Falling Stars - Part 3
Title: Falling Stars
Rating: PG, Angst
Summary: The war's finished, the good guys won, and it's time to live. Wouldn’t it be lovely if that were true?

from Falling Stars, part 2

… the professor was staring up at the tower with clenched teeth,
asking her quietly, “Where is Fawkes? Where is that blasted bird?”

The Phoenix should have already been in the air,
flying beside Harry, ready to catch him.

A suddenly sickening thought struck them both at once. What if
they hadn’t convinced, Harry? What if he hadn’t trusted them?
Hermione began to sway weakly, even as she heard the Headmistress urging,
“Hurry Severus, Hurry. He’s on the roof of the Astronomy tower.”

Falling Stars, Part 3

“Finite,” Severus growled again as he searched his mind for any trace of the magical imprint that he’d made of Potter.

“Potter,” he roared. “Potter, open this door at once!”

But, it wasn’t there; Severus could not find even the smallest trace of the boy’s magics. He truly had put every measure of it into the boy’s replica. It was what he had intended to do – so that he would not have to draw on more of Harry’s energies than necessary. They had been rushed; however, and as Severus had been running up the stairs to the tower, he had been clinging to the hope that he might have missed even the tiniest trace left in him to pull around his magic and shut down the boy’s wards. As soon as that hope was extinguished, he turned to other tactics.

“Reducto!”

“Reducto!”

“Reducto!”

His hexs broke weakly against the boy’s wards, ironically reminding him, once again how much stronger the child’s magics were than his.

“Reducto!” his chest ached with the force of his roared spell, the wand shook in his hand, and the burst of energy that streamed out of his wand glowed brilliant red as it shot across the corridor to wash ineffectually over the wards – not even warming the wood.

“Reducto!” he cried again, his chest tightening painfully as he cast the blasting spell faster than he could even fully recover his breath.

“Reducto!”

“Reducto!”

“Reducto!”

“Reducto!” “Reducto!” Filius Flitwick’s high-pitched voice cried in chorus with his.

“Reducto!”

“Reducto!”

“Reducto!”

They cast and recast the spell – sometimes alternating, sometimes striking at the same time – but all with little effect on the wards until the protection spells simply fell. Staggering and depleted, neither man believed that the wards had fallen beneath their onslaught, but nor did either man feel up to broaching the alternate possible reason for the wards to simply. Sharing a grim gaze, they hesitated, catching their breaths before Filius finally pushed the door open.

As the smaller professor stepped through the entry, Severus had a moment of disquiet, realizing that the evidence of his involvement would be obvious, condemning, and undeniable, but quickly shook it off. He had been willing, after all, to cast himself from the parapets less than an hour earlier, and since then had willingly participated in everything that followed. If he was going to be punished for it, then he had certainly earned that much and more. Nevertheless, he hesitated to follow when Flitwick stepped through and disappeared onto the roof.

If only that foolish child had extended his faith enough to suppress that damnable saving-people tendency. Had been too much to hope for that studying under Severus for nearly ten years would have instilled some sense into the boy?

“Severus?”

Filius returned to the door and laid a hand gently on the Potion Master’s arm.

“Severus, my friend, I’m sorry.”

Severus stared at the Charms Professor incredulously – stunned by both his colleague’s gentle treatment and the man’s use of the word friend. To his knowledge, the other man had never, in twenty years, considered him more than an unfortunate ally forced on him by Dumbledore.

“He’s gone.”

Shuddering at the thought that Filius had already found the replica, Severus was unprepared for the man’s next comment.

“Come. There’s nothing we can do to help the child, but at least, we can prevent his memory from being tarnished by a regrettable though understandable indiscretion.”

Forgetting for a moment what he had ordered the boy to do, Severus stared at the smaller man in confusion.

“Better to let the world think that he was tired and missed a step than confirm that he was drinking.” Flitwick explained sadly.

As the other instructor's explanation brought home the fact that Potter had gone along with at least a portion of the plan, Severus steeled himself for what he would see and stepped through the door – only to pause in shock.

The child had not only followed through on the plan, he had expanded on it. Clusters of pillows and a blanket had been spread near the center of the roof. At the head of the blanket, just beyond a rumpled mound of pillows, several scrapbooks lay haphazardly propped and thumbed through. Nearby, an untouched dinner plate kept a half-full bottle of butterbeer from tilting and spilling on one of the scrapbooks. Other butterbeer and firewhiskey bottles, in various stages of consumption, dappled the stone floor at random intervals as though they had been sampled and forgotten in whatever aimless pattern Potter had been wandering. The most noticeable addition though was a rather small bonfire burning brightly through a crumpled pile of Daily Prophets. The child must have planned on the bon fire for quite some time, judging by the number of newspapers that almost completely covered the area where the replica had been laying.

The child was positively Slytherin – taking a last-second chance to obscure any undesirable evidence while hiding the very action of destroying evidence in a social or political statement.

However did the child not end up in my house? Severus mused as he stared into the flames.

“Severus? Severus… Come away. You don’t need to do this.”

Flitwick was guiding him away – totally misinterpreting his surprise as distress. For almost a minute, Severus was tempted to startle the tiny man with a derisive smile at the unsolicited compassion, but if it helped him get away sooner, he could play the distraught mentor.

“Filius, What?” he glanced around in seeming confusion.

“Severus, come away!” Flitwick insisted with open concern.

“Where is Potter? Merlin, there are times that I believe that child could find danger in a pouch of pillow feathers. How Albus could think that I will be able to keep that child out of mischief is beyond me.”

“Severus, sit down. Wait here. Let me summon Minerva.”

“Nonsense, I am perfectly capable of dealing with that reckless …”

“Severus!” The headmistress’s voice cut him off before she reached their level. “That is quite enough. Have you no shame, no sense of decency? To…”

As she finally appeared, Minerva was brought up short by the sight of Flitwick waving frantically for her to stop.

“Filius, don’t intercede, even he should have the compassion to …”

“Minerva, No!” the Charm’s professor squeaked imperatively. “Stop. You don’t understand.”

“Really, what is there to understand?” Minerva’s caustic tone grated on Severus’s nerves, though he understood that it was justified by her grief. Still, according to Miss Granger, Minerva had witnessed the prophesy but had done nothing to offer Potter any other option. Severus was very tempted to challenge her on the issue as well as a number of others, including why she had left Potter in the Dursley’s care for so many years. It was after all the Head of House’s duty to ensure the child’s needs were guaranteed particularly when the child was away from school. Severus, himself, had gone on many home visitations to investigate suspicions of abuse or neglect. She was harping about compassion, but where had her compassion been when Potter told her that he wasn’t treated well at home?

Severus nearly let his seemingly distraught confusion slip to reveal her hypocrisy by turning her false compassion on itself, but thankfully, Flitwick spoke up before Severus lost his restraint.

“Minerva, Minerva. No. He was out there. He saw, but he hasn’t accepted it, yet.”

Severus felt a shaft of guilt at deceiving Flitwick into his defense, but it passed quickly, and he was nothing, if not pragmatic. The quicker he was away, the quicker he could get to Spinner’s end and be certain that the boy had followed through on the entire plan instead of setting the stage for a ridiculously Gryffindor-ish sacrifice.

“Minerva?” Severus carefully schooled his face to reflect impatient confusion. “What?”

Looking back to the door, he nodded – seeming to acknowledge it. “You got it open. I should have realized that it would be within the Headmaster and Headmistress’s purview to lower wards. Well, come along and let’s see what the foolish boy is up to now.”

Ignoring the look of shock on their faces, Severus stood quickly and strode purposefully back toward the tower entrance.

“Severus, stop!” Headmistress McGonagall ordered sharply. “Stop and accompany Professor Flitwick, if you would, to visit with Madame Pomfrey.”

“Nonsense! I am perfectly fine. If I was delayed a moment, I’m sure that it was simply due to the energy that we expended on the door. Now, let’s get the boy sorted out so that everyone can go on with their revelries.”

“Severus!” McGonagall clapped her hands sharply, drawing his attention forcibly back to her as she finished “Harry is dead! Professor. There is nothing left to be sorted.”

To his surprise, Severus hardly needed to manufacture a look of intense distress when he looked at her. Somehow, her words struck at his uncertainty and his own fear that the boy had sacrificed himself to be certain that the prophesy would be averted. Playing on the open sympathy running across her face, he let his distress linger for several seconds before schooling his face in what Albus had once described as his “you-can’t-hurt-me” mask.

“No,” he denied carefully. “No, the boy has a talent for finding hidden tunnels and passages. We simply need to find him.”

“Oh … Severus... Dear, Dear boy. He has been found.” Her face filled with such heartache that he had to turn away. “Severus, Hagrid is even now laying out is body beside Albus’s.”

For the second time, unexpected pain supplied his response as he suddenly pictured both his mentor and his charge somberly laid in state.

“No!” His pained protest came unbidden to his lips.

“Filius, please see that Severus gets to Madame Pomfrey.”

Severus almost protested but stopped himself when it occurred to him that he would need to see and copy Madam Pomfrey’s records to be sure that he was aware of the boys needs as he recovered. He didn’t realize how much that small decision helped reinforce his emotional distress with both Minerva and Flitwick until he saw them watching him with concern. It took a moment for him to realize that they were waiting for his customary fight to avoid the hospital wing, and when they saw it wasn’t coming, their eyes locked worriedly.

Without further comment, Severus quietly suffered Flitwick’s anxious attentions as he let his colleague lead him to the hospital wing, even startling Madam Pomfrey as he entered silently and took one of the open seats. Adopting an almost meek attitude in place of the over emotional breakdowns that would be expected of the others, Severus intentionally let his behavior slip so far out of character – knowing that the difference from his usual behavior would say everything that he needed to without him having to attempt overarching expressions of sincere grief. As a result, after a swift conference with Professor Flitwick, Madam Pomfrey settled Severus into one of the few open beds, had him take a quarter vial of calming draught, and bustled around to check on several more seriously wounded patients, all the while keeping a concerned eye on him.

Close to two hours passed before the nurse was called away, giving him the opportunity to summon Harry’s records and quick copy them. After he’d read scanned them enough to know what potions he would need over the next few days, he quickly returned them and stood to leave.

“Professor?”

Seven beds down, Miss Granger was tucked tightly in, looking incredibly pale though composed.

“Miss Granger?”

“Did he?”

“I don’t know. He complied with the first portion at least, but…”

“Okay. Sir. I have some items that should be of use to you. I had hoped to give them to you before we left the Great Hall, but…”

“I understand. What are they?”

Casting a strong, though, near silent sound-dampening spell, Hermione asked him to cast another, just-in-case… and she went on to explain as he did.

“The first is a rememberall charmed to carry and update all of Harry’s medical records with any treatment he receives. There’s a lot there because I went back to get his hospital records from Little Whinging, too.’

‘The next holds all of prophesies that I’ve made throughout the past seven years. Most seem unrelated, but there must have been some reason that they came to me instead of to Trelawny or one of the foreign seers that the ministry hires.”

At Severus’s raised eyebrow, she assured him: “I’ve also put all of the memories and details that I would have had to lie about if Fudge ever caught on to the right questions to ask. With them safely tucked in that, you can prove why you did what you did, and Fudge won’t be able to find a thing out from me.”

“The last rememberall holds a compilation of Harry’s journals, copies of his scrapbooks, his letters – the stuff that would be noticed if it went missing. Here’s a key to his vault. Harry made sure that we knew before he faced Voldemort that he had left everything to Remus, the Weasleys, and me. We each have keys; that one’s mine.”

At that point, Severus stopped her, returning the key to her palm.

“That won’t be necessary. I am not without means, and living close to twenty years at Hogwarts without charge has let what was originally a modest amount amass into a sizeable living, and that does not even include the salary I have received for working at one of the premier school of magic, or the royalties that I’ve received for developing veritaserum for the Ministry. But, thank you, I appreciate your generosity and am very sure that another will as well.”

Just as he turned to leave, Granger caught his hand and pushed a folded scroll into it.

“Sir, when I saw how you reacted to Juliette’s name, I thought… that there might be hope.”

Under the influences of the calming draught, Severus couldn’t get properly mad, though the parchment shook in his hands as he stared at the meddlesome girl.

“Tomorrow, at 1:00, she said she’ll be waiting for you in the flat in Hastings, but please hear her out, Sir. She doesn’t think you will be able to forgive her, but … I-I told her that you’ve seen a lot during the war – that I thought you would understand and forgive her.”

The girls rambling made no sense. He had sent Juliet away to live with his cousins. She had not abandoned him, and even if she had. Well, it had been seven years since Voldemort’s return. Seven years since Severus had felt it safe to contact her directly. He had truly not expected her to wait that long for him, and had in fact been relieved every year that he had not received a barrister’s announcement. If she wished his forgiveness for that, he would give it freely… had already given it, in fact.

“Sir.”

“What is it Granger?”

“If you see…could you…”

“Miss Granger, I am certain that your arrangements will tell the person they are for exactly what you wish him to know.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

At their parting words, the silencing spells fell, and Severus quickly departed.