Hollis lay in the cool bed, staring up at the dark blue velvet canopy. She had nearly fallen asleep in the tub, but sleep eluded her now. Why? She wanted nothing more than to sleep, to lose herself in her nightmares. She didn't want to think about the last fight and how many people she lost. She didn't want to think about Severus' death, about his eyes when he died, about burying him under six feet of dirt.

Abruptly, she remembered the tin in her coat pocket and she sat up, waving her hand. A small ball of light floated up, hovering just below the roof of her canopy. Hollis pushed aside the curtains and reached out for her coat.

It was gone.

For a moment, Hollis couldn't think of why, but then remembered the house elves. They would have taken it to better clean and mend it. It was what house elves did.

"Minny!" she hissed, the enormity of the house, the...openness of it, making her feel like she should be quiet. She couldn't recall the last time she'd been in such a space with so few people.

A small elf with huge grey eyes, an oval face, and crooked nose appeared. "Miss has called me?"

"I need the things in my inside left coat pocket," she told the elf. The elf gave a nod and popped away. She popped back just as quickly, two letters and the tin in her hands. She handed them to Hollis. "Thank you, Minny. That will be all," she said, laying aside Texas and Maine's letters.

Minny gave another nod and popped away.

Hollis lightly tapped the tin with her wand and it expanded to be about six inches wide, nine inches long, and an inch tall. It was, expectedly, all black with a silver 'SS' engraved on the lid. Carefully, she popped the lid off and was surprised to find envelopes standing on their edges, filling the space completely.

Clever expansion. Precise work to fit the envelopes so perfectly, Hollis thought absently, taking a deep breath. The tin smelled like ink and parchment and Severus, all smoke and a whiff of potions cut through with the crisp, minty scent she knew from her days at Hogwarts. He'd always used it to keep things sterile in the potion labs.

She pulled out the envelope closest to her and found a simple date marked in black ink in terribly familiar spidery script. It dated back to early 2000. She pulled out a few more, all of them seemingly in chronological order and she made sure to put them back in their proper place. The last one had July 13, 2002 written on it. She put it back and looked at the first one.

After several long moments, she pulled open the lip. It hadn't been sealed and she knew the tin must have been heavily warded against anyone that wasn't her. She pulled out the smooth parchment and had to take several deep breaths to steady herself enough to read.

Dear Hollis,

In hindsight, I should have known.

Only the child of Potter and Lily could have gotten under my guard and into my heart.

Damn you.

Well, no, not really. Of course, I desire your safety, for personal reasons as well as more altruistic ones, such as the real need of you defeating Voldemort. Him, God or whoever can curse with my warmest applause.

Perhaps I should explain how this all came about, but I couldn't tell you. I only realized it myself in the middle of a meeting – not the safest place for such a realization, but I was able to suppress it before it got me into trouble. I don't remember what exactly I was thinking about, but it had something to do with what could happen should we lose this war and I felt a sudden, sharp pain, because the only way we could lose, the only way our side would stop trying, is if you died. Even if you stood alone, you'd still stand, wouldn't you? You're horrifically Gryffindor-ish that way.

And it was unbearable all of sudden. This is not the first time I've thought of this, but it's the first time it hurt this much.

Maybe this is a passing thing. Maybe I'm lonely and because you're the only person who actually knows anything of import about my past that isn't a Death Eater or a Dark Lord, I've turned to you. Maybe it's that you're one of the only safe places I have in this world. Maybe.

But that horrible sixth sense that has kept me alive implies that it isn't just that. And I have no idea what to do about it, thus the writing of a letter I will never send. Not because it's dangerous, though it most certainly is, but because I can't have anything distract either of us. I can't risk being distracted, I can't risk you being distracted. And I can't have personal feelings compromise our decisions – should my death become necessary, it is better that I have no personal ties.

Besides, there is nothing to suggest you even begin to return my regards and I have too much pride to just bare my heart without further investigation. I'm neither a foolish Gryffindor nor a sentimental Hufflepuff. I am Slytherin and all that it implies. You know that better than most.

- SS

Hollis almost couldn't understand what she was reading. She had read it three times and the letters were still incomprehensible. Surely, she was reading something other than what she thought she was. One more read confirmed that she was and she dropped the letter on top of the tin and felt her careful facade of control shatter.

Not crying wasn't an option. Her eyes well without permission, tears spilling over faster than she could swipe at them. Hollis curled up against the pain, forgetting that she was a witch for a moment and using a pillow to muffle her sobs.

How could both of them be so damn foolish and cowardly? How could he let all that time pass without so much as a single word – how could she? Her mind cruelly replayed every encounter she'd had with him since early 2000 – there were so few of them that she remembered each – and hindsight proved to be as clear as everyone said it was. There had been a hint of increase in his regard, a softer way of speaking, a warmth that hadn't been there previously in his eyes, a change she had noted but had not even begun to connect until those last horrible moments.

How could she have been so blind? How was she supposed to live knowing all this and knowing at the same time that she'd never have an opportunity to fix her mistakes?

The pain, the horrible regret, and the deep, overwhelming sadness felt much like the time when one of the walls of Hogwarts had collapsed on her, only ten times worse. There was no one to dig her out of this, no charms to lighten the load and let her aching lungs breathe, no spells to ease the pain – there was no hope. Just her and the all-consuming grief she had tried and failed to bury, to hold back.

Never again would she see that warmth, that bright and fierce emotion. Never again would she be planning something and receive word that Severus was in the Medic wing, being surly as ever and demanding her presence. Never again would she see that faint hint of a smile when she said something particularly witty, the smile slightly marred by the thin pink scar that went from one corner of his mouth to his ear lobe. Never again would he lightly rest one hand on her shoulder like he had when she had received news of Neville's death.

Never again would her Severus walk the earth.

And Merlin, how could she bear it? How had she born it thus far? Why did she have to bear? Why did Severus have to die? At the end of it, when they had finally won - why would that be so cruelly ripped from them both? Hollis hurt every bit as deeply as she had when Hermione and Ron had passed, she was just as angry, and just like then, she had no answers. No way to ease this pain or even share the grief because no one here knew. Not really, not in any way that mattered.

Hollis didn't hear the pop of Minny's return, didn't hear her distressed calls or her declaration that she'd fetch the Master and Mistress for her. All she knew was her grief and all she felt it was it devouring her.

"Master! Mistress!" a squeaky voice said, abruptly interrupting Frank's dreamless sleep. He groggily opened his eyes, squinting at Minny. He couldn't have been asleep for long and he wondered why she was waking him. If it was Neville, they had charms that would have alerted them before the elves could.

"What?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "What is it?"

"It's Mistress' guest!" Minny said. She was twisting her long fingers and was shifting her weight, as though anxious to be doing something.

"What about her?" Frank asked more clearly, sitting up and feeling Alice doing the same.

"She's hurt – she is crying and needs help," Minny reported.

"Alright, Minny," Frank said. "I'll go see to her. You've done your job," he reassured his house-elf, slipping out of bed. Minny gave a quick curtsy and popped away. "You can sleep, Alice. You know Minny exaggerates."

Alice looked hesitant and he expected to hear protest, but she surprisingly nodded and laid back down, though it didn't look like she'd be going back to sleep until he came back. With that in mind, he started down the hall.

As he neared the door, he listened carefully, and he couldn't hear anything. Still, Minny wouldn't have come for just anything, no matter how dramatic she could be, so Frank silently cracked the door, opening it just enough to peek in quickly.

A small ball of light illuminated Grey's shaking frame and he could now hear the muffled, full-bodied sobs, the kind people cried when they lost the people dearest to them. Frank's heart twisted painfully in his chest, his mind automatically going to Alice and he opened the door further, stepping into the room.

He didn't really know what he was going to do until he had reached the bed and sat on the side, reaching out a hand and lightly setting it on her shoulder. She jerked in surprise and twisted to look at him, her violet eyes bloodshot and already swelling. He opened his arms a little, silently offering comfort and she hesitated for only a moment before latching onto him. He held her tightly, one hand lightly rubbing her back in what he hoped was a soothing manner, and tried not to cry himself. Frank had heard one person in this much pain and that had been years and years ago, back when his father died and he was only five. He had only witnessed his mother crying over it once, but the memory had stuck with him, fading very little over time. She had sounded much like this.

For what felt like ages, Grey cried so hard that Frank wondered if there was ever an end to this, to her pain. But then it started lightening and soon, he realized that she had sobbed herself into exhaustion and was sleeping. He had propped himself back against the pillows and headboard and now gently maneuvered Grey so that she was laying against the pillows instead of him, and then slipped from the bed, straightening her out and starting to pull the blankets up.

A piece of paper suddenly caught his attention and he stilled. It rested on top of a narrow, slender tin, an envelope lying discarded next to it. She must have been reading this when she started crying. Perhaps it was even what had started it.

The lettering on it was too tiny to make out and he was filled with the sudden desire to pick it up and read it.

Had it been any other circumstance, perhaps he wouldn't have, but just then, he let his curiosity get the better of him and reached out slowly, keeping an eye on Grey the whole time. He picked it up, tilting it so he could see it in the dim blue-white lighting.

Dear Hollis,

In hindsight, I should have known.

Only a child of Potter and Lily could have gotten under my guard and into my heart...

"Oh my god," he murmured to himself as he read the rest of the short, single-paged letter. He folded it up immediately afterward, putting it back in its envelope. He didn't know where it went in the tin and didn't want to find out. He felt ashamed enough as it was for invading her privacy that way, so he set it on top and placed the lid over it. He put it and her wand on the nightstand, next to the half full vial of muscle relaxer and two other letters, addressed to two families in America.

Alice said that she thought that Grey – Hollis Potter, your wife's goddaughter, his mind told him – hadn't told Snape how she felt and now Frank thought that Snape hadn't either and now Grey was suffering from grief and her regrets, especially now that she knew the truth about what he had felt. His affection couldn't have faded, not with that many letters in the tin.

He gazed down at Grey, who looked so young and tragic in her sleep, for a long moment. As he had noticed earlier, she was painfully thin, only hard, lean muscle keeping her from being just skin and bones, and scars of all varieties covered what he could see of her shoulders and arms. She had picked an old tank top of Alice's to wear to sleep, and her bruises and black tattoos were also thrown into sharp relief by the light. The large one across her shoulders looked like some kind of Celtic bird with its wings spread, and there was the shield knot Alice had noticed. Down her right arm spiraled another tribal/Celtic-esque tattoo that was all curves and sharp points. He couldn't see the inside of her right arm to see the dates – he wondered what kind of events they marked; deaths? marriages? births? battles, won or lost? – but her left hand was tucked under her cheek, showing the script. He tilted his head and peered closer at it, recognizing it as three different Latin proverbs -

Consilio et Animus
Melior morior bellatro, quam ago profugus
Dum spiro, spero

Which, roughly translated, meant -

By wisdom and courage
Better to die on your feet than to live on your knees
As long as I live, I hope

Frank couldn't help but shake his head at the sheer incredulity of it all. What had life done to James' bright little girl, the apple of his and Lily's eyes? By all rights, she should have grown up disliking Snape as much as Sirius, James, and – to an extent – Remus did. But somehow, instead, she had become a Field Marshal in bloody World War III. She had fallen in love with Snape, who was apparently a spy and probably a damn good one if he lasted so long. And to have him cruelly taken from her before either of them mustered the courage to tell the other how they felt, only to find out about it in a letter he had written her – if he remembered what she said correctly – a little over two years ago in her timeline. He didn't know if he could bear it, had he been her. He'd die without Alice, and from the stress of everything else…he'd crack. How could one person hold up under it all?

His earlier suspicions about her dreams came back to him and he murmured another old spell, this one more commonly used by parents everywhere to give their kids a nightmare free night. Her face relaxed a little and he was glad that he could do that much for her. He tugged the covers up all the way as well.

"Finite Incantatem," he murmured, waving his wand at the light. It winked out and he left the room, shutting the door and leaning against it with a sigh. "You poor girl," he whispered, waving his wand and cleaning and drying off his shirt.

How had she held it together through that whole meeting? Snape had only just died according to her story and yet she had been so fierce and composed. He would have fallen apart the second Alice died; the only thing that could've kept him going was Neville. Maybe, he thought, the idea just occurring to him, that was one of the reasons she had been chosen as Field Marshal – because she could see past her own grief and remain in control…Or it was one of the traits she gained while on the job.

Slowly, he walked back to his room, stopping in Neville's to check on his baby boy, then continuing on. Alice, as he predicted, was awake and sitting up.

"That took quite some time," she said, looking worried.

He went around the bed and hugged her as tightly as he could without hurting her. She hugged him back without question and they stayed like that for a long time, though he eventually had to let her go.

"She was crying," Frank told her miserably, sitting one the edge of the bed beside her. "There was a letter, a tin full of letters with Snape's initials on the lid. I read the letter, the first one, I think, after she cried herself to sleep – and she's the Hollis Potter of the future, Alice, Hollis Potter. Your goddaughter. And he, Snape, that is, said that he should have known, that only a child of Potter and Lily could have gotten into his heart. He loved her back, Alice, and neither of them said so, just like you thought, but now she knows and Circe...It was awful, so terrible listening to her cry like that..."

He ran a shaky hand through his head, feeling an unexpected lump in his throat again.

"I mean, I wondered, but…" Alice said, hushed and sad. He went back to his side of the bed and they curled up together under the covers. "What are we going to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for one, she's going to see the truth on our faces in the morning – neither of us are that good at pretending – and she's probably going to remember you being there," Alice said practically. "So how are we going to handle it? She's my goddaughter, though I think she's technically older than me now. Secondly, I want to help her. I did before all of this came out, but definitely now. Do you think she'd let us? I can't say I know much about being a Field Marshal, but it sounds important."

"I asked; she said it was the highest rank there was. She was in command of the Light Army of England, all of it. She ran everything, though she had generals to help – two of those American states," Frank informed her.

"Well, then I was right. A person like that isn't going to want to depend on others, I don't think," Alice said.

"We'll tell her we know," Frank decided. "You're right, we can't hide that. But we'll promise not to tell anyone else unless it becomes necessary. And we'll figure out a way to get her to let us help."

We have too, he thought. He couldn't just let her walk away, not now. He knew who she was, some of what she had suffered, and had held her while she cried. Even if little Hollis wasn't basically his niece, he couldn't have let Grey walk away. He was a sucker for tears and she had trusted him enough to let him stay there. He had no doubts as to whether or not she could have forced him out of the room if she had really wanted.

Alice made a small noise of agreement and sleep uneasily reclaimed them both after nearly an hour of lying there, turning the whole situation over in their minds.

Author's Note:

I'm not dead; just keeping very, very busy with school and work. On the bright side, my new baby niece is two months old and the joy of my life. I babysat her last night to let my sister and BIL have their first date since she was born. She slept on me for 85% of it and I'm so happy. Also sorry about the weird formatting on this hellscape website. It never saves the way I want it to the first three times, minimum.