He was crying. Actually crying. Tears were running down his face as his shoulders shook. She had never seen him like this and, despite her own grief, her heart ached for him.

Minerva had died. She was old, and ill, and then she died.

There had been a small funeral. She hadn't been headmistress for years and had not wanted school governors, ministry officials or any other sort of officials at her funeral. Just the people close to her. The ones who had kept in regular contact, even when she became old and ill.

Molly and Arthur Weasley were there with a few other order members, like Kingsley and Emmeline. A handful of family members, mostly cousins, and some of her old colleagues, Flitwick and Sprout amongst them. Hagrid, Harry and Hermione. And Severus of course. Severus, who had been her surrogate son, even if he didn't realise it. Severus, Hermione's colleague at the research department of St. Mungo's Hospital and her reluctant friend.

After the burial they had all gone back inside for some Scotch and memories. Hermione had gone to the ladies to charm the tear tracks from her face and then went looking for her friend. She had seen him sitting rigidly in the back during the service. She had wanted to sit beside him, but Harry had pulled her to the front to sit with him, Hagrid and the Weasleys. Severus had sat alone.

When she couldn't find hem amongst the other mourners, she got worried. Would he have left already? She mumbled something to Harry about having to go, wrapped her cloak around herself and opened the door.

He was sitting beside the grave. Not rigidly anymore, but completely curled up in himself. As she came closer she saw the tears and the shaking of his shoulders with each new sob. When he noticed her approaching he got up and angrily wiped his eyes. 'Don't, Severus', she said as she reached him, gently pulling his hands away from his face and holding them in her own. 'She's worth your tears.'

New ones welled up in his eyes immediately. 'I'm so sorry, Severus. I'm sorry Minerva died and I'm sorry you're hurting and I'm sorry I didn't sit beside you. I should have. Please let me take you home.'

'I don't need…', he began.

'Oh, but you do. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone, but we should go now, before they start filing out.'

She inclined her head at Minerva's grave, tightened her hold on his hands and apparated them neatly into his sitting room.

'There,' she said, 'give me your cloak and sit. Cry, yell, scream, let it out, Severus. I'll make tea.'

When she returned he was sitting on the couch. No longer crying, but looking defeated. She sat beside him and handed him a steaming mug. He sniffed it.

'It's just tea, Severus. Honestly, I know better than to drug you. Besides, grieve will out, you shouldn't try to push it away.'

'I…'

'You hate that I'm seeing you like this, I know. You think it will make me think less of you. It won't. How often have you seen me cry? Too often. I cry about every other patient that enters our research programme. It annoys you. I know, it annoys me too. I mean, I don't even know these people! Yet sometimes you whisper to me that it is my strength that I care so much, and then I feel strong again and ready to push further and further, just to cure one more. And another one. And another one. If there isn't weakness in compassion, Severus, there certainly isn't any weakness in grieve. You loved Minerva. What am I saying? You love her. You will love her for the rest of your life. That doesn't suddenly end just because she died.'

He took a deep shuddering breath as she stroked her hand down his back.

'Go upstairs, Severus. Change into something more comfortable. Shower if you will. A good cry in the shower always makes me feel better. I'll be here when you get down again. I'll order us something to eat and we can talk about Minerva. Or just be silent. I can be silent if you want me to be.'

He didn't reply. But he got up, placed his mug on the table in front of him, and as he passed her on his way to the stairs, she softly skimmed his fingers over the top of her head.