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What's so amazing that keeps us stargazing,
and what do we think we might see?
Someday we'll find it
the rainbow connection,
the lovers, the dreamers, and me.
--The Rainbow Connection, Kermit the Frog
It’s a little past three in the morning, and Severus hasn’t slept in weeks.
Not properly anyway, not this year. He might be Headmaster of this school but he’s never felt quite so out of control. He appears to run a tight ship, of course, keeping the students as safe as possible while somehow giving the impression that he revels in his colleagues’ and pupils' estimation of him, that he is a traitor, monster, murderer. Playing both sides and trying to stay afloat as he buys the boy who lived more time to run Dumbledore’s errands.
He knows what they all think of him, his former friends, his peers, his erstwhile teachers, most of them. He knows everything that goes on in this school, the way their cold eyes slide over him, the way their lips curl in disgust when he stalks into the room, how he has to pretend to be unaffected.
Nights like these, cold, windswept nights are both the easiest and the most difficult. He can let himself sink into solitude and silence, find comfort in the loneliness of a quiet castle and a moonless night. Or just as often, he finds despair in the lack. The lack of friendship, the lack of light, the slowly dimming hope glowering like a forgotten ember in his torn, ragged soul.
He finds his feet taking him along a particular corridor, round and round and up the stairs, climbing to the tallest tower in the school. The midnight class is long past, and Severus hopes to find himself a semblance of solace, some surcease of sorrow at the very scene of the crime.
But Professor Sinistra is seated at her desk, quill scraping along parchment, and she gives the briefest glance up at his entry before resuming her work.
He stills for a moment but then presses on, striding across the room to the large open window and looks out over the grounds.
Aurora Sinistra isn’t what Severus would call a friend precisely, but as the only other Slytherin on staff, there was something of a camaraderie that had been there since he started teaching, all those years ago. She helped the students of his house in ways he couldn’t, she performed her tasks admirably, and most endearing of all, she was quiet.
She never asked much of Severus, the antisocial man that he was. She didn’t expect inane chatter in the staffroom, or small talk over breakfast. She was perfectly content to sit quietly in whatever shared space they occupied. Her subject forced her to keep an almost nocturnal schedule, and she often brought Severus small treasures from her nighttime walks, moonflowers or other night blooming flora for potions. In return she would find an expertly brewed energy potion on her desk, for days when her duties demanded her presence during the daytime. Neither of them expected or received a spoken thank you or acknowledgement for these acts, nor did they want one. The quiet understanding of taking care of one’s own was enough, and to remark upon it would be to sully both the duty of it, and the gratitude with which it was received.
If she would simply pretend that he wasn’t there, Severus might be able to feel normal for a single moment. It wouldn’t hurt, coming from her, the lack of acknowledgement. It wouldn’t feel so lonely the way it did when Minerva would sweep by him, eyes forward, as if he was invisible.
He looked out into the moonless, starry night for several moments, when he heard the light flutter of robes rustling and then soft footsteps approaching from behind.
Please don’t ask me to leave, he thinks to himself, closing his eyes against the cold air. Please don’t say anything at all, please just let me--
“The stars,” says a low voice, clear and serious, “are very bright tonight, Headmaster.”
She stands near him, very near, almost close enough to touch, and he opens his eyes again, releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
“Indeed,” he replies softly, and he knows that she hears the thank you beneath it.
They stand together for a very long time, watching the way the starlight cuts through the dark sky, like a hundred thousand pinpricks in the floor of heaven. They simply stand near, and listen to each other breathe, and Severus takes in the comfort of her quiet, steadfast company.