denial is the first stage of grief. a heavy heart freezes against his rips (oh severus ) as albus glances at the man from above his half-moon glasses. the moment suspends itself in time — severus flicking through the ancient pages, the sun setting behind him, the hard, firm beats of his heart ( he’s never, at least not for decades, been so aware of every sensation, every movement his body made ). “ — severus. ” the voice, so quiet and gentle, nevertheless has a thread chastisement weaved through it. “ the both of us know that your efforts would be better served working on more pressing endeavors. ” he is to die; denial was never a stage he visited.
A GAZE DARK AS COAL WAS ABRUPTLY RAISED FROM THE TOME, bathed in incredulity. if severus was alive ( for better or for worse ), the headmaster had played an instrumental part in it. the very least he could do was to retribute the favor. what if there was something to be done ?could the world really afford to lose the greatest wizard to ever walk over it in those dire times ? how could he sleep at night knowing there could be a way out ?
‘ this is a most pressing endeavor, sir. ’ he let silence fall between the two of them, eyes scrutinizing the elder wizard. ‘ hogwarts is not ready to lose you. ’
