The following story contains major DH spoilers, so please proceed only with caution.

EDIT: Thank you, Grant, for your fantastic beta work! I cannot thank you enough for it.

I would like to dedicate this story to drhpluvr4l. First, take it as a birthday present for I have a hunch that you might have birthday some time around now. And second, you deserve it much, because it was your beautiful story that lead me to reading and now even writing fanfic. Thank you.

Disclaimer: I am not a writer, and never will be one. All the credit for the creation of the setting and the characters goes naturally to Ms. Rowling. These are the copyright of hers and Bloomsbury Publishing.

A/N: It is a story starting after the final battle of Hogwarts and following the main characters into their young adulthood. It all revolves, in one way or another, around the brilliant Potions Master Severus Snape (well, I have a soft spot for him). I wanted to write a story about Severus the way I perceive him, with all his feelings, emotions, fears and desires as well as I wanted to portray the kind of life I imagine him lead.

I cannot promise anything but some time in the future there might come a ship involving Severus and ... who knows who. I do not want to reveal this as yet. Just keep reading and don't worry, you will recognize it when it comes.

Please, please if you like the story, but even more importantly if you don't, review and don't be afraid of criticism. I have never written any fanfiction before, not even thought of it, so let's see how it goes.

Enjoy!


Chapter 1: Vitality and Weakness

So they are gone. All of them. Some of them dead and gone, like that Weasley twin, the little Gryffindor Creevey and even Lupin with his wife who could not keep a fixed appearance for more than half an hour. The others are just gone.

Severus was resting in an armchair in the semidarkness of his quarters. The whole of his dungeon drawing room was lit by a single candle, placed on a stool by the wall and enchanted so that it emitted emerald green light. There were no windows but all the walls were covered, floor to ceiling, with shelves and shelves of books; some of them were leather-bound, others were covered in cloth and still others in fur. The most frequent word in their titles, glistening in silver and from time to time reflecting the green of the candle, was Potions. Apart from the ebony-made bookcase and black velvet armchair with silvery stitching, the room contained a huge oak table with a quill, a bottle of ink and piles of empty parchments laying on it.

Severus was sitting with his eyes closed. Leaning on the armrest, his slender fingers were ever so slightly caressing his pale forehead. He was deeply engulfed in his own thoughts, contemplating the events of the last few weeks. First there were the injured to be attended to and Madam Pomfrey worked day and night dealing with those who had wounds from the battle. Many of them were caused by magic so dark that Severus had never heard of before and the unfortunate victims were left to bear awful scars for the rest of their lives. Though only slowly recovering from his own injuries, those of both the body and the soul, Severus dedicated himself to frantic work, brewing all kinds of potions round the clock. Among the most needed were Draught of Life, Pain Lessening Potion, and Draught of Dreamless Sleep, all of which he administered in person, day and night, to the erstwhile warriors.

Severus was in great need to forget. There were so many things in his life that he was only too eager to let fall into oblivion. The battle, what preceded it for many years, and also what followed afterwards. At the same time he was only too well aware that the things he wanted to forget the most would stay with him forever, haunting him in his sleeping and waking hours. There was no escape from the memories, other than death, and he was not yet ready for that, and so Severus took at least temporary refuge in alleviating the pain of the others.

When the healing was done the funerals of those killed in the battle followed. The funerals and the mourning. Severus was sure he would never fully recover from what he had to endure at the funerals. And there were so many of them. The innocent victims being given all kinds of honors and the greatest of all, for those whose relatives wished it to be so, was that they could be buried on the Hogwarts grounds along with the former headmasters and headmistresses of the school.

But all of this came only later. It was after Severus's last talk with the Dark Lord when everything went blank.

Stop it, Severus! That's past! You can't change it! With these thoughts putting an end to any further reveries, Severus rose from the armchair and dragging his still weakened body he crossed the room to confront his books. He intended to pick up one, The Masters of Potion Making through Ages most probably, and spend another of his solitary evenings reading it. While with his hand still mid-way to grasping the book he sighed heavily and let it fall again. Dead and gone. With a sudden feeling that he could not survive yet another evening on his own he turned his back on the library, the last meaningful thing in his life, and walked away with no clear sense of direction. Suddenly he stopped in his tracks. In a low voice, a voice which was full of misery, resignation and sadness but with a whiff of melody buried deep down, in a voice such as his students had never heard him speak, Severus uttered: "Pulfer."

No sooner had the word stopped echoing in the dark dungeon that a small cracking sound followed and with that a little creature Apparated in front of Severus.

"Master, Sir? Would me master be wishing something nice for eat? Or would me Master be wishing go to sleeping? Would me Master Professor be desiring a hot bath?"

Seeing the pointed ears, orb-like eyes and small bent-low figure, no one could be mistaken that Pulfer was an old house elf. Some would say that "old" was an understatement as it was rumored that Pulfer was as old as Hogwarts itself. Not even Nearly Headless Nick or Grey Lady could recall a time when there was no Pulfer around. He simply was a part of Hogwarts as much as the Black Lake or Forbidden Forest, serving one Potions Professor after another. He had spent the last sixteen years as the personal house elf of Professor Severus Snape.

He wore a torn and ragged tea towel tied at his waist with a piece of no longer needed string, which far too much resembled one of Professor Trelawney's twines. Actually, in the last sixteen years that Severus had been teaching and living in Hogwarts, he registered only one change in Pulfer's appearance and that came two years ago when Pulfer, all of a sudden at Severus's call, Apparated in front of him wearing askew a violet knitted hat claiming: "Pulfer be free but Master Sir Professor still having his elf." Though rather perplexed and not having a clue what that was supposed to mean, Severus let the incident pass with a mere smirk. Eventually, he contented himself with the fact that though free, Pulfer was no less eager to get Severus's meals, make his bed and prepare his baths or from time to time to dye his robes an extra shade of pitch black. Severus understood that Pulfer simply adored the notion of being free-yet-fulfilling-all-of-his-Masters-Professor's-wishes house elf without a clear idea of what being free exactly meant.

What troubled Severus far more was that recently it had seemed that Pulfer's old age had started to show. So it happened more and more that Pulfer carried out his Master's orders in a rather mysterious and not always precise manner. First there were just hints. Once, being asked to bring Severus his hibiscus tea, he brought a gobletful of Firewhiskey, though Severus was well too known for his repugnance of any such beverages. The situation became graver when, on Severus's calls Pulfer Apparated three times into Professor McGonagall's Headmistress office instead and demanded, at exactly six in the morning, to be allowed to fix her dinner and prepare her bed. On the third such occasion Professor McGonagall could not bear Pulfer's insistence any further and let her discontent with the "ill behaving Snape's creature," as she put it, be known. Though busy preparing for her morning classes she went so far as to bring Pulfer in person and in a totally un-magic fashion to Severus's office, stressing that Severus should teach his servant proper manners and proper magic.

"No, Pulfer," Severus wearily answered his elf's previous questions. "I don't want to eat, sleep nor take a bath. But why don't you take a seat and-"

"Oh, Pulfer be happy, Master Sir. Pulfer will sit down with Master Professor," interjected the little creature and immediately, conjuring a chair out of thin air, settled himself down comfortably. At this demonstration of eagerness and vitality Severus merely rolled his eyes and withdrew himself back to the previously abandoned armchair. I'm so tired. Even Pulfer, old as the world itself, seems to have more energy than I do. Oh, shut you up, Severus! Enough of self-pity! You're disgusting! Always complaining about how life is unfair! Put yourself together, for Merlin's sake! Such were the thoughts running one after another at Avada-Kedavra speed through his mind, while he directed his empty look at little Pulfer and continued with what he had to say before being interrupted.

"-and keep me company for the eve-"

And again, "Master Professor, so happy Pulfer is be, Sir!" came another exclamation before Severus could finish his thought.

Starting to feel more irritated by the elf's presence than by his own loneliness, Severus completed his original idea, "ning," with a blank expression on his face. And before the elf was given the slightest chance to express his gratitude and appreciation, Severus with a wave of his wand hand cut him short. Then he continued, "with the beginning of the new school year still far ahead, there's only little for you to do in the evenings," and with the students gone even less for me, Severus finished in his mind. "Is that so?"

Not particularly waiting for the elf to answer, Severus went on, "I've heard that you are rather skillful in playing wizarding chess, aren't you?"

Again, Pulfer was only too eager to express an extensive amount of gratitude at his Master's praise, but Severus could not bear his exclamations any longer. With as hard a look on his face as he could conjure in spite of his utter weariness and in a hollow voice, he uttered, "From now on, I won't hear any thanks from you. Take it as an order!" There were some people I wanted to thank me or express their acknowledgement and understanding but this has never come. At least not in the way I wanted it. So, please, spare me those from you now.

Pulfer's ears drooped significantly and his eyes widened at the tone of his Master's Professor's voice. Yes, people said that his Master Professor was a rude man, never hesitating for a moment to offend anyone within earshot with a remark full of venom. But he was not like that with his Pulfer. Never. Not even when Pulfer burned his Master's Professor's beloved black cloak while performing the Smoothening Charm on it. Not even when once, and now Pulfer chuckled slightly at the memory, he was supposed to bring his Professor Master an important potion ingredient to his class, but instead he happened to bring him his washed laundry. Not even then did his Master Professor address Pulfer so sharply yet with such an empty look on his face.

Pulfer was well aware that his Master Professor had changed within the last month like never before. Since the last battle and all that followed, his Master Snape was so much withdrawn, all the time wearing an expression which revealed weariness, exhaustion and was it – concern? Rather resignation, Pulfer realized. His favorite Master Professor was evidently suffering and it was not only from the weakened and apparently still aching body which has not recovered from the duels of the battle yet. His mind and soul seemed to be tortured far more.

Severus must have noticed that Pulfer was struck by the abruptness of the order. Caring as he was for his old elf, he was seriously thinking of apologizing. But then . . . Life has never been easy on anyone. No one has apologized to me either.

Not waiting any longer for Pulfer's answers as to whether he really had time in the evenings or whether he really was good at wizarding chess, Severus moved his armchair closer to the table and to where Pulfer was sitting, still rather daunted. With a graceful movement of his wand Severus conjured up a chessboard with two sets of men. He badly needed someone to keep him intellectual company. Severus was used to being on his own physically, but intellectually, that was a different matter. During the school year there were at least the students. Though usually they were just a bunch of dunderheads, some of them were surprisingly clever. Severus was, of course, way too reluctant to admit that to himself and even far less willing to say that to the students. Whom he was specifically thinking of at the moment, was . . . Miss Granger. How fiercely she was fighting in the battle, in the end. And her essays. The one in which she elaborated on a brand new potion for healing those affected by tampered memory charms. What was it she wanted to brew together? The root of a mandrake and an extract from the bud of a simple rose? Yes. And it worked! I was impressed, to say the least of it. She really had a mind for potions. I might have at least insinuated at that fact when she was still around.

He was suspended in his thoughts by a sudden cough.

"Professor Master, Pulfer knows that he not should interrupt his Master's thinks, but the men are restless."

And really, the men, which Severus had placed in their positions on the chess board, were fidgeting, only too eager to start the match. Severus sighed and motioned the elf to choose his side. While Pulfer seemed to be totally immersed in thoughts as to which set of men his Master Professor might be wanting so that he could take the other one, only to please his Professor Master, Severus finished his previous idea. I do need someone to keep me company and to rejoice with me in intellectual debates again. Otherwise, I will lose the remaining thread of sanity I have, the penultimate thread of which left my life the night Albus Dumbledore pleaded with me to mete my promise on the top of the Astronomy Tower.

"White!" was the exclamation bringing Severus fully back from his meditations on Albus Dumbledore, Hermione Granger and maybe even on Harry Potter. But Severus was not yet ready to admit that he even so much as thought about him, certainly not after how Harry Potter had treated him during their last meeting at the funerals.

Acknowledging the elf's choice, Severus contented himself with starting second and the wizarding chess commenced. After half an hour of brisk and ingenious turns between the Professor and his servant and after the majority of men lay badly damaged all around the board, Pulfer suddenly exclaimed, "Master Professor must go and take his nice hot bath! Pulfer maked it ready." Doing so, he hopped down from the chair, trying to usher Severus into the door leading to his bathroom and completely forgetting about the unfinished game.

Utterly surprised at being so abruptly brought out of the depths of his mind, which had been fixed on the game, Severus shook off the little elf's attempts. Even this slight movement seemed to cause him considerable pain. "I beg you pardon?" he whispered in a quiet hollow voice, looking at Pulfer with the same empty eyes as before.

"Master Professor must go and take his nice hot bath, because the water not be hot no more in a while," was what Pulfer offered as an answer. It seemed as though all of a sudden Pulfer's mind started meandering around his daily routine, causing him to forget that at present he was rather a company than a servant of Severus, to say nothing of the fact that there was no bath ready anywhere; it was yet again one of the shifts of Pulfer's mind. Severus's eyes reflected the sadness that overtook him at the elf's statement and with a sigh he turned them towards his aging elf, saying in a low voice, "Yes, Pulfer I will take my bath, don't you worry."

Apparently satisfied with his own persuasive skills and happy as he could be that his Master Professor had come to his senses about the nice hot evening bath, Pulfer bowed low and Disapparated with a crack.

Severus remained silent and motionless for a while and then very slowly took Pulfer's white Queen, moving it in front of his own cornered black King, "Checkmate, Master Professor."

Why does everything have to be falling into pieces? Even as his servant's mind was starting to have its light and dark moments, Severus was only too afraid that in future there would be far more of the dark moments, full of oblivion and confusion, than those of the light.

Getting up from the armchair and making the chess board and the heap of defeated men disappear with another of his graceful wand movements, Severus set off for bed. It was past midnight anyway. He was not so much tired as sad and fighting a strong and sudden urge to plunge himself into his Pensieve and relive some of his better days. Not that there were many of those, rather few he had to admit, but nonetheless there were some. For example when he had been with Dumbledore, discussing possible counter curses or potions that might alleviate the effects of that horrible course Dumbledore had so foolishly imposed upon himself. A fool! ran through Severus's mind. Why, in the name of Merlin's cloak, did he have to strike the ring?

With this memory of his former headmaster and intellectual companion Severus entered his bedroom. The room was as soberly equipped as the one he had just left, with one slight difference. Already a long time ago, Severus had enchanted the ceiling so that it constantly reflected a night sky with constellation upon constellation of silvery shining stars. While performing the charm so many years ago, Severus had made sure that the night sky resembled, to the very last star, the one which was deeply burned in his memory. It was the very same sky Severus's eyes fell upon when he was leaving Lilly's and James' house sixteen years ago, stepping out with them onto their verandah. It was his last true happy memory. Actually, one to which he owed the fact that he was still able to perform his Patronus, regardless of everything that had happened since. He had meant the sky as a reminder of all the wonderful memories of that last evening with them and also as a warning against that which had followed and had turned his life in a completely different direction.

While still contemplating Lilly's beautiful eyes and James' broad smile on that last night with them, something in Severus's mind suddenly clicked and he knew that there it was again and that there was no way back. One of his all too frequent flashbacks was ready to materialize in front of his eyes, ready or not Severus might have been for it. In one moment Severus was perfectly aware that he was standing in his bedroom, remembering Lilly and James, and in another his mind and senses became clouded and he was back in the Shrieking Shack, talking to Voldemort again. As so many times already in the last month, and with a scream of agony, Severus fell under the weight of this memory to the floor and motionless, succumbed to reliving it for yet another time.


Sorry, if you think the chapter was way too long, but I wanted to set Severus's mood and the state of his mind in some more detail, so that we get familiar with him and know what is going through his head.

And as already stated above, please please review.
~Jana

A/N: I am very sorry that I kept you waiting so long, but the chapter seemed more difficult to write than I'd thought at the beginning. It is mainly because the chapter is to a great extent based on the chapter “The Elder Wand” of the Deathly Hallows and it was very hard for me to connect my ideas with those of Ms. Rowling. Thank you all those who have waited.

Some of the sentences in this chapter are taken directly from "The Elder Wand" and I do not claim any credit for them, of course. And neither for the characters or settings. The credit for all this goes naturally to Ms. Rowling.

The chapter is Severus’s memory of the last battle of Hogwarts which took place four weeks before the time of the first chapter. It is the same memory that overcame Severus at the end of the first chapter. Despite the similarities in the setting and the actions with “The Elder Wand” the outcome of my chapter is different from that in the book. My chapter is narrated from Severus’s perspective and I wanted to show what his feelings during that time might have been, as Ms. Rowling does not allow her readers many peeks into the inner world of his thoughts. So enjoy reading!

And please please, leave feedback here, even if you think my writing is horrible. I really need some reviews to help me writing. Thanks.



Chapter 2: In the Shrieking Shack

Had Severus been in full possession of his mind and senses, he would have wondered why remembering Lily and James brought back the memory of Lord Voldemort and the Shrieking Shack. The answer could be that his last meeting with Lily and James so many years ago was the beginning, whereas his talk with Lord Voldemort in the Shrieking Shack was the ending. And what had happened in between these two events was his whole life. But as the flashback has taken over his whole body, and his senses were obscured, Severus was spared such thoughts.

Lying on the floor of his bedroom he was unable to move; his body still and motionless, his mind in a whirlwind racing back to the event of four weeks ago, of the time of the final battle. Severus’s body did not show any signs of life and had Pulfer accidentally Apparated into the room, he would have deemed his Master Professor dead.

But Severus was not dead. It was only the intensity of the memory that deprived him of any physical sensations of the present. Although he could not feel his body lying on his bedroom’s floor any more, he was perfectly aware of all the mental images racing through his head. And despite the lack of feeling of his present body, the images were so strong that they brought back the physical sensations of the past event. To Severus it seemed as if he was observing his past self, yet at the same time he was aware of being the main protagonist of the scene, living and feeling through it.

In his mind, he was again running to and fro throughout the Hogwarts grounds in a desperate search of Harry Potter. He kept turning his head in every possible direction just to get a glimpse of that unkempt hair or round glasses. But none of these were in sight. You surely are under that Cloak of yours, aren’t you. Oh come on, show yourself! Severus was wishing with all his might and nearly believing that the strength of his wish would reach Harry and make him reveal himself.

“Potter? Have you seen him?” Severus barked out the moment he noticed Ginny, his expression wild, his clothes stained with mud and at some places already being torn as evidence of the ongoing fights.

“Professor? What?” answered bemused Ginny who was trying to levitate two badly injured students and to direct their barely conscious forms towards the Castle.

She was totally confused as to why her Headmaster was asking such a question in the first place. Of course, she had seen Harry moving throughout the Hogwarts grounds, apparently in search of something; but that was already some time ago. And Snape must have been perfectly aware that she was not going to reveal Harry’s whereabouts to anyone with even less cordial relationship to Voldemort than he had.

Leaving the two unconscious students to their own devices for a while, Ginny straightened up and faced Severus.

“Potter?” Severus nearly cried out, controlling his voice with the last threads of effort. Although he was urging his point with much vehemence Ginny remained calm.

It was more than clear to her that Snape was looking for Harry desperately. She was convinced that Snape wanted Harry so that he could hand him to Voldemort and doing so earn even more of his master’s favor.

The eyes that were piercingly looking at Ginny from the pale face seemed to be reaching the very depths of her soul. But then, something in Severus’s face gave way. He did no appear so menacing to Ginny any more. Instead, his face revealed something else. Something like despair, Ginny realized. This fleeting moment passed as quickly as it appeared and what remained was the eagerness and threat.

Stop looking so confused, you silly girl! Tell me where he is! I know you know. I will read it if you don’t tell me and you won’t like it!

“Professor? I..., ” Ginny blurted out interrupting Severus’s attempt at Legilimency.

“Yes? Potter, Miss Weasley. I need to know where he is.”

And again, Snape’s voice revealed something what Ginny did not expect to hear. His voice was harsh and urgent, yes, but then there was a tone of desperate need and even something like fear down beneath.

Although Ginny was aware of the fleeting moments of near begging in Severus’s voice and eyes, she decided she must have imagined them and did what any other member of the Order or Dumbledore’s Army would have done, protect Harry till their last breaths. “I haven’t seen him, Professor.”

At exactly this moment Severus felt a searing pain in his forearm signaling that the Dark Lord had yet again called his servant to himself. Voldemort surely needed Severus badly as the pain emanating from Severus’s dark mark, and throbbing through his whole body, was the most intense in the last months.

As quickly as Severus appeared in front of Ginny, he also rushed away with his black robes billowing around. Ginny was left as confused as before with her two unconscious students.

With every step Severus took in the direction of the Shrieking Shack, where his Master was eagerly expecting him, Severus knew he had lost yet another strand of hope of finding Potter and telling him what Dumbledore wanted him to know.

Silly, silly girl! I know where Potter is. Somewhere under his Cloak trying to safe the world. And now I have to let go and rush to meet the Dark Lord … Ah, Minerva.

“Minerva?” Severus raised his voice.

Professor McGonagall was energetically ushering the underage students of her House in the direction of the Castle. Some of them looked frighteningly back over their shoulders at the sound of their much feared Professor's voice.

There was something in Severus’s voice that caused even Professor McGonagall to turn her head and stop organizing the group of students for a while.

“Yes, Headmaster?” And after a pause in which she was inspecting Severus head to toes, “I don’t suppose you stopped me to offer your help with sending these students off to safety.”

There was such contempt and coldness in Professor McGonagall’s voice that even Severus looked for a second startled.

You know that I hate seeing students in such danger. Don’t pretend you don’t know me, Minerva. I would do it myself. But not now. Now I need Potter.

But what Severus voiced out loud instead was, “Certainly not. After all, they are all in your house, aren’t they?” In the same breath he continued, “Minerva, I need to talk to Potter. Have you seen him?” This time Severus made sure that neither his eyes nor his voice betrayed him in revealing any signs of despair or fear.

“Minerva, I need to…” But at this moment the pain in Severus’s forearm redoubled. I’m on my way, Master.

Professor McGonagall made use of this short pause answering, “As you see, Severus, I have some more urgent issues now at hand. These students must be sent home immediately if we don’t want to expose them to more emotional distress or mortal peril. You as a Headmaster should know the best. But your priorities seem to lie someplace else at the moment. If you don’t intend to help me, I certainly do not feel obliged to help you in return. Follow me, Gryffindors!” With these words Professor McGonagall turned her back on Severus and continued busily with her students towards the Castle. Some of the students were still turning their heads to get the last glimpse of their Headmaster.

Severus of course knew that Minerva was right about the students and he would perform his Headmaster’s duties properly in any other situation. But not now. Now, I must find Potter. You were right, Minerva, my priorities lie someplace else at the moment.

And then the pain again. Hurry, Severus! Dumbledore foresaw this situation but he never knew there would be so much going on at the same time. He entrusted me with this task. I will not fail him. I’ve failed others in my life and paid dearly, so not Dumbledore.

The pain in his arm was now reaching its peak. Drawing his breath in so that he did not cry out loud, Severus grabbed the hems of his dirty robes and rushed on to the Shack, to meet his Master and his fate.

And then he saw her. Miss Granger. She must know where Potter is!

Severus was reaching the place where Hermione was standing, a wand in her hand, ready to strike at the slightest suspicious sound. Halting his footsteps to address her, Severus heard the well too known sound of someone Apparating some feet to their right. They have penetrated the protection! ran through Severus’s mind. Before he knew what he was doing and not waiting to see who the newcomer was, Severus leapt forward, grabbed Hermione’s robes and pulled her to the ground in a fall.

“Ouch…” Hermione cried out as she hit hard the root branches covering the ground.

“Let go of me, you…” she was struggling with all her might, at the same time feeling the ground for her wand which she dropped at the abruptness of the attack.

“Ssh...” Severus hissed urgently, still clutching Hermione to the ground.

“Snape?” Hermione was so surprised that she stopped her desperate struggle for a while.

Can’t you show more respect, Miss Granger? I still may be regarded as your Headmaster ... But I am sorry for the hurt.

“I have no intention of doing you any harm, but if you don’t stop wriggling I swear I’ll hex you! There’s someone out there and if you don’t want to get hurt, stay still.” Severus commanded in a whisper.

“Let go--,” Hermione was fuming.

Severus realized that while protecting her, he could at the same time make use of the situation and try and see where Potter is. Thus, still clutching Hermione firmly to the ground, Severus decided to penetrate her mind to learn about Potter’s whereabouts.

Hermione, noticing Severus’s face contorted with high concentration, shrieked out, “What are you doing, Snape?”

Losing his focus, Severus gave up any further Legilimency, and spat out instead, “Tell me where Potter is!”

“How dare you?! Let go of me!” Hermione lifted on her elbows but Severus was after all stronger and held her tightly round her waist, pinning her to the ground.

Finally, Hermione got hold of her wand, directing it straight at Severus’s chest and with as much calm as she could muster she whispered, “For the last time, let me go, or I will hex you.”

Whoever the newcomer Apparating a while ago beside them was, had been gone by now. There was no further danger and so Severus lifted his firm hold on Hermione. But he still remained lying on the ground. To his surprise, and despite her previous struggles, Hermione did the same.

“Miss Granger, I don’t like repeating myself, but if you didn’t understand my question for the first time, I will ask again. Where – is – Potter?”

“Snape, if you think--” but Hermione stopped in her reproaching as she saw a look full of pain that for the shortest of whiles overcame Severus’s face and that he wanted so much to suppress. I’m coming my Lord.

“Where is he?” Severus asked yet again and to Hermione’s utter astonishment finished the questions with a faint “Please?”

And that was something Hermione had never heard come out of this particular mouth. Totally shocked that Snape was able and willing to utter this word, she started to think. Where exactly is Harry? I haven’t seen him for a while myself. The last time I saw him was in the Room of Requirements along with the others. But were is he now, anyway?

Directing her gaze properly for the first time at the man who knocked her down just several minutes ago she said in a low voice, “I don’t know, Professor.”

And this time, not knowing even why, Severus believed her.

“I apologize, Miss Granger, for overcoming you like that. I’ve heard someone Apparating and I thought you might be in danger. After all, I’m still your teacher.”

Although this was the most honest and well-meant thing Severus had ever said out loud to any of his students, Hermione understood it as a way of sneaking upon Harry’s whereabouts and reversed to her former attitude. “But I’m no longer your student, Snape.”

With these words Hermione finally managed to put herself together. She stood up, readjusted her robes and with no backward glance at Severus left him lying on the ground. Severus felt odd. He did not understand his sudden urge to help her. I was not able to help Minerva with her students, at least I wanted to help this one stranded Gryffindor. But then, Miss Granger doesn’t seem to need much help. “Or I will hex you.” She really has courage. Remembering Hermione’s words, Severus’s lips curled into something remotely resembling a smile.

But now the pain was in his arm again. Severus got to his feet and for the last time set off for the Shrieking Shack. If only I knew where Potter was. I must tell him. If I don’t, everything I was struggling for the past sixteen years will be in vain!

Such were the thoughts accompanying Severus on his way to one of the last meetings with the Dark Lord. The feeling of despair was soaring in his chest.

“Levicorpus,” reached Severus’s ears from not much afar. Hearing his own spell being cast by such a feminine voice made him stop in his tracks. Looking in the direction from which the voice came and trying to penetrate the darkness, Severus saw that the caster was Miss Granger. The one being levitated in the air was Blacks’ deranged cousin Bellatrix. So that was the newcomer.

Severus again felt the sudden urge to run and help Miss Granger. “But I am no longer your student, Snape.” If that’s the way you feel you will have to help yourself this time, Miss Granger. And Severus continued with his own business.

There was no time for any further searching or interrogating accidental students. His Master was restless and Severus was sure he would soon have to face his rage and no doubt punishment. With the protective charms around Hogwarts irreparably breached in and Apparition possible Severus made a quick decision, turned on the spot and within few seconds found himself at the entrance to the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade.

I’ve failed. I haven’t warned him. Haven’t told him. He’s unaware. How will he know now that he must die so that the others may live?

Enough!

Steadying himself internally and exercising the best of self control he could, Severus entered the Shack.

“Severus, what took you so long? You have always been my most obedient and reliable servant. Why the delay now?” sounded Voldemort’s hissing voice the moment Severus stepped inside.

Severus made some very quick thinking. Though he was tempted to tell a convenient lie and shield himself with Occlumency he was aware that his mind was not under his full control at the moment and it could give way. Thus, he remained silent.

“You are right, Severus, you wouldn’t be late if it wasn’t on account of some concern of our side. I don’t need to know. Although I’m not used to my calls remaining unanswered for long, I may be generous tonight. Tonight, it is the night of my triumph. Tonight, I will prove who the greatest wizard in history is. Tonight, every wizard will see what kind of magic truly possesses the greatest powers.”

“My Master,” Severus bowed his head.

“I’ve summoned you, Severus, because there is still one thing in need to be done before I can prove to the whole wizarding world once and for all that Dumbledore was just a weak old man. Whereas I have pushed the boundaries of magic further than any other wizard in history.”

Severus was waiting expectantly for what might come next and he was realizing with growing discomfort that the one thing Voldemort was talking about had nothing to do with Harry. But still, he decided to try his luck.

“Yes, my Master, Potter, the last thing you lack. He has to be found. I was actually looking for him before receiving your summons.” Severus revealed the truth not disclosing his real motives.

“You are right, Severus. Potter must be found, but this can wait. And while it waits, he will come to me on his own accord. I’ve known him. Longer and better than anyone has.”

You are wrong, my Lord, Severus found himself thinking but as quickly as the thought came he forced it away.

But Voldemort must have been in a truly good state of mind as he even let himself be contradicted without any considerable display of anger.

“I am seldom wrong, Severus. If you think that Dumbledore had known the boy better, you are mistaken. I was the one who’s had access to his mind. I have seen his fears, dreams and desires.”

Considering Potter’s indiscipline to control his emotions that is not such a feat. Severus could not restrain from remembering the disastrous Occlumency lessons he used to have with Potter. And, I didn’t mean Dumbledore. I had rather myself on my mind. But this time the Dark Lord seemed to be too preoccupied with his own thoughts to notice those of Severus’s.

“The thing that cannot wait, though, is my wand,” Voldemort continued.

Severus suddenly stopped pacing the constantly moving room of the Shack and faced his Master.

Voldemort was toying with the Elder Wand which he procured from Dumbledore’s grave shifting his gaze from his fingers to Severus and back again.

“It doesn’t work for me the way I expected it to work. It should perform extraordinary magic but it seems as if it was still missing something.”

“My Master,--”

“Silence, Severus. You know what the legend says. One will become the true master of the Elder Wand only when the previous master is vanquished. But who is the previous master?”

“My Master, I--” Severus ventured for yet another time. He took to striding cautiously again, though not losing sight of Voldemort’s fingers fidgeting with the wand for the slightest bit of time.

“Silence, I said!” Voldemort went on, “The previous master. Of course, my first thoughts were directed at Dumbledore. But no. He was not the last master of the wand in the end. Do know who it is, Severus?”

At this moment, two ideas connected in Severus’s mind. The previous master vanquished. Dumbledore… I vanquished Dumbledore. I am the mas--

“Correct as always, my dear Severus.” The Dark Lord answered Severus’s inner contemplations which he was again careless enough to let him slip.

Try as he might, Severus was unable to conceal the reaction brought about by the sudden realization and by its implications. His face grew some shades paler than usual and his dark eyes seemed to have sunken deeper. There were dark shadows beneath them and Severus’s whole figure appeared as if to have shrunken into itself.

“I see you’ve assessed the situation and must know how it will end.”

Severus decided to hold on to the last hope, though he was aware that his attempt was most probably futile. “My Lord, if I am the true master of the Wand, I can use its powers to overpower Potter and bring the boy to you. After that, you can do whatever you wish with me, so that you, my Lord, can become the Wand’s Master. I will serve you till the very end.”

“Touching, Severus. But no. I have other plans with you.” Voldemort did not pay the slightest attention to Severus’s suggestion.

At these words Severus shrugged inwardly. He was no longer pacing the dusty room but was standing as still as a black and white marble statue. His only animated parts were the dark eyes which were eagerly darting to and fro and taking in Voldemort and the space surrounding him. And then his eyes registered something. His gaze fell on a small hole right behind the Dark Lord and Severus was convinced that he saw rapid movement in it. As if someone was trying to hide beneath a piece of cloth. Could it be Potter? Or any of his friends? If so, then-- But then he was distracted by Voldemort’s hissing snake-like voice again.

“Fierce warrior and faithful servant as you were, you will not live to see my triumph over Potter.” Saying this, Voldemort turned to Nagini coiling in the enchanted invisible cage, directing it with his wand towards Severus. When the cage encased Severus’s head and shoulders, Voldemort ordered the snake in Parseltongue, “Kill!”

Even when the snake was slowly nearing Severus, for the shortest of while he was unable to move. Then abruptly he felt for his wand. But the initial hesitation was fatal. Before he was able even as much as to direct the wand at the snake, the cage was all over him. With a yell Severus fell to the ground. The last thing he saw before the excruciating pain of the snake’s teeth sinking into his throat was Voldemort’s moving robes as he was leaving the Shack without a backward glance.

Though the pain was maddening, there were still last shreds of thoughts running through Severus’s mind. Is this … the end? Bleeding to death … no one will ever find me. Everyone … let down … by me. Lily … James … Albus … Potter. Potter … I’m sorry. This was the idea which finally obliterated all the others and allowed Severus to welcome sweet unconsciousness.

***

The snake had been gone for some time now and nothing in the room of the Shrieking Shack was moving. Severus’s body was lying on the floor, his blood slowly oozing from the deadly wounds. All of a sudden the hole in the opposite wall enlarged and though still invisible, it seemed as if something or someone emerged from it.

“Harry,” a man’s voice was heard. “What are you doing? Just let him be. Hermione is out there fighting Lestrange. We must help her! Snape’s dead. Come back!”

Maybe it was the sensation of hearing his own name, but Severus was all of a sudden brought back to his senses, albeit fragile they were. Fighting the worst pain he had ever experienced and with the last of his strengths he opened his eyes to see where Weasley’s voice was coming from. Instead, he saw a person materializing in thin air, as Harry took off the Invisibility Cloak and was slowly approaching Severus’s motionless body.

“Harry, come on,” Ron was pleading.

But Harry seemed to be fascinated by the sight of the man he had hated for seven years, the man who was the sole source of all his misfortunes, who was now lying in front of him, helpless and apparently dying.

Despite the feelings of condemnation and repugnance with Severus, Harry knelt beside him looking deep into his eyes. Maybe he wanted Snape to see in them the sheer hatred Harry felt for him.

Potter … your eyes … your mother’s. Oh, Lily…

Harry expecting to see the cruel contempt and ready to match it with that of his own, was slightly taken aback by something he had never seen in these black eyes before. Yes, he expected to see pain, as Snape was obviously suffering, but the pain he saw had nothing to do with the physical wounds. It seemed to Harry as if Snape was remembering something and regretting it gravely at the same time; that kind of pain. Pain caused by his mind rather than the body. And then Severus gave voice to what was mirroring in his dark eyes and of what Harry got the glimpse.

“I’m sorry … Harry.”

Harry did not know what this dying man in front of him was sorry about. And in any other circumstances he could not care less, but now he was totally overcome by Snape’s voice being shaped into his own name. The voice was so full of tenderness and warmth that Harry leaned as close to Severus as he could in case he wanted to continue.

“Sorry for … Lily … James … for you … Harry.”

At the mention of his parents’ names along with his own Harry’s eyes all of a sudden and without any warning filled with tears. Any other time he would try with all his might to prevent Snape from talking in any way about his parents but this time he remained still. Though barely audible, Harry once again realized that Severus’s voice was tender, full of feeling, and … could it be … ? Caring?

I must be mistaken, Harry thought, the battle is wearing my senses down. It is Snape! He can’t be like that.

“I can … Harry.”

Harry did not know what to do, think or say. Quickly, he wiped away his tears on a torn sleeve and continued his internal reasoning against dying Severus.

This man is the reason why my parents are dead; why all the people I loved are dead. Sirius, and Dumbledore. Harry was trying to tune himself into the safe and convenient hateful mood which was so easy to feel. Hate need not be analyzed or understood. Hating is easy. And hating this particular man had become something of Harry’s second nature for the past seven years.

“Yes, Harry … Hate is … simple. You can … hate me,” Severus breathed out with difficulty, “but … listen to me.” Please.

And again there was this voice. So tender and caring, Harry realized. He was slowly forgetting to despise the man. Only one person in his entire life had addressed Harry in a similar voice. But this person had been dead for two years. Killed by his own cousin.

“Harry, … Dumbledore …,” Severus was gathering the last of his efforts.

“Yes? What with Dumbledore?” Harry was eager for any information that might lead him to finishing off Voldemort.

“Go … face Voldemort … stop the fights … sacrifice yourself … Go … I promised … Dumbledore,” it was becoming more and more difficult for Severus to form words as his strength was abandoning him with every drop of blood leaving his body. Also his senses were starting to give way and he could no longer see whether Harry was still by his side or if he had left. With his hand, Severus felt around and found Harry’s hand with which he was propping himself up on the floor. Still listening. Still here. Severus was relieved.

“Promised … to protect you … find you … tell you.”

And with what seemed like the last scrap of energy left in Severus, he said, “You have the power to stop it … You are … the final Horcrux. … Voldemort … unaware. Go … let him destroy … the Horcrux.”

To any observant Severus’s words would have not made sense. But to Harry they were perfectly clear. Everything important and vital for his life was there. Dumbledore, Horcruxes, and Voldemort. Harry stopped caring if Snape was telling the truth or corralling him right into the range of Voldemort’s wand. It did not matter any more. True or not, after all Harry had always known that the only way of finishing the pointless dying was for him to go and face Voldemort. I have to do it anyway, so this time is as good as any other. The look in Snape’s eyes was so urgent that Harry did not know why but he believed every single word the man said.

Harry raised from the floor to leave but suddenly stopped in his tracks. He is actually dying. Dying! He spoke about Dumbledore, my parents… I should help. I should find help.

“Professor?” Harry returned to the original way of addressing Severus, though he was no longer his teacher, and only some minutes ago Harry did not see him as a fellow human being either.

But before he could continue, Severus breathed out, “Just … Go …”

There was such urgency in Severus’s voice that Harry indeed turned his back and headed for the hole from which he emerged just a while ago. Before kneeling down and squeezing himself into the narrow passageway he cast one last look at Severus who seemed to have lost his contact with reality again.

Harry entered the passageway leading out of the Shrieking Shack, past the Whooping Willow and on into the Forrest where he knew his fate was waiting for him. Before he reached the Whooping Willow again, Harry was joined by Ron who looked as if someone had hit him on the head. He had never seen Harry talk to Snape in such a way. And being unable to hear what the two were talking about he was all the more confused. But seeing Harry’s expression Ron did not dare ask any questions, for which Harry was grateful. He did no feel like explaining anything either. Even more so, that he did not know what to think about the whole incident himself.

Though Severus appeared to have lost consciousness, in fact he was still in full possession of his senses. With half open eyes he traced Harry leaving the Shack and casting last look in Severus’s direction. So… Brave…, Severus thought.

Some time had passed and Severus was still lying on the floor. His neck was sending shots of pain through his whole body, thus paralyzing each of his attempts at any movement. But the blood stopped leaving his veins and Severus realized that he was not going to die. At least not at this moment. Very slowly he started to move on the floor towards the passageway through which Harry emerged and later also disappeared. Weak and unable to take part in the fights as he was, Severus still felt an urge to leave the Shack. He did not understand the impulse, but it was as if something was prompting him out. Out of the place which nearly caused his life. The place where I finally met Harry. He came. He was listening to me. He believed me. Severus thought with ever so slightly growing realization that at least something in his life went the way he wanted. These thoughts gave him such strength that Severus was able to turn on the floor and hoist himself on all four and continue his slow crawl towards the entrance.

What did the Weasley boy say? "Hermione is out there fighting Lestrange?" Miss Granger fighting Bellatrix? Miss Granger might be a brave warrior but she’s too young. Must ... Help ... Not Miss Granger… Too young … Too promising mind … Not her …

When Severus was right at the point of entering the passageway, he heard the well-known sounds of ongoing fights.

“Stupefy!” rang a young woman’s voice through the whole passage reaching Severus’s ears.

“Playing! She likes playing! Little Mudblood likes games. If you want to fight me, you must try harder, Granger!” Severus heard Bellatrix shriek.

He knew that with each further moment it took him to get out, he might be already too late to help. Thus he exercised more will power than he thought there ever had been in him and entered the narrow passage.

But at that exact moment, the thing he feared most reached his hearing, “Avada Kedavra!” went Bellatrix Lestrange’s shrill voice. And then silence fell.

It can’t be! Not Miss Granger! Not her. But that was already too much for Severus. His mind and body gave way again, darkness fell, and merciful unconsciousness overtook him.

***

Panting, his scars of Nagini’s teeth still throbbing on his neck, Severus was lying on the floor of his own bedroom. There was no one to help this man tortured by his own memories. Slowly coming back to his senses, his lips were issuing silent pleas, “Pulfer, Pulfer,” but no one ever came. And Severus was left alone.



If you've reached this far, many thanks for reading the story. I hope you've survived its length. And as stated above, I will really very much appreciate your comments, suggestions and opinions, so please, leave some feedback here. Thanks

A/N: In this chapter, we will leave Severus to his own devices (poor he, still on the floor with no help around) and we will look at some of the scenes from the previous chapter from Hermione’s perspective. So that we somehow interlace Severus’s and Hermione’s fates as well as we connect the past and the present.

As this chapter again revolves around the final battle, there are some incidents based on the Deathly Hallows but others of course deviate from it.

And as usual, if you feel like it, please leave some feedback here. I will really appreciate it very much.



Chapter 3: Hermione’s Appointment

Other people were, too, only slowly recovering from the memories and wounds of the battle.

While Severus was gradually coming to his senses on the floor of his Hogwarts’ bedroom, Hermione, in her flat, stirred and woke up from a troubled sleep into another rainy day. Hearing the rain drops gently beating the window pane, she did not have to look out to see what the new day was like.

And what about my day? She saw that too. It was going to be just another one in a row of dreary days turning into weeks filled with remorse, doubts, questions and reminiscences.

Though it had been four weeks since the battle now, Hermione had not been able to come to terms with the past. She doubted she ever would. Unable to face reality alone, she spent considerable time right after the battle at the Burrow. Ginny, seeing her condition, suggested that Hermione made an appointment with a Healer at St. Mungo’s new healing floor.

Following the battle, St. Mungo’s Head Healer decided to open a brand new floor for the treatment of those poor witches and wizards suffering from spell shock. Their physical forms were in a perfect condition and there was no point in admitting them in any of the existing floors. Nevertheless, they seemed to be distressed by the endured battle experience and constantly recurring memories of it. The Healers on St. Mungo’s new sixth floor were most skilled in talking and listening. Within the last four weeks, it had become evident that no potions or spells were any effective in curing those affected by spell shock. The only therapy at least partially working was that of listening to the victims’ stories and reliving the fight experiences with them in the safe environment of a hospital ward.

Seeing that her state was not improving with the time elapsed, Hermione finally agreed to make the suggested appointment. Today it was her fifth visit to her personal Healer, Marcel.

Hermione dragged herself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. There was still a faint pain in her chest, the place Lestrange’s curse hit her. Ouch. Will this ever stop? she wondered rubbing the spot with her fingers. Today, the pain was but slight. Some other days, though, it was difficult for Hermione as much as to breathe, how intense it became.

Carefully avoiding her image in the mirror, Hermione took a shower and went on to get dressed. She had never been much interested in her clothes, and recently she abandoned any attempts at following the fashion, whatsoever. She pulled on an old sweater and a first pair of jeans her hands fell upon. In a completely unwizarding way of walking and without breakfast she set off to St. Mungo’s. The no-breakfast mornings had become a norm lately, as well as Hermione’s other eating habits had been deeply affected. All of this resulting only in her losing much weight. Hermione seemed neither to have noticed nor to cared.

She did not know how, but surprisingly quickly she found herself standing at St. Mungo’s gates. She entered, passed the receptionist, who greeted her with a professional smile, and get in the elevator. Hermione forced a slight nod as a way of recognizing two wizards already there and immediately receded back to her thoughts.

Marcel was expecting her in his healing room. There were no potions simmering or ingredients scattered around. Instead, the room was enchanted so that it emitted golden orange glow. Also, there were plenty of cushions lying all over the floor and some suspended in mid-air. Hermione had a suspicion that Marcel always enchanted the room so that it suited each of his patients’ individual conditions. She really had to give him credit for that, because she felt much safe and comfortable in the room.

After greeting Marcel with a faint smile, Hermione proceeded to the corner of the room, where the orange glow was somehow darker and positioned herself among the cushions. It really does feel nice in here, she thought.

“Hello, Hermione,” Marcel smiled at her after retrieving a bottle of ink and a roll of parchment from a near cabinet. Inspecting his notes on their last meeting he smiled once again and went to sit down on a cushion, slightly to Hermione’s right so the she did not have to face him while talking.

“How are you feeling today?”

Hermione turned to him with a blank expression on her face, “the same as the last time,” she answered wearily.

Marcel used to visit Hogwarts much in the recent years. When he was still getting qualified for this job, he would often call on Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts matron, and discuss with her till late at night possible means of healing distressed patients. While in the hospital wing, he used to see Hermione quite often but obviously she did not recall these meetings now. Marcel, on the other hand, did so quite vividly and was shocked at what had happened to that young witch. Once she was so full of life and smiling all the time, and now just sitting by him with sunken eyes and deep dark shadows beneath them.

“Well, Hermione, I think we need to talk about the battle a little more today,” Marcel officially started the session.

“But why?” she asked exasperatedly, “we’ve went through all of it for a million times.”

“Not through all of it,” answered Marcel, giving the parchment containing his notes a quick glance, “for example, you didn’t want to talk much about how Professor Snape overcame you. Basically, anything else that followed it is still pretty unclear to me. We haven’t spent enough time on that, I think.”

Hermione sighed in resignation and for yet another time reached into the depths of her memory. With her eyes shut tight she started to see the night of the battle once again in her mind.

There was darkness everywhere. She could not see properly what she was stepping on and for fear of being attacked did not dare to light her wand. From time to time, she got glimpses of bursts of red and gold and green lights, which was sole evidence that the battle was still raging on in the vicinity.

Hermione was walking through the Hogwart’s grounds, with her wand at a ready, searching for Ron and Harry. They parted in the Room of Requirements and she had not seen them since. First, she thought they would be in the Great Hall fighting with the others. But not seeing as much as a robe’s hem of them there, Hermione set off towards the forest with a faint hope of finding them on her way.

She stopped in her tracks, stood still for a while, and with bated breath listened to the sounds of the forest. These were suddenly interrupted by somebody’s quick footsteps approaching and at the same time there was a slight crack of someone Apparating. Before Hermione could react in any way or see who the strangers were, someone rushed and jumped and the next thing she knew she was pinned to the ground by a firm grip of a pale arm cloaked in black.

“What did you think at the moment?” Marcel stepped into Hermione’s monologue.

“What?” it was clear that Hermione did not expect to be cut short, and that she did not like it in the least, “nothing, I guess. I was just plain shocked. And scared. I lost my wand too, so I felt unprotected.”

Marcel sensed Hermione’s irritation and signaled her to go on with her story as he himself returned to the note-taking.

Hermione closed her eyes again and immersed herself in the memories.

Before she found her wand she heard the familiar voice which she would always associate with the dimly lit dungeons and potions vapors.

“Ssh…,” Snape’s voice hissed in her ear.

“You know, Marcel,” Hermione brought herself from the reverie, “I thought it was the end of me then. I mean, Snape. He was believed to be on Voldemort’s side. Honestly, it was my first thought that he wanted to kill me.” And Hermione smiled at the idea, “I think I was pretty naïve. If he wanted to do me in, he would have done it with his wand and not by force like a Muggle, I guess.

“We were both lying on the ground and I was struggling and I think cursing and threatening him too. I don’t know what I was thinking. That he would let me go if I screamed loud enough? No. I was forced to the ground. And after all, he was so … strong …,” Hermione’s voice trailed off and a dreamy look appeared on her face.

Marcel had never in their sessions seen Hermione wear such an expression. He let her contemplate the memory for a while and did not interrupt. It seemed to him as if Hermione had realized something what made her, if not happy, then at least devoid of the gloomy look on her face. To Marcel’s eyes Hermione had grown incredibly beautiful. A lot more than she was half an hour ago upon entering the healing room.

But after a while, the expression of realization, satisfaction and a mild surprise vanished along with a faint smile. The gloom and emptiness returned to her face.

“Of course, he wanted to know where Harry was. I don’t know why but he looked distressed. And then, just imagine it,” Hermione was becoming agitated, “then he told me that he wanted to protect me. Can you believe that, Marcel? Yeah. And then also that he was my teacher. Like I needed to be told that.

“Whatever side he’d been on, I’d always thought Snape to be a man of great intellect, clear thinking, and what not. I even admired him for that. Would you believe it? I harbored feelings for my teacher and his mind. Well, anyway,” Hermione brushed the memory away with a wave of her hand, “when he knocked me down and then started to explain, I just thought … I just thought that his mind had given way under all the stress he was under.

“You know, Marcel, he looked so earnest. And at one moment, I even thought I overheard a plea in his voice. But I somehow didn’t believe him … I couldn’t.” And all of a sudden, Hermione looked as if she was sorry for that decision of hers.

Again, Marcel allowed some time of silent contemplation before he asked Hermione to go on.

“I left him lying on the ground then. I don’t know what he did next. But I didn’t get far anyway. You see, he might have been right, after all. With the protection he offered, I mean. There, just by the Whooping Willow, was Lestrange, Harry’s godfather’s cousin. You must have heard of the Longbottoms, haven’t you?”

Marcel nodded in a silent agreement.

“The moment she saw me, she shot some curses at me and we started to duel immediately. Honestly, I was scared to death. I knew I was no match for her. I just knew that from the beginning. She could have killed me a hundred times before she finally tried to. I was thinking that if I used one of Snape’s own spells he would hear me and maybe come back. After all, that was what he claimed to be doing when we were both on he ground – protecting me. So I used Levicorpus. I remembered Harry using it once before. It took Lestrange by surprise, but he,” Hermione put such a strong emphasis on the following words, “never came.” She felt silent for a moment.

And then, more abruptly than necessary, she continued, “we dueled, and most of the time I hardly knew what I was doing. Or if I would be alive or dead in the next second. It was … It w-was …,” she began to sob, “t-terrible. And-and he n-never c-came.” Tears were streaming down Hermione’s face freely and she was unable to go on.

“Do-do I have t-t-to t-tell you m-more?” Hermione pleaded. Calming herself down a bit she added in a low voice, “we’ve been through it for so many times, now.”

“You see, Hermione, I really hate seeing you like that. And yes, you’ve already told me quite a few times. But not in much detail, and obviously the telling hasn’t helped at all. You are still so much distressed by this memory.”

Marcel conjured a handkerchief and passed it to Hermione. Wiping her eyes she took two three deep breaths and deciding to give it one more chance she continued.

“Towards the end of the fight, I was losing senses, grip of myself, of reality – of everything. I was so exhausted and scared. And finally, I saw Ron and Harry approaching. I thought they were going to help. Though Ron noticed me, and was reluctant to leave, Harry just went on to the secret entrance to the Shrieking Shack. And Ron in the end did so too. That hit me the hardest. They left me alone. Without help. I couldn’t bear it any longer. All the time, Lestrange was casting spells at me and calling me a Mudblood and shrieking how I liked to play games. She seemed to be enjoying herself so much, laughing all the time. I don’t know how long we were fighting. It seemed like ages.”

“Maybe Ron and Harry thought you didn’t need any help,” Marcel offered his opinion, “maybe, you actually did so well that your friends thought you could manage on your own.”

“Yeah,” Hermione shrugged her shoulders, “but I didn’t do so well in the end, did I?” replying, she unawares touched the sensitive spot in her chest.

“Then I heard those two terrible words. And saw the green light. There was only darkness afterwards … and silence.”

The silence that fell along with Hermione was disturbed only by quick retreating footsteps of Bellatrix Lestrange; the sound of her steps fading away in the rustling grass.

“I knew that when the curse hit me I was supposed to be dead. But you know, even knowing that and thinking about it was … strange,” Hermione stopped to contemplate her near-death experience.

“First, I couldn’t open my eyes. I was just lying there, waiting. Now, I don’t know if I’ve ever told you, Marcel, but after some time I heard muffled footsteps coming. And then I felt something or someone touching my throat. You know, I thought it was something, because it was cold and sticky and it smelled of blood. But then I heard Snape’s voice again. Only this time it was so faint I couldn’t recognize it at first. First, he only gasped in a shock seeing me lie there as if dead. Though, I really don’t know why. He’d always thought I was Muggle-born and obviously unworthy. But when he touched me and realized that my heart was still pulsing, well … he said something like, ‘This can’t be. I’ve heard the curse. She should be …,’ But he didn’t finish.”

“How exactly did he say it?” there was an air of professional interest in Marcel’s question.

“There was surprise. And disbelief in his voice. But also relief. Pleasure. Maybe. I don’t know. Marcel, I don’t want to talk about Snape,” Hermione sighed.

“But we have to talk about him, Hermione. One, he was the one who tried to protect you, remember? And also to protect Mr. Potter later, as you told me the last time. Wasn’t he? And two, from what I’ve heard and seen today, it seems as if you were suppressing something with regard to him. It seems as if--”

“Stop it, Marcel!” Hermione reacted harshly, “there’s no it-seems-as-if business regarding Snape! Nothing. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she was furious.

Marcel fell silent but noted something down in his parchment, waiting if Hermione would continue. After a long silence, she really did.

“When his hand touched me, I felt it was trembling and he was breathing heavily. I was scared to open my eyes and look at him. I don’t know, I still thought he might want to finish me off. Then I somehow knew he took my wand. I nearly stopped breathing. I expected another harm, you see. But I just heard a whisper of Snape’s voice and suddenly felt so warm as he covered me with something soft. After that he went away. Though, I still sensed in his movements some … reluctance ... reluctance to leave me, I think.”

Hermione remembered again how she was lying on the wet grass, her whole body aching, and how she ever so slightly lifted her eyelids only to see the black silhouette of Professor Snape vanishing into the dim of the forest. Some time passed again and then …

“Then I heard a low cry coming from not far into the forest. It was Snape’s voice again, but it was so much clouded with hurt and pain.”

Hermione recalled that she tried to turn on her side and hoist herself on all four. But soon she realized she was too weak for such a feat. At least she turned her head to face the forest and what she saw took her breath away.

There he was, shaking violently, his robes blood-stained, dirty and torn, and in his arms a lifeless body of Harry.

“I couldn’t believe my eyes!” Hermione exclaimed with such a force that Marcel nearly dropped his quill, “It was … I don’t know … Seeing Snape like that I was … confused ... and ... touched, I would say. First, I thought Snape wanted to hurt Harry, naturally. But I quickly remembered his pained scream of a while before. What’s more, I noticed there were tears in his eyes. Would you believe that? Snape was actually crying. Huge tears were rolling down his face. He wasn’t moving; just standing there with Harry in his arms.”

Marcel was scribbling down ferociously and hanging on Hermione’s lips for every new word.

“Then he made a step or two in my direction but obviously was too weak to continue and sank to his knees. The next thing I heard was a faint patronus incantation. A beautiful silver doe sprang from the place where the two of them were lying. They were just a heap of entangled robes now. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the doe. It was so charming and moved so gracefully. When it was passing me, I felt safe and at peace. It was heading towards the castle, though. You know, I’m realizing only now that it somehow didn’t sink in with me then that Harry might have been dead. I was so fascinated by Snape and the patronus. I didn’t pay any attention to Harry at all.”

“It wasn’t Mr. Potter’s patronus then, was it?” Marcel asked, “I’ve heard that his Patronus was--”

“Yeah, a stag,” Hermione was irritated again, “sure, it wasn’t Harry’s. I’ve just told you Harry appeared to be dead or at least unconscious or I don’t know what.”

Marcel knew that his curious question was unprofessional and scolded himself for that internally. “Sorry, Hermione. Please, do go on.”

“When the glow of Snape’s patronus vanished, I heard cheers and cries from everywhere. It sounded as if the battle was finally over but I didn’t have the clue who won. There were footsteps thumping everywhere and people came running from all possible directions. I didn’t know what was going on or what was going to happen to us. But you know, when the cheers grew louder, Snape shifted as if to protect Harry’s body with his own. It was strange … and …,” again there was the slightly bewildered look on Hermione’s face, “I think it was then that I realized that something must have passed between the two of them in the Shack, while I was fighting Lestrange. That Snape didn’t want to hurt Harry. Instead, he was protecting him because he must have thought someone was coming to do Harry some further harm.”

Hermione saw herself again lying motionless on the ground, when all too known voice reached her hearing, “Hermione! Hermione!”

Before she could let herself be known, Ron nearly stumbled over her form.

“Hermione! It’s over!” he was yelling at the top of his voice. “Over! Over! Voldemort is dead! Neville did it. He just took the sword and … and Bellatrix …! Hermione!” his excitement was so great that he was unable to form a single meaningful sentence. In between his cheers he fell to the ground and tried to hug and hold Hermione in his arms. She was apparently too aching to appreciate fully Ron’s desire for physical closeness. Ron did not notice that, though, and went on with both the attempts at hugs and the news, “and Lestrange! She followed her Master! My mum, she … Well, she took care of that … and--”

But at this moment Ron’s excitement vanished and he froze in his frantic movement. He noticed the protective gesture with which Severus was shielding Harry’s body. Very slowly Ron straightened himself up, all happiness drained away, and he began to approach the place where Severus’s and Harry’s bodies were lying.

“Get away from him, you git!” there was menace and coldness in Ron’s voice.

And as Severus did not move an inch, “I said, GET AWAY--”

“No!” Hermione was surprised at the force of her own protest.

Hermione’s voice was echoed by that of Professor McGonagall who had just rushed in the scene panting, “Mr. Weasley! Stop it! Severus, your patronus… It said something like--” but at this moment, seeing Harry’s motionless body, the words got stuck in her throat. “Potter!” Professor McGonagall’s high voice pierced the night air like a silver knife. It seemed as if everyone in the vicinity had stopped dead hearing it.

Only at this moment did people pay the proper attention to the two bodies lying in a heap of black robes.

Severus, hearing Professor McGonagall calling him, finally raised his head and Hermione noticed that there were still tears in his eyes; those big tears like crystal balls rolling … rolling down … down … his pale cheeks.

The scene was as if suspended in a moment, no one moved or responded. The stillness of it was suddenly broken by Neville’s voice, who too, came in running. Noticing Severus and Harry he advanced at Severus immediately, “everyone else from Voldemort’s side got killed or is on their way to Azkaban, so what are YOU doing here?”

Ron seized his chance again and joined Neville, “let go of Harry, you--”

But now Professor McGonagall stepped in energetically. “Leave Professor Snape alone! The both of you!” Turning to Severus she continued in a no less menacing manner, “Severus, let go of Mr. Potter and explain yourself. Or I’m afraid I will have to have you arrested immed--”

It was only then that she faced Severus properly and for the first time saw the pained expression in his eyes and the tears that never stopped rolling from them. What she saw made such an impact that Professor McGonagall modified her intentions and asked in a low voice instead. “Severus, is Mr. Potter really…?” she was too afraid to finish the sentence.

Severus did not have to answer the question everyone else was too scared to ask. At the sound of his name, Harry stirred on the ground, opened his eyes and questioningly surveyed his surroundings.

“Harry!”

“Harry!”

“Mr. Potter!”

Ran the voices of Ron, Neville and Professor McGonagall in unison. The one voice that was missing among the cheers, though, was that of Hermione. She was too weak to respond in any way. And then, her mind was occupied by something else. Her eyes were fixed with those of Severus. They were looking at each other, boring deep, as if reaching the bottoms of each other’s souls. Everyone around them was all activity and happy screams directed at Harry, but Hermione and Severus were swallowed by the eye contact, unaware of the surrounding world.

“You know, Marcel. As I was lying there, I felt someone’s gaze upon me. And when I glanced in Snape’s direction, he was looking at me. I just couldn’t take my eyes off his. They were so black and deep, like two bottomless wells. When he was looking at me I even stopped perceiving the pain in my body. There we were, just the two of us, looking at each other and I think oblivious to anything around. It felt like hours but it could have lasted only a second. I don’t know.”

The next thing Hermione knew was that Neville and Ron threatened Severus again with their wands and yet again Professor McGonagall had to exercise her teacher’s authority.

“Mr. Weasley! Mr. Longbottom! As a former Headmaster of this school, Professor Snape is as of now under my personal protection.” The tone of her voice was so resolute that Ron and Neville lowered their wands, shuffled their feet and started to look in the ground instead.

Professor McGonagall transfigured three branches lying nearby into stretchers and using her wand levitated Hermione, Harry and Severus onto them. No one moved or said a word when she turned on the spot and set off in the direction of the Castle, suspending the three stretchers in mid-air before her.

None of the people on the stretchers talked. Harry was too confused and Hermione and Severus too hurt and aching to be able to discuss anything. All the more that some of the students started again to attack Severus verbally, if they were prohibited to do so with their wands. Severus was lying on his stretcher, looking up at the dawning sky and fading starts above. At one moment, though, he again turned his head to face Hermione. And again, like some minutes ago, feeling his gaze she too turned to look at her former Professor. The new day was dawning, there were many people around either mourning their dead or celebrating the victory, but Severus and Hermione were oblivious to everything but the eyes of the other. There was no other communication between them. Just the gaze. Warm. Intensive. Passionate.

“It was only much later that I learnt that it was Neville who actually killed Voldemort with the Gryffindor sword. Can you imagine that? He didn’t even use the wand. And also that it was Harry’s sacrifice that saved me from Lestrange’s curse and also Harry himself from that of Voldemort’s. As well as it saved the others fighting for Harry at that moment. But…,” and Hermione paused for a while, “but … I feel so … guilty … It is so unfair that I survived whereas the others died. Others like Lupin or Tonks or Fred. It was only that I was hit by the curse in the right moment, so to speak … Not fair …,” and there were tears in her eyes again. Only this time, Hermione did not look distressed, merely sad.

“When we were in the hospital wing, Harry, Snape and I, I think Harry tried to speak to Snape. I don’t know what there was between the two of them, but Harry seemed eager to discuss something. And he also waited till he thought I was fast asleep. But I was in too much pain to do so. I heard Harry ask Snape something like from where Snape knew about Harry’s parents and the Horcruxes. I didn’t understand that at all. The only that Snape answered was that they could discuss it in the morning. He was too tired then. But when we woke up in the morning, Snape was gone. We asked Madam Pomfrey about him and she told us he preferred his own quarters to the hospital wing. Also, during the night many other people had been brought to the wing with injuries from the fights. And Madam Pomfrey claimed that Snape’s help was needed. And yes, during the following week Harry and I spent in the hospital wing, he kept coming and going. Though he was limping severely and had to sit down and take a rest quite often, he would bring various potions and administer them to the patients in person. But never had he addressed Harry or looked at me again. And Harry has never told me what had happened in the Shack between the two of them.”

“Hermione?” Marcel interrupted the silence that marked the end of Hermione’s story.

“Uhm?”

“Have you been in contact with Mr. Potter lately?”

“No.”

“Well, I think. You know, it might help if you tried to talk about your experience together. Both of you may benefit from that. After all, you share the memories of the battle.”

“Yeah, but Harry doesn’t want to talk to anyone. The least about the battle. I think he decided that for himself at the funeral. He had a long talk with Snape there and since then Harry's been so reserved and refuses our attempts at talking or being together.”

Marcel noted something down, starting a new roll of parchment.

“And Hermione?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, from what I’ve heard today, it seems that there is something you just don’t want to admit yourself concerning Professor Snape. You know, the look you’ve described and… Well, I think--”

“Are you insinuating something, Marcel?” there was color rushing into Hermione’s cheeks.

“Ah, well… Couldn’t it be possible that you might have some feeli--”

“Marcel, I’ve already told you once today,” Hermione’s voice was loud and strong, “there is nothing I would like to add concerning Snape. He was thought to be on Voldemort’s side. Apparently, he was not. That’s all! There’s nothing more I need or want to know about Snape! I don’t know what he is doing right now, nor do I care. And the look! We were both weak, on the verge of unconsciousness. I don’t know what got into him looking at me the way he did. But he hasn’t done it since so he obviously didn’t see it important, did he? And let me repeat once again. I don’t care!” With these words Hermione struggled with the cushions and stood up abruptly.

“Hermione, please, calm down, I just thought--”

“No! I don’t want to calm down. I won’t calm down! During the whole session, you’ve been hinting at something concerning Snape and me. There’s nothing! Do you hear me?” at this point Hermione reached for her wand.

“Hermione--” Marcel saw that as a Healer he had failed.

“Stop Hermioneing me! I’m leaving!”

And indeed, Hermione stormed out of the healing room, past astonished Marcel, never looking back at him. She did not bother to close the door behind her, but when she was about to enter the staircase she turned, directing her wand at the door which closed with a deafening bang.

I will not come here again. Never! It was a mistake in the first place. To think that such a healwiz will help me. Mistake! Mistake! Mistake! I won’t return! All the time hinting at Snape. As if I felt something for him! Such rubbish! Healer. Phew. Interested in gossip, not in my health! Engulfed by her fury, Hermione was hurriedly descending the staircase. As the landing was turning to the left she suddenly rushed headlong into someone who was slowly climbing the stairs, apparently as deeply in thoughts as she was. Hermione staggered and only too late did she realize that she was out of reach of a banister or pillar to hold on to. With her hands helplessly waving in the air she was trying to catch something that would suspend the ominous fall…

Only when the fall became a reality did she suddenly feel a strong grip on her wrist. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw a graceful pale arm cloaked in black firmly holding her hand.



Thank you all for reading and surviving the length of the chapter. I hope you enjoyed it at least a bit. And please please please, leave some of your comments, ideas, suggestion, reactions … well, feedback, here. Many thanks.

~Jana

Chapter 4: Those Old Parchments

Even with her hand being held tight, it took Hermione a while before she steadied her movements, and rendered them walkable again. Still fuming, and now even more than before at her own clumsiness, with one brisk flounce she released her hand from the stranger’s firm grip. Her cheeks shining crimson from the combination of rage and embarrassment, she did not bother as much as to look at the person. Pretending that this little accident had never happened, Hermione rushed on down the stairs, mumbling hardly audible “Thanks” on her way.

Only when at a landing below, did she realize that the stranger had not moved an inch and was still standing on the same spot where she nearly knocked him down not a minute ago. She stopped in her hurried descend, this time firmly holding on a near banister, and slowly raised her head to face the person properly. Her eyes fell first on the midnight black of the robes still gracefully moving around the stranger’s legs. Traveling further, the eyes registered the pale hand that, before a while, was holding hers; around the wrists, stripes of white cuffs were fighting their way out of the person's black robes.

Realization started to dawn on Hermione as her gaze trailed yet slightly upwards. She took in the incredibly pale complexion and sharply-cut lips. The same lips she had heard pronounce her name in a derogatory way countless of times before. Following the stranger’s crooked nose, Hermione finally looked in the eyes of Professor Severus Snape.

Still as a statue he held her gaze. Despite her deepest conviction, Hermione felt again as if loosing herself in the depths of his black black black eyes. Severus maintained the gaze only long enough to make sure that Hermione saw and recognized him. Before she could succumb and drown herself in his eyes thoroughly, he grabbed the hem of his robes, turned on the spot, and without a word continued up the stairs.

Hermione stood dumbfound on the landing, her lips slightly parted as if she was pondering calling out after her former Professor.

“Watch it, witchie,” sounded all of a sudden behind her back. An old wrinkled wizard was pushing his way past Hermione.

The wizard’s voice brought her back to reality. With a brief shake of her head, and a faint “Sorry,” Hermione let him through.

When the unreal feeling of the whole situation had passed, Hermione resumed her descent but couldn’t resist one or two furtive glances over her shoulder. Just in case Professor Snape had materialized on the stairs again. Eventually though, Hermione was only further infuriated by such her conduct.

Though she promised the Weasleys to call on them while on her way from St. Mungo’s, Hermione was so much distressed by all the things that had happened during and after her appointment with Marcel, that she decided to go straight home. This time she felt too tired to walk and opted for Apparition. Destination, determination, deliberation. One swift turn and she was gone.

***

In order to prevent herself from thinking about what had happened at St. Mungo's, Hermione decided to go through the piles and piles of her old school parchments of essays, notes and whatnot. I need something to keep my mind occupied. Sorting the old school papers seemed like a good idea.

Hermione was considering summoning the notes but upon realizing the huge numbers she had produced during her Hogwarts years, she thought twice of it. Rather, she dragged her form to a small storing cabinet, at the very rear of her apartment, which contained all of her Hogwarts-related things. On her way, she transfigured a chair into a maroon cushion, and took it with her in order to have something comfortable to sit on.

Once in the cabinet and looking around herself, Hermione sighed. The mere look and smell of the worn parchment evoked in her so many memories. Memories for which she was yet unprepared. The happier of her days started to enter her mind. And before she knew it, she was lost in contemplations on what now seemed like the best days of her life. She was remembering how Harry, Ron and she used to have fun in between their lessons, how they would visit Hagrid’s hut ever so often, and how they were together, each enjoying the company of the other two. But sooner than Hermione lost herself in the sentimental past for good, she got a grip on reality, Oh, stop it! You’re turning into another Moaning Myrtle.

This resolute thought put paid to the nostalgia and Hermione set to the work for which she came to the cabinet. She reached for a folder emanating a distinct smell with a huge caption Potions on its front page.

Hermione ran her fingers over the letters she had put on the parchment, how many?, nearly seven years ago. She opened the folder and old yellow essays fell into her lap. She took the one which was on the very top and read its task, Elaborate on the use of mandrake for various kinds of sleeping potions.

Hermione started to read her own handwriting of several years ago. But it was not her own text that held her interest. It was the little lines and marks made by the person who read and graded the essay that intrigued her the most. Within a short while, Hermione found herself rummaging through the pile of assignments in a search of her former Potions Master’s neat handwriting. The worse the essay was, which of course was something very special Hermione reassured herself, the more remarks and comments it deserved, and the happier she was now reading them.

Hermione could not understand this sudden need of hers to be close to Professor Snape. Inadvertently, she touched the spot round her wrist where he caught her on the staircase. Why was he looking at me the way he did, anyway? Why didn’t he just go on to wherever he was going? Why did he have to stare at me? While reliving the small incident, Hermione’s fingers were trailing over the comments on her potions essays. Comments which infuriated her so much in the past, but which were incredibly soothing now. I’d like to talk to him. Just talk. And ask him so many things. About potion making, and teaching, and … Hermione was yet unsure of what else she would like to talk with Severus Snape, but she knew they would find a common ground in the end. He’s so clever. Yeah. I was right in admitting to Marcel that I used to admire him. I’m not ashamed. Snape’s mind deserves to be admired.

While remembering her former Hogwarts teacher, Hermione’s fingers were ever so slightly, as if almost unawares, caressing Snape’s handwriting in her essays. She was running the fingers over and around each and every letter he wrote down so many years ago.

Stop it, you fool!, Hermione suddenly scolded herself and with one rapid movement flung the essays into a corner. Hogwarts is gone! Your friends are mostly gone! Some of them even dead! Dead! Just stop looking for more trouble! Stop thinking of Snape! Hermione was angry with herself. For how many times already this morning? And she was confused. And distressed once again. Exasperatedly, she buried her head in hands and wished for the whole world to disappear.

***

“What do you mean you don’t have the ingredient?” Professor Snape was obviously losing his temper.

“Please, Sir, stay calm,” Marcel was trying to exercise the best of his tranquilizing techniques. Although he knew it was not completely ethical, behind his own back he pointed the wand at Professor Snape, attempting a simple calming down non-verbal. Only, he was too slow for Snape’s reflexes.

“Expelliarmus!” sounded Snape’s deep voice followed by a quick flick of his wand.

Not only was Marcel disarmed, his wand flying to the other part of the healing room, but the spell had such a force that Marcel followed suit and landed on the floor in a near corner.

Clearly, Severus put all of his anger, bitterness and disappointment into this one single spell.

Still shaking his head as if trying to get rid of the dancing gnomes in front of his eyes, Marcel cried out in a shocked voice, “Why did you--?”

Professor Snape did not let him finish, “Why? I won’t let you cast your spells on me! I might be spent and tired, but I’m still enough of a Legilimens to protect myself.”

“But I only wanted to--”

Again, Marcel was cut short, “To hex me with one of the so-called soothing spells, right? Is that how you treat visitors here? I’ve never known that at the famous St. Mungo’s one may be hit by an unasked-for curse so quickly!” Snape’s anger was reaching its peak.

Marcel was at a loss, “No! Let me finish. Please,” he was breathing hard and still rubbing the spot on the back of his head where it hit the wall, “I only wanted to calm you down a bit,” and after a pause he added, “I’m sorry.”

For a while, both the men were silent.

To his own surprise Snape offered something remotely resembling an apology, “I might’ve overreacted. Slightly.”

“I’ve noticed,” Marcel mumbled under his breath, so low that Snape did not catch it, while collecting his wand, himself, and straightening up. He approached Snape, convinced that this time he would be ready for whatever mood that one was in.

“Why is the one ingredient so important, anyway?” Marcel took up the conversation where they had left it before the unexpected assault.

“It’s none of your business,” slipped Snape before he could stop it. “I mean, although it is none of your business, I need it for a memory potion.” After a pause, he allowed Marcel a little peak into his otherwise highly protected private life. “I have an house elf. Old house elf. He’s been suffering from memory lapses lately.”

Marcel was incapable of any reaction, seeing the abrupt change in Snape’s behavior. At one minute he is ready to cast disarming spells, at another uncovering his privacy.

Snape sensed what Marcel was thinking about and hastily added, “Not that I care for the elf. It’s only, what is the word, highly inconvenient. I want him to carry out my orders precisely and not haphazardly like he does now.” And I also want him to remember. And to discuss things with me. Like we used to. I need him to be my companion.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you the ingredient,” Marcel interrupted the Professor’s train of thoughts, “I know it’s difficult to come by. And that I promised it, but there’ve been so many talking sessions lately, I simply haven’t got time for it. You know what the situation is still like. Witches and wizards are distressed. They want to talk. They need to talk. The memories of the battle are wearing them down. Like the one witch who’s left just before you came in. She’s so young, yet has gone through so much like a hundred-year old.”

Despite a seeming lack of concern, Severus was in fact intently listening, “Are you talking about the brown-haired young witch? I think I met her on my way here. She looked mighty distressed.” Severus hoped to learn some information on Ms. Granger’s case, though he tried to look as if he couldn’t care less and did not know as much as her name.

“Yes. Actually,” Marcel paused, searching for the right words, “the session didn’t go the way I thought it would. And she really left in a state, I would say, even worse than in which she’d come here in the morning.” Marcel realized that he had just admitted to a total incompetence of his healing methods. Obviously, it wasn’t one of his best days. First a quarrel with Ms. Granger, then an attack coming from the tip of Snape’s wand, and now he had admitted to the morning's very failure. And it hadn’t been noon yet.

“Like I was saying, I’m sorry, Professor Snape.”

Snape was apparently too deep in his own thoughts, contemplating what had happened to make Hermione so enraged, “Sorry? What did you…?”

“I was just apologizing about the ingredient. I will try my best to have it for you next week, but I cannot promise anything. Like I’ve said, there is still so much work. But I will try.”

“Thank you,” Severus had difficulties hiding his disappointment. He had hoped to brew the potion and attempt to cure poor Pulfer’s mind. “I will stop by next week, then.” With these words, Severus turned on the spot and Disapparated into his quarters, leaving Marcel to his own feelings of shame and guilt.

Once at Hogwarts again, Severus gave free rein to his anger, “Incompetent! Unreliable! How can such a person be in charge of healing those with spell shock? No wonder Hermione was in such a state! I would have been, having been cured by such a healwiz!” Severus sank into his velvet armchair nearly breathless.

His rage subsiding only slowly, he was absent-mindedly waving his wand, causing thus all the light around him to vanish. What will happen to Pulfer now? Having to wait for another week. If only Poppy knew how to get the root. Or Pomona. Pulfer scared me last night. In the middle of the game, he forgot completely we were playing chess. I’ll help you, Pulfer. Don’t you worry. I’ll get you the cure. I hope you’ll be able to recognize me by then, though… And can you now, anyway?

Severus raised his eyes with the intention of calling Pulfer, realizing only then that all the light around had disappeared and he was sitting in a perfect pitch black.

“Oh, what in Merlin’s name? Lumos,” at which the tip of his wand lit up.

I need something to calm me down. Haven’t drained all the light away for a long time now. The healwiz might have been right. I’m overreacting. But then, aiming a wand and a non-verbal at me? No way!

And all of a sudden Severus knew what he would do to keep his racing mind from thinking about all the unpleasant things around. What he would do to steady himself mentally. Old Potions essays.

“Pulfer?”

No sooner had Severus’s words died out in the dungeon room than Pulfer Apparated with a slight crack.

“Master, Professor Snape? Master was calling his Pulfer?”

Thanks Merlin. He's his old serving self today.

“Pulfer, bring me the potions essays, I want t--”

“Yes, Master Professor. Pulfer will do. Pulfer will--”

“Do. Not. Interrupt me, Pulfer,” no matter how much Severus cared for his servant, he still hated being interrupted. “I want to start preparing for the upcoming year. I want all the old sixth-years’ finals.”

“Master. Yes. Pulfer will be bringing them. Before Master Snape blinks,” and Pulfer was gone.

The Professor had to smile to himself. When in his right mind, Pulfer was such a good servant.

Severus suddenly realized that his own mood must have improved, for the darkness around was no longer impenetrable. The light was slowly returning to his quarters. It had happened to him several times before. When at the peak of an emotional experience, he was subconsciously casting non-verbal incantations which deprived the space around him of light. He couldn’t help it. Neither had he told anyone, thus being unsure whether other wizards had it the same. But he doubted it.

Anyway, “Knox,” and the wand light vanished.

At that exact moment, Pulfer Apparated again, holding in his small arms an incredible pile of parchments. Severus could hardly see the house-elf from below them. He rushed to help, only to remember that Pulfer might get offended by such efforts.

“Here, Professor Sir,” sounded from somewhere inside the heap, “Pulfer is bringing to Sir the essays.”

“Accio essays,” Severus flicked his wand, and the parchments lifted from Pulfer’s arms, gracefully landing in those of Severus.

“Thank you, Pulfer. I won’t be needing your services today. Why don’t you just,” Severus hesitated for a second, what do the house-elves do in their spare time? Do they have spare time?, “why don’t you just have a rest?”

“Oh, Professor Snape be so kind. Pulfer will. Pulfer be most tired. Thank you, Master Sir,” and with many bows Pulfer Disapparated.

Severus did not have the slightest intentions of preparing for the next year’s teaching. Instead, he just wanted to read through the essays. To get lost in them completely. In themselves, the essays combined the two great loves of his life, potions and teaching. All he wanted now was to have a good laugh at the nonsense some of the students were able to produce at their exams. My Slytherins are particularly good at it. But also, he wanted to wonder at the brilliance with which other students answered the questions. He knew that this would calm him down. Like it already had many times before.

He sat down in the armchair again, suspending the essays in mid-air in front of him and picking one that was on the top. The name read Patil. Yeah? Which one? They must’ve been doing this on purpose. Using only their surnames. But then he noticed the Gryffindor lion by her name and knew that it was Parvati.

Her essay conjured some smiles on Severus’s face but he had to admit that generally it had exceeded his expectations.

He took another one. Weasley, Ronald. At least he didn’t use the misspelling quill this time. And again, Severus saw that even Ron’s essay was one of his better ones. Poor is not that bad for Weasley’s standards.

Severus was sarcastic, yes, but at the same time he was aware of how much his students had learnt and how it really showed in the essays. He was just not the kind of person to admit it in the open.

And yet another one he took. Only this time, Severus did not know how much unprepared he was for what he saw. Hermione Granger.

The peace that started to take over his mind while reading through the previous papers was all of a sudden gone. Upon reading her name, the image of the enraged Hermione of the morning popped in front of his eyes. She was so… Angry. Literally fuming. And she nearly fell over. Thanks Merlin I was there. She wouldn’t have had the time to cast the simplest cushioning charm. And her hand was so warm. But how she pulled herself free! I should’ve said something. Yes. But what? She responded with her eyes. But would she … with words? She looked confused. Yet, her eyes had the same twinkle of hunger for knowledge. Like when she used to be my student. Faint, yes, but it was there. I saw it. Still, she looked so … tired … and pale. Severus sighed and closed his eyes.

He was imagining Hermione when she was his student in her sixth year. She might’ve been insufferable at times. By all means. But she was so clever, too. Severus could easily picture a debate the two of them could have now. He would love to talk to her. Now that Pulfer’s company is so unreliable. Despite his best resolutions, Severus was realizing that he needed somebody. Badly. He would have never said it out loud, particularly after the experience at the funeral, but deep down he knew this was true.

He looked once again at the name on the essay and touched it ever so slightly with his graceful fingers.



Thank you so much for reading. This chapter is a bit shorter and slower than usual, but it is just a little intermezzo before the funerals, which Severus mentiones at its very end, and which will come in the next chapter.

I apologize very much to the readers that it took me so long to write and post the chapter. I got stuck in a moment for some time and then I ended up writing something completely different from what I’d originally intended. I sincerely do hope that you like the chapter at least a bit, because I still have many doubts about it and regard it as the weakest one yet. I promise to make up for it with the next chapter. And as usual, I will much appreciate all kinds of your feedback. Reading your reaviews is such a fantastic motivation for further writing. Many thanks for them in advance.

~Jana

Thank you all for your patient waiting. I know I'm horrible at the writer's discipline. So, without further ado, here is the next chapter. I hope it doesn't dissapoint your expectations.

***

Chapter 5: Before the Funerals

While looking at the old Potions essays, Severus felt his mind wandering again. And he let it. He knew it would finally settle on some unpleasant memories. But he was not afraid of them tonight. He had something tangible to hold on to. He had his essays that would bring him from the stormy depths of the past if need be.

His fingers were still caressing the one handwriting, while his mind was already on the days before the funerals of those fallen in the battle

***

Being a resistant of Hogwarts, unlike the other mourners and survivors, Severus did not have to worry about the travel arrangements to the funerals. All it took him was to lay aside the shroud of loneliness, and surface from his dungeon quarters to the daylight. He had spent the whole week preceding the funerals either in this dungeon room or attending to those with battle injuries in the Hospital Wing. This was all his feeble strengths sufficed for.

While at his quarters, Severus did not bother as much as to light a candle to banish the darkness enclosing him. Nor did he ask Pulfer for any of his so frequently offered services. What is more, although Pulfer had made many attempts at cleaning and cooking, Severus kept turning them all down ferociously. After several such rejections, some more polite than others, Pulfer understood that his Master Professor wanted to be left alone.

And yes, that was what Severus longed for the most – loneliness, silence and the dark of his room. He craved solitude. It was enough that his memories were peopled. Whenever he closed his eyes, his students, colleagues, and both the Death Eaters and Order members were all marching past his inner eye. He could not get his mind rid of them. He was literally flooded by the memories. Particularly, by memories of those who had not made it through the battle and who had never seen the beautiful dawn that followed it.

Severus did not mind sitting in the darkness encompassing him for hours and hours on end. He did not mind being hungry. In fact, most of the time he realized he was hungry only after his stomach had been seized by severe cramps. And not even then did he call for his faithful servant. Instead, he made use of some several-day old leftovers and multiplied them magically. From time to time, performing this easiest of easiest magic, Severus had an unpleasant feeling as if his magical abilities had been, drop by drop, leaving him. It took all of his mental strengths now to perform even the simplest refilling charm. But to his own surprise, he did not mind this fact either.

In order to prevent himself from being buried alive in the dungeons, Severus volunteered to help Madam Pomfrey at the Hospital Wing. He was brewing and administering potions to those who were still too exhausted or weak to leave the matron’s care. Once among the injured ones, Severus was, each and every day, living through a small private catharsis of his. Majority of the patients were his former students, and he could not stop blaming himself for their injuries. I could’ve tired harder. I could’ve protected more of them. I should have! For Merlin’s sake, they were my students. Students! Still kids. They shouldn’t have gone through this. Such thoughts were no exception with Severus when he kept seeing the bedridden students on a regular day-to-day basis.

But there were also different feelings associated with his visits to the Hospital Wing. One word covered them all. Hatred. Severus could see it etched in the faces and minds of his patients. Most of the witches and wizards did not make even the slightest attempts to hide the contempt they felt towards their Professor. They could not understand how a wizard so closely associated with the Dark Lord could still be at Hogwarts, and what is more, move in their vicinity. How come McGonagall still tolerates him? Why hasn’t he been sent straight off to Azkaban? Get off me, you git. Those and some more, greeted Severus upon his morning entrances to the Wing.

They hate me. If it was up to them, I would’ve been already kissed by the Dementors. Maybe they are right. I don’t deserve anything else for what I’ve done in my life. Severus found certain odd reassurance in these students’ reactions. Obviously, he was not the only one who hated himself, which, in a peculiar way, calmed him down. Strange as this was, the feeling of hatred toward his person was the common ground that associated him with his students even closer.

Staying alone in his quarters and giving potions to those in need of them had made up the whole of Severus’s week preceding the funerals. He knew the commemorative ceremony would come. Minerva announced it immediately the morning after the battle. And she insisted on Severus to attend, too.

“I don’t know what went between you and Mr. Potter at the Shack, but evidently you did something, Severus, that made Mr. Potter do what he did. Thus, saving us all.”

Severus was silent and listening expectantly. Professor McGonagall came to visit and talk to him immediately he had left the Hospital Wing on the first day after the battle.

“I came to see you,” she paused, apparently in search of the right words, “well, I talked with the Order members and the staff today, and,” another contemplative interruption, “Severus, why is it so dark here, anyway?” And not waiting for the answer, “Lumos,” at which her wand lit up.

“Put the light out, Minerva. Please,” Severus was shielding his eyes from the light he was unaccustomed to.

“But, Severus--”

“Please, Minerva,” he repeated silently.

“As you wish, then. Nox,” and the darkness engulfed the two Professors again. “Like I was saying, I came to see you because we’d had a talk today with the others about the commemorative ceremony that should take place shortly.”

Severus was glad that the darkness had fell and that Professor McGonagall could not see the tenseness that seized him at the mere mention of what was to follow.

“Severus? Are you listening to me?” Professor McGonagall was uncertain of her companion’s attention, because where she expected an answer only deep silence resonated in her ears.

“I am.”

“Good. The others had certain reservations as to your presence at the funerals. But I came to tell you that I would like to have you by me,” and she fell silent again, for what she was about to say was the most difficult of it all. “Well, I don’t know how or why, but I think Albus was right in believing in you. You know, Severus, many people are still convinced you should be in Azkaban,” another pause, “not me. I’ve known you for so many years now. And now I know Albus was right with you.”

At the mention of Dumbledore’s name, Severus felt physical pain in his chest. Yes, Albus was always right. How I wish he’d been wrong sometimes. Once would be enough. Once – when he told me about what I would have to do. It was unbearable, Albus, to live by you, carrying with me your death sentence all the time, and once again, in this short span, Severus was glad for the darkness.

“Don’t ask me why, I don’t know it myself, Severus. But when I saw you this morning, on the stretcher with those horrible scars in your neck, I just knew you’ve been on our side all the time.” Professor McGonagall finished. Although she had been replaying in her head what she would say to Severus practically the whole of afternoon, the meticulous preparation seemed in vain now. Her words sounded to her shallow, empty, unbelievable.

But Severus apparently did not render them either empty or unbelievable, as after a considerable while of complete silence his voice sounded and formed a very quiet “thank you.” And although he could not see the face of Minerva McGonagall, he sensed that she was immensely relieved by his answer.

“I don’t care what the others say, Severus. You are under the protection of the Hogwarts Headmistress, that is, under me. And I would like you, as the former Headmaster of this school, to take part in what is to follow.” Professor McGonagall realized the cold business-like tone of her voice and added more personally, “Please, Severus, I don’t think I can go through it alone. Just think of all the dead students. It’s horrible. Horrible,” her voice trailed off in a light sob. Severus could hear faint rustling as she pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

“I will be there, Minerva,” Severus’s voice was weak, but reassuring, and Professor McGonagall had the feeblest of sensations that it was also somehow warm.

***

And so the day of the funerals finally came. The day Severus had feared, yet in an odd way was looking forward to, for the whole week. Like all the other days, this one, too, found him in a complete darkness of his room.

He had been reasoning with himself for the past seven days, and came to realize that this was the day he would try to approach Potter for yet another time. Severus wanted to finish what he started at the Shack. It had caused him many inner debates and rows, but finally he decided to tell Harry everything. At least everything what I know. He would start with his last visit at Harry’s parents’ at Godric’s Hollow. How happy he was with them. And how his Patronus is still bound with this last visit. Then, I’ll tell him about Albus. How he’d been protecting me. The same way I was protecting you, Potter. And how I nearly failed Albus at the end. You have no clue how difficult it was for me to find you at the Hogwarts grounds. Severus paused for a while in his contemplations as a sudden disturbing idea struck him, with my dwindling magic, how will I persuade him of what happened at Lily and James’. How will he believe me?

With one resolute movement, which was unfortunately too resolute for his feeble form and made him wince, Severus rose from the armchair and reached for the table where his wand had been lying, unused.

Although the darkness around him was complete, his eyes had become used to it and in no time did he find the beautiful ebony wood. Holding on the table, Severus was fingering the wand for a while. It used to give him so much pleasure in the past. He was remembering all the spells and charms he had invented during his young Hogwarts years. Although he was rather indifferent to the apparent withering of magic in him, he dreaded he would lose the ability to perform this one charm. Severus even hesitated for a moment, steadying himself mentally, before his voice filled the whole of his dungeon room, firm and strong this time, “Expecto Patronum!”

For the shortest of whiles, all was black. And Severus was just about to lower his slightly shaking arm, when a streak of silver erupted from the wand’s tip. First it was a mere thread. Like a tiny memory ready to be cast in a Pensieve. But then it grew stronger and more and more threads were bursting from his wand, gaining force and shape, as Severus’s mind got a firm grip of the memory on which his Patronus was feeding.

And finally, there she was. His doe. As beautiful and graceful as ever, her light penetrating the dungeon darkness. It soared, her hind legs kicking the air, and dissolved upon reaching the ceiling. Darkness fell again. But although it was as impenetrable as before, one thing had changed. There was an ever-so-slight aura around the place where Severus was standing, still looking at the ceiling. No doubt, the gentle smile, which the doe conjured on his face, was at the aura's source.

He’ll believe me. How else would I have come by this Patronus. And thanks Merlin I can still produce it.

Severus could not but shudder at the mere realization of what was approaching. He did not know if he was ready to cope with the situation. The mourners, the coffins, the black combined with the house colors as an honor and reminder of the bravery of the deceased. Severus realized that my Slytherin green will be missing. It’s good that none of my students died. But then, why do I have to be the Head of a bunch of cowards? I'm not a coward! Contrary to what everyone thinks. Contrary to what Potter thinks.

There was a whirlwind of thoughts and ideas, one chasing the other, in Severus’s mind. But he took a deep breath and stepped from his dungeon quarters.

***

The light outside was blinding. It was painfully and consistently piercing his eyes while he was trying to take in everything around. The day was beautiful. The Hogwarts grounds were bustling with life as witches and wizards of all ages and looks were Apparating for the commemoration. Had it not been for the omnipresent onyx flags suspended in mid-air, Severus would have thought a more festive ceremony was about to commence.

He was half apprehensive that Minerva would need him by her side. He promised he would assist her with whatever she needed. And he would do so. Yet, he was afraid whether he would endure it. She’s the only one believing in me. But yet, the idea of the crowd staring at him was not completely appealing to Severus. He did not fear facing the other wizards, I don’t have anything to hide from them, but he was what’s the word?, a little unprepared for it, let’s say.

There was still a plenty of time before the first eulogist was to take floor and so Severus set off to sit and have a rest under his favorite tree. The tree where he used to sit so often during his studies, with Lily, he couldn’t help remembering. Suddenly, he heard the voice of Professor McGonagall calling him, “Severus! Severus!” Try it a little louder, Minerva, that small wizard who’s just Apparated might not have heard you properly, only too easily did Severus slip into the typical mood he reserved for social occasions.

He stopped in his tracks, but did not turn around. He just waited for Minerva to catch up on him. Which she did, panting slightly, in a moment.

Once he felt her presence behind his back, Severus merely parted his lips, “Yes?”

But when no reply was coming, he turned on the spot, as quick as his aching body allowed, and saw that Minerva was pale as a wall.

“Minerva, what…?” He tried to put a consoling arm on her shoulder. But then he registered the hostile looks on some of the mourners’ faces turned in his direction, and refrained from the contact.

“I can’t, Severus,” to his total astonishment she uttered very quietly. Her head was bowed so Severus could not see into her face, but from the tone of her voice he could tell that she had difficulties speaking. Despite them she repeated, “I can’t…”

It seemed to Severus that Professor McGonagall was on the verge of a breakdown. And no wonder. She had spent the whole past week making arrangements, rushing to and fro, consoling those in need of it, running school, communicating with the Ministry, and the strain was starting to show.

“I know, Minerva,” said Severus as he stopped paying attention to the curiosity of the onlookers and supported her by his arm. Obviously, that was what Professor McGonagall was waiting for. The moment she felt Severus’s arm under her shoulder, she let go, and had it not been for Severus she would have definitely fainted. Though she was of a fragile frame, even her light weight seemed too much for Severus as he wavered, and it took all of his physical strengths to steady the both of them.

“Come, Minerva,” he whispered and once again set off towards the lake and his tree.

With joint forces, the two Professors finally found themselves in the shade of trees and Severus helped Professor McGonagall to sit comfortably on the ground.

“Do you want me to go bring a potion, I still have a plen--,” but he was interrupted.

“Just sit, Severus,” her voice was still feeble, but once Minerva was feeling the solid ground beneath herself, she ventured to raise her head.

Severus looked around and noticed that they were already too far from the mourners’ earshot and anyway, those had apparently lost interest in them by now. But still, Muffliato. Just in case. Then he sat down with his back propped against the tree trunk. It was comforting feeling so much nature in the vicinity. Severus positioned himself so that the two of them could hear themselves talking, but they would not be embarrassed by mutual looks.

“I’m sorry, Severus,” Professor McGonagall broke the silence, that might have seemed awkward to some, but in which Severus was literally basking.

“I thought I was strong enough, but look at me now,” something remotely resembling a smile passed around her lips.

“It’s natural, Minerva. You've been under too much stress in the past week. I believe Horace, Pomona and Filius will take care of the ceremony. At least for the time being.”

Professor McGonagall realized that she had known Severus for so many years, but she had never had a friendly talk with him. All their conversations were kept within the rather strict limits of their profession and cold acquaintanceship. And it also came to her that Severus might not like the sudden change of the relationship between them. She pulled herself together in an attempt to rise, apologize for her momentary weakness and leave. But Severus’s voice stopped her, “Where do you think you’re going, Minerva? You’ve nearly fainted not a minute ago. I could’ve led you here, but I’m not strong enough to be collecting and Enervating you, once you break down under the nearest tree.”

Surprised as she was by Severus’s words, Professor McGonagall repositioned herself on the ground and voiced her worry, “I just thought I was bothering you. We’ve never been particular friends, Severus. Colleagues. Maybe. But that’s all.”

“But things have changed recently, haven’t they, Minerva? You seem to be the only one believing in me. Why should your presence be bothering, then?”

“Albus believed in you too, Severus,” Professor McGonagall’s reaction came just naturally to her.

First, Severus shuddered at the name ringing in his ears. After a while he appeared to be struggling with something he wanted to say, “And yet…,” the green light erupted from my wand in the end, he had to finish in his head as the words were failing him.

“Yet?” Minerva prompted.

“Yet, I had to…,” Severus couldn’t bring himself to saying it aloud. For so many times he had dwelled on that last fatal night. But to say anything about it to another wizard was reliving it all along again. It was too painful a ground to venture on. “I had to…,” he tried anew and anew the words did not come.

“Don’t say anything,” Minerva was obviously gaining her strengths and realizing that mentioning Dumbledore’s name in Severus’s presence was a mistake.

“No, I … I want to talk about it. I need to talk. I’ll go mad if I don’t.”

“You can always use your Pensieve, can’t you? Just cast the memories aside. Forget, Severus.”

“No!” Severus cried a little too strongly at which Minerva started with surprise. “Sorry, Minerva. But no,” he repeated, this time in his usual low soft voice bearing marks of fatigue and despair somewhere deep down. “I can’t forget what I’ve done. I’ve never forgotten anything I’ve done. All the mistakes are still with me. Haunting me, Minerva,” to his own surprise Severus found himself craving to reveal everything. “I’d love to forget, but I can’t allow myself to do it. It would be a disgrace to my past. Disgrace to all of those who suffered because of me.”

It was as if a dam had burst and the words were the flood. “Only Albus did know how to help me. He used to take my mind into hours and hours of debates on potions, new spells, ancient magic and what not. In the discussions with him, I was,” Severus sighed, “myself again. I didn’t have to think about all the evil I’ve caused.” He paused only to take in some more air and resumed, “but otherwise, it’s still with me. Each and every memory. Each and every deed. Everything. It’s unbearable, Minerva. Yet I don't allow myself to forget it!” It was more than apparent that Severus needed to pour this out. The two Professors were not looking at each other, but should Minerva turn her head she would have noticed that Severus’s eyes were shut tight, as he was exploring the depths of his mind.

“So if you treasured Albus so much, why…?” Neither Minerva did find it easy to voice the truth in its fullness.

“Why did I,” a pause, “kill him?” But this was hardly intelligible as a low sob escaped from the place Severus was sitting.

Professor McGonagall did not know what to do. She was seeking reassurance only a while ago. Reassurance and a bit of tranquility before the service began. But she saw that others were in greater need of these than her.

She had nearly decided to take up the abandoned thread of Severus’s speech, when he had steadied himself and started talking again. His voice was bearing more and more traces of tears. Tears burning somewhere deep in his chest. Tears he had been repressing for a year now. He did not want to look like a whining school boy, but he could not fight them any longer.

Even despite them, despite the tears streaking down his paler than pale cheeks, he dedicated himself to speaking. “It was all on Albus’s orders. Everything. Everything I have ever done since Lily and James died. I haven’t owned my life since then. Not a single minute of it. Albus owned it all. I’ve been doing his bidding for the whole of my life. Even his death was…,” but Severus was not as strong as he thought. “Merlin!” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand harshly, took in a deep breath and in as calm a voice as he could manage finished, “even his death was his order.”

Only now did Severus realize that he was shaking violently. He needed to calm himself down. Once again, he closed his eyes, leaned against the tree and let the earth do the healing.

Professor McGonagall did not need to know more. Although the picture she had about Severus’s role in the greater scheme was still far from complete, she knew she would not bear more information. And she knew Severus neither.

It was a strange view of the two of them. The figure in black still shaking, tough notably less than several moments ago, leaning his head and back against the tree, eyes closed. The other one, in green tartan robes, looked strained and tired, somehow confused, too.

“You can’t imagine what it took, Minerva,” Severus resumed. “I had to live with it for a whole year. For the whole time I knew there would come a day when I would have to kill him. No one knows what it takes to kill a friend. The only one I had,” Severus’s speech was coming in chunks and it was becoming harsher with each new word uttered.

“Ssh, you don’t need to--,” Professor McGonagall made a feeble attempt.

“I do! I need to! I need to get it out finally! I’ve been repressing it for too long,” Severus was breathing deeply, “why did he do this to me? I thought I’d had already enough. And I was convinced Albus thought so too. Why did he have to add this little service?” he buried his head in his hands desperately. The once magnificent figure of Professor Severus Snape was now reduced to a shaking heap of black robes.

Minerva was helpless. She turned to face Severus. She was decided to calm him down, even if her wand was needed. But when she laid her eyes upon his form, trembling and looking so small suddenly, it came to her that this might have been what Severus had needed all the time. To talk himself out of at least part of it. To unburden his haunted mind. And she was happy that it was her whom Severus had laid his trust in. Looking at him, she realized that a certain kind of friendship was forming between them. She was aware that once the funerals were over, they would become more acquaintances than friends again, but there was a mutual trust now underlying their relationship. Trust that would be only too difficult to forget or eradicate.

Professor McGonagall could not imagine what it took to kill Dumbledore. Neither did she know how much it pained Severus. Such things were beyond her imagination or perception. And she did not want to pretend otherwise. She hoped that maybe one day Severus would open another window to his psyche and let her see more. But until then, Minerva McGonagall wanted to be of as much help as Severus would allow her to offer.

Though she was uncertain of his reaction, she, nonetheless, stretched her hand and laid it lightly on his shoulders. Minerva half expected that he would shake her off. But Severus did not. The human touch was reassuring. So reassuring that after several moments, he raised his head. His eyes were red and in a sharp contrast to the paleness of his cheeks. He looked as if all his blood had been drained out of him.

First, he was merely looking in front of himself, his gaze lacking focus. Then, very slowly, he turned his head to Minerva and to her surprise the lightest of lightest smiles settled on his thin lips. “Thank you, Minerva,” he whispered.

Professor McGonagall smiled too. She withdrew her hand from Severus’s shoulder, “you’re always welcome, Severus.” There was no need to speak more. Both of them understood that this little session under the tree was liberating, for both of them. Minerva did not insist on Severus to go on talking. He would do so when he felt like it again. Or never, if he realized that this was what he wanted. But Minerva was grateful even for the little peak he had offered her now.

Severus looked relieved. It was as if one if the burdens had been lifted from his chest. He felt light and dizzy. But also sure and strong. He was immensely thankful for Minerva’s listening ear and the one tender touch. It had been ages since anyone did anything like this for him. Dumbledore had always been open for discussion, but rarely had they talked about their private lives or worries. And suddenly, Severus knew what he would do. He would stand by Minerva during the ceremonies, and live up to his position of a former Headmaster of Hogwarts.

He decided it was time he interrupted the silence that had settled between them, “Minerva?” he risked silently.

“Yes?”

“If it helps you in any way, and if you don’t mind, I would say a few words at the ceremony.” Severus paused and waited apprehensively for the answer.

“Why,” Professor McGonagall did not expect anything along this line. Though mighty surprised, she couldn’t be more appreciative for what she had just heard. “Of course, I don’t mind at all, Severus. But,” and now she paused to give the idea a proper thought, “don’t you think many witches and wizards will not take kindly to you?” The initial pleasant surprise was gone and Minerva started to look worried again.

But it seemed that Severus had already evaluated the situation. “That’s possible. Yes. But I cannot be hiding till the end of my days, can I? I think it’s time I faced the world again. Life will be in its normal course soon and school will start. I know it’s still some time to go, but it will in the end. And if you decide to have me as a Potions teacher again, I will have to face my students, anyway. I haven’t done anything wrong. Though the majority of those present here think otherwise. And I’m not afraid to face them any more.”

Severus sounded resolute, his voice was deep and steady. To add the emphasis to his words, he rose from the ground. Though he did so with difficulties, he was able to straighten into his full height.

He stretched out his hand and helped Minerva rise too. It was about time of the official beginning of the ceremony and they both knew the presence of the Hogwarts Headmistress would be required shortly.

Professor McGonagall was thinking of concluding the dialogue the two of them had just had, but then she decided to let it be. She was sure that when Severus wanted to talk more, he would do so.

“Let’s go, then,” she heard him say. This brought her back to reality and she smoothed the creases on her tartan robes, plucked several leaves of grass out of them, and was ready to leave the peaceful scenery.

Withdrawing from the shade of the tree, the two Professors knew that what was to come would be difficult. But they also knew they would endure it.


Thank you all for reading. And if you’ve enjoyed it at least a bit, or even if you haven’t, please, let me know. Thanks.

~Jana

I don’t think I have anything to say to excuse the inexcusably long wait for this chapter. Just that I’m really sorry and that I hope at least some of you will be able to forgive me.

I cannot emphasize it enough, but the chapter would have never come into existence, if it hadn’t been for Amanda and Liz who both left such enthusiastic feedback which drove me back to writing. And if it hadn’t been for Grant, my fantastic beta! Thank you for everything you’re doing for me. Maybe it was serendipity pointing me in your direction, after all.

If anyone has already forgotten what was going on in the previous chapter (which honestly I wouldn’t wonder, considering the long-time-no-post time), I would just like to remind you that Severus is still remembering what happened at the funerals which followed a week after the final battle. We left him right at the moment when he opened up a bit to Minerva and immediately afterwards decided he was strong enough to endure the sad ceremony.

But now, without further ado, enjoy, my dear readers!


Chapter 6: The Reverie

As Severus and Professor McGonagall were approaching the speaker’s platform, beautifully decorated in streaks of onyx intertwined with the House colors of the deceased, Minerva started to have her doubts again. Of course, I’m able to protect him, but what if something unexpected happens? What if someone attacks him? What if . . .? she shuddered in a feeble attempt to get rid of the nagging thought.

This little movement hadn’t gone unnoticed by Severus.

“What is it, Minerva?” he turned to ask in a voice full of concern, so unlike him, crossed Minerva’s mind.

Professor McGonagall stopped in her tracks and tried to come up with the best answer, one that would not sound patronizing or too worried. Finally, she resolved for the truth.

“Severus, are you sure--”

“I am, Minerva,” came Severus’ answer before Professor McGonagall could finish her query. “I’m not afraid to face them,” with a slight movement of his head Severus indicated the assembly of the mourners. “I don’t think anyone will want to attack me. And if they do. Well,” he paused, “so be it then.”

Having heard that, Minerva only nodded briefly and once again in the short time reached out to touch Severus’ arm. Firmly, yet still gently, she squeezed it, let go off it and with another nod made her way to the pulpit. As she approached it, everyone present suddenly fell silent.

Severus stood for a while and watched Minerva get ready to perform her almost unbearable duties. After several moments he turned and took a seat in the front row along with the other Professors. Neither of them, Flitwick or Sprout, were as shocked or repulsed as Severus had expected them to be. Yes, they did shift in their seats, but apparently only to provide more space for Severus and not as a way of recoiling from him.

The screaming silence spreading throughout the Hogwarts grounds seemed so artificial, as if created by a spell. Only now and then was it interrupted by muffled sobs. Even the birds had stopped singing, Or they might as well have left this grief-stricken place, Severus mused.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and in a magically magnified voice, so that even those at the far rear could hear her, commenced the ceremony: “Dear members of the wizarding community. Dear witches and wizards. Dear mourners. My friends,” she was nodding in all directions while uttering the addresses. “We’ve gathered here to say our last farewells to those beloved ones who are no longer with us. You’ve traveled from various places here today so that we can, together, honor the deceased and to remind ourselves that their brave deaths weren’t in vain.”

Had it not been for the magic amplifying of her voice, Professor McGonagall would have been barely audible. She seemed to be choking on her words, no matter how hard she tried not to. She afforded herself several moments of silence, which she knew those present wouldn’t mind. After taking one deep breath, she continued. “Before I proceed to say a few words about those who we’ve lost so tragically in the course of the last week, I will give the floor to the former Headmaster and present Potions Master of this school, Professor Severus Snape.”

At the sound of Severus’s name, a wave of whispering and shuffling noises passed through the otherwise attentively listening audience. Of course, this didn’t slip Severus’s attention, but he paid no heed to it. With some difficulties he rose from his seat and slowly, yet steadily, walked to the platform vacated by Professor McGonagall.

As he was passing Minerva, she tried to catch his eye and at least smile reassuringly, but Severus seemed to be oblivious to anything around him. As if he had already been concentrating hard on what he was about to say, his face was as if carved in white marble, his eyes two deep black wells cast to the ground.

When Severus reached the small platform, his head still bowed low, the whispers disappeared again. Only when the silence spread its wings over each crook of the grounds did he finally raise his head and look at the gathered mourners properly for the first time.

Severus half expected jets of green light to be flying in his direction. Instead, he was confronted with pairs and pairs of attentively watching eyes. Some red from crying, others tired with dark circles underneath, but all turned to Severus, waiting, waiting. Even the mourners who before the ceremony seemed rebellious and utterly hostile to Severus remained silent now. Maybe they were too bereaved to react in any way, or just too shocked. Or curious, Severus thought. For a while the Potions Master merely stood at the platform, letting the wind caress his hair and shuffle his robes gently.

Severus spread his arms before himself in an accepting gesture, took a deep breath and began. I have fully deserved whatever’s going to happen now, was the last thing that crossed his mind before he started to speak.

“Thank you, Minerva,” he opened his speech, nodding in the direction of the place where Professor McGonagall had taken her seat. “Some of you are surely surprised that I am here. Believe me, I didn’t have any intention of taking part in this ceremony today. But I’ve made a promise. I keep my promises and my words.” Severus inhaled deeply again, which obviously caused him some pain as he winced and shuddered slightly. He didn’t pay much attention to this discomfort and went on: “I have never broken a promise in my life. I have kept even the most demanding and bereaving ones.”

Minerva knew what Severus was hinting at with his talk about promises and couldn’t but admire his courage both to carry on his tasks in the past and to face their consequences and the witches and wizards in the present.

“I’m not here today to talk about myself, though. I want to remember the ones who cannot be with us here. Your relatives. Your friends. My friends. Yes, even I have friends.” Wherever you are, Albus, I hope you’re listening now. “We all dearly and deeply regret the tragic losses that have befallen us. It seems as if each and everyone here has lost someone dear in the past several weeks, months or even years. I don’t deny some of the deaths have happened because of me. I’m not proud of them.” Severus was certain that he was misunderstood at this point by the majority of his listeners but he didn’t care. He knew perfectly well what and who he was talking about and as long as it was clear to him, nobody else’s understanding mattered. What he was saying was nothing but the truth and his conscience was crystal clear.

“I’m not saying that I was fond of those who had passed away. Claiming that would be a shameful hypocrisy. But they were fighting and laid their lives for the cause of good. And simply because of that they deserve to be remembered and honored.” Closing his eyes, Severus paused for another moment. Upon looking at his audience again he resumed in a voice bearing all the marks of his physical and emotional fatigue. “I’ve heard one couple had a baby recently. Staying parentless will be hard for him. But he will always know that he can live in a free and maybe even better world because of the struggles and heroic deeds of his parents. Let me reiterate, I was not fond of Lupin or his wife, the young Weasley boy or the deceased Gryffindor students. Yet, my lack of affection for them doesn’t prevent me from admiring and honoring what they all have achieved. They were fierce warriors and their deaths were those of heroes. None of them died in vain,” upon which Severus cast his eyes to the distance, past the listening crowd, “You will be remembered. And we will do what is in our power to preserve the world your deaths helped to create.”

Severus felt that he had said everything what was to be said. Yes, he wanted to say more. To say that he, too, was one of those on the side of good. That he had been fighting for good’s cause as hard, or even harder, than the rest of them. That he, too, deserved some honor. But he didn’t say anything. Who cares to listen about me? He knew it would sound shallow and inappropriate. And besides, he was used to being an outcast. He didn’t mind remaining one for the rest of his life, even despite his merits. It was the ones who were now in their graves who had to be honored and remembered. And Severus was prepared to do anything to keep their memory alive. Although I still think Lupin was a fifthly werewolf and less than a mediocre teacher.

He felt exhausted. Exhausted beyond recovery. All he wanted now was to descend to the merciful darkness of his dungeon and let it envelope him. But he knew he couldn’t afford such a luxury. Although his improvised speech was over, he promised Minerva to be at her side till the very end. Whatever it cost him. And what was more, Severus still had to speak to Harry when this is over here.

Rather than being fully aware of his movements, Severus felt himself leaving the platform. He also sensed all those gazes burning through his translucent skin and boring deep into his soul. He did not look left or right. As if in a dream he descended the three little steps back to the ground and was making his way through the chairs occupied by witches and wizards dressed almost unanimously in black. It seemed to him that some of them nodded their heads in his direction as if in approval. Approval of what? ran through Severus’ mind. Approval of me? Hardly possible. Severus was on the verge of collapsing.

It took all of his remaining strength to reach the seat he was heading for. He didn’t want to sit at the front anymore. Instead, he chose a seat at the farthest end where no one could see him. Although this meant having to pass through the whole assembly of mourners, Severus knew it was worth it.

When he reached the place, he couldn’t be more grateful for its seclusion. The chair was set a little apart from the rest. It was in the shadow of a magnificent tree. And so it provided Severus not only with shelter from any potentially vengeful witches or wizards but also from the sun, whose rays had been burning him since the moment he had set his foot outside on the grounds today.

With a sigh of relief he let his form collapse onto the chair. He knew he should be listening to what Minerva, who had replaced him at the platform again, was talking about, who she was addressing, which deeds she was commemorating, which condemning. Somehow, though, Severus couldn’t concentrate on Professor McGonagall’s voice. It was not that he couldn’t hear her. She seemed very serene and composed now and her voice was steady and firm. It was the old Minerva he had known for years. No, it was something else that was distracting Severus’ attention from the ceremony.

Soon, Minerva’s voice seemed as if it had trailed off and become a mere low murmur somewhere in the distance to Severus. He didn’t know what it was. Maybe the sun. Or the wind still gently blowing around his ears, or something else he couldn’t identify as yet. It must be the fatigue, he concluded.

Unable to see the source that was causing his surprising inability to pay attention, Severus let himself be wholly consumed by it instead. It didn’t take long and he found himself in an unexpected reverie. The time of the day remained the same, as well as the sun and the wind. What was different were the people around him. They appeared to have been covered by a fog, as if they had been hidden from Severus’ tired eyes. Or were his eyes just clouding over? He didn’t know. But he didn’t mind either.

All those around him gradually disappeared. Suddenly, Severus was alone. There was only him under the gigantic tree and his reverie. But wait. I’m not alone.

Indeed, there was something materializing in the fog. First, it was only a patch of a mildly darker spot roughly at the place where in the real situation Minerva was standing and talking. But as it was approaching the place Severus was sitting, it was gaining a more and more human form. The dark shade was ever-so-slowly turning into a radiating glowing spot of light. It was as if the person who was obviously moving in Severus’s direction was shining. Severus had a sensation of meeting the very embodiment of beauty. Beauty in its corporal form.

Though he still didn’t know who or what was walking towards him, Severus knew it was nothing sinister. Each pore of his mutilated body was yearning to touch the beautiful light as if it was to cure him from his maladies. His whole mind was screaming that it was goodness itself coming. Although the sun had been hurting his eyes only some minutes ago, they were apparently immune to this beautiful unknown light.

When it seemed to him that the light couldn’t be any stronger, it suddenly faded away. No. It didn’t fade away. It disappeared. As suddenly as it came into existence, it was gone. However, in its place there was a human figure, which Severus had felt had been there before. Her beautiful long red hair was gracefully falling to her shoulders. She was a young woman, walking slowly towards Severus. Her smile was mesmerizing and Severus couldn’t take his eyes from them. For him, she was positive energy in a human form. He felt so light and safe in the company of this as yet unknown being under the protective cover of the fog.

She was still too far away for Severus to be able to recognize her. What he was able to recognize, though, was the way he was feeling. There had been only one person in his whole life he had felt the same while around. And yes, now that the person was closer, Severus could also see her beautifully green eyes. But you can’t be . . ., he wanted to say. You’re . . . The Dark Lord k--, not even in his thoughts was he able to formulate the idea which had lost none of its pain.

“Lily . . .,” he breathed out.

Now the vision was very close and should Severus have wanted to he could have touched her. She was gradually slowing her pace and when she was right in front of the sitting Severus, she came to a halt. Severus had given up all attempts at addressing her. He was concentrating instead on perceiving her beauty. He was taking it in with all his might. Severus’s eyes became the gates through which Lily’s image was being etched onto his memory.

Her smile was never ceasing. She was just standing above Severus, looking at him as he was unable to move for fear she should disappear. He longed to touch her. To hold her tight and never let go. Yet, knowing that was impossible, he satisfied himself with merely watching. When he finally attempted to touch her, it was only thin air sliding between his fingers. But still, when Lily raised her hand and placed it tenderly on Severus’s cheek, he could swear he felt the warmth of her body.

He couldn’t bear the scene any longer. All he was longing for now was to close his eyes and let Lily’s hand rest on his face. He wanted to freeze this moment and to remain like that for the whole of eternity. And so close his eyes he did, like a cat one caresses behind its ears.

He knew he placed himself in danger of losing this tremendously beautiful vision, yet he kept his eyes closed. And yet, the moment he wasn’t looking at Lily, he also felt her touch disappear. With a start he opened his eyes again. As fast as his hurting body allowed him, Severus turned to see the graceful figure leaving the place. She was walking away from him, slightly swinging at her hips, the wind still playing with her red hair. She wasn’t looking at Severus any more.

Severus knew words would be useless. He refrained from calling her name out loud and contended himself with watching her slender figure disappear into nothingness. But before Lily’s vision, because what else than a vision could it have been, vanished completely, she turned to Severus for the last time. With a playfulness that according to Severus only she was ever able to muster, she raised her hand and waved to him. There was so much emotion in this one singular movement and the smile that accompanied it that Severus could easily drown in it, never having to reach the surface of reality again.

One more blink and she was gone, as was the fog. Severus was again surrounded by the groups of mourners. Only this time they were not sitting calmly in their seats but they were making their way through the grounds. The ceremony must have ended. It must have been hours I’ve been out, Severus thought when he finally did manage to perceive the world around himself again.

However, what he didn’t perceive or realize, was the smile that was playing around his lips, lighting up his face like never before. He didn’t look old or in pain any longer. Quite on the contrary, his face radiated utter content and happiness. It was as if Lily knew what I’m about to tell her son. As if she wanted to tell me she wholly approved of it. Severus couldn’t explain his unexpected experience in any other way. Or is she proud of what I’ve just done? Facing the mourners here? Not hiding anymore.

Severus was unaware of the smile or the contentment that was emanating from each line of his now tranquil face. The witches and wizards were slowly trailing away, apparently to be out of the bounds so that they could Apparate back to their homes. There had remained only a few of those who were still seated. When Severus focused his vision on his surroundings again he realized that one of those still in their chairs was looking in his direction.

It wouldn’t be anything extraordinary. After all, I’m a former Death Eater turned good, right? Or so they think, Severus couldn’t help a pinch of his old sarcasm. But no, it was different with this one witch who was observing him.

She had turned her whole body so that she could look straight at Severus. Is she actually smiling? Is she smiling at me? Severus was yet unaware of his own smile and so apparently an unknown witch smiling at him seemed wholly incomprehensible.

And then he saw it. It wasn’t an unknown witch! It was one of his former students. Actually, he had encountered her not so long ago. Vividly, Severus remembered the fear that engulfed him when he thought Lestrange’s curse had killed this very witch a few days ago. He also recalled the intense relief when he’d learnt Miss Granger was not dead. He could even remember the cover he conjured up for her and the way he looked at her when the battle was over.

What was more, the rays of the afternoon sun were playing in her hair and it seemed to Severus that suddenly it had the same color he was admiring a while ago at Lily. Also, Hermione must have had a pin entangled somewhere in her hair, as it was flashing shots of light now and then, blinding Severus’s sight. Could it be that I was looking at her? That I was actually seeing her and only then my dream came? No, it can’t be! Severus found himself at a loss. Why did she evoke the image of my beloved one?

At that very moment, Hermione nodded her head in the direction of her former Potions Professor and savior and turned back to Harry who was also still sitting by her. Severus was too weak and confused to make any sense of what he had just experienced. He didn’t know what to think or feel. All he knew was that he needed to speak with Harry, who seemed to be on the point of leaving.

As Harry rose from his seat and headed towards the gate, Severus followed suit. Doing so, Severus shrugged, to get rid of the confusion starting to gnaw on his mind. Why Miss Granger and Lily? Why was Miss Granger smiling at me? Only then did Severus realize that he was still sporting the enchanting smile which settled on his face with Lily’s appearance. Was I smiling back? Obviously, he thought with a slight pang of discontent.

Severus touched the place on his cheek where Lily’s hand had rested and set off towards her son. “Potter!” I may as well call him . . ., “Harry?” Severus uttered a little more uncertainly that he would like to have sounded, at which several of those still present turned. It seemed that Harry hadn’t heard he was being called.

Although he was aching again, Severus knew he had to keep up if he wanted to tell Harry about his parents. About James and Lily. About the last night I was with them. About James and how nice it was when . . ., “Harry?” Severus tried once again.

Harry stopped in his tracks and Severus was able to come up level with him. “Yes, Professor?” There was a slight trace of disbelief in Harry's voice.

“I would like to talk to you,” Severus paused, “Harry,” another pause, “about your parents,” he breathed out through the pain that was searing through his whole body again.


Thank you for reading! If you’ve enjoyed the chapter or if you haven’t, the feedback thread is ready for all your comments and suggestions. Thank you!

~Jana