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It was quiet, and there were a great many books.
This would have been heaven enough for Severus Snape, all things considered.
The bookcases had a tendency to fade into pearly gray when he wasn't looking directly at them, and potion ingredients would appear and disappear sometimes, but he could work around that. The selection of books seemed nearly infinite, his cauldron fire inextinguishable, and for a long time he lost himself in the rhythms of research, rhythms he hadn't been able to indulge in for so long, not since--
The bookcases shimmered and Severus stopped the sentence there, moving to find another tome.
Heaven became even more tolerable when he discovered a tiny window in one wall of his laboratory. It looked out, implausibly, over a small garden. He couldn't see much, but he caught a flash of red hair sometimes, a gleam of gentle green eyes, and the lilt of golden laughter.
There were other people with her, including the man with the dark and shaggy hair. He had the impression this might have bothered him once. It didn't anymore. Surrounded by books and silence, catching glimpses of a smile he remembered...it was much more than he deserved, he knew that dimly. He wondered where the other person was, the other one with those green eyes. He had known the boy would be here soon as well.
That had made him...displeased. He remembered that.
But he saw no boy. He didn't know what to make of that.
Sometimes a shaggy silver-gray wolf came by, to warm itself by his cauldron-fire. He would explain his latest theories to it, enjoying the chance to share the knowledge he was accumulating. The wolf mostly listened, lolling its tongue out in a comfortable, lupine smile. One day, curious, he asked the wolf: Why do you come to see me?
To check on you, said the wolf. See how you're doing here.
Severus reached for another book. I am well, he said absently.
Yes. The wolf's eyes glinted. You are. At last.
One day he looked up to find Albus Dumbledore there, glasses perched on his nose, peering at him. Severus's heart turned over, but the sight did not fill him with the familiar crushing despair, the shame and horror. Albus. I am pleased to see you, he said. And he was. It was good to see his former headmaster again, smiling at him.
Severus. I have come to tell you. Harry has defeated Voldemort and survived. Lily's son lives.
The laboratory around him seemed to fracture, to swim in shattered light. There were tears in his eyes, and he felt a terrible moment of despair: he was grieving that the boy had succeeded, he was still unworthy. But the way he felt, the way his heart lifted, this feeling...What am I feeling? he whispered, the emotion still welling through him, not sadness, he knew sadness...Sir, what is this?
Albus Dumbledore regarded him compassionately and laid a hand on his shoulder. I believe you are feeling joy, my son.
Joy. Joy! It had a name, this thing, this new thing...if it had a name, perhaps he could distill it, there could be a means, there must be knowledge for it--he swung to the bookcases, still filled with it, his heart brimming with it, this impossible thing. Dimly he realized Dumbledore's form was gone, but he was too busy searching the bookshelves, pondering possible ingredients and preparations, to notice.
Joy.
Joy.
This certainly merited further study.