Soul of Ice

39. Reunion

The first day was the worst day of his life.

Severus was prepared to say goodbye to Persephone. He knew it was coming, and as much as it pained him, he knew it was necessary.

He was prepared to kill Dumbledore. He'd hesitated, but the stubborn old man had insisted and so Severus kept his promise.

He was prepared to flee, to escape the grounds in the company of Death Eaters, to let the world think he'd shown his true colours.

He was prepared, even, to lose Abbie for a time. He suspected she'd struggle to believe that he'd killed Dumbledore, and he hoped even that she would hold out that belief long enough for him to explain the truth to her.

But he wasn't prepared for the reality.

In the days after, when he had nothing to do except sit and wait, Severus had no time to grieve. It wasn't until the fifth day that the Dark Lord left their hiding place to attend to something personally. Good thing too, because he wasn't sure he could hold out much longer. Having completed the ultimate act of service to him, the Dark Lord seemed to now trust Severus completely, and he hardly poked around in his head. Even so, Severus kept his guard up, wary that even the briefest of slips could be disastrous.

Finally alone, Severus allowed the grief to wash over him as ghosts of faces haunted him. Persephone's eyes brimmed with tears as she tried to stay strong even as they said their goodbyes. Albus looked at him with a mixture of pleading and peace, accepting his fate. In the dark moonlight, Potter yelled at him from his weakened position on the ground, taunting him, pushing every button and hating him as he rightfully should.

And Abbie. She haunted him most of all. Severus had hoped to escape without seeing her, and if Potter hadn't held him up, perhaps he would have outrun them both. But the stupid boy had to fight him - and Severus, at his tipping point, in a lapse of judgment had fought back. And Abbie had caught up with them.

He had taught her to cast a shield bubble. He had taught her how to stand in a duel. She had tried to fight him, even knowing he knew all her moves.

Could he have brought himself to fight back if she'd attacked? Even now, he wasn't certain. The look on her face - of anger and hatred - burned through him even worse than anything else of that night. Not Persephone's goodbye, not Albus' final moments, not Potter's distress. He was haunted by the face of his daughter, who had once looked at him with so much love, pointing a wand at him to protect her friend.

She hated him, and she had every right to.

***

A meeting at Malfoy Manor. Severus informed the Dark Lord of the date of Potter's relocation, as planned. He had to sit, occluding away any care for his friend, and watch as Charity Burbage was killed.

All the while, he avoided looking at Lucius Malfoy. The Dark Lord had broken him out of Azkaban only days earlier - only, Severus surmised, because he wanted to use Malfoy Manor for meetings.

The meeting ended, and Severus tried to move away as quickly as he could without appearing desperate to leave. But too slow - as he navigated the long hallways of the Manor, Lucius caught up to him.

"Severus!" Lucius called. Severus froze, jaw tight. "I was hoping we could talk."

He felt Lucius' hand touch his shoulder, and he saw red.

He forgot about the wand in his pocket. He turned on the spot and his fist connected with Lucius' face with an almighty THWACK!

Lucius grunted in surprise, but Severus ignored his protests. He wasn't a looming Death Eater anymore, nor was he the cold and quiet Professor Snape. He was the scrappy boy from Cokesworth who'd got himself into dozens of fights with boys who dared to disrespect his mother. What was it Persephone had called him, all those years ago? Street rat. He was a street rat, his anger and hatred overwhelming him, and as his fist collided with just about any area of Lucius' body he could get to, every frustration from the past year - hell, the past thirty-seven years - were channelled into his fists until he was so exhausted he felt as if his arm might fall off if he threw another punch.