A death toll. Another delayed casualty of war. He should be used to this... he was used to this. This was nothing new.
Lily lived on borrowed time for a long time now. Every letter Al wrote to her, every meeting with her that he had, he counted as last.
He leaned forward and pressed his temple against Severus' cheek.
To counteract the sorrow, he visualised and offered a recent - and now final - memory of his sister, two heads bent over a table and a child in St. Mungo's: an unexpectedly brilliant moment of shared laughter, despite the odds.