons, he finally saw her. She was sitting on the floor in the corner next to the small door to his storeroom, holding a small black cauldron.
"You're here," he stated.
She looked at him and smiled weakly. "So it seems."
"What are you doing on the floor?"
Omegas lifted the cauldron in her hands. "Eating."
Severus watched her for a few seconds, waiting for her to say or do something, but she didn't. He thought he read a hint of sorrow in her distant eyes.
He glanced around the corridor a few times. Certain that no one else was there but the two of them, he approached her cautiously and sat on the floor beside her. She turned to him in clear astonishment, but still said nothing.
"What is it?" he asked softly, nodding at the contents of the cauldron.
"Borscht," she replied. "Have you ever had it?"
He shook his head.
She handed him the cauldron, which contained a blood-red soup, and a silver spoon. Severus raised the spoon to his lips and tried it. It was delicious.
"Is it good?" she asked.
He nodded.
"I went to the kitchens and asked some House Elves to make it," she explained. "It was my favourite at Durmstrang."
Severus turned to her and swept his eyes on her face for another few quiet moments.
"Nostalgia?" he ventured.
She gave a faint smile. "Not exactly," she murmured. "Well, I do miss Professor Zakoten. Always."
Severus snorted a laugh he just wasn't quick enough to suppress.
"What?" she asked curiously.
"I saw him," he replied.
"You saw who?"
"Professor Zakoten."
They both froze. It was the first time he had admitted out loud that he had been looking at her memories.
"Oh…" she whispered. "Oh, of course you did. Well, then you know it."
He frowned. "I know what?"
"That he's a wonderful man."
Severus looked at her. 'Wonderful man' were not the first two words that had come to mind when he saw him. In fact, he was quite convinced that he wasn't even exactly a man. But her gaze held such conviction and unabashed affection that he just couldn't bring himself to contradict her.
So instead he said the first thing that came to mind to change the subject.
"Why aren't you in the Great Hall?"
She let out a small huff, bowed her head to the cauldron and didn't reply.
"Is it because of Tonks?" he pressed.
"No, it's not about Tonks," she muttered. "It's just… there's too many people. And, you know… there's Black."
Severus wrinkled his nose. "Yes. He's an idiot."
"He looks at me… strangely," she stated. "It's as if… as if he's always on the verge of… talking to me."
She spoke those words with a hint of disgust, as if the mere suggestion of someone talking to her was completely inappropriate.
Severus half smiled.
"I heard him talking to Lupin while I was on guard," she added. "He was telling him about… you know."
He knew. He gave her a nod and waited for her to continue.
"Black was defending me. And Lupin seemed to take it a bit personally, but he got over it quickly. They talked about me all the time, thinking I couldn't hear them."
She scoffed bitterly.
"Black says I'm quite pretty, by the way."
Severus' eyes snapped to hers. She didn't notice; she was too busy reliving the memory, her face etched with pure resentment.
"Pretty," she repeated, as if it were an insult.
He had never seen anyone react so hostilely to a compliment. He was pleased, but still quite surprised. Then he remembered.
"Beauty is a stupid and completely arbitrary concept, based on the physical characteristics one is more or less accustomed to seeing."
Yes, that must be it. It must have been the reason why she came to hate such an innocent word so deeply.
Then Omegas raised her head. For a few moments, her violet eyes met his, and he lost the rigid control he had maintained over his thoughts for decades. She's wrong, he thought. Beauty couldn't have anything to do with how common a face was, for hers was certainly one of the least common faces he'd ever seen. And yet…
He realised the implications of that thought and quickly looked away.
"Why aren't you in the Great Hall?" she asked.
Severus regained his impassivity in the blink of an eye. "I don't particularly enjoy company either, in case you hadn't noticed."
She laughed softly. She put away her cauldron with a wave of her wand, stood up and looked down at him.
"Well… it's kind of you to dine with me every night, then."
She smiled briefly once more and disappeared down the corridor, leaving him alone with the consequences of her words.
He didn't like company—anybody's company. He hated company. For years, he had avoided anyone who tried to offer it. Now he couldn't spend half a day in his office without feeling the need to wander around the castle looking for her. He tried to understand why, and his brain, now completely out of his control, sought an answer in experience.
He remembered the last time he had felt like this. The last time he'd felt the constant need to be close to another person, the last time he'd been annoyed by the attention everyone seemed to pay to that person, the last time he'd truly feared for someone's life and felt the need to risk his own in their place.
It hit him, and it hurt like a punch in the gut. It wasn't sharing, it wasn't admiration, and it wasn't mere affection.
Panic growing with each second, he stood up and walked restlessly towards his quarters. He went straight to his bedroom without turning on the light, locked the door, and sat down on the bed. With trembling hands, he reached under his cloak for the wand and raised it. He tried to speak, but no sound came out. He swallowed, closed his eyes, and tried again.
"Expecto Patronum."
He couldn't look until he was sure it was in front of him. Finally, one by one, he opened his eyes and met the figure glowing in the darkness of the room.
He looked at its vertical pupils, at the small crest on its triangular head and at its forked tongue hissing softly in his direction.
He wasn't surprised to see it. He knew exactly what he had just thought about to produce that Patronus. But it still hurt.
The silver snake pirouetted around his head, tracing sinuous lines with its tail. Paralysed on the mattress, he could barely follow it with his gaze until it faded away.
Severus cried. He wasn't ready to let her go. No matter how many years had passed, it could have been an eternity. Nothing should have changed. Anger and self-loathing added to the pain. He cried some more.
He tried and tried to make his Patronus, his true Patronus, reappear. He tried all night, drawing on the happy memories he had with Lily, but she didn't come back.
She was gone. Severus had betrayed his doe. He had broken a promise.
He had gone beyond his Always.