With Nothing On My Tongue Chapter 4- Pièce de Résistance, a harry potter fanfic

A/N- Thank you to everyone who has commented, fav'd and followed over the course of this posting, and hugs to PrunusPadus, meg527, JaneDoh0, sevslave1, Cukika as well as several guests for leaving reviews for the last chapter.

The lovely and brilliant lyrics of the song 'Hallelujah' belong to Leonard Cohen.

1 May 1998

The piano sat in a puddle of moonlight, the world reduced to stark black and white shapes around it.

The Headmaster walked into the room silently and shut the door, warding it against all but the House-Elves. With a near soundless sigh, he sat down on the padded bench, fingers lightly smoothing the worn velvet.

He was tired. Gods, but he was tired… and more than a little broken.

It had been over a year since he'd played the piano; he'd not even stepped foot into this room since killing Albus. Minerva hadn't tried to drag him out of his personal version of hell this go around. No, he had the feeling that she would have gladly poured the whiskey if it meant that he would drink himself to an early death.

The end had finally come, he knew. He only had to make it a few more short days and his Sisyphean attempt at atonement would be concluded. But he wasn't going to go quietly into that dark night. No, he would go down fighting, and as the end was so close, he would do so with the memories of love and friendship near to his heart, not frozen in the far reaches of his mind.

Let the end be quick, he prayed, and let me complete my task. May the boy live…

For the last time, he let his fingers dance over the cool ivory rectangles; made the air sing and weep with all that would go unsaid and unacknowledged. He played until his fingers ached and cramped, until all the songs were gone and the sun had risen over the Black Lake.

He stopped only when the fundamental wrongness in the Castle's wardings sent a lance of nausea through him, making further playing impossible. A House-Elf popped into the room just as he closed the fallboard.

"Headmaster," the creature squeaked, ears twitching uncomfortably, "…It has begun." Bowing his head, the Headmaster sent a final prayer into the ether. Please… oh, please, let it be enough…

Pulling his robes tightly to his cold body, the he rose and made for the door. He stopped at the last moment, turning back to the instrument that had brought him so much pleasure and so much pain.

With a practiced snap, he opened the padded bench and began to rifle through the volumes of music. It took several minutes to find the piece that he was looking for, and with a reverent hand, he opened it to the final song in the book. Carefully, he placed it on the music rack, charming it to stay in place.

If all went well, she would see it.

It would be enough. It would have to be enough.

The Headmaster left the room with a straight back and head held high.

5 May 1998

Minerva McGonagall, Acting Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, walked into the staff lounge cautiously and with wand drawn; three days had not been enough time to completely clear the Castle of all hazards, and quite frankly, all of the dead and not-so-dead bodies. But the room was thankfully empty and untouched save for a few hex marks on the north-facing wall and single broken chair.

As it had done numerous times before, the ancient upright piano drew her attention, and with it came a flood of profound regret and grief.

Oh, Severus…

Christ, but the man had been a bastard when he'd set his mind to it. Complex and intensely private, he'd also been selfless to the point of masochism, wickedly, painfully brilliant, loyal to the bitter and bloody end… and her friend.

Or had been, until she'd turned her back to him.

Over the years, he'd shown her enough of his anguish, of his guilt, that she should have seen behind the Death Eater façade. Hell, she had stood by the side of Albus Dumbledore long enough to know that things were rarely as they appeared.

But she hadn't seen through the last ruse; she'd only seen Albus' tumbled and broken body at the foot of the Astronomy tower. In the aftermath of that terrible night, Minerva had channelled her rage into making Severus' every moment a torment. Had publicly shamed him, and hunted him. Had spilt many of his most privately held secrets. And now he would never stalk down the halls of Hogwarts; would never play music or brew again.

It was the thought of his music that brought her gaze back to the piano and to the sheet sitting upon the rack.

He had left it for her to find; she could feel the dying embers of his magic in it still.

With trembling hands, she began to play the song.

Now I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing

Hallelujah…

The words brought her back in time, and she recalled then that Albus had never liked listening to Severus play; he would fidget like a restless, ill-mannered child, or crunch on endless lemon sherbets in such a fashion that she had oft wished to box his ears for the sheer annoyance of it. Minerva had never quite been able to puzzle the why of Albus' enmity out. Eventually, she had concluded that it was because listening to Severus play was akin to listening to his soul, and it was very difficult to play Machiavelli when you were forced to confront the humanity of your pawns.

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Hallelujah…

It had taken her years to figure out that Severus had never gotten over his youthful love for Lily Potter, and several more to fully understand how deeply he held himself responsible for her death. His sorrow and guilt had been unquenchable, and he had all but turned himself into a wraith in the years following that horrible Halloween. Vividly, she remembered the stark picture made by his emaciated, trembling frame on the grass in front of her father's kirk, and then the solemn faced-man who had emerged at dawn, rededicated and resolute. She'd been proud of him then. Humbled.

Two decades on, she wondered if Lily had deserved his unwavering devotion; the girl had rejected him quickly enough when pressed by others to do so. Minerva recalled the much younger Severus begging her at the door to the Gryffindor Common Room to fetch the redhead so that he might apologize. When she had gone up and spoken with her, the foolish chit had refused, and Minerva had not pushed her into it. Severus had been utterly crushed by the rejection—even she had been able to see that. But what if she had made Lily go down and confront the boy who was begging for her mercy? Would it have changed things?

You say I took the name in vain
I don't even know the name
But if I did, well really, what's it to you?
There's a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah…

The Slytherin men of Severus' graduating class had almost uniformly joined the Death Eaters upon leaving Hogwarts, and he had been no exception. Given his long-standing predilection for the Dark Arts- not to mention angry and sour personality- it had not come as a shock. Indeed, it was rumoured that Voldemort himself had funded his potions apprenticeship, and Minerva had been appropriately aghast when Albus had hired him to teach and stand as Head of Slytherin House two years later. She had not understood the decision at the time, but had chalked it up to one of the many power plays that so marked the veiled interactions between Albus and Voldemort.

But after years watching good friends and fellow Order members fall at feet of the Death Eaters, Minerva had taken great pleasure in being an absolute, ball-breaking bitch to Severus… until one misty August morning. Returning from a hunt in her cat form, she had stumbled upon him at the gates, broken and bleeding in the most horrifying fashion.

Transforming quickly, she had bustled him up to the Hospital Wing, summoning both Poppy and Albus.

"Why?" she had demanded, watching the Healer treating a large section of burnt flesh. "Why did this happen?"

"Because he fed Tom the wrong information," Albus responded calmly.

"Did he… did he know?"

"That it was the wrong information? Yes."

Pieces of the puzzle started to became clear, and Minerva blinked back a wave of tears. "Then why? Why would he do it, knowing it meant…"

The Headmaster was mute for some time. "He joined the Order. This is his role."

It was not the only night that she would find him injured, just the first.

I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah…

They all had a go at killing him over the last year—the staff, the students—and yet Severus had stood resolute in the face of their hate. Had protected them when possible, and done what needed to be done to secure victory. And unlike Albus, he had only damned himself in the process.

It wasn't until the morning following the Battle of Hogwarts that she had the time and energy to think of him at all, and then it was only at the prompting of Potter and Granger. When Potter had shown her Severus' memories, the pain of it had driven her to her knees.

Once again, she had been a fool.

Once again, she had betrayed him.

Severus' graceful, magical fingers had gone icy and stiff by the time Minerva had retrieved his body from the Shrieking Shack. Pallid but well-formed, they had been sticky with his dried life's blood; it had taken her hours to wash all of it away. She would not forget the rictus of agony etched on his prematurely lined and worn face, or the savaged, torn flesh of his throat.

Hallelujah…

Minerva stared at the music blankly for some time, the last verse hitting her like an Entrail-Expelling Curse. More than anything, she wanted to have the chance to beg him for forgiveness. Trade places with him…

For a wavering moment, she saw a second set of hands slide next to hers; felt his warmth next to her on the piano bench. There was a voice.

And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Hallelujah,

Hallelujah…

She felt that final, piercing note with all the fibres of her being; it seemed to vibrate with all the warmth and promise of spring afternoon spent lying by the river. The scent of lemon polish and starch filled the air, and there was heady rush of discovery. Of joy.

Then there was nothing, and she was alone in a silent and desolate room.

The following day, the piano disappeared. The corner remained empty.