Omegas did not scream. Severus watched as her face turned white, just as it had in her last memory, but this time she did not move. She stood still, eyes fixed on Tonks. She was growing so pale that for a moment Severus thought she was going to faint.
He took a step towards her, to say something, to break the static, unnatural horror, but she backed away. She took one step back, then another, slowly, as Harry's sobs grew louder.
"We need to get her to the others," said Kingsley. "Tell them what happened."
Severus did not move; his eyes were fixed on Omegas. She reached the door without turning and opened it. Outside, all the members of the Order were waiting for news.
"What happened?" asked Professor McGonagall on the other side of the door.
No one answered. Omegas made her way through the crowd, and Severus finally moved. He took the bag from Harry's shoulder and stormed out of the room.
"What happened?" repeated McGonagall urgently.
But Severus didn't look at her. He walked through the members of the Order, hoping that Omegas was not too far away. When he passed the last row, he saw her. She was at the far end of the corridor on the third floor, bent over the ground, vomiting.
He waited. It seemed to take all her remaining strength to stand up. She moaned and turned towards him; Severus took a step forward and she took one back. Then they both stopped, looking at each other from a distance—just as they had outside his office weeks before.
Severus knew what he had to do: he had to leave her alone, just as she had done with him. He turned and walked to the other end of the corridor. All the members of the Order turned towards him, waiting, but he passed them again. Kingsley or the boy could explain. He couldn't. He quickly reached the stairs and went down to the dungeons.
As he opened the door, he saw Draco get up from his chair behind the desk and stand up.
"Sir!" he exclaimed. "Did you do it?"
"Out," he commanded.
Draco frowned. "Sir—"
"OUT!" he growled.
He watched the boy jump, pale and back away. He felt guilty, but put that feeling aside. There was no place for Draco's feelings at that moment.
He reached over to his desk and gently placed the black bag on it. He twirled his wand and locked himself in the office; then he sank into his chair and ran a hand over his face.
He didn't move for the rest of the day. Occasionally someone tried to knock on his office door, but he did not answer. He knew it wasn't her. She needed solitude, and that was a big problem, because all he wanted to do was leave and look for her in every corner of the castle.
He thought for a long time about the reason behind that longing. Generally, when someone was suffering, he tried to stay as far away as possible. And yet now, just like that night under the shield, he needed to hear her cry. He needed to know what she was thinking, to see her pain with his own eyes.
I did it.
Those were certainly the words she was tormenting herself with at that moment. How could it be otherwise? Tonks had only found the courage to confront her husband and go on the mission because of her.
Severus felt the need to tell her, You didn't do it.
He waited, then waited some more. He waited until the hands of his clock informed him that the castle behind his office door was most definitely asleep.
He walked for hours through the dark castle. He searched everywhere: in the Astronomy Tower, in the new hospital wing. He searched in the park, he returned to the Room of Requirement, and in desperation he even tried to walk past it three times, thinking 'I need to speak to Omegas', but nothing happened.
His body was beginning to betray him. Severus could not remember the last time he had slept through the night. Exhausted and resigned, he reached the stairs again and walked to his quarters.
"Asphodel," he whispered. Saying the word caused him more pain than usual.
The door opened, and his empty quarters seemed emptier than ever. Not bothering to turn on the light, he placed the bag on one of the armchairs and walked towards his bedroom.
But he was forced to stop midway. His eyes had wandered to the low table between the two chairs and he had frozen on the spot. The dusty glass was gone.
Then he heard it: a faint slurping sound coming from a dark corner of the room. He approached it tentatively.
Omegas was huddled on the floor, glass in hand. Severus had never seen her occupy so little space. She wasn't crying, nor was she doing anything else. Her empty eyes were fixed on an undefined point in the room. She seemed barely conscious.
He stood before her. He tried to open his mouth and say, 'You didn't do it,' but the words died in his throat. He held out a hand to help her up, but she didn't move and continued to sip. Severus noticed a bottle on the floor in front of her. He picked it up, uncorked it, and took a sniff. It was undoubtedly a Calming Draught, and a strong one at that. Omegas was on drugs.
He bent over her and snatched the glass from her hands; the potion inside wasn't even diluted.
"This isn't very polite," she whispered.
He gave her a stern look. "You need to stop. You know what happens if you take too much Calming—"
"DO I LOOK CALM?"
Severus paused. Omegas had stood up and for the first time he saw in her eyes the same insane glint he had seen in her father's.
She took a slow step closer. The fury in her gaze was so intense that he felt compelled to step back cautiously.
"It's your fault," she whispered. "You know that, don't you? This is all your fault."
Severus took another step back, for she was still advancing, and she had the calmest, most dangerous tone he had ever heard.
"You brought me here. You locked me in this castle. I wouldn't have even met her if it wasn't for you. You did it."
She uttered those last three words with more hatred than he had believed her capable of.
"You did it," she growled.
"Omegas—"
"YOU DID IT!" she shouted.
Severus paused, then swallowed thickly. "You're right," he said softly. "I did it."
Her face darkened. She lost even the last spark of hatred her eyes were conveying, and Severus knew, due to a remarkable amount of experience, that he was in danger.
She jumped on him and knocked him to the ground. "YOU DID IT!" she cried. "YOU!"
She gripped his robe, pounded his back and stirred in his arms. It was clear, from the very first second, that that wasn't a real attack. Severus had seen her fight. If she had really wanted to, he would already have been hurt.
He sat on the floor and tightened his grip around her before he realised what he was doing.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" she howled. But she didn't try to push him away.
Eventually, she gave in to a desperate cry. She moaned, whimpered and writhed on the floor like a wounded animal.
"I hate you. I hate you," she mumbled between sobs. "I hate you."
Severus held her closer.
"I hate me," it became after a while.
They remained in that position for hours, until Omegas no longer had the strength to say anything. She sat still, silent, her eyes fixed on the wall in front of her.
Time passed, and Severus knew, even without the sun filtering through any window, that the night had gone. Omegas had returned to her tiny corner, and he was still sitting on the floor in front of her, waiting. When she spoke, it was as if those hours of silence hadn't existed.
"Aren't I pathetic, Severus?" she mumbled.
She raised a trembling hand and brought it to her face.
"So good with pain. So strong, aren't I? So resilient…" She scoffed. "And so ridiculously incapable of dealing with anything else. Disgusting."
He didn't answer. He wanted to tell her that it wasn't true, that she wasn't pathetic, and that she certainly wasn't disgusting, but he couldn't make a sound, nor could he lift his bowed head.
"I told you I couldn't be seen," she continued. "I told you I couldn't come here. You shouldn't have let me in. You shouldn't have let her be influenced by me. People who are influenced by me are doomed."
She lowered her head and shook it weakly.
"But you couldn't have known, could you?" she asked, again with a hint of danger. "But then you knew. You saw. You know what I did, and you let me stay."
Those words angered him enough to find the strength to speak again.
"You didn't do anything," he said sternly.
She let out a joyless laugh. "Indeed. I didn't do anything."
She paused, then raised her head and met his eyes.
"Do you have any idea what it's like to know that the person you were supposed to make happy chose to kill himself rather than stay with you?"
Severus fell silent again. No, he had no idea. He had no idea what it meant to even be lucky enough to have someone to make happy. He averted his gaze sharply.
"You know, maybe Dumbledore was right. Maybe I am just like my father."
"You are not like—"
"I kill," she blurted out. "Whether I choose to or not."
He couldn't argue with her. Not because he agreed; simply because he didn't believe that any words he could have offered would have been able to erase such an ingrained conviction.
She laughed bitterly. "It was Tonks' turn, and look what it's done to me. Imagine what your death would do to me."
Severus froze. The implication of that statement was so intimately pleasing that he felt guilty.
Omegas rose abruptly. "I must go."
He followed her suit. "You can't."
"I must," she repeated. "It will happen again. You will die."
She tried to take a step forward, but her legs seemed to give way. He lunged at her and helped her up.
"I am not going to die tonight," he said firmly.
They looked at each other. For a moment, Severus thought he saw Omegas' lips curve into a faint smile.
Trembling and staggering, she struggled to reach the armchair where her bag lay. She pointed her wand at it and Severus sensed something come out of it and settle in her hands. She returned to her small dark corner.
"Go," she said. "I need to be alone."
He looked at the object in her hands and recognised the small black leather-bound book. Omegas was about to torture herself.
He didn't know what to do with that. He certainly couldn't stop her from losing herself in her own memories. He watched her cling to the book as if she had nothing else in the world she cared about. With a growing lump in his throat, he turned and walked to the door of his bedroom.
As he was about to open it, Severus made a decision. That decision, for the first time in years, was not made out of rationality and calculation. It was made out of pure instinct. He clenched his fists, for doing it would cost him enormous effort and unimaginable pain; but not for a moment did he consider changing his mind. He turned and walked slowly towards the dark corner.
He stopped in front of her and waited patiently for her to meet his eyes. He knelt before her, took her hands in his and carefully opened the book she was holding. Leafing through it, he found a blank page with no silver bookmarks; then he took out his wand. Still looking into her eyes, he pointed it at his own temple and pulled out a long, silvery thread. He let out a muffled groan that he didn't bother to hide, a single tear running down his cheek. He twirled the thread in the air, then finally placed it between two pages.
It took him a while to regain control. Once he felt capable of standing again, he closed the book, released her hands and pointed his wand at her.
"Refocilio," he breathed.
He gave her one last fleeting glance, turned and walked back to his bedroom.
Severus couldn't sleep for a long time. He thought and thought about what he had just done, as if observing it from a distance. Each time he tried to remember the moment he made the decision and handed over to her the most precious, intimate and private thing he owned, he saw it happening as if through someone else's eyes.
He felt extraordinarily light, as if he had shed a weight that had accumulated for thirty-eight years. He felt as if that long silvery thread had finally found a place where it belonged. It no longer had to stir in his mind, it no longer had the right to occupy every tiny corner of his tired brain.
"It was Dumbledore who told me to do this," he heard her say. "He said it's easier to deal with the past if you have a place to store it."
And there it was, another new yet ancient sensation, long lost. Relief. The pain was gone, at least for the moment, and so was the guilt. He and Omegas were finally even.
That night, or rather that morning, Severus slept peacefully, as if the war, the mission to the Ministry of Magic, the Arch in the bag, and Tonks' death were all part of someone else's life.
When he woke up a few hours later, neither Omegas, nor her book, nor her bag were there. For a moment he thought he had been dreaming. He thought he'd been alone the night before and that his tired mind had played an elaborate trick on him. Then he looked at the low table between the two armchairs and found no trace of the dusty glass that had been there for weeks.
The realisation hit him. What had he done?
He stormed out of his quarters, nauseous and with a growing need to scream. He crossed the corridor fast enough to reach his office in mere seconds.
She was there. She was sitting on the edge of the desk, the large stone Arch in front of her and a pensive look on her face. Severus stopped on the threshold. That woman knew. No one in the world had ever known, no one except Dumbledore and—by necessity, not by choice—Harry Potter. And now she knew.
Unable to speak or move another step, he waited.
"There was a meeting this morning," she said calmly. "I told them you were resting, but Professor McGonagall was quite upset. Anyway, all the members agreed that, as the school's Dark Arts teacher, you should be the one to examine the arch."
She chuckled and shook her head.
"Well, almost all the members agreed. If it had been up to Harry, he would have jumped right in without a second thought. The boy's got guts."
She turned to him, met his eyes and tilted her head slightly to one side.
"You didn't tell me you'd taken the Dark Arts post."
Severus finally managed to move. He slowly joined her behind the desk and was careful to keep his gaze fixed on the Arch.
"It is Defence Against the Dark Arts here," he corrected.
She huffed. "Right. It doesn't make much difference, does it? You can't fight something without acknowledging it."
"Indeed," he replied. "I believe it's more a matter of principle."
"Ah, principle," she sneered. "Idiot's morality."
Severus turned to her with an involuntary half-smile. She returned it with one of her most genuine ones.
Suddenly, Severus felt light again. That woman knew, and there was no trace of pity in her gaze, no hint of reproach, judgement, disgust or commiseration. Just the same calm understanding she had always shown him.
"They've seen Lupin in the forest," she said softly. "Or that's what Rubeus says. Apparently, a centaur called Bane told him. He may be returning to the castle today."
She paused and returned to stare at the Arch.
"Do you think that if I tried very, very hard, I could avoid him for the rest of my life?"
Severus gave a crooked smile and shook his head.
"Yeah…" she murmured. "Thought so."
He watched as her expression changed from the usual unreadable smile to one of clear, deep regret. Finally, Severus managed to say the words.
"You didn't do it."
Omegas lifted her head and smiled softly. "You didn't do it either."
They stayed locked in that long look for a while. Then, in a surprisingly perfect synchrony, they both turned back towards the Arch. They pretended to be thinking about the mystery revolving around it, both aware that the other's mind was elsewhere.
Everything felt simple again. Spontaneous. Familiar.
Lupin arrived in the afternoon. Severus accompanied Omegas to the new hospital wing and the two kept to themselves while he mourned the death of his wife. Tonks lay on one of the white beds, her eyes closed, her hair a dishevelled shade of violet, eerily similar to the colour of Omegas' eyes. Lupin touched her head and ran a hand through her hair.
Severus tried not to meet his gaze. He knew that kind of pain, and the last thing he needed after the night he had was to witness it again. When Lupin turned in their direction, Severus bowed his head, determined not to meet his weary eyes; but as he looked up, he realised they were not directed at him at all. They were looking at the woman beside him with a mixture of hatred and disgust that managed to hurt even him.
Omegas did not look away. She forced herself to return the gaze, and Severus could clearly feel the pain it cost her. Bloody empathy…
For a split second, he considered reaching out and holding her hand; but this time he did not let instinct take over. Reason prevailed once more and he stood still, silent, wondering why, after years in which the mere thought of touching another human being had caused him nothing but disgust, he suddenly longed for it.
"Do you mind if I go take a nap?" she asked. "I haven't slept for… Merlin, I have no idea."
He nodded. She gave him a faint smile and disappeared through the door of the hospital wing.
The very first thing Severus decided to do was to go to the Headmistress' office and tell her his version of the story before Lupin did. He knew that the man's account wouldn't be rational, and he feared that it would portray Omegas negatively. What he told himself, however, was that he was doing it out of the simple, detached need to state the facts as they had happened.
"Ah, Severus, have you finally found the door to your office?"
Professor McGonagall invited him in, and he felt the urge to chuckle. It happened often, when he was met by her sass, but he was careful not to let her know. He entered the room without replying, closed the door behind him and began to speak.
He explained in detail what had happened in the Department of Mysteries, trying to do so with rigid, impassive clarity. Only towards the end of his account did he give himself away with a soft "It wasn't her fault."
She was clearly taken aback.
"I know," she replied. "Potter told me. You did all you could. Miss Sylith is not to blame."
He nodded and averted his gaze.
McGonagall sighed. "I was worried, to be entirely honest… when she first arrived at Hogwarts, she was..."
She hesitated. She swallowed and did not seem to find the right words.
"Well, let's just say I would have been concerned if my daughter had had to share a dormitory with her. But she's changed, hasn't she?"
Severus, once again, did not reply. He would have preferred to discuss literally anything else.
"I'm glad," she added. "Albus would be, too."
She glanced at the portrait of the former Headmaster behind her. Dumbledore smiled at her and nodded once, his bright blue eyes shining behind his half-moon glasses.
"We were always hard on her, both of us. But you would have been too, if you had known her father. He was..."
She stopped. Severus' eyes had snapped to hers, and he was now wearing too eloquent an expression not to be regarded. Professor McGonagall looked at him, puzzled, her eyes narrowed to slits.
"Do you know who her father was?"
He averted his gaze. "I do."
"How?" she asked curiously.
He took a deep breath. "Because she told me."
A long silence followed. McGonagall lost her rigid composure and shifted in her seat. She adjusted her glasses on her nose, cleared her throat and regained her severity in an instant.
"Good," she said. "Whatever the reason for this... sudden trust she has in you, make sure it continues. Miss Sylith is extremely good at her job, but also terribly reckless, and I'm not entirely sure she understands where the line is between good and evil."
Severus' eyes darted to her. "Are you asking me to spy on her, Headmistress?"
She gave him a piercing stare. "No, Severus," she replied. "I'm asking you to control her."
He wrinkled his nose. "She is perfectly capable of controlling herself."
The Headmistress seemed astonished once more. She met his glare with a frown, opened her mouth, thought better of it and closed it again.
"Very well," she said eventually. "You may go then."
Severus rose from his chair and turned.
"I expect to receive news of the Arch," she added.
He nodded briskly and left the room, fully aware that he had revealed far more than he had intended in that conversation. He was angrier with himself than he was with her. He wasn't used to not being able to choose what to show and what to hide.
With that thought haunting him, he went back to his office, hoping that the mystery of the stone Arch would be interesting enough to distract him.
It was. The Arch was extraordinary. Severus had heard about it, of course, right after the disastrous expedition of Dumbledore's Army into the Department of Mysteries, more than two years before. Still, he had never had the chance to see it up close.
It was large and seemingly empty, but the closer he got, the more that emptiness filled with... something. He couldn't say exactly what it was, but it had to be about death, for Albus Dumbledore himself had revealed to him that the arch occupied a room named 'the Death Chamber'.
He analysed it carefully, watched it, studied it, cast every spell he thought might reveal some kind of information, but nothing worked.
Severus lost himself in the Arch, and as he did so, he thought he heard something. There was a thin veil that crossed the empty archway, some sort of passage that attracted him. He felt drawn to it, but at the same time he knew it was not a good idea to indulge in that urge.
After a few hours of static observation, the Professor began to feel something else. It was no longer just a sensation; it was a clear, distinct presence, a soft whisper. There really was something on the other side of that arch. Something to do with death, preserved in the Department of Mysteries, the office of the Ministry that sought to unravel the greatest mysteries of magic. Yes, there was no other explanation. It had to be...
"Did you manage to figure it out, Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?"
Severus turned. Standing in the doorway of his office was Omegas, rested and with a newfound cunning smirk on her face. He returned it.
"Yes."
She lost her smile and parted her lips. "Really?" she breathed.
"I believe so," he nodded.
Omegas crossed the room in one great leap, sat down on the desk and slid to the other side.
"What is it?" she asked, eyeing the arch greedily.
"I believe it is... some sort of passage. A place halfway between life and death."
She frowned. She turned to him and gave him a sceptical look.
"What?" he asked.
"I don't think a place halfway between life and death can exist, Severus," she said.
"Why?"
"Because if there were a place halfway between the two, it would mean there was a destination on the other side. It would mean that there is... an afterlife."
Severus stopped looking at the arch and stood up. "You don't believe there is?"
She looked up at him and shrugged. "No, I don't."
It was the first time he had heard that answer come from anywhere but his own lips.
"Why, do you believe there is?" she asked.
"No," he replied immediately.
"Then how is this possible?"
Severus stood still and took a moment to fully grasp the idea of being faced with someone as cynical as himself. He circled the desk, clasped his hands behind him and paced slowly across the room.
"Ghosts," he announced.
She furrowed her brow. "Ghosts?"
"Ghosts," he confirmed. "We have no proof that there is something after death, but we are certain that a state halfway between the two is possible. Ghosts."
"But ghosts are just echoes," she objected. "Not proper… beings."
"I used to believe that, too."
She followed his movements and gave him a perplexed glance. "What do you mean? You don't think they're echoes?"
"Of course they're echoes," he replied. "But they're also something that exists. They have to be, otherwise anyone could leave their own echo. Instead, not only do you have to choose to remain in a state halfway between life and death, but you can only choose to do so if you have magical blood. Muggles can't…"
He stopped abruptly. He had turned back to look at Omegas; she was now staring stubbornly at the wall in front of her. She wrinkled her nose, closed her eyes and moved her head from side to side, as if trying to shake off a thought.
"Go on," she invited.
Severus cleared his throat. "I don't think this arch is a real passage, not a natural one," he explained. "I think it was built."
Omegas turned to him with a frown. "Built? By whom? For what purpose?"
"If I had to guess…" he murmured, stopping in front of the arch and eying it eagerly. "I'd say someone was trying to find the supposed afterlife."
Omegas looked at him in confusion. She pondered his words for a long moment, then clear realisation downed on her face.
"Are you suggesting it was created to experiment on the dead?"
He met her gaze and nodded.
She turned to the arch and looked at it with a mixture of excitement and reverential fear.
"Interesting," she whispered. She approached it and paced carefully around it. "But why would Riddle have put the snake—"
"Think," he cut her off.
He stepped closer to her and stared into her eyes with a clear air of challenge.
She met him with a good dose of amusement. She shifted her gaze on a distant spot and thought in silence for a while. A few minutes later she spoke as if there had been no interruption.
"Everything within the Arch is in a state halfway between life and death," she stated.
He approached her again, his black eyes sweeping quickly over her round face. "Yes."
"Which means that everything inside it can neither live nor die."
"So…?" he prompted.
"So, the snake cannot be killed, and therefore neither can Riddle," she concluded.
He nodded and gave her an impressed grin.
They stared at each other, both fascinated and clearly excited by the discovery; then the gravity of the statement downed on them. They turned back to the Arch.
"But how did he manage to put it in there?" she asked.
"Technically, Riddle isn't alive," he replied. "Not exactly."
She turned back to him. "Did you just call him Riddle?"
He pretended to be utterly unfazed by the matter. "It is his name."
Omegas chuckled. She was so obviously pleased that for a moment the old urge to slap her resurfaced.
"So… he can enter?" she asked.
He nodded. "If my theory is correct."
At those words, she gave him a look that gave him pause. That was obvious reverence. It was an expression that meant, 'Of course it's correct, how could it not be?'
Severus had to look away; watching it pleased him more than he was willing to admit.
"You're saying that if one is halfway between life and death, or at least not quite alive, then one can enter?" she asked.
He nodded once more. "I am."
She turned back to the Arch and smiled. It wasn't one of her genuine smiles, nor a simple mischievous smirk. It was somewhat unsettling.
"Let's die, then."
Before Severus could ask for clarifications, Omegas had left the room.