As he looked at the mangy werewolf sitting primly on the armchair, Severus knew—he just knew—there was more to come. This attack could not have been, horrible as it was, the Dark Lord’s masterstroke. Yes, it was wild and spiteful, grand, and typical of him. But it was also irrelevant, removed. He’d attacked Muggles, for Merlin’s sake. It was a bold statement, sure. But the Ministry would see the situation was swiftly put right. They had teams of operatives trained for that; they had the proper procedures in place. Some clever misdirection and a select few Obliviation Charms would ensure the status quo remained between their two societies. The Dark Lord had to have known that—had to have known his attack wouldn’t be much of a blow to their collective. Which forced Severus to conclude that this couldn’t have been all; there had to be more. Something more insidious, more subversive—something that unequivocally signified Lord Voldemort’s upper position in the conflict between darkness and light.

“Where else did he strike?” he asked. Then the answer came to him in a flash. “The Ministry,” he said, responding to his own question.

Lupin nodded.

Severus felt his sister tense by his side, her fingers clasping his a little more strongly. “Oh no,” she said in one breath. “He attacked the Ministry?”

Lupin nodded again. “In the early hours of the morning. Death Eaters stormed the place. The Dark Lord himself was there. It was a bloodbath.” He paused, swallowing audibly. “They never stood a chance.”

“The stronghold of the opposition,” Severus said. “It was always a likely target.”

Lupin nodded. “We just never thought he would be crazy enough to try it. But he blew it up from the inside.”

“The Minister?” Saturnine asked, and Lupin shook his head, confirming that Rufus Scrimgeour was dead.

“They’re not done counting the wounded—and identifying the dead,” he said. “The Death Eaters are gone now. But last I heard, the Morsmordre was still floating in the sky above the debris.”

Severus couldn’t help but picture it. And he felt his stomach churn over what little he’d had to eat that day. While the attack on the bridge had been inconsequential in the grand scheme of things—a show of grandeur meant to galvanise his troops—this was anything but. The loss of the Ministry was a terrible blow to their side that would seriously hamper the war effort. The chain of command was broken, and the resistance would be uncoordinated from now on. Unorganised and thus, weakened. And that had been the Dark Lord’s true purpose: to weaken them at the core.

It also meant that the next assault would be harder to repel. And Severus feared he knew just where that one would occur. If the Ministry had been the head of the opposition, the next strike would go after its heart. The next attack would hit Hogwarts.

He shuddered to think of the consequences of such an event. If the castle were to sustain an attack while school was in session, the death toll amongst the students would be catastrophic. He felt himself go faint under the sheer weight of the thought. Incapable of Occluding, he felt cold droplets of sweat run down his back as he fought hard not to imagine what the outcome would be like. Severus knew better than anyone what the Dark Lord and his cohort were capable of. And his mind flashed at him images of the Great Hall floor covered in crimson blood and first-year students’ body parts.

His distress must have been palpable for Saturnine let go of his hand to wrap her arm around his shoulders instead. The extended point of contact, large and warm against his back, was the undeniable assurance of her presence by his side and a direct echo of their past. And Severus could have lost himself in it. He might have—if Potter didn’t choose that moment to open his annoying gob.

“There’s more to it—isn’t there?” the Gryffindor prat asked from where he was perched on the arm of the sofa.

Lupin, who’d been looking at his scruffy shoes, briefly glanced up with tired, pain-filled eyes. His brow wrinkled as he considered how to best answer that question.

“What is it, Remus?” Potter demanded. “What else happened?”

The werewolf’s gaze jumped to the opposite end of the sofa, and Severus felt his throat go dry. Draco didn’t miss the look now directed at him, and he tensed. Whatever it was concerned him. And Severus held his breath as he waited for the last blow to come.

Lupin’s voice was but a whisper when he said, “I’m sorry, Draco, but your mother, she—she had an appointment at the Ministry this morning and…”

The sandy-haired wizard didn’t need to finish the sentence; everyone knew where it was going. It was made clear by the screaming uneasiness in his gaze. “I’m deeply sorry,” he apologised.

Severus tried to inhale but discovered that he couldn’t. It took him several tries to realise that he was doing it backwards. He needed to empty his lungs first before trying to inflate them again. He struggled to do that as the enormity of what Lupin had just told them sunk in. Narcissa Malfoy was dead. Draco’s mother was dead.

Would there be no end to the pain this summer? Had the boy not been through enough already?

Draco said nothing as he glanced down at his clasped hands in his lap. Severus saw that he did nothing, either. His godson was a frozen statue by his side. Sitting with his back straight and head held high, he was a credit to his good upbringing and Narcissa’s exacting, proper-posture teaching.

The Potions Master knew the woman would be frowning at his countenance if she could see him—shoulders slumped forward, and upper torso turned towards his godson. He wondered what to do. Severus knew he had to do—something. But for the life of him, he couldn’t fathom what. Was he supposed to reach out to Draco—to hug him? Was he supposed to say something? What could he say? What kind of stupid, meaningless nonsense could one spout out to a child who’d just lost his mother?

Reflecting on his own past, he remembered that nothing had made it easier when he had lost his own mother. Complicated as their relationship had been, it had hurt when she’d passed. And he’d found nothing to assuage the pain. It had remained with him until time eroded its sharp edges. It may have been different if Saturnine had been there. But she’d been long gone by then.

Severus felt his right hand rise until it was inches away from the boy’s shoulder. What if he were to touch him—what would happen then? Would Draco feel better? Or would the carved porcelain statue of his godson shatter beneath his touch and explode into a million pieces that he would never be able to glue back together? Fearing the worst, Severus let his hand fall back down.

Inching forward, he searched the boy’s face for his gaze. He was looking for something to hold onto—a lifeline to grab. He came up empty-handed. There was nothing to be read in Draco’s face—and nothing to be found in his cold, mercury eyes. Occlumency, Severus realised. His godson had put up his barrier and was hiding everything behind it. Without his ability to practice Legilimency, Severus was shut out entirely. Now, unable to see past the walls, he felt useless—impotent, like the magic-less husk of a wizard he had become.

Draco sat up slowly. He gave Lupin a slight bow of his head as if thanking him for the update, and then, turning his pointed chin in their direction, he apologised for having to take his leave. His voice betrayed nothing of what he felt, and Severus watched in dismay as he walked out of the living room and into the bedroom with slow, measured steps. It was as if the boy moved from one class to the next—as if this was a typical day, and he hadn’t just been told that his mother had passed.

When he heard the bedroom door close, Severus felt something shatter deep inside him. He clenched his eyes shut against the pain and could feel himself beginning to shake. He was powerless to stop it, and he felt himself go faint as he desperately sought to get air into his lungs.

He heard Saturnine say something, and then Lupin took his leave. He ought to have said his goodbyes or something, he realised. He might dislike the mangy werewolf due to their tumultuous past, but the man had gone out of his way to let them know what had happened. The least he could do was acknowledge that. But he couldn’t even get air past the growing lump in his throat.

The werewolf was gone a moment later. And that left only the three of them. They sat precariously on Dumbledore’s old sofa like a bad joke. Severus saw Potter lean a little towards his sister, and Saturnine raised a hand to rub the Gryffindor’s cheek before placing a quick kiss on his brow. His muddled brain barely understood what it saw. Since when are these two that close? he wondered.

“Go see Draco,” she instructed. The words should have been meant for him. But Severus was dismayed to realise they’d been intended for the boy. Everyone knew the two teenagers hated each other. So, what was she doing?

“Go see Draco,” she repeated. “Make sure he’s okay.”

Potter nodded, and then he was out of the room in a flash—leaving only Saturnine and himself on the worn-out sofa.

His sister let go of his shoulder, sliding forward until she was crouched in front of the sofa, between his legs. Both of her hands grabbed his knees as she looked up at him, searching to find his gaze. He felt like he should hide from it. He wanted to keep that last part of himself safely out of reach. But without the help of Occlumency, he couldn’t. It was too many emotions assaulting him all at once. He was falling apart at the seams; he could feel it. Something had shattered inside, and he couldn’t hold himself together anymore. He could barely remember how to breathe.

And suddenly, Saturnine was there—half-kneeling on the sofa, half-sitting. And her arms were around him as he shook and crumbled. And she held him in a vain attempt to keep his broken pieces in their proper places. And he cried. For the first time in years, he cried.

Powerless to stop it, powerless to do anything but to submit to the will of his emotions, Severus wept. He wept for everything he had lost, for everything he had done. For the boy who had just lost his mother, the one who’d lost his sixteen years ago, and the two siblings who had been orphaned along the way.

Saturnine sobbed with him, her tears mingling with his where cheek met cheek. Their skin was in constant contact as her lips whispered sweet nothings in his ear. And Severus cried until he had no more tears to shed—until even that was as hollow as the rest of him. Bereft of everything, all he had left was the ugly truth of who he was and the bitter knowledge of what he’d done.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered through the lump in his throat.

Those were words Severus Snape seldom said—and even more rarely meant. But he did now. “I’m sorry, Saturnine,” he repeated, willing her to hear him, to believe him. “I didn’t mean to—I never wanted any of that. I’m sorry—so sorry.”

His tears might have run dry, but hers hadn’t. And he could still feel them run the length of their joined cheeks, for Saturnine didn’t pull back. She didn’t leave him, and she didn’t let go—even faced with his shameful admission. She held onto him a bit more tightly, forcing more hushing sounds into his ear.

“Shhh, I know,” she comforted him, her voice as broken as his had been. “I know—I’m sorry, too,” she whispered. Her voice was lighter than the breeze but so—so much more precious. “I’m sorry, too, brother-mine. I’m sorry, too.

“It will be okay,” she continued. “Somehow, someway, we’ll fix this. We’ll figure something out—like we always have. You and me.” She held him a little stronger, rubbing his shoulders and back as she did—forcing warmth back into his failing body, willing it to endure, to mend itself. “You and me, Sev. Like it’s always been. You and me against the world, remember?”

He couldn’t hold back an audible sob at her words—the distant promise he’d never forgotten—and Severus discovered that he had a few more tears to cry.

“Shhh, I’m here now,” she soothed. “It’ll be okay.” And then her cheek was gone. But her lips were at his temple. And when they touched his skin, they kick-started his dying heart. That first close-mouthed kiss was followed by a second, and it was another jolt of lightning shooting straight for his core. And another, and another.

As he heaved in breath after breath of oxygen-rich filled air, Severus was forced to believe. He believed her words, her promises. For with nothing else to hold onto, Severus chose to hold onto her. And in the naked nothingness of the nightmarish world where he stood, he could see nothing but Saturnine. She was a figure of light, shining like a beacon in the darkness and holding out a hand for him to take. As he grasped it, he promised himself that this time, he wouldn’t let go. No matter what happened, he would never let go. Never again.

As both siblings fiercely held onto each other, Severus felt the broken pieces inside him beginning to mend themselves. They were returning to their proper shape, forming once again a structure strong enough to carry him forward. As life returned to his body, he felt something else rekindle inside—deep within, in his very core, the spark that had the power to relight the fire of his magic.

Severus Snape wasn’t done for yet; he still had some fight left in him. With his sister by his side, together as they had once been—as they should always have been—they could weather whatever horror life still had in store for them. They could face anything—so long as they stood together.

“You and me against the world, ’Nine,” he echoed the long-held promise. “Always.”