Chapter 85: The Hanging Axe

Lily felt as if something was wrong the moment she opened her eyes. An empty bed was by no means an indicator of anything sinister, for her husband made a habit of taking to bed late and rising with the sun, and she made a habit of sleeping through breakfast on the weekend. But no heat lingered on Severus' side of the bed, only winter's barren crispness. That unease had only compounded when she stepped into his office and didn't find him hunched over, already hard at work at his week's marking.

It wasn't until she closed her eyes and focused on the subtle tug of her ring did she realise what her gut was telling her. Her ring pointed towards the Hospital Wing. Her dread mounted with every step as she headed towards it.

In the many afternoons Lily had spent in this wing during the past month or so, she had found this ward to be the one place in this ancient stone-walled castle to be truly free from the ever-persistent draught. Poppy ruled her territory with such authority that likely the wind wouldn't dare to intrude.

The winter's grey light filtered gently through the thick paned windows sheeted with frost. The hospital beds that lined the entrance of the ward held a couple of students, both suffering poorly with a winter's malady. Merlin have mercy on the breeze that dares intrude upon their comfort in the matron's presence.

Lily glanced down the rows until she saw two hospital beds that faced across the floors with privacy curtains laced tightly about each. With hurried steps she raced towards the bed where her ring had pointed, hearing voices upon approach. She hesitated on the verge of tearing them open with anxious haste, her ears prickling with unfamiliar voices.

A soft reasonable voice spoke from beyond the barrier. "… understand that this is just the process, Mr Snape-"

"Professor Snape," a familiar snide voice interrupted. "And am I correct in understanding that the charge of illegal poaching too is just part of the process?"

A second voice sounded, "No, Professor Snape. That is our determination after considering all the findings. Your court date is set. I advise you to seek legal advice on the matter."

The curtains parted suddenly, causing Lily to leap aside for two middle-aged wizards wearing matching uniforms bearing an owl-shaped crest upon their left breast. Neither wizard gave Lily more than a brief glance as they passed but that one moment was enough for Lily to form the opinion that they were of some sort of authority she had never the pleasure of dealing with before, and that she didn't like either one of them terribly much.

Lily stepped into the curtained area the moment the two men vacated the ward. Her eyes flew straight to the hospital bed that held Severus garbed in the hospital gown, evidentially dressed for a somewhat extended stay. His one hand of flesh was worst affected, being covered thickly by bandages evidently treated by the same paste that slathered up the left side of his face. Burn-Healing Paste from what Lily could tell.

"What happened?" Lily gasped upon the sight of her husband covered in salves and bandages.

Beside her, Poppy stepped in, followed by a charmed tray of ointments, tonics and bandages. "Having his dressings changed, that's what. I'll thank you to give him a little privacy."

Lily made to argue, but her better sense immediately shut down that folly. No matter how worried she felt, seven years of experience taught her she'd always come off second best in an argument with the good matron.

Lily stepped back and drew close the curtains, knowing better than to interfere with the good work of Madam Pomfrey. "What happened?" Lily tried again, in a softer voice this time as to not upset the matron.

"You wouldn't believe it," came James' voice through the veil of the bed opposite.

Lily turned to yank that open to find James Potter laying on top of the covers, still dressed in his travel-stained robes.

"Well, I'm less surprised to see you here," Lily jibed, smiling weakly. James, for the most part, did not look much worse for wear. If not for the length of bandage swathed about his head, he would have looked relatively untouched compared to Severus' ointment-slathered appearance. He lay back on the hospital bed as most patients would, although he lay atop the covers still fully clothed. Evidently the matron made no long-term plans to keep him.

"We weren't even looking for that blasted dragon and now we're going to court for it?"

"Dragon? Court?" It wasn't even twelve hours since she saw Sev and James both at the dinner table and somehow hospitalisation and Magical Law Enforcement officials got involved. It felt like her Gryffindor Prefect days all over again.

James grimaced, looking almost sheepish, not meeting Lily's eyes. "It was really actually my fault."

"The dragon or court?" Lily asked, not quite certain what was worse. She's never had anything to do with the law before and everything sounded so terribly serious.

James actually looked all that more ashamed. "Both," he admitted. "I basically tripped over that dragon and it chased me out of its cave. One thing led to another."

"What were you doing that had you in the same room as a dragon?" Lily asked aghast. "Did Professor Kettleburn's teaching materials fly the coop again?"

"Forest of Dean, actually," James clarified. "And I was on… you know… Order business."

Lily's lips parted in a silent 'Oh.' The risk taking suddenly made a whole lot of sense. There were few things in the world that Severus would risk life and limb for, and all of them had to do with his sense of duty in his indomitable heart.

"He didn't even kill it. I did," James continued. "He was only there to save my sorry butt from getting eaten."

Despite the fear and concern she felt, Lily couldn't help the little skip of her heart she would get whenever she heard tales of her husband's heroics. She hadn't yet outgrown her Gryffindor romanticism, and likely never would.

James, having worked himself up, continued, voice rising. "And it wasn't like we were out to kill it. It just kept trying to kill us. And magic was just bouncing off its scales. Couldn't stun it, couldn't scare it off. I didn't have a choice but to cut off its head."

"You cut off its head?" Lily asked quizzically.

James blinked as he just realised what he had let slip. "Oh umm…" Guilt was written upon his features like Hagrid whenever the gentle giant realised he had let slip more than he should have.

Lily's neck prickled at his tone. Her mind turned from the magic and mundane to the secretive and selective. Thinking upon what knowledge she knew was being sought and being kept silent.

"D-did you cut its head off… with a sword? The Sword of Gryffindor?" she asked, hardly daring to believe it.

James appeared slightly taken aback, glancing about conspiratorially. "Yeah. How'd you know? It was being kept mum," he said, voice consciously muted to a whisper.

"Where did you find it?" she asked with a reverent whisper.

James grinned, seeming to feel semblance of his confidence return to him. "It fell out of nowhere and hit me hard on the head. Thankfully, hilt first."

And suddenly it all made sense. The secretiveness of it all. The dire mission the two were sudden sent out on.

Just like a fairy tale, or a legend. The very legend of the sword, in fact. Lily had read Hogwarts: A History enough times to know the legends of the founders off by heart. It was not an accident that a Gryffindor like James Potter managed to summon the sword when he needed it most. It wasn't an accident that he was given a mission that would corner him into such a situation.

And James would have no notion of what a pivotal role he had played in the grand scheme of this plan.

Because of course it had to be part of a plan. It was only two weeks prior that Lily had learned of the end game to this war. That there were such dark things in the world as Horcruxes. And that in the Sword of Gryffindor laid their plans to end it all.

That the sword had been lost to the ages never seemed to be of a grave concern as they all marched on in their respective roles, working towards that final goal. So confident, it seemed, that the sword would find its way to them. And so it came to be, the Sword once lost to the centuries, tumbling from the aethers into their hands.

"Do you have it with you?" Lily asked breathlessly.

"I already handed it to Ol' Gramps," He said sheepishly before quickly adding, "I honestly did have it," as if afraid he would not be believed.

"Go spin another one," jibed Lily, unable to stop herself winding her friend up.

"Because me hexing a dragon to death is so much more believable," James muttered with a good-natured roll of his eyes.

The sound of a polite magical knock on the otherwise cloth drapes jolted the Gryffindors out of their conversation. "I am done with Severus if you would like a moment, Lily," the matron announced as she entered through the barrier. "And do so quickly. I'll be needing a moment for James' treatment."

Lily was eager to comply. "I'd love to stick around for more tales of the mystical item that could crack your legendarily hard head, but I've got an ailing husband to fawn over," Lily announced as she stood up from James' bedside.

"Alack. I'll have to seek my attention from elsewhere," James uttered shamelessly. "Maybe Marlene would like my new scar."

But Poppy, already setting up her tray of potions and bandages, was quick to dash his hopes and dreams. "You'll not scar. Your injury's not anywhere visible, regardless."

James sighed. "Alas, she'll make do with just the brain damage."

Lily grinned at that remark. James had developed a self-depreciating sense of humour of late which honestly balanced well with his overinflated ego. She waved as she stepped out, leaving the young man to the matron's care.

Severus was propped up against a pillow, swathed in thick bandages across one side of his face such that the entire left side was covered. His uncovered black eye met hers as she pulled up a seat beside him.

She reached to stroke his face, tracing his cheekbone and brushing back his fire-frazzled hair. Her fingers traced up to where the bandages began, folded over the left side of his face where she had seen the ointment slathered.

"I do not believe the burns will scar," Severus reassured softly. "I applied Burn-Healing Paste immediately. With this second application, it should heal without mar or mark."

"And even if it does scar, I'm a Gryffindor. Scars are a bonus," Lily reassured right back.

Severus smiled gently, looking more exhausted than in pain. His smile half-hidden by the fresh bandages. "Then you might forgive the scars I've earned from the claws of that beast. Essence of Dittany, as it were, was not the optimal method of direct injury control."

"Where?" Lily leaned in, peering closely.

"Not on my face, I'll have you know."

Lily grinned, "Who could tell, as covered as you are?"

Severus reached out from under his covers to reveal his one flesh hand as also covered in gauze. Lily's heart twinged with sympathetic pain. "Did Poppy say how long you'll be here for?"

"I should be discharged tomorrow morning, though I would gladly leave sooner. I could not imagine a more torturous way of wasting my time than lying here invalid." Sev glowered at the very thought, and Lily was given the distinct impression of the same boy who would, despite illness, trudge along to every class for fear of missing out on anything that magical education had to offer.

"No dragon attack's going to keep you down," Lily murmured with a soft smile, which soured at a thought. "But what about court? What did you get charged with?"

If Severus was concerned, his cool reply held no trace of it. "Do not concern yourself overly."

But Lily was concerned. Crime and punishment. This was all a different world to her. Of course, that being said, Severus would be well versed with such things, having lived the secret life that he did. Legal strife over killing a dragon may seem of little concern or consequence. Motions to simply go through. Perhaps he already had some idea of his legal recourse.

She tried her best to turn her mind away from that stress of the future, focusing only on the there and now. She ran her fingers through her husband's hair, calming her nerves as she felt him relax into her tactile comfort. "What's the story, anyway?" she quietly asked, turning the topic back to the far happier heroics.

Severus gave a weary smile. "I take it Potter's retelling is insufficient?"

Lily was all wide eyes and innocent gazes. "Who said he said anything?" An absolute reflex from the days when she was always on the defensive foot between Sev and James.

A black eyebrow arched. "I find it hard to believe that he would not immediately claim credit in every form for my continued living."

Lily could not help but wince at that. "How close were you to dying?"

"Not as close as I have been," Severus replied calmly.

"Don't get cute with me," Lily uttered in an exasperation at her husband's dark humour. "How close was I to losing you?"

The silence that answered spoke volumes. One that tightened the knot in her stomach that squirmed with fear. The sort of fear born from those that stood by the sidelines as their loved ones passed death close a mere breath away.

"Why didn't you tell me where you were going?" she whispered.

"I didn't have time," he answered in a voice that held the gravity of the question asked.

Lily felt her heart clench. Her mind evoking the moment she had awoke to an empty bed and only now realising the omen of what might have been.

"Would you have told me?" Lily asked.

And the answer fielded no comfort. "Would knowing that I may not return bring you any comfort if the worst comes to be?"

"Well it certainly would be a comfort not needing to worry that I'd be surprised by the news that I'm a widow," Lily contested hotly.

But Severus was having none of it. "And it serves you poorly to stay awake in anxious expectations."

"What? Is this your way of protecting me? Is that it?" she asked hotly.

Severus did not immediately reply. Perhaps his sharp mind had cautioned him to the volatility of his mood. Lily felt her rush of anger cool with the pause as his black eye did not shift from hers, his other hidden behind gauze.

"I get it, Sev," Lily said, voice softened. "You fight this war in your own way, and that means sometimes risking your life." Her fingers brushed his singed hairline and followed down the contour of his sharp unbandaged cheekbone. "But I'd rather stay up all night wondering than woken up by a knock on my door and condolences delivered."

She brought his silver hand up to her cheek, feeling his ethereal fingers against her cheek. "You have always asked me to keep myself safe. All I ask of you is to let me know when you're not."

A weary smile broke through his placid expression. "You don't ask for much, do you?"

"I'd like to think I make reasonable requests," Lily returned with a bite in her humorous tone.

His silver hand brushed her auburn locks behind her ears, as he would when he would bend down to kiss her. "I promise," he said, black eyes so utterly sincere.

The efficacy of an expertly brewed potion could not be overstated.

Though it took several slathers of Burn-Healing-Paste, and the fact that he had applied the salve so soon after the injury had been sustained, the fiery injuries the dragon inflicted mercifully faded into recent memory. Scarring from fire was seldom flattering, and there was little need to make worse his already rather poorly appearance.

It took less than a full day's recovery for the marring of the flames to be brushed from his skin. It was only then that the matron was satisfied to discharge the young professor from her care.

Though class was in session among the chattering halls, Snape made away from his office and classroom. He wouldn't go so far as to say that he trusted Potter to teach, but one day's poor takings would not ruin the crop. Instead, he ascended the grand staircase, presenting the password of "Strawberry poppers" to the vigilant gargoyle.

There were consequences that had to be met, and Snape would rather it by his terms.

Though no voice answered his knocks, the door opened in greeting. The magic answering in place of the mundane.

Dumbledore was not at his desk, which was not unexpected when he came unannounced. Having had a hand in the role of headmaster, Snape knew it wasn't one to be asleep at the helm for. But then again, he had been an inexperienced head in a turbulent time, a marked difference from the wealth of experience Albus Dumbledore possessed.

Snape needn't wait long, for his presence was announced by a loud avian shrill. The phoenix seemed to take to the duty of doorbell with great indignation by the way it was glaring down at the young professor. It was a wonder why the bird was content to spend its eternity playing house pet and potion reagent. Snape had little doubt the phoenix feathers that stocked the school's rare reagents cupboards were sourced freshly and locally, not that those stores stayed stocked with Horace accessing them freely.

"Ah, Severus. I had expected you but had no notion of when you might appear." Dumbledore's magically amplified voice echoed about the office. "Please, come up to my workshop."

Snape needed no further instructions about where that might be, for he had once lived in these very quarters. This would be the room his wife would attend after her school-bound duties were met.

He took to the stairs, brooking another dour glare from the oddly sullen bird. Perhaps Dumbledore had not been lavishing the creature adequate attention, given the schedule one in the headmaster's position might manage.

Upon pushing through to the workshop, Snape could immediately appreciate the alchemical roots the room had been designed for. An appreciation he had lacked when he inherited it the first lifetime around.

There he found the headmaster, sitting by the desk positioned in the corner of the room, poring over several scrolls selected from the small mound of yellowing scrolls stacked neatly in the wall-bound corner of his desk. Having worked closely with the man over the ages, Snape knew him not to be a messy worker.

And as the centrepiece of it all laid the Sword of Gryffindor. The fabled ruby encrusted weapon gleamed among all the scrolls and scholarly work, its goblin silver glowing unnaturally white within a room lit by orange flame.

Snape stepped around the workbench positioned in the middle of the room, taking note of the fact that it took on the shape of a round runic table. That table was an enchanted work surface that could be reshaped to suit whatever craft needed to be practised. In Snape's lifetime, he had only ever known it as a solid rectangular bench that catered to a potioneer.

As he approached the desk, he glanced upon a scroll held open with weights placed upon its corners. Inked upon the magic-preserved parchment surface was writing in black ink, its colour still rich and deep despite its evident age. The writing, however, held more darkness than in colour alone.

Snape was not a superstitious sort prone to squeamishness at the mere mention of darkness, and he knew Dumbledore was of the same mind. After all, another iteration of the man had delved deep into the lore of Horcruxes and was not in the least shy about utilising Snape's intricate knowledge of curses.

The ancient scroll upon which Snape glanced depicted the etymology of the Killing Curse. The magical theory behind the discovery of the spell. The Killing Curse extinguished life at the mere touch of spellfire. There were no known true counters to the craft nor survivors to tell the tale. At least, not in this lifetime.

A truly dark spell to be upon any tinker's table.

"There are good reasons for such texts to exist upon your table, I presume?" Snape asked, framing his question with dull accusation.

Dumbledore answered with no resistance, as if merely commenting on a curiosity. "There are few spells in the world that could be hypothesised to touch the soul. Fewer still to be conclusively determined."

"That is a roundabout way to explain that you're studying the Killing Curse's property of tearing one's soul from their corporeal vessel. Do you intend to create an enchantment or a curse?" Snape probed. "Because I can name only a handful of other spells derived from the Killing Curse, and they have all been magic of the darkest order."

"My plans have not changed, Severus," Dumbledore reassured. "And I am well aware of the Dark Arts derived from this magic, and of its own origin. Its creator must have taken inspiration from Herpo the Foul, for there are many annotations that reference severing anchors of the soul, one of the principles behind the creation of a Horcrux. I would have studied the source material for that too, but alas, or perhaps for the best, those texts, and the subsequent etymology of that spell, was lost to the ages."

Snape had never feared the dark arts. He was of a pragmatic mind when it came to such things. He did not doubt they would be useful in finding the enchantment solution, but knew well enough about the volatility of such magic to beg caution. "Take heed that you do not machinate your own doom. I know this would not be the first time you have tangled with the Dark Arts, but I have borne witness to the final time that you had."

If Dumbledore held the same image of the blackened and withered hand as Snape had in his mind's eye, his light tone did not betray it. "I appreciate your concern, Severus. I do not intend to go the way that you remember of me."

"If only intention was all that it took," muttered Snape darkly, but he pursued the point no further. He conjured a chair to seat himself across from Dumbledore's table for a bench stool was not conducive to dignified conversation.

Dumbledore's smile twinkled in his eyes. "I am glad you survived, Severus. I would have honestly missed our stimulating conversations."

"It was entirely an accident, I assure you. I did not count on Potter's invisibility cloak to have been enchanted against dragon fire," Snape replied more flippantly than he felt. Death had passed him closely that night.

The twinkle disappeared from those blue eyes. "I had spoken too lightly, then, and for that I apologise."

"It would not be the first time I had to come to terms with my mortality, nor will it be the last," Snape muttered, reassuring himself in equal breath.

"I apologise for the tactlessness and dismissive tone this question might carry but are you literal in your assertion that the cloak had met and survived dragonfire?" Dumbledore asked, a strange urgency in his voice.

That was the first clue in Snape's mind that perhaps this was not an expected outcome, even for an ancient and powerful enchantment. "The cloak was the only thing between me and a torrent of fire."

The silence that fell was rife with contemplation. Dumbledore gave no verbal or visual indication but Snape could see the cogs turning behind his eyes. "Is there something I should know about?" the young professor asked.

That question seemed to draw Dumbledore out of his thoughts. "Nothing, for now. And should that change, you will be the first I speak with."

Though Snape would ordinarily not accept such a flimsy response, such discussion was not what he had come for. "There is an issue I wish to discuss with you, Albus. And it is all to do with the strife with the law that I have found myself entangled in."

"That was an unforeseen conclusion the Ministry took with their investigation," Dumbledore agreed. "I had not expected them to conclude things with legal actions to be taken. You did not harvest any materials from the unfortunate creature, I expect."

"Do you take me for an amateur?" Snape muttered. The waste was not lost on the potioneer. Every component that could have been harvested from a dragon held some form of magical or monetary value, hence the steep penalties surrounding poaching offences.

To a large extent, the prospect of legal repercussions was the least of Snape's worries. After all, poaching would not equate to the same level of scrutiny and punishment as the charge of being a Death Eater warranted even considering that the punishment for most indictments had the prospect of Azkaban on the table. In fact, the Magical Law Enforcement system disproportionately favoured the trauma of the wizarding prison as the default punishment. Snape was lucky to have never experienced it, despite once being wholly deserving.

At present, the prospect of Azkaban was not what spurred his concerns. In fact he doubted it would come to that, knowing the pull Albus Dumbledore had within the wizarding justice system. If his connections could spare a Death Eater his guilt of being a Death Eater then Snape doubted a small charge of poaching could hold firm when the claims held no truth.

"It appears a trifling matter," Snape continued, as he framed the thoughts gnawing on his mind. "Except the date that was set is only in a week's time. Abnormally short for a summons. And that the chief investigator that came to set things in motion was Albert Runcorn."

Those blue eyes met his, seeming to understand. "You said he had been one of Voldemort's law men in the second war. What of the first?"

"Though he was a Magical Law Enforcement Investigator, I had never had the misfortune of professional dealings with him. I had met him only sparsely through ghastly socialite functions. Even when he defected to the Dark Lord's side during the second war, I knew nothing more of his motivations of succumbing to the dark. I can only venture a guess that he simply, like so many others, continued to serve the Ministry when the Ministry fell under his sway. Others I knew had dealt with him during the first war and paint him as an uncompromising man of the law. His harsh methods were not unusual for the nature of the time," Snape said, his dark brows knitting together. "But even if he had not committed in the first war, I know he was a friend of Lucius. That hadn't changed, not even after the fall of the Dark Lord. Ancient pureblood families tend to associate closely, especially when their thoughts on Muggles and Muggle-borns are not so… favourable. "

"You believe this is designed to drive you from the safety of Hogwarts?" Though framed as a statement, Snape could hear the question hidden in Dumbledore's words.

"Yes," Snape conceded. "For I cannot imagine any other reason a high-ranking investigator like Runcorn has to take upon himself a lowly poaching case when there are murders aplenty in this world."

Those blue eyes glinted behind those half-moon spectacles. The man behind them stood, hands folded behind him as he strode towards a frost-touched window.

The snowfall that fell thick and heavy during the Scottish winter took a reprieve this day. Though the sun hung low in the winter sky, its light streamed through the panes cheerily, peeking through the great peaks that toward beyond school grounds.

"Leave this with me, Severus," Dumbledore uttered with a soft contemplative smile, his back still turned. "I sit upon the bench as a Warlock of Wizengamot. I am somewhat well versed in the law. You will have to face the Ministry courts, but I will ensure it will be on our terms."

Their room was quiet when Lily returned that night. A candle had been lit and left in a holder upon the fireplace mantelpiece. Underneath it, the fire in the grate had been banked. Coals glowed softly, casting a faint orange glow to the stone floor around it.

Lily picked up the candleholder to light her way as she moved through the darkened room. A courtesy for her, no doubt.

She pushed through into the bedroom to find the form of her husband already tucked in and unmoving on his side of the bed. She knew he had been released from the Hospital Wing earlier that day but thought nothing of it when he didn't turn up for dinner. Missing meals wasn't exactly odd for Severus. He usually spent the hours after his final meal working on the notoriously finicky Wolfsbane potion. The past couple days must have taken a toll on him.

Regardless, Lily felt a pang of disappointment as she stepped from the room and into the bathroom. She had been looking forward to conversation and companionship, and her curiosity had been nagging her all day. She wanted to get her husband alone to niggle the truth out of him. A task that would have once seemed impossible if not for her new place in the heart of the conspiracy.

Her curiosity ran rampant in her day dreams, keeping her company through her shower and her care of her potted plants. Though James was more than willing to share, she wanted to hear it all from her husband's lips. Adding to that was the fact that her Gryffindor friend and colleague had little clue of the machinations behind the scenes. He still thought finding the Sword of Gryffindor was anything other than a calculated result.

She would much rather indulge her curiosity than her worries. For her worries were deep and plentiful.

She had faithfully attended the headmaster's office this afternoon, as was their daily arrangement in their experimentations in Enchantments. With the procurement of the sword came a sudden sense of urgency. Not just within Lily's mind, for she could see the same urgency written all over the scrolls stacked upon the study desk.

Not that it frazzled the headmaster in the least. Dumbledore did not seem to have a beard hair out of place when he invited her to sit for tea before they began their afternoon enchantment session. He had even indulged her curiosity and allowed her to see that fabled sword, procuring it from behind the snoozing portrait of prior headmaster Armando Dippet.

Whether inspired by the possession of that mythical weapon or spurred by inspiration, the pair of them set to task all afternoon, working through half a dozen theories Dumbledore had prepared beforehand. They had even missed dinner, a marked calendar event on Lily's daily schedule. Instead, she took supper with the headmaster in his office, discussing the intricacies of weaving partial components of spells into their enchanted material over beef bourguignon and soft rolls.

There was an end in sight, and everything came down to the mind of Albus Dumbledore and the skill of Lily Snape. No pressure…

Especially when the mind of Albus Dumbledore was never the limiting factor in question.

She dried herself and donned her thicker winter night gown. Stepping from the thick steam of the bathroom, she picked her way to the bed. Severus lay as still as he had been. She didn't know why she expected any different. His sleep had been getting much sounder of late and far less disturbed by night terrors. A direct inverse of Lily's own. Her worries buzzed around her head at night, her greatest fears made manifest in nightmares.

More than once she had been awoken by a gentle touch upon her shoulder and murmured reassurance. A gentle touch of magic to wipe away the sweat that prickled her skin. A role reversal perhaps as strange for him as it was for her.

She stared for a moment longingly at the unoccupied side of the bed, wishing so dearly to succumb to the warmth of restful sleep. Unfortunately, her efforts to the ending of the war had caused some of her other commitments to take a backburner.

With a sigh, Lily stepped back into the living room and picked up the candle holder. With a barely muttered spell, Lily lit the stub of wax that was all that was left in the holder. There was plenty to replace it with. The elves kept them stocked by leaving a constant supply in a small basket within the bedside drawers. Unfortunately, the drawers in question were by Severus' side of the bed, and Lily wasn't about to wake him.

With a sigh, Lily summoned forth the small runic table from its snug space in the corner. Having since learned the significance of the intricate runes carved into the table, Lily couldn't help but feel a little at odds with using it as a common Potion bench.

Pulling up a seat, Lily summoned forth her box of potions, the marking of which was scheduled to be on the return pile to the students in the morning. Markings that had yet to be generated. Curse her inability to manage her workload.

It wasn't like she had been ignoring it, hoping it would go away. She had chipped away at it in the few hours a day she had every day that weren't spent in the classrooms or in Dumbledore's workshop. The weekend was her best bet, but that had been eaten away by the exceptional order of potions Madam Pomfrey had made. Flu season was hitting the school hard this year, and Pepper Up potion was a resource the school could not be without.

Perhaps if she had cut down her meal times, she would not be sacrificing her night's sleep. Or perhaps if she had spent her mid-class breaks more wisely, perhaps if she didn't pause to chat with the prefects who had been her friends and fellow Student Body leaders just the previous year. Perhaps if she had not wasted any time outside of her prioritised tasks at all…

But that was no way to live.

Feeling slightly overwhelmed, Lily flipped open her box of fourth year potions, an eclectic mix of colours and viscosity, most of which reflected the calming draughts they were supposed to be brewing in some way. With a sigh, Lily pulled out the length of parchment upon which she had inked her marking table.

Turning to her box of potions, Lily was struck by momentary confusion. She had been keeping track of where she had marked up to by transfiguring the stopper on the already assessed brew into a vibrant red. Now, however, every bottle within her potions box sported a bright red stopper.

Lily stared a moment, pondering the possibility she had mismanaged her magic in her torpor and accidentally coloured the whole batch. Frustration twisted in her heart as she glared at her marking table, relenting to the prospect of having to painstakingly figure out her place by matching her existing work to each labelled bottle.

Except the table had been completed.

Lily blinked at that sharp spikey writing as realisation warmed her heart. Without a word or want for thanks, her husband had completed the remainder of her marking.

Her heart melted. The burdens she carried suddenly seemed tangibly lessened.

Though she had never once truly thought herself alone in any of this, a reminder was never unwelcome.

A/N: I imagine marking a couple classes of potions homework was rather a non-issue for Snape. Not that Lily would be any less grateful.

A thank you to my Beta readers Sattwa100 and thrawnca for your work on this chapter.

Next Update: Saturday 1st August 2020.

Chapter 86: Unexpected Allies

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe and do not seek to profit in any way, shape or form from this fan work.