The Last Sanguimagus

Severus dreamt.

The air is thick with ghosts. They are leaving Hogwarts, leaving forever, and he watches, unconcerned. Hogwarts will still be Hogwarts, even without them.

The Bloody Baron nods as he floats past, and Severus returns the nod solemnly. Ghosts are drifting out the front doors, disappearing, set adrift on the wind. Sarah is there, walking with the ghosts, leaving the castle as well, her face as impassive as it normally is. He wonders why she is joining the ghosts in their odd exile.

The dungeons are empty. Even emptier than during the holidays. Shadows line the corridors. The hallways seem to swallow him whole. He is oddly disconcerted and walks back up the steps.

He finds that Hogwarts is now completely empty.

He checks classrooms, the staff room, the kitchens, the halls. There is not one living soul left there save himself. Not a single house-elf. Not a single ghost.

He races back to the Entrance Hall, calling her name, but she is already gone.

***

Sarah lingered somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

Her mind watched progressions of pictures, odd disjointed images of Hogwarts, her childhood home, Das Herrenhaus, that forest in Poland. She felt detached. Isolated. Someone said her name faintly. Her father? Macnair?

There was a grove before her, terrifying, the memory of it reaching out like Devil's Snare to grasp at her...

Someone's hand was on her arm, and she jerked awake suddenly.

"Sarah?" said Severus.

She blinked a few times and rested her head back on her forearm. At some point during the night she'd let go of the Painstone, and it sat innocently enough on the bed.

If he had wanted to, he could have taken it and left, and she'd have been none the wiser.

He had passed yet another test of trust. While she, at nearly every turn, had fought it mightily. She was beginning to realise that there was something more to this man than what he had been. His gaze wandered to the Painstone and back to her.

"I'm sorry," she said.

He looked surprised for a moment. "Accepted," he said at last. Sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed, he fumbled with his potions case for a moment. Odd, really, as he had more grace in his little finger than she possessed in her entirety. Then again, there had been something in his eyes, some strange look of...something she could not really identify.

She closed her eyes as the potion began its work, biting and burning its way to healing. Her back was still quite warm, but it was an entirely different kind of warmth. The change was hard to believe.

"It looks as if you are beginning to heal," he said, a look of concentration on his face as he applied the healing solution. "I doubt that anything can be done for the scarring, though. The wounds are too deep."

"I am not concerned about scarring," she said. "I simply wish to be able to walk about properly again, and not have to worry about bandages and cooling charms and whether or not I can sit down in a chair without having to use the Painstone. In fact, it would be quite preferable to never have to use the Painstone ever again."

He worked his way down her back, frowning slightly. "At least one more application," he said. "Perhaps two. And you shouldn't get out of bed for at least an hour. In fact, you should probably rest through the weekend."

She drew her arm out from under her cheek and absently flexed her tingling fingers. "Yes," she agreed.

"I have an...appointment later today," he said. "But I could bring you breakfast, if you like, and lunch..."

"There is no need," she said. "I will contact Dobby. He has procured meals for me before."

"Ah, of course," he said quietly. For a moment she thought he looked relieved. Which made sense, really, as she couldn't imagine him wishing to wait on someone. "I will return tonight to reapply the solution." He made no move to leave.

"Thank you," she said simply.

There was the faintest flush to his face. "You're welcome," he murmured, and averted his eyes.

The pain had been building, and she reached across the sheet and took the Painstone in hand. The healing solution hurt as it repaired, and she fed more pain into the stone, the familiar deadening weight descending upon her and pinning her to the bed until she released it.

He looked at her again, and there was some trace of apprehension on his face. "I could give you a potion..."

"Unless it is the Draught of the Living Death, there isn't much point."

"There are other potions which might give you some respite," he said.

"Your offer is kind," she said, "but I must refuse. There are few pain or sleep potions which still work for me, and I do not wish to see them lose their effectiveness as well. Besides, they are quite expensive."

"Expense does not matter," he said. "The ingredients that I've used to create the antidote cost more than your entire year's salary. What is the cost, in comparison to its benefits?"

"I have the Painstone," she said calmly. "It does not require Galleons to remove the pain."

"It costs something a great deal more worthwhile," he said softly.

For a split second she thought he knew what it cost to create one, but the lack of disgust on his face finally convinced her that he had no idea. "A day's worth of emotion is a low price to pay," she said.

He finally gave a small nod, still looking at her. "I will return later," he promised as he stood, his robes swirling around his form.

She simply closed her eyes, knowing that sleep would not overtake her. She heard the door close quietly behind him.

***

Three quick stirs with the spoon, and the potion had turned the proper orange colour and thickened noticeably. Severus turned the heat off with his wand, noting that the burn-healing paste was in good order. A seventh year had irritated a Snapdragon in Herbology, and it had reacted predictably, leaving the unfortunate student in the infirmary and nearly clearing out the last of Poppy's stock.

The Order meeting was rapidly approaching, and he grew more and more irritable. It was preposterous that the Headmaster was even entertaining the notion that Silas would be a valuable member of the group. The bloody fool would be insufferable, as always, and he hoped fervently that the vote would go against him. It was bad enough dealing with the Defence teacher at Hogwarts. It would be impossible to deal with him in the Order as well.

He knew already that it was a losing battle. The Order was short on people, and Sirius's absence had worried many. They needed help. Silas was unlikely to be rejected, despite his actions. Severus even wondered if bringing up the attempted blackmail would actually sway them towards supporting Silas. After all, that kind of gutsy maneouvre might be appreciated. Taking on a man suspected of Dark Magic in the guise of protecting children would be viewed sympathetically.

He cursed aloud and turned away from his workbench, running a hand through his hair. Soon enough he'd have that ignorant git staring at him disapprovingly right next to Moody. He cursed again at the thought.

The vials clinked in his pocket, and he drew out the antidote to the Lingering Wounds Potion, observing the periwinkle colour and feeling the sting of failure bite anew. His overconfidence had led to more difficulties. Had he proceeded cautiously he might have spared her from the awful scarring that was certain to result. He felt the ridiculous urge to crush the tiny bottle in his hand. Disappointment dug at him.

That and his odd reaction to her. Severus Snape, volunteering to fetch meals? Severus Snape, a house-elf? He could not understand the impulse that had seized him while in her room. A side effect of his dream, he supposed, and the loneliness that had gripped him this morning. Still, he felt mystified by his reaction to her, pale and emotionless on the bed. When she had spoken of hoping for a normal life again he had felt some stirrings of empathy with his guilt. To be so crippled for so many years, partially by his hand...he had felt more than his own culpability in the matter. He had felt pity as well.

He looked at the burn-healing paste again. It had cooled satisfactorily. He began to bottle it.

***