Fic: 'Dark-Eyed Wanderer', Part Two, Severus/Filius, NC-17
Title: Dark-Eyed Wanderer
Author: purplefluffycat
Pairings: Severus Snape/Filius Flitwick, mentions of Severus Snape/Lily Evans (unrequited) and Severus Snape/Lucius Malfoy
Rating: NC-17 (although most of the story rates lower)
Word Count: About 13,800
Warnings: Canon character death, discussion of grief.
Summary: After the first war, Severus is reprieved by law, but not by himself. It takes a special person to make him embrace life once more. Death, however, always waits.

Author's/Artist's Notes: This story was originally written for the 2009 hp_beholder fest, for odogoddess, here.


Dark-Eyed Wanderer, Part One




Severus slept for far longer than he was accustomed the following morning, not surfacing until nearly noon, when shafts of light danced from the windows between the gaps between his bed-curtains. His dreams had been peaceful enough, but animated; fits and starts of activity and decision and travel that left him with no clear memory as to their narrative but a general sense of the need for dynamism.

In addition to this - or perhaps because of it - Severus found that his thoughts from the previous night had crystallized: he was sure that he liked Filius, as a friend and also as more. It was true that his approach those weeks before had been haphazard and borne of all sorts of stoppered emotions, but that didn't mean to say that it had been wrong. Now, although he was by no means finished with grief, he was able to know his own mind, and his mind told him that Filius Flitwick was exactly the sort of pleasant, interesting, attractive man in whom he should rightly be interested.

Severus told himself all of these things firmly as he strode about his quarters, trying to quell that wheedling voice that was mocking the very idea that he might be able to have a real relationship; that the idea of Severus Snape engaging in any sort of functional human interaction was ridiculous.

As the minutes ticked by, doubt lapped at his reason, threatening to erode the little confidence with which he had woken. He looked at himself in the mirror, then firmly wished he hadn't, grimacing at his own pallid reflection and hooked features. Cursing, Severus turned away and grabbed a quill and ink. He was going to take action; to put in train whatever he could before his better sense managed to persuade him that the whole idea was useless.

The very last thing he could stand, Severus knew, was months and months of waiting and watching and hinting. He had spent his entire adolescence hanging upon coy words, confusing signs and eyelash flutters that may or may not have been for him and it had eaten up his heart piece by piece until there had probably been nothing left to give even if she had decided she wanted it. No; this regard was solid and sensible and was going to be addressed in a forthright and adult fashion.

With that in mind, Severus scribbled a note, sent it off with his owl to a far turret and settled down anxiously to wait.

By the time a knock on the door arrived, Severus realized that he hadn't really thought through the idea of having a guest. Despite having lived in the castle for nearly a year, his sitting room had no useful furniture for more than one, and not even a convenient way to make multiple cups of tea. Indeed, the bare wooden surfaces and haphazardly placed boxes of books and potions ingredients were quite the opposite to Filius' warm, welcoming chamber, with its overstuffed sofas in pinstripe candy colours and filigree stands holding fondant fancies at an easy arm's stretch. Well, he sighed to himself as he opened the door, it would have to do.

"Hello, Severus," Filius beamed, "I got your note; shall I come in?"

"Err, yes. I mean, please do." He offered Filius his chair but was politely declined with a clever wave of the wand whereby Filius conjured himself a tall pile of cushions and hopped aboard.

"So what was it you wanted to ask me about? It sounded quite urgent."

"Um, yeah." He could do this, Severus told himself, he could do this. He took a deep breath and started somewhere that seemed logical. "Why-aren't-you-attached-to-anyone?" That came out much more harshly than he had planned - accusatory, even. Severus cringed inwardly.

Luckily, Filius knew how to handle the enquiry. "Oh, don't worry about me! I've had my fair share of fun over the years."

Pushing on: "Yes, but... now. What about now?" The words echoed clumsily around the wooden surfaces of his room. It sounded stupid; Severus knew he sounded stupid. This was probably the worst way to ask someone to commence intimate relations since Elgin the Elder sent a singing love letter by troll-post.

"After a certain number of pleasurable but frivolous acquaintances, such things seem less important, you know," replied Filius, still with equanimity, "It takes a special person to catch one's interest, then. Someone a little unusual."

A silence stretched on and Severus chewed the inside of his lip, clutching at things he could possibly say next. Finally, an idea twinkled at him, like a precious stone in the desert. Filius had looked so stunning when he played; that day with the violin... "That music you played - what exactly was it?"

"The music?" A pause. "Oh, that! The piece I played was just a regular composition-"

"-Ah, but by whom? And what was the trick in it?" At least they were talking now, he thought.

For the first time, however, Filius looked slightly less than comfortable. He fidgeted and looked down at his feet. "Not a well-known composer in the least. No-one, really."

"Ah, but who?"

"Oh all right!" Filius threw his hands into the air. "It was by me. But I swear there was no trick involved. It was just something I wrote as I heard it in my mind - no systems or series at all." He looked up at Severus, seeming to check for an unfavorable reaction. Of course, there was none, so Filius saw fit to push on. "I do admit to have been thinking about you while I wrote it, though. I've liked you for a long time, Severus."

"What?" That had not been part of the plan. Severus found himself doing a passable expression of one of his own clueless students.

"You needn't look so surprised! You're an attractive young man, and unlike the vast majority of young men, you have a brain to make more than five minutes of conversation worthwhile."

"But I'm... but I'm bad..." It sounded such a fatuous thing to say, but had passed his lips before his mind had granted permission.

"Poppycock to that!" countered Filius, even laughing. "I'm sure that the Headmaster would come up with some sort of clever phrase about choices and actions and intentions, but I simply say: balderdash and bollocks. A bad person would not bring me liquorice cakes, to start with." He held Severus' gaze firmly - so determined, in fact, that Severus felt something melt inside himself and couldn't stop a bubble of laughter from pulling at his own cheeks. "A far more sensible objection, I would rightly think, is why on earth a fine young man such as yourself would care about a daft old dwarf like-"

"-No!" Another pause. "I mean, don't say that. You're the best thing that's happened to me since I got here - or possibly ever, for that matter - and I'd really like it if we could, maybe-"

Severus never got the chance to say what-maybe-might-he'd-like-to-happen, however, as he was quietened by soft lips upon his own and an agile hand running through his hair. "Mmmmfff!" he said, staggered and delighted in equal measure. How on earth...?

His mind was awash with sensation and puzzlement - not to mention a generous slice of arousal. How wonderful it felt! Gingerly, Severus moved under Filius' touch, returning the kiss as it seemed was right. That earned him an encouraging sound from Filius, so he continued, eyes closed, and reached out a hesitant hand of his own. The whole thing was surprising and exquisitely lovely - not only because it showed that Filius really was interested in him, but doubly so, because it was the first time that Severus had really been kissed.

He had been buggered, of course - roughly and carelessly while Lucius pulled at his hair - and he had been required to administer oral services to a number of their cronies. He had trailed and mooned sufficiently to earn himself the odd indulgent peck on the cheek. He had never, however, been the recipient of a real, passionate kiss, full of promise and charm; a kiss that spelled that he - Severus Snape - was of interest to another person, not just for what use he could be to them, but for his own self.

The idea was dizzying, and when they broke apart, Severus' mind was whirling both from the enormity of what had happened as well as the lack of air.

"I hope that wasn't too forward of me," whispered Filius, still caressing his cheek.

"No. Now, I'm sure."

He's done it. It had actually happened! The cynical part of Severus' mind went to lick its wounds as he reveled in the fact that his hair-brained resolution had actually worked. And it had been... well, easy. No embarrassment, no gnawing rejection.

All of this was so distracting however, that Severus had failed to consider what might actually happen next. Therefore, when Fillius cocked his eye toward the bedroom and asked, "Shall we?" he was set adrift in a whole new sort of delightful panic.

Severus nodded, and then found himself sitting a little stiffly on the edge of his bed, glad that he'd bothered to straighten the sheets when he had got up. Filius was standing beside him, leaning in to more kisses and caresses, a hand straying to the buttons of Severus' robes, but pausing, first. "We don't have to, you know. Maybe another time?"

"No. I want to." Inexperienced he may have been, but Severus and a certain part of his anatomy were sure of that. Indeed, he was very rapidly revising his opinions about the nature and desirability of intimate contact, full stop. The problem, however, was thus: although he wasn't a virgin, Severus reflected that he might as well have been. Bending over for Lucius Malfoy in the Slytherin dormitory suddenly didn't seem to count; he had never experienced pleasure from relations with another person before, and he felt utterly at a loss regarding what he was supposed to do.

Luckily for him, Filius seemed happy to take the lead. "Then you just relax..."

Wordlessly, Filius cast a charm to send Severus floating backwards, reclining on a cloud of softness. He then bared inch by inch of Severus' pale chest, lavishing each new piece of skin with kisses and caresses until Severus was a tingling wreck, eyes squeezed shut and gasping. Pleased with his work, Filius started upon Severus' trousers, making short work of them with another charm and sending bolts of sensation through Severus' legs as his magical hands explored and stroked.

It was then that Filius worked a piece of magic so deliciously sinful it must have been notated only in the Restricted Section. Severus found himself without underwear and was being held and stroked by a million agile hands at once, a billion talented tongues lapping at him in a way that made his blood burn blue and his lungs neglect to inhale.

"Whatever charms you've been using on me," he gasped, "are certainly effective...."

Filius stopped short at that, and Severus felt both bereft at the loss of contact and strangely thankful for the brief respite. An amused - and rather smug - expression played across Filius' features. "I regret to inform you, my dear, that I haven't employed a spot of magic for at least the past fifteen minutes. That was all perfectly natural."

Oh, goodness. Severus did his best to muster a scowl at being outsmarted like that, but he was afraid it came out more akin to a whimper. It did, however, give him the courage to make a move of his own, and pulled at Filius' robes in an impatient manner. "Then come and join me."

Little further encouragement was needed, and before long, Severus made a mental note of how handsomely Filius was keeping beneath those filigree robes, and the fact that proportionately speaking, he was... spectacularly endowed! Which is to say, he was perfectly average.

Filius must have caught the direction of Severus' gaze. "Ah yes, at least there's one upside in having goblins in one's family tree."

"Really? Are they...?" That sent Severus' imagination to a place he had hoped it would never visit.

"Apparently so. Bloody enormous." Filius laughed. "But back to the matter at hand..."

They kissed again, and then Filius climbed atop and they stroked and bucked and rubbed and moaned, hardnesses aligned and eager. It took neither man long to reach that shining peak, at which point each clutched at the other, heads thrown back in glory and spines curved in glorious release.

Afterwards, Severus' vision was clouded for what seemed like minutes and his breathing remained ragged. That had been staggeringly more intense than any occasion on which he had ministered to himself, and he could barely move what with the whirl in his mind and the limpness in his limbs.

Fortunately, he found little need to do so. Filius had performed some sort of discreet magic to clean them both up, and he now found himself being held close, gentle kisses pressed to his cheek and jaw. His heart warmed with something amazingly close to happiness. "Thank you," he whispered, into Filius' flyway hair.

"No, my dear boy. Thank you."


*****

What had started between them in the summer continued thus when the new students arrived in September, and happily wore on to the end of term.

Severus was reassured to find that actually, not too much changed. They still saw a lot of each other in the evenings and weekends, and talked and laughed and shared the major and minor events of the day - but as well as that, they made love and even slept together afterwards. It was surprising in it naturalness and Severus found it all the more amazing for that; none of the hand-wringing, soul-wringing trauma that he had vaguely assumed came as part of a relationship, but relaxed, pleasant, a balm to the heart.

They had settled into an easy pattern - some nights were spent in Severus' rooms, some in Filius', and some comfortably apart, where both men had plenty of things to do. Neither seemed to pine for more or for less; they were happy bachelors who so happened to also be together.

Although Filius denied any intervention, it also became apparent to Severus that the attitude of their other colleagues toward him had thawed considerably. There were no more cold silences in the staff-room, no more pointed remarks. At staff meetings, he even earned a modest round of applause after delivering subject reports, and people began to ask his opinion on various different matters. Perhaps he had simply served his time as an outcast and was becoming a fixture of the castle. Perhaps the wily McGonagall decided that she trusted Filius' judgement, even if she couldn't see the attraction herself. Either way, thought Severus, it made life decidedly more equable.

At Christmas, they dined in the Great Hall as was traditional, but then quickly sneaked away to Filius' cosy rooms, bedecked in every glittering object and creature that one could imagine and more besides - in a way that Severus found both ridiculous and charming. He loved to see the pleasure that Filius found in the season and the festivities; his lover was even more excitable than usual, and for the first time in his entire life, some of that vicarious pleasure came to nestle home and softened Severus' own attitude to the celebrations.

Scooting through the front door, Filius dashed to the foot of his extraordinarily-large Christmas tree (especially charmed to extend its tip through the open window without letting in the cold air). "For you, Severus." He extended a beautifully-wrapped parcel.

Severus accepted it, swallowing hard and trying not to dwell on the fact that this was the first Christmas present that he had been given for about a decade. His gift to Filius still nestled beneath the tree; he hoped that 'The Almanac of Useful Herbs for the Charms Specialist' would be thought appropriate.

Carefully, Severus pulled at the string to reveal, also, a book of some sort. However, upon closer inspection he saw it was not a book per se, but a musical manuscript, written by hand in neat filigree notes on finest Thestral parchment. He looked at Filius queryingly, only to meet an unusually bashful expression on his lover's face.

Unenlightened, Severus read the cover's inscription, "'The Dark-Eyed Wanderer, by Filius H. Flitwick'. Oh, is this..."

"The very same." Filius smiled, "I'm not sure it's very good, but you seemed to like it, so I thought... Well." He gestured at the book in Severus' hands. "The tune has words, too. Mercifully, you can't hear those in the violin version! I swear I'm no poet, but, what is it they say? 'Behind every piece of bad poetry is a well of genuine feeling,' or somesuch?"

"Indeed," said Severus, a little overwhelmed. He opened the copy and read the text that accompanied the uppermost line:

"'Oh, Dark-Eyed Wanderer,
You course across land and sea.
I have no lover, but,
I wonder if you might be he.

I see your ghost coming close,
And I wonder what you will be.
Dear Dark-Eyed Wanderer,
Why don't you wander forth to me?'"

Filius seemed to be able to stand no more; he broke into a fit of giggles. "I told you it was terrible! But maybe the music was better?"

Severus remembered how transfixed he had been by Filius' playing, the shivers that had coursed along every vertebra he owned. "Well, it certainly had the desired effect."

"Oh, tush. I just wanted to play it to you; being sentimental and all. I swear there was no funny-business involved. When I was writing the thing, I really did mean it, though - every word. Maybe there's a magic in the process that neither of us quite understands."

"Maybe so." Severus scooped Filius into an embrace. "I'll treasure it, Dark Magic or no."

That earned him a swat on the arm, but then an indulgent kiss. "I don't believe quite how lucky I am to have you, my dear." His tone then became more measured as they parted. "And you are happy, aren't you? With us, I mean; with things as they are?"

"With our situation?" Severus clarified.

"Yes. That is, you don't feel suffocated. Or the opposite, I suppose - inadequately committed to." Filius had a lightness in his voice, but Severus could also sense the strain beneath it. This must have been something that he had been intending to ask for some while.

Severus considered. There was no way he was going to risk losing another person dear to him by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time - and besides, meaningful communication had never been a strong point of his. Nevertheless, he did need to state his case. Taking a deep breath, he started, "I've never considered myself the sort of person who would do well in a particularly domestic scenario."

"Me neither," Filius concurred.

"So I confess to being quite content just as we are." Was that the right thing to say? He still felt a-flounder at this relationship business. Was asking to perpetuate the status quo a sure-fire way to wreck it all?

At that moment, however, Filius exhaled a relieved breath. "A gentlemen's agreement, then. Just like this - if I had my way, for keeps! - But in truth, for as long as we want?"

"Quite so. That sounds most satisfactory."

"You didn't strike me as the type to want to move in and choose curtains, anyway, Severus." He began to laugh at that, and was rewarded by a snort in response.

"If I had to live with your taste in interior decor, this agreement of ours might reach an end very quickly."

"There's nothing wrong with pink!" Filius protested, casting about his room for examples of tasteful objects in that very colour.

That earned him a withering look, closely followed by sour lips crushed to his own. "Definitely not pink."



***** ***** *****


And that, in a fair world, should have been that.

A thirty-five year old Severus Snape, however, was the first person to acknowledge that the world was anything but fair.


***** ***** *****

Much had changed with the passing of years: Severus had advanced from the confused wraith of yore to embrace middle-aged grumpiness with gusto; he had even manged to organize his quarters with shelves. Filius' hair had grown whiter and his choice of robes yet more showy. His poetry had even improved a smidgen - even though Severus would certainly not let him know that.

Severus had been made Head of Slytherin House and even managed to do a passable job of it. Observing the Head of Ravenclaw in action had taught him more than he would have liked to admit, and although Severus could never be truly warm or paternal to the dunderheads in his care, he extended more good sense and practical help to them than he would have imagined he was able. Like a fountain that was once completely dry but had since been filled with bright water, some of Filius' good sense and compassion seemed to overflow from him onto his young charges. It was novel indeed for Severus Snape to imagine himself a conduit for anything positive.

With Severus' encouragement, Filius wrote some more music. Nothing could quite match that first, extraordinary piece in Severus' estimation, but the work that followed was certainly jolly and serviceable - and besides, Severus recognized that he was quite possibly biased. The man had been ridiculously shy about it, but after sufficient persecution on Severus' part, Filius had agreed to ask the students whether any of them might be interested in forming a choir or an orchestra. The response had been little short of overwhelming; Severus had had difficulty maintaining his grim mien as he sat in the back row of the inaugural Hogwarts school concert, watching Filius on the podium glowing with pride so strongly the Charms master might have being emitting actual light. Oh, what it was to feel accepted.

As those hesitantly hopeful, interstitial years of rebuilding and coping and forming became the wizarding world, the understanding between Filius and Severus weathered and deepened. Indeed, it became so much a part of their lives Severus found it difficult to remember how he might have coped without Filius at his side and in his bed. Life abraded the rough edges of their match and any new crags and fissures that formed belonged to them both. Both were an institution within the institution; publicly, part of the furniture, privately a part of one another.

Severus never lost a sense of awe about the whole thing, though. However secure it seemed, Severus Snape could not learn to take being liked for granted. Filius was the family that he had never been given, the lover he could still seldom believe was really his. Filius said that Severus was the path he had not taken, but which had always called. They complimented each other - shady bright, sweetly sour, gushing inhibition - and it never seemed to pall.

As time pulled on, however, Severus could sense the world was turning once more to trouble. It was just personal at first: the arrival of Harry Potter at Hogwarts - but Severus found himself disquieted by emotions he had thought had long since passed. He didn't want to look at those ghostly green eyes, he didn't want his equilibrium - their equilibrium - upset. Thus, he fought it, tooth and nail, hating the boy, cursing all the sorry life he stood for... and nearly, very nearly, managed to keep their peace.

He discussed many things with his lover, but never that, and he was never asked. Filius was not only perfectly, even-handedly fair, but also a master at smoothing choppy waters. They agreed to disagree on the subject of the boy, and - remarkably - that was all it took.

The world at large, and Voldemort in particular, however, had other ideas. Severus may have seemed noble in obstructing Quirell and the ghastly secret he bore, but he did it as much for himself as for the world at large. Severus mused as to whether he was just a skulking Slytherin to the bone, or whether the nature of all bravery was, in fact, thus; self-interest dressed in fancy robes.

When the Dark Mark burned hot three years later, he had already reconciled himself to a double-life - or perhaps more accurately, a half-life. Severus had also, by that point, made a binding decision.

He had lost his first love by loving too jealously. Severus Snape might have had many faults, but he was sure he was not a fool; he refused to make the same mistake twice.

Therefore, as the world tipped once more into war and Severus was called upon to restart the perilous life of a spy, he shared a carefully calculated level of detail of the business with Filius: precisely nothing.

He kept Filius as much in the dark about his activities as any other resident of the castle. When he was summoned, he'd arrange an alibi. When he was injured, he'd heal his own wounds and make sure they did not go to bed together until nothing appeared amiss. When he was miserable he occluded, and did his best to seem no sourer than usual, blaming any residual bad mood on Longbottom and his cauldrons. If Filius were to hold no information of use to the Dark Lord, he would not be regarded a target.

Moreover, Severus knew his lover too well to believe that Filius would let him simply go on placing himself in danger for the cause on an almost daily basis. At the very least, he would want to help; would try to take half of the burden - and Severus would not see Filius put himself in danger; he simply would not allow it. Also, Filius would ask perfectly fair yet seemingly intractable questions about why he was doing all this to protect Harry Potter, Lily Evans' son. Severus feared such thoughts; they could only lead him to pain and loss of the steadiness they had built; could only undermine the one place he could go when he wanted to forget about all of the troubles.

Severus was a masterful deceiver, and managed to conduct this charade for almost two years. No-one knew save Albus, and for his many faults, the Headmaster was at least tight-lipped.

However, when Voldemort's reappearance became public and attacks occurred in the broad light of day, Severus came to realize that mere secrecy was insufficient. Each of his days was precarious; his life hung in the balance every time he was summoned and every time an Auror got too close. By extension, any person who was linked to him would be in almost as much danger as he was himself. Keeping their relationship customarily quiet was no real defence; too many people already knew for it to go underground without real change - and aside from that, Severus estimated that Filius would never agree to anything but standing solidly at his side, in any case.

He cared about Filius more deeply than he could put to words. Their years together had been more of a blessing than he could have imagined ever receiving, and when the time came he would do anything to protect that wonderful, kind, intellectual, eccentric man.

Anything.

Even break his heart.


*****

It happened on a summer evening, hot and muggy and sickly brimming with midges. Albus had been injured long before and was leaving the castle so often he might as well have invited the curse to consume what was left of him, forthwith.

Filius knew that something was wrong that night; he'd been asking on and off for months in that gentle way of his, looking more concerned each time Severus had assured it was nothing and had gone back to his book. They had even made love - Severus tense and desperate, trying to commit each touch, each second to memory as he knew it would be the last.

Afterwards, he rolled away, rebuffing Filius' hands; shrinking from the arms in which he usually was held. He swallowed hard as his lined face pressed into the pillow, willing himself to gather the strength. Now. It must be now.

"Severus, darling," started Fililus, reaching out once more, "Please tell me what's the matter. I feel so worried for you, and-"

"-Go away, old man," He spun around and delivered a stinging slap to Filius' face, "I have no need of you."

A dreadful silence stretched between them. Severus willed his eyes to remain unreadable; cold as winter. Filius pressed one hand to the side of his face that was already blooming red, slack-jawed and eyes welling with tears that likely had nothing to do with the impact. Then, with an almighty crack he disappeared, leaving Severus with nothing but the silver tassled cord of his lover's favourite dressing gown and the knowledge that saving someone from death only hurt marginally less than watching them die.

The following day, Severus Snape killed Albus Dumbledore, and fled.


*****

The year as Headmaster was excruciating in more ways than should be imaginable. Trapped in a pretense, bullied by a portrait and juggling razors, in a lifetime of ritual rejection Severus had never felt more isolated.

In many ways, it was not unlike that first awful term back at Hogwarts, shunned by all, respected by none - only this time there was no friendly, brilliant man to go against the crowd. Filius would not say a word unless he was forced to do so in his role as Professor, and even then it was as terse and clipped as one could imagine. He would not acknowledge Severus' presence; would not even meet his eyes. When Severus stole a glance he saw nothing but disappointment and sadness there; he had executed his own scheme too well.

As indications of battle began to form that creeping night, Severus felt almost as much relief as he felt dread. Whatever happened, it was going to be over.

He fought Minerva with the necessary skill, but regretting every blow against such a proud, fine woman. His resolution did not waver, however, as he did what he must.

- Did not waver, that is, until a cry that screamed of hurt so deep it was bleeding echoed from the stone corridor. "No! You'll do no more murder at Hogwarts!"

Filius charged toward him, wand wielded aloft and ready. The whole world seemed to slow down. He parried Minerva's blows automatically but could see nothing save Filius' dear face, contorted in anger and enmity. For the first and last time Filius then looked him in the eyes, and Severus saw pure rage, undisguised hatred where there had once been fondness.

A few more parries were all he could last. Oh, Filius! cried his heart, This monster before you - it isn't me...

Irrationally, Severus ran - away from a battle he could probably have won, but away from a lover who would have been his undoing. Later, he supposed it was useful for his cover that the Dark Lord had had an immediate use for him elsewhere - but at the moment he crashed through that window, bruised from stone and cut by shards of glass, nothing save evading the glare of the person he cared for most was on Severus' harrowed mind.

The battle proper passed in a blur of hexes and screams and crashes. Severus fought where he was obliged, of course, but for once the objectives of both of his masters coincided; he had to find the boy.

Desperately, Severus cast about for the youth who had to be told to die. He thought he knew Potter by then - knew his tactics, could guess his game - but he searched and searched until he was breathless with running and dizzy with ideas that had proved false. When the Dark Lord's summons came, burning deep into his marked flesh, Severus knew that he had failed.

The Shrieking Shack was as dilapidated as ever, and Voldemort's voice was low and dangerous. Severus did his best to escape, to be allowed back into the melée outside, but deep down he knew that it was useless; that sordid place had been greedy for his own squalid little life, and it still hungered. Nevertheless, when Voldemort's intention with the wand and the snake became clear, Severus was washed with despair. Not so much for his own sake, but for all that he had failed to achieve, the war that he had failed to end and for the lover whom would never know the truth.

Voldemort believed him the master of the Elder Wand, but,it's Draco, go after Draco! Those words would once have spilled forth from his tongue, but now they stuck in his craw, unpalatable, unsayable. It seemed that Severus Snape was not a bad man, after all - and somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he laughed at the irony: If he were to live now, he would deserve Filius' hate.


*****

Death was grey, apparently, and clouded.

Severus had woken up very slowly, cracking his eyes open against the dull light and registering each minor ache and pain in his body as it made itself known. He now stood upright, detachedly amazed that he seemed whole and relatively well, despite it all. Self-sacrifice had redeemed a murder or two then, and assisted suicide clearly didn't count. A fortune could have been made he known that while still on earth, he thought wryly.

The grey fug extended in all directions without respite or feature, and Severus wondered whether all of the afterlife was going to be so thoroughly boring. Just as he thought that, however, something began to form in the middle-distance.

It was a structure - or perhaps many - formed of orderly horizontals. The sight lifted Severus' spirits, and he was also gratified to feel the swish of his customary black robes against his calves as he strode toward them. As he drew closer to the objects, he saw that they were not just in one clump, but present on all sides, and - yes! - they were bookshelves; ranks and ranks of bookshelves. Beneath his feet, the nondescript grey formed into a comforting wooden parquet floor, and dusky light fittings swung from dark wooden beams overhead.

Severus wondered whether the place was a giant bookshop, or perhaps an immense library. Neither, however, quite seemed to ring true. There were no desks, no tills, no discernible doors. Most strikingly, however, there were absolutely no people. Severus did not need to cast about to qualify this; he could feel that he was entirely alone. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that; relieved and glad and disappointed and unwanted all at once, came close.

Sighing, Severus reached out to the nearest shelf to take a book. The titles weren't quite clear from where he stood, but he had the feeling that one would appear when he was holding a volume; it seemed the afterlife didn't want to waste any of its energy in conjuring details ahead of schedule.

He had barely weighed the thing in his hands, relieved that it was solid and did indeed feel book-like, when he was startled by a voice that came from directly behind him.

"A fine choice, I'm sure."

Severus whirled round - to see Filius, calmly smiling. - Only the vision wasn't quite Filius in his usual form. He shimmered, three-dimensional, but not quite corporeal, halloed by a soft blue glow.

"What on earth...?" Severus spluttered. "Did they kill you? But why...?" he waved vaguely toward Filius' transparency.

Still smiling, Filius spread his hands wide. "I decided I wanted your opinion on curtains, after all."

It was all too much to digest. Severus was so pleased to see Filius - especially a Filius who wasn't throwing curses at him - and he was fairly sure that had been a joke, but the whole situation was so surreal it was difficult to tell. "You wanted... I mean, why, really? Or how?"

"Calm down, my dear! We haven't much time." Taking a deep breath, Severus allowed himself to be subdued, and then Filius continued. "No, I'm not dead - or at least, I'm pretty sure I wasn't when I came here. I dusted off some of those old spells I told you about. A bit tricky to remember at first, but well - here I am, and they seem to be holding up." he pinched his forearm in demonstration.

Severus made the connection: the charms for which Filius had landed in Azkaban all those years before. "But won't you get in trouble again?"

At that, Filius actually laughed; a mellifluous, sweet sound that echoed between the bookcases and seemed to warm the greyness itself. Severus felt he could listen to that laugh forever. "Practically speaking: probably not. That is, in the direct aftermath of a battle no-one's going to be checking up on such things - particularly as we don't even have a Minister at the moment. And far more importantly: I couldn't care less! Not when I needed to find you." A long pause; glowing, tremulous. "I'm so, so sorry, Severus, for doubting you. For believing, even for a second that..." he sniffed, threatening to break into tears. "I wonder if you could ever forgive me? If maybe, in time, you might..."

Severus took all of that in with awe. How fortunate he felt, that Filius now understood, still cared. However, he could see an obvious problem. "But I'm... I'm dead. You can't-"

"-No, you're not," stated Filius, pulling himself firmly together. "That is, you will be in half an hour or so, according to the healers' best guess, but not quite yet."

Again, Severus took a moment to process that information. He then remembered his last moments, and was struck incongruously by the thought: "I must look a terrible sight."

"Not at your most handsome, I'll grant - but then again, only a few notches down from first thing on a Monday morning." Filius face creased again into smiles, and Severus couldn't stop his own from doing the same. When a calm settled once more, Filius continued. "But Severus, my dearest, listen. It's terribly selfish of me to come here. That hasn't stopped me from getting this far, of course, but I'd be an awful blighter not to mention the rest. If I just go away now, and the healers are right, in a few more minutes you'll go....on. And when you get there, she will be there too. Isn't that what you'd rather, after all these years?"

The question hung heavily between them. Severus closed his eyes for what felt like a very long time, and tried to examine his heart. After years of avoidance and equivocation it was time to tell himself the truth, and that was neither simple nor painless. Filius seemed to be holding his breath; the silence in that strange place pressed like a gale upon timber.

Finally, Severus began to speak. "Yes, it is true that I shall always love her - irrationally and fruitlessly, I now know, but I cannot deny it." Filius' face was ashen, but he nodded stoically, trying not to let his feelings show, edging away. "But..." - A flash of hope across those features, neither dared breathe - "But I... also find that I..." Severus' voice trailed to be almost inaudible, "love... you."

At that, Filius collapsed to the floor, sobs shaking his shoulders as tears flowed freely across his cheeks. For a moment, Severus was afraid that he had completely mis-spoken, but his fears were quelled when he saw that Filius was smiling more than he thought it was physically possible for a person to smile.

Born of his need for thoroughness, Severus added, "So, I'd like to come back with you." This was definitely not the time to trust anything to provenly poor communication skills, he felt.

From his position on the floor, Filius nodded, spraying tears sideways within his bluish aura. "Oh my darling..."

"But I still stick by green. For curtains, that is."

"Alright, green it is," agreed Filius between sniffs, "But only if set-off by a nice pink pinstripe." The serious business of interior furnishings seemed to help him regain his composure. Filius swallowed hard and appeared to collect himself as he stood.

"So, what exactly do I...?" Severus looked around again at the odd library, and the grey beyond.

Filius simply held out his hand. "'Dear Dark-Eyed Wanderer, Why don't you wander home, with me?'"