The Courage to Live

Chapter 3

"A soldier fights not because he hates what's in front of him but because he loves what's behind him." ~ Anonymous

—

Feigning nonchalance, Severus braced himself against the wall, trying to avoid going into shock for the third time in the past hour. Still reeling from Potter's comment — he refused to think about it, feeling an odd combination of horribly embarrassed and unwillingly pleased — Severus watched from the wall as Lucius sulked down the front steps with his wife and son, the pale-haired Death Eater being eyed closely by Kingsley Shacklebolt, and wondered what he ought to do for the next forty-five minutes.

He'd told the Auror-turned-Minister about the most likely places the Death Eaters had fled, and the man had sent out teams of Aurors to monitor the locations until enough people were gathered for raids. After that, he'd nipped down to the dungeons and given out the Invigorating Draughts hidden in his undiscovered private stores, one to every member of the Order and the Heads of Houses, to ensure that the meeting, as well as the crucial decisions that rested on it, would benefit from the full mental faculties of everyone attending, but . . .

Severus shifted uncomfortably at the reminder of Potter's compliment, which mingled with a confusing sense of grief and shock — he'd grabbed exactly the number of draughts needed for the Order and the Heads, and it hadn't been until he'd walked into the Great Hall, looking for Lupin and Tonks, that he'd seen them lying stiff on the floor, not far from Fred Weasley. He'd felt a bit at a loss, then, struck by the knowledge that he'd outlived every member of the Marauders.

He'd looked up, unsure what to do with the remaining doses, and Potter had caught his eye, fighting not to fall asleep on his half-eaten sandwich. Severus hadn't stopped to consider what he was doing — his exhausted mind, addled with anxiety and adrenaline, had decided that giving Potter the potions would be a good way to discreetly thank the boy for staying with him on his deathbed, and he'd followed its lead, too out of it to question the idea until it was too late. He'd clumsily covered the gesture with a few tame insults, trying to weasel out of its implications by demanding Potter say something decent to him for once, but then Potter had complimented him. Genuinely, too, so that Severus was caught off guard and embarrassed himself in front of the boy.

Honestly, like Potter and Weasley were going to be adding anything to the meeting, he thought, scowling. A waste of good potions, that's what that was. He only hoped Minerva wouldn't yell at him for it, knowing how many other, more important people could have benefitted from them instead. Hell, even he'd refrained from taking one, though that was more out of a dislike of the crash experienced when the effects of the draught wore off.

He supposed he was gratified to be included in the discussion of what should be done with Hogwarts and how the remnants of the Dark Lord's supporters should be dealt with, but he wasn't sure he'd have much to add to it, aside from speaking up if anyone got an unusually stupid idea. He'd never particularly enjoyed staff planning meetings, and this was shaping up to be very similar, though with much higher stakes for its conclusions.

Looking around the entrance hall — he determinedly told himself that he was not hiding from Potter — Severus saw that most people seemed to be huddled in groups, talking quietly as the adrenaline of their victory faded and the exhaustion of the long night weighed on them in full. Most were uninjured, which was good to see; Severus had asked Poppy if anyone had sustained curse wounds, and she'd named several that she'd been able to deal with herself but none that needed his expertise to cure, leaving Severus with nothing to do but sit awkwardly while she bustled around, checking patients, until Kingsley had grabbed him for a word.

He glanced around the hall again, now noticing all the eyes that kept darting discreetly to him, and decided that he wasn't going to hang around until the meeting. Striding toward the stairs — he felt considerably better now that his lost blood was almost completely restored, and he didn't stagger — he headed away from the crowd, seeking a more secluded place to wait.