InsaneJournal

FIC: Finding Time 1/? - R
Title: Finding Time
Author: Serpenscript
Category: romance/angst/drama/dark/smut/humor, a little of everything
Pairings: Snape/Lupin, others mentioned
Rating: NC17 for violence, dark, and smut
Warnings: m/m slash, allusions to rape/noncon, mpreg
Beta: the wonderful rakina
Summary: Severus is about to be sentenced, and Minerva decides Lupin should keep him company until the sentencing. But she also has a plan up her sleeve to make sure Severus escapes the death penalty...but as everyone knows, "The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley..."
Disclaimers: Definitely not what JK had in mind! The poetry bits ARE mine, not lyrics!


"Consider a war:
When done and said,
The backbone of your cause
Is dead."

How long has it been since the war ended? A year, maybe two? I can't remember. Time has no real meaning since the dust settled, and I found that there was nothing left to rebuild on. Certainly not old friendships: Sirius -- Peter -- James -- I'm the only 'Marauder' left now.

Nymphadora -- well, would you believe she ended up with Arthur after Molly died? It stung a bit at first, but then, she always fit in well with the Weasleys, and the children -- can I really still call them children? -- adore her. She's happy with them, I won't deny her that. And she kept Arthur together, kept him sane. Fred and George -- Ron -- Ginny -- they needed him strong. They needed someone who could still make them laugh, too, and by the time we reached the last battle -- well, Nymphadora was one of the few of us still capable of laughing, of wanting to laugh.

After all these grim months, the Wizarding world and the Muggle world alike celebrated the final death of Voldemort. The survivors, the freed prisoners, and the populace that had tiptoed through the last few years afraid of shadows, held grand parties and celebrated for weeks. Marriages popped up everywhere, buildings were repaired, new houses flew up so fast they had to have been magicked, schools reopened and were soon bursting at the seams -- as it should be.

But we, the fighting force -- the people who were on the front lines, who stood and faced the spectre of death, who saw our loved ones, our friends, the companions we trusted to hold the line against all odds, even if it cost their lives dying, falling beneath the teeth and claws of werewolves, torn apart by ranks of giants, Avada Kedavra'd by Death Eaters or left mindless husks by a Dementor's kiss -- we didn't want to celebrate. Each of us did what we had to, but when all was said and done, we wanted to find a place of solitude and let our tears fall as we finally allowed ourselves the luxury of crying, of mourning. As we finally took a breath and took stock of the cost of victory. As we finally acknowledged our wounds, struggled to patch our lives back together, and tried to remember how to live.

Sometimes, when someone faces death for too long -- when someone expects death to come calling at any moment, unannounced; when someone falls asleep with death lurking over their shoulder, wakes with it breathing in their faces; marches all day to the war drums, and sings only rallying calls and dirges -- one forgets what it's like to be 'normal.'  They forget how a normal person can fall asleep without wondering if they'll see the morning or who will still be there when dawn arrives. How to awake each morning with hope for the new day, instead of a sick, stomach-tearing dread and bone-deep exhaustion. They forget how to sing for the sake of singing -- love songs, lullabies, ballads and birthday songs. Those too acquainted with death on the front lines forget how to live each day at a normal pace, instead of the frantic dash war-survivors find themselves in, living each moment as desperately as if it were their last -- borrowed time, stolen time, and often, out-of-time.

It takes time for the shadows to melt away, for the memories to blur, weaken, dissipate. Time -- which is, for some of us, all we have left, and what we most curse now. When we needed more time, we had none; now we have no need for it there is time in abundance. We have all the time in the world to sit and try to forget, staring at dingy walls with fading wallpaper; time to wonder what the hell we'll do with ourselves now that the war drums remain in our blood haunting us, waking or sleeping.

As in all things, some of us handle it better than others. That Harry Potter and his delightful Ginny -- they're married now, you know, and a lovely wedding it was -- they're busy out there, both active in Hogwarts. Minerva is now the Headmistress of Hogwarts, and Harry teaches Defence Against the Dark Arts -- who better? Ginny, perhaps surprisingly, but perhaps not to those of us who remember the days of Ginny's bat-bogey hexes, helps out with her brothers' Wizard Wheezes most of the time. The twins have grown up -- though certainly never truly matured -- and their business is doing quite lucratively. Now that the war is over, the 'business of laughter' is welcomed everywhere with open arms; they've even got an overseas branch in the works.

Professor Vector chose not to return to Hogwarts when it reopened, so now Hermione teaches Arithmancy; she and Ron had their own small ceremony so now she answers to the name of Professor Weasley! Molly would be so proud... Ron is following his father into the world of Muggle Relations. Thanks to Harry, he is not quite as confounded by Muggle paraphernalia as Arthur was. Luna is dreamily teaching Divination now, and I hear there are a number of students who fancy her, but her heart is quite taken. It may take a few years for Neville to get around to confessing, but we're all quite confident that he will. Neville is finishing studies to become an Auror and we all wish him well; perhaps he'll find the courage he wants out there, though in truth it's simply a matter of finding that it's been a part of him all along. After all, he is a Gryffindor! We're hoping that when he's had enough time as an Auror, he might consider taking Professor Sprout's place as Herbology professor, when she is ready to retire.

Even the Slytherins have found their places in this 'new world'. Pansy Parkinson is, would you believe, a mediwitch now? Goyle has a respectable office job in the Ministry, and -- perhaps the most surprising of all -- a Malfoy still graces the corridors of Hogwarts. Ah, yes, Draco Malfoy. Nowhere near popular, though certainly not as despised as Severus Snape was. It cost him dearly to defy his father, and no one could doubt what it did to him when he whispered the words of the Killing Curse, wand pointed at Lucius, tears streaming down his face. Or later, when word reached Narcissa and she killed herself. People still callously bet on whether it was grief for her husband, rage at her son, or pique for Lucius leaving her behind. Or fear, if the Dark Lord survived... needless to say, hearts were softened towards the young, blond man with the cold, dead eyes of ice, who now wears the title of Potions Master and Head of Slytherin.

I think I'm rambling. Time -- yes, time does tend to have that effect on me. But slowly, I'm regaining my place in this world, every second, every moment here stabilised by this heartbeat, thub-thub, thub-thub. I have a reason to live, and a strange reason it is, but a joyful one all the same. When spring unfurls itself across Great Britain, when the snows melt away, trees show their leaves and flowers proliferate -- I will be budding in my own eccentric way. When the panic seizes me, when I wake with nightmares gripping me, cold sweat breaking out on my forehead and back, I have this hope, a silent promise: new life comes. Second chances come. We will find ourselves back in the flow of time. And in the spring, he will return...


*        *        *        *        *

I'll give you a sickle
For a piece of your mind;
Your memories are fickle,
Your consciousness unkind…


They sat in a seedy bar, tunes grinding away from an old Muggle artifact that Arthur Weasley called a Zoobox or something -- it sounded like a cacophony of wild animals yowling in some approximation of music, so perhaps Arthur had, amazingly, named it accurately. Minerva had plunked down a glass of firewhisky before him and fixed him with that sort of steely-eyed gaze she had, the sort that brooked no arguments. He was to behave himself and drink it, or he would be facing a side of her that he didn't want to see. He had seen that side of her before -- so he made himself swallow the potent liquid hastily. It settled in the pit of his stomach, burning fiercely, but he welcomed the warmth it gave. It also bolstered his courage for facing whatever it was Minerva was about to bully him into. Since the war's end she had found time -- in spite of the reopening of Hogwarts -- to become a confounded busybody, and had made it her business to see everyone happy or to know the reason why.

In Minerva's ideal world, everyone would be happily married. He secretly thought that the only reason she herself was still single was because she was too busy arranging everyone else's love lives... and surely she was about to do the same for him. Again. Actually, it would be about the fifth time; she was very determined. Hopefully this time it would be someone sensitive enough to understand that he just wasn't interested, he would go through the motions, but his heart had been lost long ago. He looked warily up at Minerva, steeling himself for her newest proposal. "Well, Tabitha, what's up your sleeve this time? You look like a cat with a saucer full of cream." Tabitha being, of course, her best-kept secret, discovered by accident during a Christmas game of drunken tell-all; her middle name had once earned her the nickname of 'Terrible Tabby was her middle name and she hated being called by it as much as Lupin hated these arrangements she kept... arranging, so he deemed it only fair to call her by that name when she insisted on meddling in his life.

Oddly, she just blinked blandly at him. "Remus, I'd like to ask you for a favour. As you surely know, Severus will soon be sentenced, and -- well, I feel, knowing the circumstances as they are, that he should not have to endure the sentencing alone. I know that most wizards alive today would far rather see him dead -- but you don't hate him, do you?" She searched his eyes for an answer to her question -- and an answer to an unspoken question as well.

Lupin could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks in answer to her query. Damn, how did she know? He looked away, shadowed hazel eyes bleak. So many emotions, too many questions. He'd had hopes -- hopes that went to hell in a handbasket when I learned he'd killed Albus Dumbledore. "So tired of the dating game already that it would amuse you now to have me sit and watch another man receive his death sentence?"

Minerva shook her head. "Remus, it's not like that. I can't promise that he won't receive the death sentence. He is hated -- and feared -- enough that it's a possible outcome, but I think in the end Arthur and I can make them see reason. You weren't there at the trial, Lupin, but we were. They had a -- a quorum of Legilimens, five of them, and it still took a mind-bending potion for Severus to open up his mind to them as evidence. I think they expected to convict him by his own thoughts -- they were not gentle, and they dug up a lot more than just the present. They showed Severus' worst memories to everyone present -- the painful, the frightening, the emotional, the secret, the most humiliating."

Lupin winced -- he couldn't imagine Severus' reaction to that, having his private life laid out publicly for anyone to mock -- it would shatter the only vestiges of pride the man had. He closed his eyes to hide his own pain at the thought, but Minerva was continuing.

"But they also found the conversation he'd had with Albus before he -- was killed. You knew Albus was also a skilled Legilimens?" She didn't wait for him to answer. "Well, Albus knew already -- from Severus himself -- about the Unbreakable Vow, about how Draco had to kill Albus or Severus do the deed for him. But what we found out from Severus' memories -- that not even I had known -- was that Albus was slowly dying, Remus. The curse from the ring that shrivelled his hand had weakened him, and when he drank the poison to get to the locket he knew he was dying, and he did not want young Draco to cross that line!"

Since Remus could definitely see the kindly headmaster saying just that, he just nodded, expression troubled. "We all knew that much -- they found traces of the curse and the poison still on him when they collected his body before the funeral," he said dully. "But there was a chance Dumbledore could have been cured, so how would that change the verdict?"

Minerva's eyes on him were sympathetic. "Because, in his memories, Albus is heard clearly ordering Severus to kill him. And most surprising of all: Severus' mind was boiling with anguish and pain at having to obey the order, and fantasies of being killed first so that he wouldn't have to. That, when combined with his carefully-hoarded memories of Albus' kindnesses to him when he was young, and then struggling as a much-disliked teacher, and the memories of the abuse he received, helped soften the opinions towards him." She sighed. "Remus, they will never like Severus, but it is possible that they do not..... hate him anymore."

While she spoke, she had pulled out a small embossed silver vial, and commandeered a silver ash tray. She Scourgified it so it shone, and then carefully upended the vial into the tray, and pushed it over in front of Remus. He stared at it, then met her understanding eyes. "I think you should see what I saw, Remus," she said gently, sliding the tip of her wand into the argent liquid, much like Dumbledore had once done for a certain young wizard with a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. The three-dimensional figure forming where her wand tip touched, however, was Severus Snape. A still, unnaturally-quiescent man bound in a chair, looking like he was waiting for Death himself.

Lupin felt his face blanch. No. He didn't want to watch Severus as the quorum slowly prised his mind open like parchment laid out before them. He didn't want to see the man's memories paraded around like the Elephant Man at a freak show. He shook his head. No. He wouldn't, he couldn't—

Minerva sighed, and before he could respond, she grabbed his hand and dipped it into the tray, and they fell together into Minerva's memories of the trial.

*                *                *                *                *                *

You think you know but
You do not
You can't discern the sight
I've got
The past I see, and through
Such eyes
Would mute and blind
to realise...


The jury room was packed with witches and wizards booing, jeering, hissing curses at the prisoner. Unsurprising, since everyone wanted to visit their own revenge on Severus Snape; the trial had received a lot of publicity, due only in part to the very unconventional methods they were using to collect evidence. Snape seemed smaller than he always had in real life, though that could be due to their sitting several rows up from the floor.

Minerva -- not the memory-Minerva, who was staring down at the proceedings with her lips compressed into a tight line, but the Minerva who was sitting with Remus back in the seedy bar -- joined him, casually sitting on top of someone else. Memories were distinctly odd like that: you could walk through walls if you thought you could, or you could be trapped by them. You could not, however, exceed the scope of the person's memories. For example, if all they experienced was one room, you could do anything within that room, but you couldn't go beyond that room save by leaving the memory itself. Shit -- he was letting his thoughts wander to distract himself. Minerva looked down at Snape again and, unconsciously imitating her memory-self, her lips thinned as she grimaced.

"It shouldn't have come to this, though I do agree there was no precedent. Severus would never have willingly let them into his mind." She nodded towards the door as it opened and five witches and wizards strode in, wearing black Wizarding robes with silver bands around their wrists. "You probably won't know any of the Legilimens -- they couldn't find any of our own who could possibly give him a fair trial -- " she put a condescending emphasis on the word fair, "--so they put together a quorum of Legilimens from Durmstrang alumni. Arthur suggested requesting a quorum from Beauxbatons, but apparently Legilimency and Occlumency are a lost art in France." The corner of her mouth curved downwards a little more. "Unfortunately, thanks to Igor Karkaroff, Durmstrang alumni harbour only marginally less animosity for Severus than our own general population."

Remus looked back down at Snape. They'd taken every precaution; spelled ropes held him securely in an iron-wrought chair; the chair was welded to the floor in the centre of a triply-laid ward of containment, and chair, ropes and prisoner were all thickly bound in anti-Apparition charms. He had no hope of escape.

The quorum stood shoulder to shoulder in front of Snape, far enough back to allow everyone a full view. Weakened by the mind-bending potion and under the mental pressure of five Legilimens, Severus was beginning to give. Sweat was beading on his forehead and his eyes were closed tightly. Minerva spoke in a low voice. "It won't be long now."

"Long until he breaks?" Lupin asked bitterly, watching Snape struggling silently. Then in the next moment Snape's head snapped back against the chair, his eyes opened wide, and his memories began to pour out.

"Snivellus, Snivellus," classmates taunted him, sneering down their rich, aristocratic noses at him. "Greasy grimy Snivellus!"

His mother and father were fighting in the kitchen again. His mother had been outraged when she'd heard rumours about him being a shirt-lifter. His father blamed it on her family. At least while they fought each other, they left him alone... alone in the dark, in his room, on his sagging mattress with the worn blankets, he thought of Remus. And slowly fisted himself to an uneasy orgasm.

One or two of the witches laughed, mostly those who had known him in those school years. A few of them called out derisive comments about his pallid, skinny legs and his unimpressive cock. Lupin blinked and shook his head uneasily. Severus had fantasised about him?

"Tell the Halfblood his marks are acceptable -- for a Halfblood," his mother said dismissively, then smiled maliciously. "After all, a Halfblood must do twice as well as a Pureblood, to be considered even half as good...."

Lupin could hear Severus breathing raggedly, white-knuckled fingers clinging to the arms of the chair, desperately fighting to regain control of his mind and wrest his memories back from the Legilimens.

Someone had left him a package for Yule; the only Yule he ever spent at Hogwarts as a student. It was a set of used, hand-me-down robes, but they were a lot nicer than what he normally had to wear. The note only said, 'Merry Christmas, Severus. AD.' He was ashamed to accept charity -- but he was more ashamed of the taunting he'd get wearing his ragged robes another year...

Remus found him in the hallway while James was in Quidditch and Sirius off making -- well, conquests. He snarled at Lupin; he had twice as much homework to do since Sirius had set his parchment on fire with an Unquenchable Flame charm. It'd taken him too long to find the counter-charm and his week's homework had been incinerated. "You can copy my homework, here --" he handed it to Severus. "Not as good as yours, but the best I can do." Severus took the notes wordlessly. He didn't know what to say...

Somewhere during the parade of memories Snape's sweat-slicked hands slid from the arms of his chair; they were curled into fists, his ragged fingernails carving bloody half-moons into his palms, his face a rictus of emotional agony. Lupin's stomach turned sickening flip-flops.

He hung upside down by one ankle, burning with rage and shame but impotent. "Shall we take his pants off too?" James mocked, and with a twitch of his wand his greying pants started sliding up his legs. "Aw, not much to show for it, is there, Sirius?"

"This is not acceptable!" his mother hissed. "Even a Mudblood could manage better than this -- only one 'outstanding' in the lot, and that's in Charms -- Charms, like some bloody poof!" She threw the letter at him, along with anything else that came to hand. "Out, you damnable, filthy, disgusting --"

Even with the noise of the jeering, mocking crowd of witches and wizards around him, Lupin could hear Snape grinding his teeth. Or maybe it was only his heart, lending sound to his inaudible groans as the quorum raped his mind for the vengeful public. He found his own hands curled into empathetic fists, his own nails digging into his palms.

Lucius pinned him against the wall in Malfoy Manor. "They're calling you 'Lucius' Lapdog' now. I find myself amused by such wordplay." He arched a sculptured eyebrow and curved his mouth into a carefully-practised, mocking smile. Snape curled his hands into fists as Lucius leaned in and kissed him, seething, his stomach churning with loathing. But he submitted...

Red eyes and a reptilian nose mesmerised an older Severus. "Why has your information been lacking lately? Have your loyalties changed?" Red eyes gleamed with mad genius -- or insanity. "Perhaps you need to be motivated?" He raised his wand level with Snape's chest, smiled malevolently. "Crucio!"

Several of the witches and wizards flinched when Voldemort appeared in his memories; some cried out when Voldemort used the Unforgivable. There were still others who egged Lucius on, yelling out, "Bitch!" and "Lapdog!" to the ex-Death Eater. Lupin's lungs were burning -- he'd been holding his breath, unconsciously trying to will away the memories the others gloated over.

Narcissa clutched his hand as he knelt in front of her. Cold sweat gathered at the small of his back; somehow he managed to keep his face implacable. "...And, should it prove necessary...if it seems Draco will fail...will you carry out the deed that the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?" she whispered. Bella, that damnble viper, was gloating. He was going to... "I will," he managed. He'd warn Albus. And Voldemort would learn of it -- betrayal meant death -- but that would free him of the vow, and Albus would prefer Draco kept out of it, and there was time -- still some time...

Green silk sheets beneath him -- of course, Lucius, rich bastard, had only the best. Even if he had a thing for buggering unwilling Half-bloods. Well, at least he didn't have to pretend to like it. He closed his eyes and tried to think of potions, anything besides the fact he was being fucked into the mattress by a rich Pureblood he hated...

Severus was shivering. No, shaking violently, and the muscles in his arms and neck stood out ropy and whip-cord, the blue veins vivid against the unhealthy pallor of his skin. "Stop it," Lupin whispered hoarsely, horrified eyes glued to Snape's face. "This is beyond revenge--"

A young Severus pinned Lupin against the wall. Lupin who was a werewolf. Lupin who was friends with despicable Potter and Black. Lupin who unconsciously radiated sex appeal. Lupin stared at him with wide eyes. "Severus --" he started to say, but Snape cut him off. "Shut up, you stupid werewolf," he snarled -- and then he kissed him...

Death-eaters behind him, Dumbledore before him. Death or redemption. Draco couldn't do it. He had to. He couldn't. Albus was dying anyway -- some kind of poison -- he could find an antidote, if there was time. There was no time, and there was Dumbledore's gaze and his nonverbal Legilimency, the mental touch Severus knew so well. For him, he let down his Occlumency, so he could tell Albus he couldn't -- but Dumbledore disagreed. "You will," Albus' mind insisted. "You must! You can survive what will come. Kill me, I am already dying!" He couldn't, he didn't have enough hate, he couldn't hate someone like Dumbledore, his own mind protested, but Albus took over. He pulled out the worst of Snape's memories, and moulded them into one person. One hateful, evil person, one embodiment of his nightmares. And superimposed it over himself. Aloud, he whispered, "Please, Severus..." He had to, he couldn't, he had to...

Snape had begun writhing, thrashing. Startled, some of the witches and wizards wrenched free of the train of memories and stared at him. No one had ever seen Severus without his rigid control, his snide mask fixed in place. The man who was now screaming silently, back arching impossibly against his bonds, eyes wide open and staring unseeing at the ceiling, didn't resemble the cold, hateful Potions master at all. Lupin trembled violently. "Minerva, I can't --"

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It will end soon," she whispered, but her voice sounded strained.

Dumbledore looked at him with unreadable eyes. "Try again," he said in a gentle voice. "Picture a wall around your mind, an invisible wall only you can shatter. Ready?Legilimens!"And the young Snape frowned, whispering aloud, "Occlumens!" A moment later, he sat back, looking dazed. "You held me out a moment longer," Dumbledore encouraged. "Eventually, you'll be able to do this nonverbally..."

He raised his wand. His lips moved. Somehow he held his hand steady, his lips said the words. "Avada Kedavra!" The green light flared; the one man he'd admired died. Albus shouldn't have died; it should have been him...

Lupin had his hands stretched out, yelling hoarsely, when he saw Dumbledore die. He saw the faintly-shocked, faintly-relieved expression on Dumbledore's face as he fell backwards. He blinked as the witches and wizards in Minerva's memory shuddered, some of them blinking away tears of their own. "Isn't it enough? Haven't they had enough yet?" he whispered bitterly.

But apparently, it was enough. Minister of Magic Scrimgeour was standing, pointing a shaking finger at the quorum, who seemed to have no qualms about continuing. "Enough!" he bellowed, "Thank you very much for your fine use of Legilimency; that will be all. All!" Lupin was still staring at Snape, who had stopped thrashing when the quorum broke off their Legilimency, but still trembled uncontrollably.

"How can he survive that? He seemed to live on pride alone," he said hoarsely, forcing the words past the lump in his throat.

Minerva was pale and her lips were pressed together so tightly they were bloodless. Shaking her head, she took Lupin's elbow and tugged, and they exited her memories -- and left behind the trembling man.



*                *                *                *                *                *

Minerva plunked down another glass of firewhisky in front of him and set another glass down in front of herself.. "Drink, Remus," she said warningly, and he picked up his own glass. His hands were shaking, but he got it to his lips. The burning liquor helped cut through the lump of ice in his stomach. It fuzzed the memory of pain. Almost.

He drained the glass, ordered another, and stared at the dancing lights reflected on the surface of the red liquid. "Damn," he whispered again, raggedly. "They raped him, Minerva. The bastards mentally raped him in front of all the people who hate him!" He shuddered, tried to push back the picture of Severus losing it, and took a burning gulp of whisky.

"You needed to see," Minerva said shakily. Even knowing what to expect, seeing anyone like that, in a situation like that... "You needed to know at first hand what they did to him. Do you understand now why you should be the one to wait with him?" Her hand covered his shaking one, cold but firm, encouraging.

Lupin stared down at his glass. "Because it's me he wants," he said huskily. "Because I'm the only one he has any good memories of --" still left alive, he almost added, but didn't. "Didn't they have enough evidence to clear him of the charges?" he said desperately, "He was only doing what Albus told him, and he even helped him --" he choked, the flash of green light, Albus pleading, still too vivid in his mind.

Minerva stared down at her own glass and sighed. "They argued that he should never have made a promise to Narcissa, for any reason. That Albus would never have let Severus -- or Draco -- die in his stead." She shook her head wearily. "The war left scars on many of us. On some people -- many people -- those scars became deep, ugly hatred. They can't do anything to hurt the one they hate the most -- Voldemort --" she took a deep breath, "—but they can hurt someone who served him. And Severus is the most well-known Death Eater."

For a while they both sat in silence, drinking away their memories. Lupin let the alcohol fuzz him, ordered another glass. His lycanthropic metabolism burned it off too fast; he couldn't blur the memories enough. Memories that weren't even his.

He didn't want to visit Azkaban, where Severus was being held. He didn't want to remember his own incarceration and trial there, before Harry, Ron, and Hermione had spoken strongly in his defence and freed him. He didn't want to remember the friends, turned traitor, ending their lives there; some of them wasting away to shadows, others screaming and defiant until the end, others simply insane. He didn't want to go back, but he knew, in his heart of hearts that he had to.

He owed Severus, for more than just the Wolfsbane. It was a chance to redeem his own inner darkness, to alleviate his own pain by struggling to help someone else lift their own impossible burden. They were both survivors of a bitter war, had both seen too many horrors in the past few years. Knowing what he knew now, he could not refuse. He looked up, his haunted eyes meeting Minerva's understanding ones. "Damn you," he whispered hoarsely. "Damn you."