Sherbet Lemon

Sherbet Lemon

"--unless there is anything else?" Minerva glanced up from her parchment to the staff members who were crowded into the room. When no answer was forthcoming, she nodded. "Very well; that will be all."

As some of the teachers made hasty exits, others remained clustered about the fire, talking quietly. Among these, Minerva could distinguish Pomona and Filius, two of her former fellow Heads of House.

"...yes, a red rose and candy, every year. As well as holidays," Pomona was saying.

"The same type of candy every time?" Filius inquired.

"Sherbet lemons. But no one knows who leaves them. They just turn up some time in the night."

"The charms and wards on the castle are strong and ancient. Some of the enchantments are natural magic that the castle produces itself. Perhaps the connection it had with Albus was such that these mementoes manifest themselves as a sign of the castle's respect. Unless..." and Filius continued to theorize.

Minerva let out an inaudible sigh and banished the scrolls before her to her office. It had been five years since she'd taken up the post of headmistress--in fact, she mused as she wandered to the window of the staff room, today was the fifth anniversary of the death of Albus Dumbledore. After dinner, Minerva would visit Albus's grave: she would sit quietly as the moon rose, and then she would let her worries escape her lips in whispered words. Worries that the world would never be right again, worries that she could never live up to the likes of Albus Dumbledore, worries that the next dark lord would rise all too soon. Minerva would then rise and walk back to the castle, leaving behind some flowers, but taking her worries with her and tucking them away again. It had become a yearly tradition. And in the morning, a red rose and sherbet lemon candies will have inexplicably appeared at the tomb, for in these still uncertain times, the wards were set so that no person entered the castle grounds without Minerva's knowledge.

A breeze drifted lazily though the open casement, and the sunlit June afternoon belied Minerva's melancholy reminiscence. As the remaining teachers departed for their afternoon classes, they bid her goodbye and she responded rather distractedly. When all but she had quitted the staff room, she leaned against the window ledge with another sigh and peered across the grounds. From this vantage point, she could just make out the outline of the glistening white tomb near the lakeshore. Sometimes it felt like things were finally getting back to normal (or as normal as the wizarding world could ever be), but at other moments Minerva could sense the glaring differences between the time before the war and the last four years. These differences seemed to give the memories of the war itself some kind of preternatural strength, so that they stuck out in her mind.

The stretch of grounds between the castle and the tomb were dappled in shades of green; the clouds overhead cast dancing shadows as they were buffeted to and fro by the strong summer breeze that was gusting over the tree tops of the Forbidden Forest. With nearly all of the students in classes at this hour, not a soul disturbed the peace as Minerva gazed on--except...what was that figure?

The headmistress squinted against the sunlight. Yes, there was someone walking cautiously across the grounds. The figure seemed keen to stay in the shadows of the clouds even as they wantonly changed direction, but it was headed for the lake--no, for the white tomb. Minerva was slightly suspicious and not a little puzzled. This person did not appear to be wearing student robes, and she knew all of the teachers to be otherwise occupied; yet she couldn't quite shake the feeling of slight recognition.

Then, like the slamming of a door or the sudden disappearance of Gryffindor House points, it dawned on her fully. Minerva gasped. Even from this distance, even after years of absence, she recognized that gait, that habitual caution.

"So he's come home at last," she murmured with a small smile. And before the portraits on the staff room walls could inquire as to who had come home, he tail of a cat, preceded by its owner, was disappearing down the corridor.

By the time Minerva's animagus form carried her through Hogwarts and across the grounds, the now familiar figure had reached Albus's tomb. He was kneeling before the tomb; one hand rested on the cool marble surface, and his head was bowed. The headmistress-turned-cat did not wish to disturb this display of quiet reverence, so she sat in the midst of some wildflowers a short distance away and waited.

Before much time had passed, the man before the tomb seemed to be roused from his musings by a burst of birdsong nearby. He stood wearily, as if he carried a heavy weight at all times, and turned. It was then that he saw Minerva sitting a few meters from his feet. He stopped short as recognition flashed through his eyes and he swore under his breath. But Minerva's feline ears heard it as if he'd spoken quite plainly.

"Now, Severus, do watch your language," she admonished as she resumed her human form. Then her voice softened. "It is good to see you again, young man."

Severus Snape backed away a half step and titlted his head forward slightly, not only as a sign of respect, but also so that his curtain of dark hair hid most of his face. "I am terribly sorry, headmistress," he said presently. "I should not have come here, I know; I won't bother you again." He turned to leave, but Minerva called after him.

"What utter nonsense, Severus! You have more of a right than anyone to visit Albus's tomb. Why have you not come sooner?" Minerva glanced at the tomb, and she saw a single red rose, like a drop of blood on the white marble. Upon closer inspection, she saw, half-hidden under the leaves of the flower, a handful of sherbet lemon candies, wrapped in yellow papers. This was a familiar sight to the headmistress, for these very items had been left in anonymity many a time. Realization dawned. "You have come before," she said suddenly. Severus stopped, but he did not turn to face her again. "Hogwarts let you in without alerting the wards. It knew you belonged. Severus," she continued, "it's been years, and we haven't heard from you. If you were here," she gestured to the white tomb, "then why did you never come up to the castle?"

"I will not tread where I am not wanted. I will have a measure of dignity yet, however undeserved it may be." The response came quietly, and Minerva suspected Severus was not used to speaking so much.

"So you've exiled yourself? Severus, we all understand. We know what happened."

"It doesn't matter."

"Be reasonable. I don't need you wallowing in your own guilt." If Minerva knew Severus (and she had for most of his life), then she would surely get a reaction from him this way.

Right on cue, Severus Snape spun to face her in all his fury. "You do not understand guilt. You're not a murderer. I am. I am nothing more than a killer." His voice was dangerously quiet.

"Don't take that tone of voice with me, young man. You don't frighten me." Minerva laid a hand on his arm, and he tensed visibly. When was the last time he'd seen a kind gesture? "Tell me, Severus: if you had no desire to be seen, why did you come in the middle of the afternoon? Why not in the dead of night, as I'm certain all of your other visits have been?"

Severus calmed slightly, and said with some reticence, "I have a potion simmering that will require my full attention tonight...but I couldn't--I mean, I knew the date...I had to come." For the first time in the headmistress's memory, Severus Snape's voice broke. "I knew the students would be in classes this time of day. It appears that in the past, the castle has kept me hidden from prying eyes--students wandering in the night. I thought it would continue to do so in the daylight. I did not intend for you to see me."

"You're more careful than that. I think you wanted to be seen." Minerva held up her free hand to stall his protests. "You need friends. You need people. Hogwarts knows this as well. The castle wanted you to be seen."

At this, Severus glanced at his upper arm, where Minerva's hand still rested reassuringly. When he met her eyes again, she saw that he'd dropped the guards around his mind. While Minerva McGonagall was no legilimens, she could see the fear and uncertainty in his eyes. "Come," she said kindly, "we'll go to my office where we can talk over tea. And I daresay there's a certain portrait that's been anxious to speak with you."

Severus gazed up at the castle, and she saw his eyes stray to that tower. He unconsciously rubbed his left arm. "I cannot," he whispered. He adopted a stoic expression and said nothing more. The headmistress knew he'd occluded his mind again. It seemed to be a kind of escape.

"You shall," she responded with typical Gryffindor stubbornness. "Come," Minerva commanded imperiously and steered the now-taciturn ex-Potions Master to the front doors.

To his credit, Severus's steps faltered only slightly when they entered the ancient school, but since classes were still in session and they met no students on the way to the head's office, he seemed to regain his composure. When the revolving staircase deposited them at the office door and they entered, Severus kept his eyes trained on the floor. Minerva ushered him into a chair. She had expected the portraits on the walls to be either whispering excitedly or pretending to snore. They were completely silent, however, and all eyes were on him. Severus was still watching the floor with interest, but his eyes snapped upwards in a flash when the silence was broken.

"Welcome home, Severus, my boy." It was spoken softly, but affably as ever.

Severus visibly swallowed. "Headmaster Dumbledore." Minerva hadn't thought it possible, but the young man before her seemed to pale considerably.

"Tut, tut, I always asked you to call me Albus."

"Yet I never did."

"Yes, that is the only thing I asked of you that I never received." Severus winced, but said nothing for several minutes. The portrait of Albus Dumbledore continued. "Well? Lay into me. Rant and rave. It does you no good to bottle it up like that."

"You're a portrait."

"That I am, my boy. But it will make you feel better."

"Make me feel better? Nothing can make me feel better." Severus said scathingly. He erupted from his seat and paced the office while Minerva quietly seated herself behind her desk. "If not for me, the real Albus Dumbledore would be sitting at that desk."

"You can't know that," Minerva interjected. "There were many casualties in the war."

"That does not mean I'm not a murderer! I should have died! It should have been me." He sank down into a nearby chair. "I should have died for you," he whispered. Revulsion was etched into the lines of Severus's face. He hated himself.

"You're a hero just the same," Minerva responded quietly.

"I'm a coward."

"That is the most ridiculous statement that has ever crossed your lips," the portrait of Dumbledore said matter-of-factly. The other portraits that were crowded onto the walls nodded their heads in agreement.

"Indeed, you are so brave you should have been in my House." Minerva suppressed a chuckle when the former Head of Slytherin glared at her. All too soon, however, his glare turned inward once again. She sighed in exasperation. "Severus, every sensible witch or wizard knows what you did for the world. They know the sacrifices you have made. You're not sitting in Azkaban right now, so why do you hide away from your friends? Even Harry Potter thinks you're a hero. And he should know."

Severus had started in surprise at this, but he soon recovered and rolled his eyes. "Like I give a damn about what Potter thinks."

Minerva and Dumbledore's portrait both chuckled this time, and the headmistress handed the young man before her a cup of black tea, no milk, no sugar. Severus accepted it and thanked her quietly. Somehow, she got the feeling he wasn't simply thanking her for the tea. She smiled again. Perhaps, in time, Severus would come to realize that he still had friends and a home at Hogwarts. Perhaps the world would be right again after all.

Holding out a small, porcelain dish, Minerva said, "Sherbet lemon, Severus?"

The barest hint of a smile flitted across Severus's features, and he said quietly, "Absolutely not."