In that precise moment, for the first time in his life, Severus experienced the all-consuming exhilaration of hope fully realised, hope coming to fruition; wanting something so badly it made you ill, turned you bitter, and then to have the wanting turn into fulfilment. Perhaps that had always been the source of his anger, the longing that made him sick, a never-realised pining that turned his groundwater to poison. But this was new, this was a wish turned into reality. It was addictive. Intoxicating. He was not a pious man but he could worship this feeling forever—he felt the cracks in his rotten, bloody heart begin to mend. 