Summer, 1996

The clarity of which Harry felt pain was startling. In fact, pain was the only thing that took him out of his thoughts, and back to earth. Thoughts. His thoughts. It was remarkably clear how all of them intertwined, and all of them were furious.

He was just angry, plain and simple. It wasn't a hazy kind of angry - it was a sharp, central fury burning deep in his heart, the kind that comes when you know exactly why something went wrong, but are powerless to fix it. For Harry, there was no divorcing the knowledge of what happened at the Ministry from the rage that he felt with himself over it. Sirius had given up his life for a mistake of Harry's, something Harry could easily have prevented if he hadn't been such an idiot, and actually listened to Snape, of all people. This knowledge coloured everything around Harry. He tried to forget it anyway. He forced away what happened, refusing to think about it. Eventually, however, it got to him in other ways.

"You just had to go and scream, didn't you!" he berated himself for what felt like the millionth time that summer, when Uncle Vernon had finally run out of words and gone back to bed. Harry rubbed his eyes out of anger, hoping to get rid of the images that kept flashing before his eyes. The nightmares were getting worse, the ones that reminded him he couldn't wish away or forget the things he had done. It had been the typical cocktail of everything that tormented him: Cedric dying, Sirius falling through the veil, his parents' deaths.

It was the third time this week he had woken the house at the early hours of the morning. The third time this week he was yelled at for disturbing the Dursleys and the third time he was promised he would not be allowed out of his room until he could control himself. So far, the second week into summer holidays, he was pretty convinced he would spend the whole holiday stuck in his bedroom. He even envied Snape now, the greasy git, for at least as a spy he was doing something, however undesirable Voldemort's company was. Instead, Harry was stuck at Privet Drive, left to stew in his own mistakes while the Wizarding World was being turned upside down with the revelation that You Know Who had returned (about bloody time they noticed, in his opinion). Not knowing where Voldemort was or what he was doing was driving Harry to the breaking point. The only letters he got were filled with reassurances and endless questions about how he was feeling. No information whatsoever, and nothing but reminders of what had happened. Harry was beginning to suspect it was punishment for what he had done.

Thoughts swirling like dark water in Harry's head, he fell back on his bed with a huff, still drenched in sweat and heart pounding from the shock of both the nightmare and Uncle Vernon storming into his room like a bull seeing red.

"Stupid!" he spat, and Hedwig ruffled her feather's slightly from her perch, where she had come inside to rest upon in the short space of time between now and the moment Uncle Vernon had left. "Just had to! What is wrong with you? Ron wouldn't let something like this get to him."

Am I going mental or is the world just mental? he wondered.

The hot fire coursing through Harry's veins made him unable to sit still any longer, and he leaped from his bed and started pacing with a vengeance, breath coming in short bursts as his temperature continued to rise. Another sick wave of shame washed over him and it was suddenly too much to take. He crossed his arms tightly, hands clenching his arms feverishly. Anything to escape the pain he felt inside. Red in his heart, Harry tried to forget about all that was within him - every thought that threatened to destroy him. He hated feeling weak, hated waking up drenched in sweat and with his eyes filled with tears. That wasn't how he was supposed to be. He was supposed to be strong. He was supposed to be "the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord", but how could he even begin to do that if he couldn't make it through a few days without screaming or crying from a nightmare? He sunk to his knees on the soft carpet of his room.

No. It's me, isn't it?

"Now look what you've done ..." he whispered to himself. He hadn't realized he had been digging his fingernails into his arms (Or maybe he had, and just didn't stop, but was that really an option to consider?). He hardly had noticed the action. It was just a way to keep his insides from burning, and it was almost like a reflex, at least by now. He looked at the long scratch down his right arm, which was slowly starting to bleed. Somehow he hadn't really paid attention to the sharp pain, which had now faded to a dull ache. The anger receded as he stared at it, a sick feeling in his gut (So this is what being crazy is like).

Harry tried to pretend that he didn't enjoy the pain, in a strange sort of way, but it was difficult to do. Yet, it wasn't so much that he enjoyed hurting, it was that he needed the distraction. Feeling muddled, and wishing for it all just to go away, he felt glad that he didn't have to see anyone, and that he had to stay in his room. Nobody would have to know about it. Nobody ever did. The truth was this was not the first time this had happened. But what happened at the Ministry had made it worse. Even before that though, sometimes his rage got out of control and he just lost it. Sometimes he wasn't even sure where the anger came from, especially during the last year. At least now he had a reason to be angry, thanks to his mistake. Before it had just been there, lurking under the surface and ready to break through like a wild beast. It was a lot like what had happened in Dumbledore's office at the end of term, when he'd stormed about in a rage, trying to make Dumbledore pay only to realize that Dumbledore didn't care that Harry had destroyed half his office. Yes, it was the same sort of thing in essence, his outbursts now, only these were directed at himself. It was safer that way. He couldn't hurt anyone else ... like he had Cedric ... and Sirius. Both of those had been from split second decisions, just like the ones he made when he was angry. It was better if he hurt himself instead. It was safer.

A strange sense of calm and numbness fell over Harry as the sunrise slowly coloured his room with pale oranges and reds and yellows. The anger had left nothing but the absence of feeling, and he wasn't even sure now what had made him angry. The Dursleys, right, that was it. Chest starting to slow in its rising and falling, Harry watched as the blood began to creep down his arm. It stung, but not as badly as his eyes, which he blinked forcefully to stop any wayward tears. He focused on the pain. PIain had always been Harry's distraction. Even when he was small, he would vent all of his frustration into his chores, which often did cause him a great deal of discomfort. There was always the ache of his back from painting the fence, the blisters from digging holes for plants in the flowerbed, or the tightness in his neck from mowing the lawn. After so many years, he had realized that the pain didn't matter so much. That it was, in fact, an ally from time to time.

Sometimes it was easier to get lost in the pain, thus losing track of reality. Aches reminded him when not to be rash, like the sore muscles he got after having to do chores as a punishment for mouthing off to Uncle Vernon. They said, don't make the same mistake, Harry, think. Then, there was the kind of pain that physical aches could combat, the hurts that left no outward trace. Even a punch from Dudley hurt less than the injustice of life. Emotional feelings were hard to make leave, but physical pain was temporary; a distraction. Harry had even lost all the bones in his arm once, and had them painfully regrown. But that too had passed. It always did, and he found a strange sort of comfort in that. Control.

Hedwig made a hooting noise, and stared down at him from her perch as she cocked her head from side to side as though she was trying to ask Harry what was wrong.

"Yeah I know, I like pain, so what?" he said to her bitterly. "Fine, judge me. Call me a freak. Well I don't care what others say. They're wrong!"

The flutter of wings announced to Harry that she had left her perch, for he was looking at nothing but the sprawling marks he had left on his arm. She landed softly on his leg and looked up at him with imploring eyes. She edged closer into him and nibbled at his pyjama shirt, and stayed calm and still when he bent his head low and the tears came.

"I just wish I was like everyone else," Harry muttered thickly as Hedwig ran her beak over a strand of his hair. "I don't want to save the Wizarding World. I just want to be left alone. I just wanna be a kid."

"Hooo," she crooned softly in his ear.

He stroked her head slightly, feeling guilty because she seemed worried.

"No news?" he whispered to her, though it was already clear she had not brought any post. No news. Not a hint of what the Order was up to, and not a whisper of Voldemort's plans, not even in the Daily Prophet. What he wouldn't give for just a glimpse of what was happening.

God how he envied Snape.

***

Where am I where am I where am I?

Severus lay in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, aching to his very bones and confusion building inside, his foggy mind trying to sift through his senses to figure out where he was. He opened his eyes, and the light stung them. Gingerly, he moved his arms. It burned like fire as he did so, but he reached up slightly, and he pushed the fabric of the thin, white cotton t-shirt up to his chest and fingered the bandages.

What had happened? How did he get here?

He shut his eyes, shifting his legs slightly, the flimsy fabric of hospital wing pyjama trousers damp with sweat, his body shivering.

What happened?

Think!

Slits for eyes staring down.

Red. Hot, gushing red. That shouldn't happen.

Severus rubbed his eyes, moaning. He felt a sudden convulsing pain in his stomach, and he leaned over the bed and was sick. Shaking violently, he collapsed weakly with his fingers clutching the edge of the bed, his hot cheek at the very edge of the pillow. The wound in his abdomen was unbearable now, and he let out a groan against his will.

"Severus!" cried Poppy suddenly as she ran into the hospital wing, waving her wand to vanish the mess. She bent over his bed and helped him from his side onto his back again before conjuring a basin to put on the side table.

"What the hell happened?" Severus said through gritted teeth, clutching his stomach, his eyes clenched shut as he tried to remember how he got here. All he could conjure was a fuzzy string of moments, all so overpowered by pain he couldn't remember what was happening or where he was.

"You Know Who discovered you were spying on him," muttered Poppy. "You almost died. Mad-Eye got you out."

Severus moaned, his stomach clenching again and making him heave. Poppy held the basin under his chin, a hand on his shoulder. There was nothing in his stomach, but that did not stop him from dry heaving several times. When he was done, shaking, he rested his cheek miserably on the edge of the basin.

"How'd Mad-Eye find me?" he asked hoarsely, barely able to speak for his pain, starting to recall tiny details as the seconds went by - spells, sinister, sharp instruments. Someone screaming (Me? Me.)

"Pure accident," said Poppy. "He found you, left to die in the middle of the countryside not far from Malfoy Manor. They must have thought you dead, but you weren't. Just comatose."

"Just fucking - just ... just -" he retched again.

It was a sure sign of how badly Poppy was worried that she didn't enforce the no foul language in the Hospital wing rule.

"When we found you ..." Poppy began, shaking, "when we found you you'd been impaled by ... well, we don't know if it was magic or something else. Either way, your stomach had been punctured and infection had set in. Luckily, you are on the mend. I kept you comatose with a few spells even after you showed signs of waking, just to manage the pain and to keep you from moving too much. I managed to mostly heal the internal damage, but the areas are still going to be weak and tender for a little while. The vomiting is a side effect from the infection and fever. You're about due for another dose of potions to counter both the nausea and the remaining infection. You are extremely lucky to be alive, Severus. Extremely.

"Right, then why don't I feel lucky?" he said hoarsely, shaking. Poppy squeezed his shoulder, and helped him lay down again. His consciousness began to fade once more, and whether he was going to into sleep or something deeper he was unsure. His thoughts slowed to a crawl, echoing numbly in his tired brain.

You aren't a spy anymore, he thought as he drifted off. You were found out. You aren't a spy anymore.

The light was too bright when Severus woke up later. The pain was everywhere still, and the cursed cuts on his chin stung as his jaw trembled. He turned his back on the windows, groaning with pain from the movement and swallowing thickly.

You aren't a spy anymore.

You have served your purpose.

You have no purpose.

You have no purpose you have no use you are rendered obsolete you failed them you have no purpose you failed no purpose you failed no purpose failed purpose ... no purpose ... failure.

He pulled the pillow over his head, wordlessly pleading for his thoughts to go as he fought the dizzy, feverish spinning in his head. Nobody could see the tears. Tears were not allowed. It was better they didn't see. And that was how the days passed until his release. In silence.

***

Remus John Lupin was worried. Well, he was a little bit depressed too, but most of all worried. He had been away a lot, to keep himself busy, doing work for the Order. He spent little time around anyone, only pausing to write to Harry when he could. He had recently spent the full moon safely holed up in his room thanks to the Wolfbane potion, and after he had spent a good deal of time quite literally howling over the loss of his best friend, Sirius, he had begun to ponder Harry's response to the letter he had sent. The latter of course, was why he had called a meeting with Dumbledore, and precisely why he now sat, sans furry tail, in the chair before the desk of the Headmaster.

"Something isn't right Albus, I can sense it," said Remus anxiously as Dumbledore read over the letter.

"But he seems fine from what it says. In fact it sounds like he's dealing with it admirably."

"But read the last line," urged Remus.

The Headmaster's eyes scanned the words, and then he rested the letter back on the table.

"Remus, he sounds alright to me. I think you are worrying yourself unnecessarily. Harry's just trying to keep you from doing exactly what you're doing now - worrying about him."

"Albus, that's exactly what is worrying me so much. His letter makes it sound like everything is alright. In fact, too alright. Harry is a great deal like Lily, and like her he feels everything very deeply, whether he wants to or not. For better or worse, it is also plain to be seen that he's as stubborn and proud as James. Strong emotions and too stubborn to admit the need for help - those are not an easy combination. I just know there's something he's not mentioning. Besides, why would he say that he has been keeping so busy that I need not send many letters because he won't have time to write me back?"

"Perhaps he is just trying to take his mind off things ..." said Albus thoughtfully. "Maybe you remind him of Sirius too much."

"That's what I thought at first, but I sent a letter to Molly and apparently Harry also said to Ron that the Dursleys were giving him lots of chores so he was too tired to write often, so Ron need not bother either. It just doesn't make sense. Sirius always used to tell me how Harry lived for letters, and what I have heard from Ron Weasley confirms that. Something is wrong Albus. I know it. If you'd just let me have one visit with him ..."

Dumbledore sighed. "Well ... I suppose it couldn't hurt. We all know Harry is going through a rough time. Perhaps it could be good for the both of you."

Remus visibly relaxed, and thanked the Headmaster profusely as he folded up the letter and put it in his pocket.

"I can arrange for his relatives to be out of the house next week, Saturday most likely. There are a little bit meddlesome, and quite terrified of our kind. It would be easier if they did not know of the engagement."

"I quite agree, Headmaster," said Remus. "Thank you so much. I hope I am wrong."

"I do too," said Dumbledore gravely. "Is that all?"

"Yes."

"Ah, and before I forget ... how was that last batch of Wolfbane?"

"Severus did a great job, as per usual," said Remus, satisfied. "Why?"

"I was asking because the last batch was not in fact brewed by Severus," said Dumbledore casually. "I have been meaning to inform you that Severus' life has been a little bit hectic as of late. He has informed me that it is just not feasible for him to brew it for the time being, so a good friend of mine is instead making your potion. I merely wondered if the batch was up to scratch."

"I appreciate you informing me," said Remus understandingly. Spying was busy work, and with the Dark Lord growing more dangerous by the day it was no wonder the man had so little time. If he was anyway near as busy as Remus had been, it was no wonder. Remus could hardly keep up with what was going on in the Order (in fact he'd hardly visited Headquarters in a month), let alone brew batch after batch of one of the most complicated potions around. "Make sure to pass on a grateful thanks on my behalf."

The two said goodbye, and Remus, feeling a great deal calmer, strode from the office and down the spiral staircase. The castle seemed quiet in comparison to how it had been when Remus was teaching. He found it mildly unnerving at first, but then allowed his mind to think of other things and get lost in the thoughts of the moment. This of course, was why he accidentally bumped into none other than Severus Snape as he walked along the corridors. Neither seemed to have been looking where they were going, and only Remus really seemed concerned that he had run into someone.

"Sorry, Severus," apologized Remus immediately once he looked up.

Severus grunted slightly, seeming to think that the situation hardly warranted a conversation.

"How have you been keeping?" asked Remus amicably anyway, always having been one for a pleasant chat. He couldn't help but notice that Severus looked as pale as he ever did, if not more. Unless his eyes deceived him, it appeared as though Severus' nose was a little bit more crooked too, as though it had been broken recently. In his line of work, it would not have surprised him if it were indeed true. There were a few scrapes that were almost finished healing along his chin as well. Of course, this only added to Severus' overall terrifying demeanor, but Remus, long used to this, did not really mind. He wondered if the Dark Lord's meetings were getting more intense, considering Severus' appearance.

"Fine," muttered Severus impatiently, not even trying to be civil. "Can I leave now? Or do I have to pretend to enjoy this little encounter?"

"No no, go on then. Good to see you anyway," Remus cheerfully lied through his teeth, and Severus brushed past him with surprising speed for a man who was supposed to be on holidays. Then again, he probably did have a lot to do. Remus paused to wonder what Severus was doing in the castle instead of at his home. He thought vaguely that it probably had something to do with the fact that one would have to go about anything with utmost secrecy in a home that the Dark Lord knew the location of, and therefore the castle would be a likely place to take refuge in if one did not wish to be found, or needed to do something that could not be known by the Dark Lord. Or at least that was what Remus had decided the most likely case, and as he had no information to contradict this, he settled for this explanation.

It then occurred to him that he had been so busy thinking of these things that he had completely forgotten to thank Severus for having brewed the Wolfbane potion for so long. Remus sighed slightly, but his thoughts did not linger on this regret for long, as they soon returned to Harry, who was his primary concern.

He wasted no time in sending the letter to Harry when he got home, all of his energy focused on the hope that he would receive a speedy reply. The sooner he visited Harry, the better.

****

"Well, I'll just have to tell Remus I'm really sick ... and I don't want him to get sick with what I have too," Harry said glumly to Hedwig, who sat sleeping in her cage by his desk. "I mean, he'll understand, right? That should give me a couple days at least so my scratches can heal a bit."

Harry was met by nothing but the rise and fall of Hedwig's breathing. The open letter, which had arrived with a very energetic owl (he suspected Remus had sent it for its speed) stared him in the face.

"I can't let him come," said Harry in a hushed voice. "He'll find out. Then he'll tell Dumbledore and Dumbleldore will make me come to his office and talk to him about it. Then he'll tell Mrs. Weasley and she'll get all upset and I'll just worry them. I'm fine, I am Hedwig. Really. Just a couple cuts. It's not like I really meant to do it. It just happened. Besides, it's better for everyone if they don't know how angry I get. They won't worry about me if they don't know."

Harry fell silent for a moment as Aunt Petunia pit-a-patted daintily up the stairs and shoved his supper - a piece of bread and slightly dried out cheese - through the cat flap in the door. Harry stared it for a second, waited for his aunt to pit-a-pat back downstairs and then continued to dictate to his owl, not touching the food.

"But I want to see him. I mean, it isn't like he would tell me much of what's going on out there ... but still." Harry sighed and put his quill down, which had been poised above the parchment, ready to strike. Now it lay still behind the untouched ink pot. "I just ... maybe I am a little messed up, but I don't need to be fixed. I'm fine. It'll just make him worry, and he's had it rough enough after I ..." Hedwig ruffled her feathers slightly and put her head deeper under her wing, attempting sleep. "Well, you know."

Harry paused a moment, watching her.

"I'll tell him I'm sick," whispered Harry at last, reaching for his quill again. He only hesitated once, but put the tip to the parchment with conviction. He wrote the note, making the letters a little shaky so it looked like he was sick and didn't have any energy to make it neat. Harry glanced at the long scratch down his arm, and then rolled the note up tightly. Then he gently petted Hedwig to get her to wake. She stuck her leg out, alert at once, and Harry tied the rolled up scroll to her. She gave a light hoot and soared out the window. Harry watched her departure, into the darkening sky.

"It's for my own good," he assured himself quietly before sinking down onto his bed, dinner forgotten. "My own good."

Besides, he was perfectly alright.

Yeah. Fine. Remus I'm fine.

Harry ran a finger down the cut on his arm, frowning.

***

When Severus was out of the hospital wing he told Albus he couldn't brew Wolfbane anymore (the last batch had been made by someone else anyway), that he was still in too much pain, even though it was gone now. Who could argue with the cuts on his chin still half-healed and the way his nose was even more crooked than before? He hadn't let Poppy fix it - it was only a small change. Besides, for some reason the swirling confusion in his mind was comforted slightly by the sight of it, like it was an outward sign of the brokenness he felt inside. He didn't say that though. Instead he told them it reminded him that he survived.

Survived - HA! What a thought.

So he was free of having to brew. Thus, tap tap tap went his quill on the desk for hours on end, writing nothing of the report on his recollections of the incident regarding his discovery as a spy, and what he suspected the Dark Lord now knew. There was no detailed report on the parchment like the one that Dumbledore had requested he complete.

"Only if you're up to it Severus. It would help immensely, for if we can find out what caused your exposure, as well as record the new information Voldemort has gained because of it, then we can protect our other operations."

Sure why not what else have I to do with no purpose no purpose anyway?

It was absurd the way he told others not to disturb him, like he was doing something imperative to life on earth, snapping at the visitors from the Order that tried to come and see how he was, making it out like he'd written hundreds of crucial words and had hundreds more to write. He even turned down a cake from Molly Weasley (One by one the story of what happened was getting out among the Order, and Severus hated it.), who brought it by as a thank you, saying that his stomach was still not completely healed and cake wouldn't do him any good.

"Take it to headquarters, they need it more than me. They can actually enjoy it."

Sure he lied about the cake - he was perfectly in the clear to eat whatever he liked by now. (Eating, right, he should have been eating like Poppy said, but he was hardly doing that. No food, just silence. Holed up in the office, dead things in jars and cold stones and dim lights and nothing but cold cups of tea and tired eyes and these are the ways we live our lives, we who have no purpose.)

Molly had understood. She'd understood too well. Oh how he hated the looks they gave him (Pity, fear, sadness and gratitude all in one and oh how it made his stomach hurt even though it was perfectly healed ...).

She'd left. There had been others until Severus had made Dumbledore tell everyone who came near or suggested coming near the office in the dungeons that he was very busy and wasn't to be disturbed (because he had an important report to do and his purpose was to file it as fast as possible and it will save lives I promise).

So tap tap tap tap went that infernal quill and Severus stared at the clock that seemed to think it funny to mimic the tapping of the quill clack clack clack clack oh how it drove him mad.

Mad, am I mad? No no perfectly sane I promise and in my statement of sanity I have crossed all the i's and dotted all the t's I promise I promise see I'm not mad after all - why do you ask?

Tap tap tap.

And quite suddenly the tapping ceased, and Severus knew he had to go for a walk because the letter opener was starting to look inviting with its gleaming point and its sharpened sides oh how inviting it looked (I'm not a lunatic I'm just restless, there's a difference, it's not a full moon I'm just restless and bored and haven't much of a purpose but there is one somewhere so I'm off to find it).

He bumped into the Wolf, speak of the moon and the devil (and those two were related, he just knew). How funny, and the bastard didn't even think to thank him for the years of Wolfbane he had brewed for him, and he knew Dumbledore must have informed him of the change - why else would Lupin be here? Yet Lupin didn't give Severus one of those pitying looks like everyone else - my lord does he not know what happened? The Wolf just asked him how he was - how funny and quaint and silly and why bother to reply? What words were there to say?

Fine, Lupin, I am fine I am fine - I only have an infatuation with my letter opener so sharp and shiny and what would it feel like between my ribs ... fine.

No, that wouldn't do, so he was an arse to Lupin then just kept walking, not caring in the least that his behavior was anything but civil. Severus walked and walked until he thought he might have walked hours, and when he finally stopped he stood around in a classroom and stared out the window with the empty desks around him, watching the summer storm clouds pile up in the distance.

Lightning, what would it feel for you to be in my bones? Why do I wonder? Should I wonder? Probably not, but maybe that's what those without purpose do. Wonder things they shouldn't wonder because why not? What else is there to do?

He went to bed after that, although on his way he ran into Dumbledore briefly.

"And how are you making out, Severus?" asked Albus kindly on his way out of the castle to meet up with Aberforth, he had said.

"Fine, headmaster, and you?" said Severus (Is that my voice it sounds so normal.).

"Busy, but well. And how is that report coming?"

"It will be on your desk by Monday," said Severus mechanically (and why did I say that you know you won't have it done Severus why did you say that ...)

"Marvelous," said Dumbledore. "All the better if we are going to seal up the cracks in the Order - it's an ongoing battle and we need all the help we can get. I appreciate it greatly, Severus."

So they said goodbye and Severus went back to his quarters and threw off his robes and fell into bed. Hours went by and the clock went clack clack clack so Severus stuck it in the wardrobe and wrapped it in his socks (and he knew his behavior was erratic but he didn't care). Yet, that didn't stop the other one in the sitting room from chiming one time to announce the late hour. Wide eyed, exhausted and head spinning, but unable to sleep, Severus tried to think in a straight line. He tried so hard yet no matter what it all went round and round, until at last, when he'd almost given up hope, a coherent thought arose: When was the last time he'd had a shower?

Well, might as well do that now.

(One in the morning but who cared, really, certainly not Severus.)

The spinning stopped a little with the hot, scalding water, washing away the confusion (and the fear and the terrifying question of what purpose a man has when he's at last fulfilled the question of "What will you give me in return?" which was thrown at him long ago as he knelt before the man who could end his life or save it he wasn't sure which). And Lily, oh, Lily she was gone and Harry Potter was safe with the Order looking after him and how could Severus do the job any better than them? How could he do that job better when he'd failed everyone, and now he could not keep an eye on the Dark Lord's movements anymore to protect the boy and now what? Now what!

And time passed until he wasn't sure how or when he'd come up with the idea (although, he knew why) but Monday night (the day he should have had the report done but it wasn't started but that didn't matter because there were better things than letter openers and he never meant to end things easily, nicely calmly ...) the plan came to grips and he was walking through the corridors and up to the Astronomy tower and standing on the ledge in front of the rail in the middle of the night at hot chocolate hour as Albus sometimes called it - midnight was the best time for a treat well treat yourself to this Severus you who stands on a ledge and yearns for the ground below -

And oh Mother how did it come to this did you ever love me anyway you wouldn't be proud of where I am or where I went in this life or who I have become no purpose no purpose - Albus you gambled my life for hers, for Lily's, for Potter's for everyone's and I thought I was doing it for her and you were doing it for her too but no you were gambling me away for the greater good and you always held those dice knowing that one roll of a die and I could die and you lived with it - and you lived with it - and I lived with it and now I don't have to because I survived but I didn't how could I - I didn't - no I never could because now there is no point and no purpose and the sword is useless without a battle to fight and I am a sword and I've gone rusted and dull because the warriors do not need me nor can use me and the purposeless descends Lily I tried how I tried please have mercy on me and I am jumping in one two three

One here goes life

Two here goes everything

Two and a half here goes hope and my dreams and memories and love and lost love and nightmares and fear and sorrow and pain and everything it all goes

Down

Down

And Three. This is me jumping.

And he did.

It was a clear outcome. The linear relationship between himself and the ground had been evident since the moment he thought of the plan, and as he supposed, the sheer clarity that came with what happened next was startling. Yet, to Severus' amazement, the ground ended up having nothing to do with it.