The Last Sanguimagus

Sarah woke from the dream into the dark of the night, rubbing her eyes groggily.

She stared at the fireplace. The view was odd, until she realised that she was sleeping on her left side, something she hadn't done in years. She yawned and stretched, noting the unfamiliar sensations. It was not even four in the morning yet, but there was no chance that she'd be able to get back to sleep; she felt wide awake.

A look in her wardrobe revealed the sad truth, that she only owned summer robes. The lightweight fabric felt thin under her fingertips. She had drawn a bit of her salary, hoping to purchase a winter robe...and then had been told of the necessity of a dress robe for the Halloween feast.

A dress robe. A waste of good money. She'd never be able to use it if she had to run again. At least the winter robe would have been useful.

Of course, this still left the difficulty of purchasing anything at all. Robes needed to be fitted, and she couldn't leave Hogwarts, after all. She didn't dare Floo to Madam Malkin's. And there was only a month left for her to take care of the situation.

Slipping on two sets of robes, she checked the fire briefly and then left.

Hogwarts was cool and silent. Not even the ghosts were about. She had no real idea where she was going; she only wanted to take advantage of her new freedom.

Her soft footsteps barely made a sound. The staircases were still. She roamed past slumbering portraits, quiescent tapestries, quiet hallways. The castle seemed to be sleeping. She walked up steps and down halls, past towers and windows and dark alcoves.

She came to a dusty corridor. One of the doors was agape.

She stopped and looked. "Lumos," she whispered, and her wand emitted a cold, blue-tinted light. Putting her other hand on the door, she pushed the rough wood until it opened fully.

The room was full of odd things. Statues of varying heights and sizes, empty frames stacked high, mouldering musical instruments, bits and pieces of armor...it was obviously a storeroom of sorts. Sarah looked around and shivered a little.

There was a window at one end of the room, covered in grime. "Scourgify," she said, and one of the panes suddenly became clean. "Nox," she said, letting the light from her wand die away. She looked outside.

The graveyard was below, lit by the pink blush of pre-dawn. She stood still, watching the day slowly grow brighter. She touched the cold glass of the window. Somewhere Lucius Malfoy waited for her to slip up. Somewhere the Dark Lord waited as well. Trapped, she thought to herself. For a moment longer she remained, wondering how the game would play out.

Turning back to the abandoned items in the room, her gaze fell upon one of the statues. She looked at it closely. This could be exactly what I'm looking for. Making a mental note of the location of the storeroom, she stepped back out into the corridor.

Hungry, she made her way to the Great Hall. Pomona was there, reading an early edition of the Prophet. "Good morning, Sarah," she said.

"Good morning, Pomona," she replied, sitting down at her accustomed spot. Filling her bowl with porridge, she began to eat.

A trio of Ravenclaws entered, dropping their books on the table so that they could study while they ate. Sarah watched for a moment, remembering doing the same thing at their age. She, too, had known the inside of the library far better than the Quidditch field.

Her eye was caught by a familiar black shape. Severus neared the head table, a look of fatigue on his face. He sat down, giving her a nod, but his eyes lingered for a moment longer than necessary.

She nodded back, and finished the last spoonful of porridge. She pushed the bowl away. It clinked against a teapot.

Tea.

It had been at least two months since she'd had a cup of tea. She hesitated for a moment, and then reached out and fingered the handle. A moment later she was cradling the cup in both hands, inhaling the steam, her eyes closed. The warmth seeped through her fingers. She raised the cup to her lips and sipped the hot liquid, sighing in relief, thinking only of the lovely, familiar taste.

She set down the cup and reopened her eyes. The Ravenclaw girls were still engrossed in their books, and four Hufflepuffs were now seated at their house table.

Then she noticed that Severus was openly staring at her.

She turned to look at him, but, surprisingly, he didn't turn away. His eyes were dark and she could not interpret the intense expression on his face. The moment lengthened. She felt as if he was drawing something out of her.

"Good morning!" boomed Silas as he pulled out his chair and sat down in between them, breaking their eye contact. "Early, I see! Excellent, excellent. It's about time you decided to improve your work ethic."

Sarah looked at the ginger-haired man. "Pardon me?"

"Being punctual is an important part of being a role model for your students," he said, pouring himself a cup of tea. "I can't help but notice that you've been late to nearly every breakfast so far this term."

"I was unaware that there was a time limit involved," she said carefully.

He gestured, and a few sugar cubes leapt into his cup as his spoon stirred them vigorously. He lifted the cup and took a sip. "In life," he said, taking a helping of scrambled eggs, "it is advisable to apply yourself to everything you do with care. Especially when you are in a position of responsibility, a position that influences children."

"There is no guideline for the attendance of staff at meals." She took another sip of tea.

"Perhaps not," he said. "But in the absence of guidelines, one should create new ones, based on good manners and common sense."

"Really," she said. "You are suggesting that I create my own guidelines, but I rather doubt that they would satisfy your pointedly stated sensibilities, unless these guidelines should exactly mirror your own." She finished her tea and set it down on the table, watching as Minerva sat down with the Headmaster. "Good day, Silas." She stood up.

"Good day," he sighed in return, shaking his head.

***

Severus tried to concentrate on his breakfast, his lesson plan, and the three cauldrons brewing in his classroom, but his mind kept returning over and over again to Sarah. He stared down at his fork, commanding his thoughts back to the exacting process of creating the Salus Potion, but the look on her face rose up unbidden. He could not help but remember her holding the cup with both hands, as if it was the most precious thing in the world, and the faint smile as she drank in the steam had somehow affected him. When she had locked eyes with him he had been able to sense things stirring within her, feelings of contentment and ease that had long been denied, and he had felt guilt rise within him, old and familiar.

You've healed her, he reminded himself savagely. The matter is finished. She is just another teacher now.

Yet there she was again, her eyes clear and, if not happy, at least free of pain, and she had simply looked at him, with no resentment, no anger. He had not been expecting that. It seemed as if she had forgiven him, perhaps even some time ago.

For a moment he felt as if he couldn't breathe. He felt dazed at the emotions swirling inside him. After all of these years, he had finally done something that mattered to someone, something that hadn't backfired like the disaster at Godric's Hollow, something that had made an actual difference. Something that might have atoned for some of the monstrous things that he had done, and in a very direct way.

He pushed his chair away from the table, leaving his breakfast almost untouched. Ignoring the odd looks from his fellow teachers he made his way to the cool dark sanctuary of his rooms, where he could try to shake off these feelings privately.