Riverside Rescue

Author's Notes: Thanks to Arabella Bloodgood.

The problem with welcoming sleep through a draught was the difficulty in getting rid of that once-welcomed guest...it nullified the prospect of an alert awakening. A mind that had once gone from sleep-fogged to crystal-clear in an instant was quite put out by the lingering tendrils of drowsiness. Not only did he feel un-rested, but his mouth and throat were usually painfully dry, so he invariably was denied that wonderful option to slither back under the covers for the luxury of another ten minutes. Perhaps not so surprisingly, his temper was at its shortest first thing in the morning.

Slipping out from under the duvet, he padded into the bathroom, hissing out a curse as the horribly bright light-bulb blinked into life. Squinting, he gathered up one of the plastic beakers and ran the tap until cold water numbed his fingertips. Swapping fingers for cup, he part-filled it and fought the urge to guzzle down the cool liquid...guzzling led to pain and headaches; he sipped it carefully.

Walking back into the main room, he settled himself on the sofa, his eyes drawn over the back towards the window. Sunlight painted slivers of the walls and ceiling... long strokes of gold, hinting at a glorious autumn day beyond. Feeling the vestiges of frustration slip away, he watched the vague, criss-crossing shadows of branches moving beyond the curtain. Relishing the opportunity to indulge in laziness, Snape settled back against the arm of the settee.

In light of last night's conversation, he felt disinclined to trek to the mountain; the idea of bumping into Longbottom was quite disturbing. Instead, he recalled the leaflet's mentioning of the Aberglaslyn Pass, and as he had been enthralled by the photographs and descriptions of that beautiful gorge, he happily settled on harvesting there.

When the green segments on the clock flickered to eight, he felt some urgency stir him, and infused with enthusiasm, he prepared to start the day proper. Checking that all was in order, Snape left his room and headed for the reception. Hesitating at the dining room door, he convinced himself that buying something from a local bakery would be easier and strode out into the cold but dazzling day.

The local village was small and quaint. He had followed the river Glaslyn to the Gelert Memorial and read with some mild scepticism the story paying homage to that noble hound. He, too, had once felt the sting of a blade, but from two masters, and although he had survived both, he knew that neither would have mourned his passing.

Tourists stood to either side of him, photographing the monument and muttering about the beauty and the sadness of it all. Young children laughed and played some way off, kicking at piles of fallen leaves, and Snape felt that it was time to move on. Picking up his kit, he slipped the straps over his shoulder and made his way back along the river. By noon, he hoped to be on the Aberglaslyn Pass, so he made a detour to the local convenience store before leaving Beddgelert and heading south.

The leaflet had been eloquent but had failed to capture the beauty of the Pass. It was breathtaking! It was also delightfully lonely. Given the absolute glory of the place, Snape did not expect his lovely solitude to last, so he decided to settle upon a rounded boulder and just admire the view while he had the chance.

The shop had been quite well stocked, and Snape had purchased enough for a modest picnic of sorts. The thermos held some thick, chicken soup, and after a quick glance around, he heated the soup in the flask, enjoying the aroma wafting towards his nose. Dipping chunks of bread into the cup, he ate a sedate lunch. His mind, for all the distractions of the beauty spot, kept dallying over Neville, and he returned to his musings over what had troubled the young man. Neville had looked so dejected over his dessert.

It was known that Augusta Longbottom had died. The taciturn witch had drawn quite a crowd by all accounts, and despite her austere brusqueness, she had amassed a fair few mourners. The obituary had been as terse and unflinching as the woman herself, and he felt that she would have appreciated the severity and simplicity of it. But she was a proud woman, and the outpouring of grief and scale of the Wake would have secretly pleased her. He felt his lips curl up at the thought of her smug expression as she arranged her turkey-bedecked hat before going to give the gods a piece of her mind about the state of things.

It had been common knowledge that Neville had lived with his grandmother, and despite the early friction, after the Final Battle, they had been inseparable. Some hidden barrier had been broken down... Maybe Augusta had seen her son reborn in Neville; maybe she had accepted that her own son was lost to her and forgiven life for being so cruel. Her death had hit him hard, and Pomona had mentioned in the staffroom how she had worried about the now reclusive young man.

Snape idly massaged his sore throat as he recalled some of the overheard conversations she had had with Minerva and the others. Neville had withdrawn from everyone. Only his connection to Herbology had kept him tied to Pomona and a few other like-minded individuals. Whispered chats had revealed a man who was slipping away unnaturally, wallowing in some silent task that kept him too busy to answer the calls from friends and the invites for drinks and dinner. But then why had Neville been so eager to seek conversation with me, thought Snape with some bemusement.

Despite the chill in the air, the autumn sun warmed his face, and he felt a reluctance to start work. Damn McGonagall, he mused fondly as he settled against the rocks behind him, resting his head against his interwoven fingers rather than the cold rock. The ingredients can wait.

The breeze was enough to ghost over his exposed skin, and it carried with it the scent of heather and earth, the sound of the rushing water and tiny droplets to prickle his face; it carried the sounds of birds and whispering leaves. It brought him balms, and it lulled him into a doze.

~X~

Why was he doing this? Why?

The question fluttered in his head like a moth would batter at a lamp. Fighting nerves, excitement, confusion and urgency, he followed the distant, black form as it walked out of Beddgelert. He knew why, of course. He had spent all night pondering the idea; it had pestered him, keeping sleep away and promising all the things that he had crushed mercilessly to stop him going insane with the idea of accomplishing the impossible.

He had known the why of it when he had gathered up the black book and opened it with the idea to continue. He had known in that instant why he had called out to his former professor and asked him to join him for tea. It had just taken all night for him to realise and accept what it was that he had known: Snape could help me.

Neville hadn't known whether to laugh or cry at the idea. The man that had terrified and basically abused him during his school life was probably the only one with the knowledge and skill to help him with his self-imposed gargantuan task. The thought had made him nauseous and oddly ecstatic. So many had failed to help him in the past, building up his hopes only to leave him floundering in a worse position than when they had started. Could it be that the last person he'd think of to ask for help could be the only one to help him?

He really had no choice.

The task of following Snape, the master spy, had been incredibly hard. The man had spent his life looking over his shoulder for the one intent on stabbing him in the back, and here he was, the Herbology student whose only attempt at stealth was to sneak up on a vicious, tentacular plant to take one of its thorns. It was no idle stroll in the beautiful Welsh mountains for him, but a heart-in-mouth trek of sweat-inducing proportions. It was hellish. It didn't help that Snape seemed totally oblivious; he felt an ever-increasing certainty that he was being lulled into a false sense of security and a deadly trap. When Snape sat down to eat his dinner, Neville thought that he would have to scream out to disperse the inner terror.

Sitting on a small boulder on the opposite bank and hidden from view by a spinney, he watched Snape ease himself back on the large rock with what looked like contentment. Doubt flashed through Neville's mind; was that Snape or some cunning decoy? The tension was almost unbearable; how had Snape coped with this for years... no, decades!

Neville stiffened. He's fallen asleep! I don't believe it! he groused to himself, totally bewildered that the man could just fall asleep. Here he was, heart hammering, breath coming in rapid, strained puffs, and the man who should be in fear of his life had gone to sleep on a boulder. It beggared belief. Shifting his leg to ease the numbness and risk of pins-and-needles, Neville inhaled slowly and tried to relax. To distract himself, he studied the local flora, admiring the beauty and perfection of nature; nothing seemed as divine as the relationships inherent in nature, and it sometimes pained him that man...wizard and Muggle alike...were so keen to unbalance such a magnificent interplay. It was while admiring such interplay that he heard the unmistakable 'pops' of Apparating wizards.

Through the lattice of creaking branches, he saw four wizards approaching the slumbering and unaware wizard. He recognised the robes; they were Aurors. What would Aurors want with Snape after all this time? Snape had been cleared of all charges following the showing of Pensieve evidence, but the man had been held in Azkaban until the court dates had been arranged. If he recalled, the arrangements had dragged unnaturally. Easing forwards, he cast a charm to amplify what the Aurors were saying.

"Severus Snape!" barked out the Auror closest to the reclining man.

On jolting awake and seeing the wizards, Snape slowly lifted himself up into a sitting position, and Neville smirked at the impertinence that the man managed to express with his apparent lassitude in such a simple action.

"Yes?" queried Snape in that strained whisper of his.

"You were to report your location to the Ministry at all times, Snape," continued the closest of the wizards. The others spent their time studying Snape and the local environment.

Neville felt the hairs on the nape of his neck prickle to attention; something wasn't quite right.

"That is true," agreed Snape in a sibilant sigh. "But only when I was undertaking something... that wasn't part of school business."

"Sleeping on a rock in North Wales is part of school business, is it?"

The Potions master arched an eyebrow at the brusque inquisitor. "I am collecting ingredients and carrying out research... for the benefit of Hogwarts," he answered suavely. "Feel free to check with the Headmistress; Professor McGonagall not only sanctioned my excursion but ordered it. She posted the papers... to the Ministry the day before I left, as requested." He inhaled sharply and swallowed quickly. "The delivery owls that the Ministry have these days obviously need better encouragement, or maybe it's the Aurors who do?"

"You cocky shi..."

"Jenkins!" snapped out the Auror apparently in charge before turning back to Snape with a humourless grin. "Collecting ingredients? Research?"

"That's correct," Snape said with a smile. "The information-gathering skills of the Aurors are still top-notch, I see."

Neville couldn't help but grin even as two of the Aurors, who had been standing back, stepped closer to Snape.

"Very good, Snape," he chuckled generously. "Nice to see that you still have your sense of humour; many don't leave Azkaban with that intact, you know. Of course, it's not as bad in there now, what with that the Dementors still at large."

Neville was alarmed to see Snape pale and glance away. What had troubled him? The feeling that something was terribly wrong intensified, and he frantically thought of a way to help the suddenly stricken wizard.

"So, Snape," continued the Auror, "you do know that you were supposed to alert the Ministry to any little trips?"

"Yes," Snape admitted softly.

"And you didn't?" persisted the man maliciously while the others moved around to partially encircle Snape.

Neville's mind shut down and his legs took over. He stood, eased his way through the young trees and marched down the sharp incline towards the group. He had no idea what to do when he got down there, but he knew that he couldn't stay behind the spinney.

"You do know what that means, don't you?"

"It means that I have contravened the conditions of my release and am open to prosecution," Snape replied tonelessly.

"That's right, mate," said the Auror smarmily. "But we can dispense with that unpleasantness, can't we?"

Neville's footfall on the gravel caught their attention just as Snape started to sway ever so slightly.

"I say," Neville said with innocent brightness and cultivated naivety. "Is there a problem here, Aurors?" He walked past them and close to Snape, looking the stone-faced wizard directly in his depthless, black eyes. "My assistant and I were just about to gather some Pergatin spores for study." It was worth any amount of trouble to see the look on Snape's face. That look would keep him warm on cold nights when life was bearing down unfairly. The widening of the eyes at the use of 'assistant' was adorable, the sudden, underlying bitterness was expected, and the look of unveiled admiration at the mention of Pergatin spores was priceless; he'd enjoy it for years.

The Aurors reacted predictably and looked around nervously; Neville thought that he actually heard them hold their breath.

"Pergatin... here?" asked one of the Aurors nervously.

"Oh yes," confirmed Neville as he pulled off his rucksack and removed two masks that were a constant part of his Herbology field kit. He offered one to Snape, who smiled and accepted it as if he had been lying there merely waiting for Neville's return. "Professor Sprout has been concerned that the rise in growth in this area could seriously affect those wizards living close by," said Neville as though nothing worse than a class lecture was going on. The four Aurors grouped together and kept glancing around. "Oh, I wouldn't worry too much," soothed Neville. "I stimulated the mushrooms only a few minutes ago; I doubt that the spores will be this close just yet."

To highlight the lack of immediate threat, Snape and Neville quickly donned their masks and backed away towards the river.

"I guess," continued Neville with sympathy, his voice muffled and his grin hidden, "that you don't have the proper safety equipment to deal with this?" He pulled down the mask and walked over to the worried group. "Look, the mushrooms will open up and release the spores in a matter of seconds; why don't you go and check with the Ministry about that letter of authorisation, and if it is that my assistant has left without the proper documentation, then you can come back." He smiled and patted the nearest Auror on the shoulder, who promptly let out a shriek and started to cast all manner of Cleansing charms on himself. "We'll be here for the next few hours at least, collecting samples."

Neville grinned at them, feigned a look of worry as he seemed to notice something behind the huddled wizards and quickly repositioned his mask before backing away, making shooing gestures with his hands...at which time the Aurors cringed and Disapparated.

The 'pops' were as the tolling of bells, and Neville had that heart-stopping, chilling realisation that he was alone with a quite possibly very angry Professor Snape. He swallowed and wondered whether he should just Disapparate: forget his foolish notion and leave. Tugging the mask from his face, he bowed his head; he couldn't give up this chance. He'd never forgive himself. But he didn't dare to turn around.

A curious, wheezing sound caught his attention, and his first instinct was that Snape was choking. Turning on his heel, he saw Snape bent over, clutching at his throat, yanking off the mask and stumbling towards the rock that had been his impromptu bed. Concern overrode every other consideration, and he rushed forwards.

The second his hand clamped down on Snape's shoulder, the seemingly struggling wizard spun round and pushed him back against the rock. Momentarily dazzled by the man's startling reactions, Neville felt his senses realign uncomfortably. Snape was looming over him, his black eyes blazing, his lips pulled back and twitching, and more worryingly, the man had his cold fingers wrapped around his throat and his wand digging into the soft flesh under his jaw. Not to mention that the boulder was cold and dug painfully into his back as Snape used his weight to trap him against it.

Daring not to swallow, Neville kept still as Snape's eyes bored into his and his rapid breaths brushed over his face. Snape shifted his stance, and the wand tip dug in deeper, making him gasp out as the pain radiated out. He also realised that he had grabbed hold of Snape's arm and waist to support himself as he had fallen backwards; he now didn't know whether to let go or keep hold.

"Assistant?"

Neville blinked and licked his lips nervously. "It was all I could think of," he croaked out as Snape's eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry."

"Colleague? Co-worker? Associate?" Snape countered in a tight whisper. "Not one of those terms popped into your head as you rushed to save me?"

"Erm, no," he admitted, but some anger began to stir in his gut, dispelling the unease and mild fear. "And to be honest, I doubt that they would have responded well to me calling you anything other than assistant... sir!" he added pointedly. "And you're welcome."

"Welcome for what?" Snape asked softly while staring expressionlessly down at him.

"For me rushing to save you," quipped Neville.

Those dark eyes widened again, and Neville wished that he could fathom what was going on behind those onyx shards. The recent event had stirred up so many potent questions. What had those Aurors been here for; what had they been referring to? And why had the wizard who had had the guts to stand against Voldemort been terrified by the prospect of going with them?

"Pergatin spores?" queried Snape after an uncomfortable pause.

Neville was about to protest about his creativity being questioned again when he saw the corner of his interrogator's mouth twitch; as it blossomed into a smirk, Neville felt a wave of relief rush up and the pressure around his throat lessen.

Snape still held him with that indecipherable gaze of his, and somehow, it held him more securely than the fingers and wand tip had. The power of it was enough to keep Neville in place even though Snape had moved away. After a few more seconds, Neville pushed himself away from the unforgiving rock and took a step towards the unforgiving man.

"I thought that the idea of a spore capable of rendering a wizard both impotent and a Squib would have made them think twice about lingering," Neville said quietly, inwardly cringing at the questioning hint in his voice: as if he needed Snape's approval!

Snape nodded and replaced his wand in his inner breast pocket. "It was a remarkably effective and imaginative tactic, Mr Longbottom. Thank you for the rescue and the fond memory," he whispered.

A sudden thought wormed its way into Neville's thinking, and his stomach churned unpleasantly. "The Ministry does have the correct paperwork, doesn't it? The letter that the Headmistress sent?"

Snape looked back at him, his eyebrow arched delicately. "Following Ministerial dictates to the letter has become a hobby of mine, Mr Longbottom," he said bitterly. "The Ministry has the relevant letter seeking authorisation for me to be at large. Your act of heroism will not go down in the annals of foolhardiness."

Neville inhaled to argue that that wasn't exactly what he had meant, but before his words formed on his tongue, he caught sight of Snape's smirk. Snape just teased me? he pondered incredulously. And thanked me! Despite his best efforts, he felt himself flush.

"Care to tell me what you were doing?" Snape questioned.

"The Somnalium on the mountain was..."

"Please, Mr Longbottom," Snape interrupted, some of the old anger that Neville remembered from lessons flaring in that struggling voice. "I may not be all that I was, but my intelligence has not suffered; do not insult it!"

"I followed you," Neville admitted sanguinely. If the hammer was to fall, then he would like to know when and why. Besides, Gran had always said that there were times when it was daft not to be honest.

Snape blinked. It was unnerving to think that he had been followed by someone like Longbottom without noticing. Were his skills slipping? Would the killing blow be as swift and unseen? Suddenly, he felt incredibly foolish and vulnerable.

"To what end, Longbottom?" he snapped out, instantly regretting it as his throat tightened painfully.

Good question! thought Neville.

"Out with it, boy!" Snape hissed.

All doubts and all hesitation fled. The insult cut deep. Stepping forwards, Neville looked down upon Snape, who was a good few inches shorter and sneered. It was so odd that he was still afraid of Snape. He had stood before the Dark Lord and beheaded Nagini and yet, only his anger gave him the strength to be this close to Snape and not tremble.

"Boy?" he replied softly. "I haven't been a boy since you let the likes of the Carrows into the school, Headmaster!" he spat out, deriving some comfort from the way that Snape paled and flinched. The rest of him was caught between fury and fear. Fury just because; it had no real reason to exist anymore, and fear because his fury was charging and battering at what control he had.

He knew that it was stupid to stay. His anger had always been something to hide and keep under control; he'd never let it get so out of control before, but with Snape standing in front of him, it thought that it had found a viable target, and it gnashed at its muzzle. Neville inhaled slowly and closed his eyes, trying to shove the beast back into its kennel. It had emerged after the Final Battle, growing more discontent as time wore on, until it thrashed around on a daily basis; his grandmother had seen it, and she had tried to banish it. She had been successful to a point, but the anger lurked, always waiting for its moment to leap.

Snape had been exonerated; he knew that, and as more information had come to light, the surviving members of the Order had grown to realise just how crucial Snape had been and how much the man had suffered. But his wrath didn't care! It saw the Death Eater bastard who had walked past him and sneered when Madam Pomfrey had shown him the wounds inflicted by Alecto Carrow. It saw the man who had ignored the fact that the school had lived in fear. It saw the wizard that had allowed children to be treated as prisoners.

Neville, however, saw Severus Snape.

~X~

Snape waited for fifteen minutes before deciding that Neville wasn't coming back. It hadn't taken a Legilimens to see that something had been awakened in the young man. It hadn't taken a Legilimens to see that the thing was dangerous. The anger and hate had twisted Neville's face into something almost demonic: mad and vicious. The battle to rein it in had taken a toll on the man; Snape knew how anger could eat away and devour all the joy and passion of life, leaving a cold and bitter shell. It seemed horrific that such a thing should happen to Longbottom.

It was as he repacked his rucksack that a flash of light caught his attention, and he looked over his shoulder to see a silver hare sit on its haunches and cock its head towards him.

"It seems that the paperwork is in order, Snape," snapped out the hare in the bitter voice of the Auror that had menaced him earlier. "Next time, make sure that you get a reply before taking a jaunt... so as not to inconvenience your superior."

Snape sneered at the Patronus and ignored the sniggering. Not waiting to see if the hare had gone, he put on his pack and left.

The walk back wasn't as sedate as the one in; his mind was in a whirl over his encounter with Neville. What was bothering the young wizard? What had compelled him to follow Snape? The emotions surging within Neville had surprised Snape; he hadn't thought that Neville had had such feelings within. Snape would admit...to himself and no one else...that the Neville from his teaching days had had reserves of strength and character that had earned a kind of admiration from Snape, and to think that Neville was struggling in controlling his emotions now was quite alarming. What was going on inside the young man's head? It didn't settle his nerves that he could very well find out in a few hours... They shared the same hotel, after all.