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𝚇𝚇𝚅𝙸𝙸 >> 𝙳𝚄𝙼𝙱𝙻𝙴𝙳𝙾𝚁𝙴'𝚂 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙲𝙸𝙻

< 2 MONTHS, 2 WEEKS, 5 DAYS >

Glory, in itself, is a construct made entirely by humans and their need to feel valiant.

Variance in itself is also a construct, made by humans and their need to fight. Crusading is the nature of any living thing. Everything is battling for something: greed for hoards, hunger for fulfillment, animals for territory, life to live. It's as simple as that. Everything, always, is a war.

This is why Severus understands that he will never have seclusion. This is how he knows there will always be wrong with something, even if one problem is eradicated. With the death of a dandelion, its seeds spread, and eighty more sprout in its place. When a war is won, another begins. He cannot opt out of them all. War is in the nature of human souls. He will always be enlisted, for the rest of time.

Today's war begins as he stares down at his cup of tea, stirring it with a spoon to mix it exactly the way he deems predilect. A wave of pique runs through him as he remembers that his tea is something he cannot savor alone because now the entire planet knows how he takes it — "it" meaning tea, but for how long will it not mean something less innocent? — and he scoffs into the cup.

He is to meet with Albus in fifteen minutes. He checks the time and corrects himself. Twelve.

Fuck tea.

He stands up, tightening the buttons around his collar, enshrouding his neck lest anyone dare take a snap at it.

The war he is preparing for, of course, is foregathering in the presence of Dumbledore at all.

He knows he will be importuned again about becoming a spy against Voldemort's ex-army, and he knows he will have to bring to the table what nobody employed at the school will want to hear: that their old consociate is behind student endangerment. He does not know if anyone else will attend, but he prays to the gods he does not believe in that McGonagall will. She's always best at believing him; at having a brain and using it.

What a hag. He adores her.

Out of the entire school, he's decided, Minerva is most keen on listening and furthermore absorbing any bloody thing he has to say at all. Anyone else would simply refuse it or be aggrieved or repudiate it and change the subject. It occurs to him that Albus might end up doing all three.

It isn't that Severus disrelishes or disrespects the man. He's received life-altering advice from him, been granted forgiveness like no other from his quickly-changed conscience, but that is entirely the problem. The man is too forgiving. He was forgiving with Grindelwald and he was forgiving with Snape and he will undoubtedly forgive Slughorn before all the evidence against him is even gathered. This is what Severus fears most regarding his leadership. This is what he truly does not want to see, yet knows is on its way.

Nine minutes.

He leaves his tea to grow cold in his underground quarters, opening his door and dreading his every step as he hurries across the building. He passes his students with a curt nod only at the ones he likes; Letto, Biobi, Laertes Rivlov, Bo Adler and Ambrosia Fane receive only the slightest tip of the head as well out of mere respect for not making him want to break down a brick wall with their spines as picks every time he happens across their faces.

"Someone's in a hurry," says Gandlonna in passing.

"I'm not the only one who should be, if you don't happen to recall," Severus hisses back. "Hasten over to class before it scampers off without you."

"Ooh," says Gandlonna in return, mocking fear at the weak threat.

Severus sneers. He hates all these children with a passion so great that he cannot help but love them equally as much. What a man he has become. How absolutely pulpous of him to realize his care for everything as it grows. He feels foolish in a way, feeling now what he didn't feel just months ago, things that have only been awakened since the appearance of Remus on his bleak life under his bleak domicile. Everything has another side to it now. Although he does not express it externally, he appreciates everything more. Every living thing makes him think of Remus. Every object and occurrence and stone beneath his feet. He's always distrait these days due to him alone. How intensely rude of Lupin to do this to him. To make him morally involved.