Beta-reading: Perosha.

If tomorrow was too late

Severus was sitting alone in his office. It was very late, but he had no intention of returning to his silent, empty chambers in the dungeons.

Over past months the headmaster's office had become his retreat, his asylum where he could isolate himself from the others. He didn't remember when he had started to consider it his own. For so long it had belonged to Dumbledore. Everyone in this school though Snape shouldn't be here, even if they didn't dare to voice it. He was a murderer, a traitor and an usurper. He was considered to be the worst thing that could have happened to Hogwarts.

He had his own little, grim satisfaction that after so long, he was still keeping everything in his grasp, reducing the casualties to a minimum.

Are you content, Albus? he asked silently in his mind. Is this what you wanted?

He took a sip of cold Earl Grey. He was very tired. Keeping everything under control, including the Carrows, to not let them go too wild, meant a lack of sleep.

One more thing was still disturbing him. Sinistra. Despite all that had happened, despite what he did to her, she managed to put all of the pieces of the puzzle together, and against all odds, she had discovered the truth. He could have tried to lie again, as he had for most of his life. But she'd caught him off guard.

It was his moment of weakness.

They had a long night talk. He hated to confide in her, but that one time he needed it. It was as if a part of that burden he had to bear was lifted up from him. For a brief moment he felt safe, having someone at his side. But time passed from the dusk to the dawn, and as much as he hated to do it, he had to put an Oblivate spell on Auriga to secure his mission. It had taken a great deal more than he had expected. He realized it the very next day when he saw in her gray eyes hatred and disgust instead of doubts and unasked questions.

Only a few days had passed since that one unique night, and now he was truly alone.

He was wondering how long he was going to survive. Lately that one thought hadn't allow him to put his mind at rest.

Well. The sad truth was that everyone was going to die sooner or later, and it was up to fate how much time one was given. His future was obscure, as if it was hidden in billows of thick mist. He could not foresee it, and perhaps it was better that way.

The nights were short at this time of the year. Suddenly he realized how late it was. He really should try to catch some sleep.

He left the office, leaving behind the remains of cold tea at the bottom of the cup, an open book he hadn't finished reading and the stack of documents lying in perfect order on the side of the desk.

It was early morning on the second of May, and he did not yet know that he had very little time left to live.