11.55

Remus Lupin stares into the iridescent liquid he's become so awfully familiar with.

He clasps his hand around the bottle. Five minutes left before midnight.

People say he's aging before his time.

Aging because of the grief.

They lie. He's already dead.

Just like the people that counted on him.

Three minutes. His grasp tightens.

What would it matter if he didn't drink it tonight? He's lost things far more crucial than his humanity.

Blood spills over his hand as the fragile glass breaks.

Two minutes.

Severus Snape slowly traces the contours of his old white mask with his fingers.

His memories are never as distant as he wishes.

He still knows what the soft, ivory porcelain feels like on his face.

He still knows what it feels like to be one of them.

What it feels like to do the things he did, and that it wouldn't take all too much to make him do them again.

How much?

That is why they need him. His bathes his hands in blood for them. Does their dirty work.

And he doesn't expect to survive.

Dumbledore knows that.

Albus Dumbledore blows out a candle.

He doesn't move in the darkness of his room. Maybe the decision becomes easier with no things around to distract him.

They are at war. So much depends on his decision

Who is dispensable and who is to stay alive.

They never question him. They do their tasks, regardless of the danger.

He has decided. Remus is everything that is left to Harry, he is irreplaceable.

Severus Snape isn't.

He'll agree. He'll simply nod and leave, as he always does.

Even if he sends him to death.

Albus Dumbledore buries his face in his hands.

Severus Snape puts on his mask.

Remus Lupin smiles

12.00.