Time to Talk

The final chapter of Time to Talk. Some cruel cliff hangers; who is still alive?

Sorry Kati, I gave you red herrings and all sorts of other dead ends on Sunday night! I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me! I love you more than Severus. :)

He looked up at the ceiling—so many metres away. Boulders had fallen, surrounding them, and yet...serious injury had not been caused. It was a miracle.

Either that or someone was playing with them; a cruel game that would end with one of them losing the fight.

Light was still touching the walls of the cave, so there had to be a way out.

But right now, his broken leg had him immobilised. He did not know if he could move his friend, either. What if there was damage to his back or neck?

But they could not stay here, either!

What was he supposed to do?

Now Severus. Think logically. He disciplined himself mentally, calm down. We can find the way out of this.

He would have to bear the pain. He had to get the Headmaster to a hospital, otherwise they could both die down here.

For he would rather die then leave him. The future for him was bleak. He preferred his final deed to be one of bravery rather than fleeing.

"Headmaster." He spoke softly, trying to convince himself that the older man could hear him. "I will get us out of here. Just hold on."

If he could make a splint for his leg, he might be able to put weight on it. But he could see no wood.

He felt tired. There was blood still dripping from his forehead. He could seek it staining the ground. Concentrate.

He could levitate the Headmaster out of the pit, and then climb out himself. The idea did not pleasure him, it would be dangerous, and casting the Wingardium spell required intense concentration which he could not provide now.

But what other choice do you have? He will die down here.

He moved his leg—pain exploded across his shin and he saw his vision darken. "Come on, Snape." He spoke aloud to convince himself that he was still alive. How much oxygen would there be down here?

Could he just Apparate and leave Dumbledore here? He did not look well...

He's nothing. Get yourself out.

He shook his head viciously, Shut up. He did not need his cruel heart whispering to him now. He is the one worth saving.

He pulled himself up to his knees, resting his weight on good leg. Finally he pushed up so he was stood, leaning against the wall. He sunk his teeth into his lip to stay conscious, happy when he felt the sharp sting and blood touched his tongue.

Using Dumbledore's wand, he carefully moved the fallen boulders away from the Headmaster's crumpled figure. He precariously balanced them so that they almost led to the ridge of the pit.

He rested his head back against the wall. Sleep was consuming his muscles. He blinked twice. "Stay awake. Just a little longer."

He breathed in deeply and pointed his wand at the Headmaster. "I am so sorry, Headmaster." He cast the spell, and lifted his mentor as if he were nothing more than a rag doll.

He, of course, had no inkling of what was outside of this pit. It would not be beyond the Dark Lord to come back and recoup losses; especially if Lucius had reported to him what had happened. The fact that he was still searching for the stone...and the fact that Albus Dumbledore could be dead.

He carefully raised the Headmaster out of the pit. He could still see a hand and sky blue robes resting at the ridge, dangling over the side. He frowned as dizziness passed over him. He could not collapse here...

The world was blackening around him.

Someone needed to find the Headmaster...

No...

I need to stay awake...

Need...to...stay

Severus. I need you...

His eyes flew open. Instantly he realised where he was. He lay on soil and rock.

For a moment, he hoped he had been rescued.

He looked up at the ridge, grabbing the wand and lighting it.

The Headmaster was still there. He had not moved.

How long had he been unconscious?

He stood, leaning back against the trusty wall.

The side of his face was sticky. He took a moment to examine himself.

There was blood on his tunic...he did not remember that...

He undid his shirt and stared down at his side. A piece of rock was embedded in his flesh, leaking blood at a fast pace. He had passed out from blood loss.

He was lucky to still be alive...what was he to do now? Pull the rock out, and risk more blood and possibly making himself ill? Or leave it in, and risk causing more damage when he tried to climb out of this mess.

He tore the sleeve from his robe and gritted his teeth. He would have to pull it out.

One.

He settled his hand on the protruding edge.

Two.

He must have landed on it when he fell. The pain in his leg had numbed him to everything else.

Three!

He ripped the rock away, gasping as it took a splatter of blood with it. Before nausea could overwhelm him, he clamped the black fabric over the wound. He tied the sleeve tight around his waist, leaving the rest of the shirt unbuttoned. It was too warm for his liking.

Perhaps he was suffering from fever?

He had to get out of here.

He took a shaky step forward with his good leg. He instantly fell forward, catching himself on the tower he had built to help his ascent. He gripped the stones gratefully, watching his knuckles turn white as he waited for the pain to subside.

"Quickly, Severus." He murmured, hearing his voice and knowing that he was still awake.

He pushed himself up onto the first rock, feeling it shudder under his weight. Was there any spell he could cast to keep the rocks steady? He was balancing on one leg, the other useless behind him, clutching the rock for dear life. The image may have been amusing had he been in any other situation.

Painfully slowly, agony in every moment, he crawled up the side of the rocks, careful not to push them too hard and risk them falling and trapping him beneath them.

He grabbed the ridge with one hand, swinging it up—and yet his sweaty fingers slipped. With a gasp he felt himself nearly fall—but the fast reflexes that he had worked upon kicked in at the last moment and he held on. His sudden movements, however, had overbalanced the rocks—and they dropped from beneath him.

As his nine stone weight was left to hang, he felt his side wound tear painfully. He dug his nails into the rock, dangling precariously. He blinked the black spots away from his gaze and pressed his teeth together, groaning with exertion as he pulled himself up the final ascent.

He lay gasping on the safe surface, next to his Headmaster. He pulled Dumbledore's wand from his pocket, and Summoned his own.

He stayed still for a moment, collecting his breath and allowing calm to cool his trembling muscles. They were, for the moment, safe.

He sat up and looked down at Dumbledore. The Headmaster was pale. He rested a hand on his forehead—the skin was cold. He put his head close, listening for breathing.

Softness caressed his cheek. He was alive.

"I will get you out." He looked at the blood on the blue robes. There was a lot. He wished there was something he could do about it.

Now he had to find his way out. The passageway looked different to before, probably because the rocks had fallen while they had been arguing.

I hate you.

Foolish words.

Selfish words. They would not be the last Dumbledore heard, he would make sure of that.

Especially because, in the depths of his heart, he knew that those words very wrong. They were a lie. He felt the exact opposite. He just wished he could have passed that message on.

What he had always wanted to tell the Headmaster. He was walking a risky and dangerous path...both of them were...and he had just wanted to communicate his affection for the older wizard who had saved his life and rebuilt him.

The Headmaster had just not been willing to listen.

He waved his wand again, levitating his friend. He looked from side to side, pondering the best option. He needed to aim for the light.

Always looking for the Light to lead him through the Dark.

Albus was that Light. Unfortunately, right now, his saving grace was unconscious, close to death.

How he hoped the literal meaning could not be translated metaphorically too...

He chose right. He gently hovered the older man through the passage, following a step behind, keeping a watchful gaze for low hanging rocks with sharp edges.

He could not keep this up. He had to rely on the wall to support his weight.

Then his leg gave way.

He collapsed onto his hands and one knee with a cry. He kept a hold of the wand, stopping the Headmaster from falling too. He couldn't keep going, he was too weak.

He looked at the wall of the cave. Perhaps he could...

He would risk bringing the ceiling down on top of them.

But if he could move quickly enough, he could rescue them both.

He looked from the ceiling to the wall to the Headmaster.

Why won't you help me? He was angry now, panic was infecting his chest and sending his emotions haywire. I can't do this without you!

There was no response, no matter how loud he screamed mentally.

He would have to make the decision himself.

He gathered Dumbledore into his arms. When he cast the spell, he would jump through the opening and get out before the cave collapsed.

If he didn't, then neither of them would survive.

But right now, failure was not an option.

One.

He made sure his grip on the older wizard was tight. Even if he did not get alive, Albus Dumbledore would. He was the more valuable, after all.

Two.

He breathed in.

Three!

"Confringo!" He bellowed, hitting the side of the cave.

The moment the light blinded him, he leapt forward, ignoring the pain in his leg and his side and his head, holding his precious burden, unwilling to let go...

When he opened his eyes, he could hear noises, smell dirt, and see bright daylight.

"What is that?"

He couldn't move; every muscle hurt. Where was he?

"It looks like Severus."

"Make sure he doesn't escape."

"No. Wait. He is with someone!"

"Albus?"

"It can't be!"

He sat up. Lupin and Moody were charging toward him. But he did not see—he looked down at Dumbledore, fear clutching his heart. The Headmaster looked dead.

"No." He shook his head, grabbing a cold hand, "Don't. Not now..."

Lupin was there first, "Severus!" He caught his colleague before the other fell backward. "Are you all right?"

Severus was finding it hard to speak—emotion was choking him. "He needs St Mungo's. For Heaven's sake, please take him there."

His consciousness was fading. Lupin held him tight, "It's all right. We'll take him there."

"I need Poppy. Quickly. Before the Dark Lord calls for me."

Lupin nodded, "Very well. Alastor, quickly, get Albus to St Mungo's."

Severus let his eyes flicker open one final time, staring at the Headmaster. He was almost delirious, fever grabbing every muscle and thought. "Don't you dare die, Headmaster!" He shouted, "Not now..."

He felt consciousness finally drain between his fingers, and the void claimed him even as the words left his mouth.

"I'm sorry, Severus."

"No."

"He didn't make it."

"No."

"His wounds were too severe."

"...No...please..."

"You did your best..."

"He can't..."

"You traitor!"

"I tried!"

"You will pay for this, Snivellus!"

"I didn't ask him to die!"

"You will end up in Azkaban for this!"

"No, please..."

"Trying to save the great Albus Dumbledore?"

"My Lord..."

"There is no way you can talk yourself out of this, Severus."

"I..."

"Do not try my patience! Crucio!"

"No, please..."

"I'm sorry, Severus, but his wounds were too severe. You tried your best though..."

"You will end up in Azkaban for this!"

"Do not try my patience! Crucio!"

"No! Please!" He woke with a start. He sat bolt upright. He was drenched in sweat, although he could guarantee that some of the moisture had fallen from his burning eyes while he had been dreaming.

The images were fresh in his mind, but one dominated them all.

The sad face of the Healer, and the still body.

That could not happen.

His leg felt better. There was still pain in his side. For the first time, he felt healthy.

"Ah, Severus!"

He looked from side to side—whenever he normally ended up in the Hospital Wing, he had a dedicated visitor who had sat with him. The empty chair was a sting on his heart. "Poppy...the Headmaster..."

Poppy came into view. "At St Mungo's."

His eyes raised to hers, "Is he...?"

Her face was haunted and white. "He is unconscious. You tried your best, Severus, but his wounds are severe...Minerva is with him now."

He shook his head, "He cannot die."

"We can foretell nothing, Severus. Now, you must focus on your own recovery."

"Poppy." He stared at her, "The Dark Lord will call for me soon."

She knew enough about past wounds to know about his position as a spy, "What do you need?"

"Pain-Relieving Potions." He murmured, "And quickly. The moment he knows I am alive..."

She handed him three black vials. "Don't drink them too..."

He ignored her, downing all three vials and looking at his hand. It was shaking. "Why am I..."

"You're in shock; your side wound is infected and your body is fighting a fever." She sat on the side of the bed, "Also, you are still crying." She said bluntly, pointing to his eyes.

"It's not tears." He denied violently, "Will he recover, Poppy?"

"Severus, I don't..."

"He has to recover. I need him."

"We can only hope, Severus." She paused, "You cannot see You-Know-Who in this state."

Before he could answer, there was movement at the end of the ward. Minerva McGonagall swept into the room, "Poppy, I need to—Severus!"

He couldn't stop her—she was by his side in a second, hugging him close, "It is good to see you alive."

He felt so comfortable for a moment, before stiffening as he did not like physical contact. She withdrew, covering her embarrassment with a quick question, "How are you?"

"Not good. You have been with the Headmaster?"

"Yes, for three hours." She folded her arms, "He is boring company when he is unconscious." Her attempt at sarcastic humour could not hide the fear and anxiety in her eyes. "He is still unconscious. It is a waiting game, Severus. But you tried so hard..."

He nodded vaguely, "I should have done more."

"The Healers have said there was nothing else you could have done. He is very lucky to be alive at all."

He played with his finger nails, "It was my fault he was in there in the first place."

Minerva had no answer to that.

He grabbed his left forearm with a gasp, "He calls..."

Minerva touched his shoulder, "You must not go."

"What choice do I have? I can try to talk my way out." He met her gaze, "You have no idea, Minerva, how deep we are in."

"You and Albus make a good team." She smiled slightly, "Go. Make sure you survive. Albus will want to see you."

"I know." He stood up, adjusting his robes, gripping his Dark Mark. "I must go."

He walked away from the two women.

Poppy rested one hand on Minerva's shoulder as tears filled the older woman's eyes. "Albus needs to survive. For him."

He wore his Death Eater mask to hide his face. His robes did their best to cover his weary stance and slight limp. He could not show weakness before the Dark Lord.

He stepped into place in the circle, folding his arms into either side of his cloak. These could be his last moments.

The Dark Lord was sat a few metres away upon his throne. He was emotionless and impassive, staring at a fireplace. The other Death Eaters were uneasy—Severus could sense it. Failure always came with a cost.

But whose cost would it be?

"I am disappointed." Finally the Dark Lord spoke. He did not raise his gaze from the cold, empty hearth. "This should have been simple. Yet, we risked both exposure and capture." He rose. "I have heard...several accounts of this failure. But I am waiting for the final words from the person who is responsible for this mess." Hate and spite filled the final words. The emotions were transferred as he spat the name, "Severus. In the centre of the circle."

He took a step forward, knowing what was coming.

His mask was removed, and he looked up into the Dark Lord's eyes. How to play his cards now? He could try defiance, show strength, but risk evoking the Dark Lord's wrath. He could try pathetic, throwing his dignity away, and accept the torture he knew was coming.

"You will explain why the Order of the Phoenix was present in the same cave as us, on the same day. How did they know?"

"My Lord, they were already planning the mission. I was not involved in the organisation stages—"

"Although your task is to find out this information and feed it back to me." The Dark Lord was not pleased; this much was clear. "Were you aware that Dumbledore was planning to search for my stone too?"

"Not until I tried to stop him, no, my Lord."

Voldemort contemplated him. "You are lucky, Severus. Very lucky. I have already spoken to Lucius. He assures me that you appeared to rescue him after you had realised your mistake."

Severus felt a rush of gratitude to his older friend. If only Lucius knew the truth.

"However. I hear that Albus Dumbledore lives."

Snape stiffened, "You are correct, my Lord."

Voldemort toyed with his wand. "Are you responsible for his rescue?"

"Yes."

There were shuffles around him, Voldemort took a deliberate step forward, staring deep into Severus' eyes. "Explain."

"I had to; otherwise I would compromise my position as a spy. My Lord, I will be hailed as a hero if Dumbledore survives, my position in the Order cannot be disputed, and he will take me into his closest counsel. This works in our favour."

Voldemort considered his words, "Indeed it does." He nodded. "You are right, Severus."

He felt relief settle over his muscles.

"But. You must still be punished for your incompetence."

The relief was banished.

"You have failed, Severus. Recompense must come. Kneel."

With a terrible feeling of dread, he forced his knees to buckle.

"Do you think he will recover?"

"He has to. We will not have a leader if he doesn't."

"How long do you think it will be?"

Remus shook his head, staring across at the door. They had long since left Albus' side; there was no reason to sit staring at the unconscious figure; it served only to make them depressed. Anxiety and fear were prevalent here.

Alastor turned his head when another figure entered the end of the corridor. "Snape."

Severus was limping badly, posture bent, one hand across his stomach. He was staggering, unable to stay balanced. Lupin grabbed him before he fell, "What are you doing here? You need medical care!"

"I must...see the Headmaster."

"He can't speak to you, Snape." Moody said, almost spitefully. Severus shot him a withering glare, "I am aware of that, Moody." He pushed Lupin away, "However, I believe he is entitled to visitors and I intend to visit him!"

"What gives you the right to see him? He is only injured because of you!" Moody shouted, ignoring the winces of pain and the way Severus seemed to be unbalanced.

Lupin rested a hand on Moody's arm, "Alastor. Leave it. Go on, Severus, quickly. Then you must go back to Poppy."

He stormed away, through the door, closing it behind him with a sharp slam.

The Headmaster was lying beneath starched white blankets, eyes closed and hands clasped on top of the material. He looked so peaceful...but there was no movement.

He had known it was going to be hard, seeing him like this.

And yet nothing had prepared him for the terrible ache in his chest.

He collapsed down onto his knees next to the Headmaster, clasping one of the hands in his own cold, shaking fingers. "Please...don't die..." He whispered softly, knowing that the Headmaster could not hear him, and yet unable to stop. "I need you..." He was in so much pain, both physically and mentally. The Dark Lord's retribution had been slow and drawn out; he was made to be an example, a warning to others. Despite Lucius' attempts to fight for his cause, Voldemort had been merciless. The Cruciatus had fallen more times then he could count, and had lasted for minutes at a time. He was lucky to be able to stand.

"He called for me. I am still alive. And yet, I hurt." He paused, "Headmaster...you...need to survive." He muttered, "Promise me...if you loved me you would...you would promise me..."

There was no response.

Of course there was no response.

He leant forward and briefly, like a ghost, touched his lips to the worn hand. He lingered for a moment, looking for words; but there was nothing to say. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily upon him, and he felt the tears burn his hot cheeks. He looked down at his other hand, still pushed against his chest. Blood was soaking the skin. He needed treatment.

He turned and did not look back.

Minerva McGonagall was sat drinking a Scotch whiskey in her office. The liquid was warm against her throat, soothing the headache that had started earlier that day. Things were worrying her; the alcohol would banish some of the anxiety so she could try to sleep.

There was a knock at her door.

She sighed, unwilling to see anyone. The absence of the Headmaster had put stress on everyone; people were afraid and angry. She had to see the students; Potter was furious at the turn of events. Gryffindors were very quick to blame Severus for his mistake.

The story had been whispered and spoken and shouted and bellowed across Hogwarts, transformed from truth to ugly lies—and yet, she did nothing to dispel the rumours. Because, for now, she wanted them to speculate. They all thought the Headmaster would live.

Why would she take that precious idealism away from them?

The knock again, more urgent this time. "Come in." She murmured.

The door opened and Severus stepped through.

She stared at the older man—but did not see his worn face and his windswept hair and tattered robes. She saw the young boy who had come to her when he had been just eleven years old.

A boy who had turned up, out of the blue, seeking counsel but unsure of where to find it. He had stared at her, just as he was doing now.

She had seen the haunted torture in his eyes. Just as she did now.

And yet, she had brushed him aside. Twenty four years ago, she had told him to see his own Head of House, not realising how much damage she would cause.

She didn't realise that her ignorance would force him the other way.

"Severus." She greeted. The guilt still ate away at her, whenever she looked at him. "How was it?"

He took a small step forward, a frown creasing his brow, "I'm alive."

"I can see."

"I..." He paused. "...I went to see the Headmaster."

She nodded, "I thought you would."

"...He looks...different."

"He's unconscious, Severus. He will just look still..."

"Dead. He looked dead."

"Well, he isn't, not yet. Come, sit." She gestured to the arm chair opposite her. He inelegantly fell into its confines, exhausted body falling onto the soft material.

"Scotch?" She offered, and he nodded. When she gave him the tumbler, he downed the amber liquid in a moment, "I hate it. My father used to drink it." The dark anger appeared in his eyes.

There was a rumour, a terrible rumour, that he had helped Tobias Snape meet his unpleasant end twenty years ago. She hoped it was a lie. She continued to sip her beaker, not knowing what to talk about.

"What happens if he does not live?" He asked suddenly, meeting her gaze with desperation.

"He will."

"What if he doesn't?"

"Then we carry on."

He looked away. "I don't think..." He stopped mid sentence.

This time, she was going to listen.

"I don't think...I can." He whispered, loud enough for him to pretend she did not hear; and yet, she did. "I can't go on without him."

"Yes, you can, Severus."

He looked back up at her, "No one understands. Only he..." He bit his lip, searching for a way to express his emotions. She knew how hard he struggled to display anything beyond hatred and pain; for that was all he had been brought up with. And yet, he was so strong. He faced everything, knowing that there was only Darkness at the end, with such nobility.

"Only he knows my soul." He finished finally, "I can't do this without him..."

She reached across the table, holding both his hands, "He will pull through, Severus, I promise."

"Can you keep that promise? For once, can someone keep their promise to me? He did not. He promised he would never hurt me..." His voice trembled audibly. "Minerva, I need him..." A tear streaked his cheek, "I really need him. This is all my fault..."

She moved so she could hold him close. For once, he did not reject the physical contact. She held him, even though he did not shake, just so he could feel like someone was there.

She held him until exhaustion consumed him and he fell asleep.

"Finally, adding the plant will cause the potion to turn a deep shade of purple. When this stage is reached, you will collect a small sample in your vial and place it on my desk. You have one hour. Begin now."

Teaching. How he despised teaching the dunderheads. The only class he enjoyed were his seventh years—dedicated students who knew the subtle art of potions, and knew how precise they needed to be. These third years were brash, arrogant and worst of all, noisy.

He had a headache.

It had been two weeks since the incident in the cave; two weeks since he had faced the Dark Lord. He was fully recovered physically; emotionally, he was not so well. He was quicker to anger as stress weighed on his shoulders. He was subjected to suspicious glares wherever he turned, both inside Hogwarts and outside.

The note appeared on his desk when he glanced down to look at the collected assignments. Minerva's seal.

He opened the note.

"He's awake. They're bringing him back to Hogwarts next Monday."

That was when his uncontrollable emotions threatened to overwhelm him again...

Albus Dumbledore moved walked up the stairs to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, leaning on a walking stick which he did not want but admittedly did need. He was looking forward to returning to his office and eating some Sherbet Lemons and relaxing with his favourite knitwear magazine. The Healers were far too noisy for his liking.

He had chosen to arrive in the evening when the students would be at dinner. He did not want a huge welcoming, after all. He just wanted to get to his office and recover from the trials of the past few weeks.

The cave. He needed to consider what had happened in the cave.

As he entered the Entrance Hall, he was pleased to see it empty and the lights darkened. He started to walk across, softly moving his stick across the marble floor.

There was a voice behind him. "Not even going to say hello?"

He turned with a warm smile, "Minerva. How wonderful to see you." She crossed to him, "And you, Albus. It is so good to see you alive and well."

"Escort me to my office, Minerva, I am sure you have much to tell me."

They talked about menial, mundane items as they walked together to Albus' office. When they were stood outside, she turned to look at him, a serious expression crossing her face. "There is something else we must discuss. Preferably in private."

He looked bemused, "Is everything all right?"

"I am not sure."

When they were seated in his office, Dumbledore holding a steaming cup of tea and Minerva nursing her seemingly lifesaving Scotch, they continued to talk. "What is bothering you, Minerva? I can see you are worried..."

"It's Severus." She said finally after a moment's hesitation. "We received news of your recovery a last Thursday. The faculty were thrilled; and on the surface, Severus seemed cheerful about the news too. But...since then, he has been hiding. He does not come to any mealtimes, and I heard his students talking and saying that he was being much quieter in lessons. I'm concerned." She took a sip of her Scotch, "He took your incapacity very hard, Albus. I have never seen him in such a state."

Albus folded his arms, "He reached out to you?"

"After the Dark Lord called for him."

"He called for me. I am still alive. And yet, I hurt."

The words came back to him.

"He needed someone." She continued, and he tuned back into her conversation. "He said that he needs you."

"I will go see him. I assume he has been sheltering in his office. Severus has never understood love and affection; when he feels them, he becomes confused and does not know how to react. I will visit him now. He knows of my arrival?"

"Yes."

"Very well. Thank you, for whatever you did, Minerva. It will have helped. It will."

He knocked on the door. "Severus?"

There was no answer, and yet he knew the younger wizard was in there. He knocked again, "I need to speak to you."

Still silence. He was worried now. Severus was normally in control of his emotions; but once he lost that control, he could fall apart and violently spiral into destruction. Minerva had concerned him deeply. This sounded exactly like last time...

"We need to talk. Time to talk, Severus, just as you requested."

The door unlocked.

He pushed it open.

On first glance, the office was empty.

On second glance, there was a figure sat by the window, illuminated only by the blood red sunset shining through his window. There was a smell of alcohol around the room.

"Severus." He murmured, walking further into the room.

He didn't know what to say.

The figure moved—a beaker was placed down on the table. "I don't drink." A murmur with slurred syllables. "But I needed an escape."

"Come back into the light, Severus. I need to see you."

"The light is harsh."

Dumbledore took steps closer to his friend. "You saved my life."

"I endangered you in the first place."

"And yet you still came to rescue me."

"What else could I do?" He shook his head slowly, "It was my fault."

"It matters not. I have heard how you nearly died trying to save me. I will not discount that, Severus." He reached out to the younger man, "Severus, I cannot stand to see you like this."

"I am glad you are all right." His words were genuine, but they sounded empty.

There was a long silence.

"About what was said in the cave, Severus...I do not remember it." He folded his arms, "But I do remember someone next to me when I was unconscious, telling me that I had to survive because he needed me." He closed the gap between them, brushing a hand across Severus' cheek, "I hope this does not come between us, Severus."

He started to leave—but then Severus stood and crossed to him. "I never meant for it to go like this." The face was pale, and damp streaks still streaked his face. "I never meant for it to happen like this."

"Severus." He shook his head, "It is over." He pulled the younger man close, hugging him tight, "I'll never leave you. Ever, Severus. I promise." He felt the other collapse into his embrace, relaxing all his muscles. "Please don't ever think I would."

They stayed close for a few more moments, and then Severus withdrew. "I need to sleep." He murmured.

"Of course. I shall speak to you more in the morning; we must know where you stand with the Dark Lord." He walked to the door, and Severus leant back against his desk.

Albus Dumbledore popped his head around the doorframe, "And of course I love you, Severus Snape."

*blinks*

Is that...a happy ending?

My goodness me. SS19 must be feeling ill!

Thank you for reading—I love you all!