The crash of breaking glass did nothing to lessen the pain. Another glass found its way into the wall. Then still another. With each crash, he hoped the pain would go away. When the cupboards were bare of not only glasses, but the plates as well, he looked around, his eyes not focusing on the destruction.

A guttural growl came from his throat as he turned and strode into the sitting room. Looking around, he didn’t spot anything breakable left in this room. The lamps were already in pieces, the first under the now broken mirror.

He walked to the centre of the room, and lifted the small table next to the sofa. He turned and taking the couple steps towards the wall, smashed it into pieces against said wall. He turned back immediately and strode back to the sofa. Reaching down, he lifted it by the side and turned it over.

It made no noise as it tipped and he felt oddly unsatisfied. Drawing his wand, he murmured a spell and the sofa exploded with a satisfying noise. Smiling grimly, he walked up the stairs and into his bedroom. This room had yet to see any destruction.

He began by casting a spell at the mirror causing it to explode into tiny bits and the glass rained down on the entire room including him. He didn’t even notice the tiny cuts caused by the glass. He turned and his bed suffered the same effects of his murmured spell.

Throwing open the door to his closet, he began ripping his clothes off their hangers, shredding them with his bare hands. As he pulled out the final garment in the closet, his subconscious realised before he could destroy it that it wasn’t his. It was an old shirt from a time long ago when he had been younger.

Looking down at the shirt in his hand, his tears began. He crumbled to the floor and sobbed into the shirt. His anger evaporated under the weight of his grief.

He didn’t hear the click of the lock on the door, didn’t hear the gasp of shock from the visitor. He didn’t hear the house being searched for him, nor his name being called through each room.

He felt the arms wrapping around him and leaned into the warmth they offered. He had no idea into whose arms he was, he was beyond all logical thought. His tears still flowed freely but he was beyond caring. The whispered words of comfort were lost to his conscious mind.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” whispered a voice. He was pulled to his feet and led out of the bedroom.

They got as far as the door, but he shook his head violently placing his hands on the doorjambs to keep himself from being steered out the door.

“No, no, no, I can’t leave,” he said in a hollow voice. “I need to be here.”

“You need come with me for a little bit,” reassured the voice. “We can come back in a few minutes.” The voice sounded so comforting and he dropped his arms and allowed himself to be led out of the house.

He felt the person behind the voice holding his arm tightly as they turned. Somewhere in his subconscious, he knew they were Apparating, but he didn’t really care.

“I think he is in shock,” the voice said. “He only spoke when I tried to get him to leave the house. He hasn’t said anything else.”

“Bring him in here. I will summon a Healer to look at him.”

He didn’t like the sound of the second voice, it was trying too hard to sound as if the person cared. He felt the first person gently pushing him onto a bed and he didn’t resist. He was so tired. He just didn’t want to try anymore, he just wanted to sleep and never wake up.

He hoped it wouldn’t hurt when he slept. He wouldn’t know since he hadn’t slept since before... before it happened. Yes, he wanted to sleep, sleep forever. Closing his eyes, he shut his mind completely down.

The voice was back, the soft comforting one. He could hear it speaking softly to someone. He strained but he could only make out a few words; comatose, severe emotional shock caused by grief.

He couldn’t make out the question that was asked, only the answer; unknown, completely up to him as to whether he wanted to live or not.

Did he want to live? he asked himself.

No, the other part of his mind answered. Not without...

Don’t think it, don’t think the name, his mind ordered. Go back to sleep, go back to not thinking at all.

*****

“It’s been over a week, there is still no change,” the Healer told the man. “I am sorry, but the shock and grief may have been too much for him.”

“No, I will not accept that. He will wake up. I know he will, he is a survivor,” the soft voice replied.

He felt a hand push the hair back from his face. He let out a soft involuntary sigh. He remembered another hand pushing his hair back and that brought back the pain. He flinched away from the hand, and the pain. He prayed for the blackness of unconsciousness again.

“Oh,” exclaimed the voice, “come on, wake up now. It is time to wake up and open those eyes.”

He didn’t want to open his eyes. If he opened his eyes, he would have to face the pain again. He would have to look at the person behind the voice and the reality would crash down on him again. He willed his eyes to stay closed even as his eyelids fluttered open.

He found himself staring into the unwavering blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore. He closed his eyes again against the pain.

“No, Severus. Open your eyes. It is time for you to face what has happened. You gave me your word, you agreed to protect her son and it is time you began preparing to do just that.”

Severus opened his eyes again, and stared back at the man who had sworn to do his best to protect her, the one good thing in his life.

“There is time...years before I need to...” His voice trailed off.

“Yes, but you will be starting your new career immediately. You will be taking over Potions and are the new Head of Slytherin house, effective today. Professor Slughorn has retired, he said his heart isn’t in teaching anymore.”

“Head of Slytherin, fine. Potions?”

“Yes, Severus, Potions. I expect you at Hogwarts by Sunday night.” With this, Professor Albus Dumbledore stood and walked out of the hospital room at St Mungos without a backward glance at the man laying in the bed.

He didn’t see the tear that leaked involuntarily from the man’s eye before he got out of bed and dressed. His face was stony and his eyes hard. He buried his love, his grief deep inside under a weight of guilt. He would do what he had sworn to do and protect Lily’s son. He prayed he would not be like his father even as he prayed he was.

He left the hospital without a backward glance, Severus Snape Apparated to outside the walls of Hogwarts. Once his salvation, now his prison.