Chapter 2

***

Part II

***

The Following Week

"Professor, if you're ready ..." Harry said, holding out the older man's cloak. Ron and Hermione stood next to Madam Pomfrey, who was giving them last-minute instructions on how best to deal with Severus' condition.

"Well, well, Potter. Never thought I'd see the day when you'd be so anxious to welcome me into your home," Severus muttered. "And seeing as how I am no longer your or any other student's professor ..."

"Of course, sir. Right, sir," Harry said, anxious to correct himself. Ever since having seen Severus' memories in the Pensieve during the battle only to discover that the man had somehow survived, he had fallen over himself to help his former nemesis in any way possible. He had been well and truly distraught to have been pulled away from Snape's bedside so quickly, and had made Hermione promise to stay with the man as much as she was able until such a time as he was well enough to recuperate in the more comfortable and more private Grimmauld Place. Luckily enough, Harry and a few of the surviving Order members had been able to get the house cleaned up and warded several days before Madam Pomfrey had given her reluctant permission for Severus to leave her care. She had made sure that everyone who had access to the house – Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Professor McGonagall, to start – had received a thorough lecture not only on Severus' potions regimen, but on what to do should he seize in their presence. Fortunately, she had had the foresight not to do so within earshot of the man himself, who would have been furious at their intimate knowledge of his physical condition, regardless of whether it was for his own good.

Seeing the eager look on the young man's face, Severus inhaled swiftly through his nose and exhaled slowly. Surely his time as Voldemort's lackey would not prove to be such a tribulation as living with Potter, he thought. "Actually, Potter, before we retire to your ... charming ... home, there is one thing I would like to do."

Minutes later, he found himself – accompanied by Ron and Professor McGonagall – just outside the Headmaster's chambers. "I don't suppose I could have a few moments alone?" he snipped.

"Sure, Prof – sir," Ron said. "But won't you need some help up the stairs?"

Severus sniffed. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he knew he was not yet fit enough to climb those twisted stairs by himself. However, the former Headmaster was not about to accept physical assistance from anyone that wasn't absolutely necessary. "Thank you, Mr. Weasley, but I'm afraid that won't be required." Pulling his wand out of his sleeve, he cast a quick charm, and the heavy stone staircase began to spiral upward. Stepping on, he smirked as he rode into his old quarters.

Once in the room, though, his smirk disappeared, replaced by an expression that was weary, pained, so utterly un-Snape. From out of the corner, he heard, "Oh, my dear boy," and Severus slumped to the floor, consumed by a great wracking sob.

"How?" He managed to croak out. "It was so easy for you to send Potter off to his death. Merlin's beard, Albus, I sent him off. Like a piece of meat!"

"Yes, Severus, you did. You knew, as I did, that it was the only way to render Voldemort mortal again." Dumbledore's voice softened. "We had no choice, Severus. You had no choice."

"I know that, Albus! I just – it was much easier when I thought I'd never have to see him again. He'd be dead, and if luck was with me, so would I." Severus said.

"Oh, Severus," Dumbledore sighed. "I must admit, I held very little hope that you would survive, but I cannot begin to tell you how happy I am that you did. Your life is once more your own, after all these years. You're free."

"Free. Always that bloody accursed word, free," Severus spat, rising to his feet angrily. "I shall never be free, Albus. I may not have to answer to the Dark Lord anymore, and you no longer have me in your thrall, but what freedom do I have? To hide until the Ministry decides I'm one of the goodies? We know how that worked out for Black, don't we?" he sneered. "And where am I to go until that blessed day? To Saint Potter's house, to be smothered by his little case of hero worship? Or perhaps I could leave the country, hmm? It's not like I would be missed overmuch!" His last words came out in a spittle-flecked hiss.

Albus sighed heavily. "My boy, the burdens you have been asked to bear – I will be the first to admit that I have not always made your journey easy, but this, this is the end toward which we have worked all these years! Voldemort is gone, Severus. The future may be difficult for you, but at last, it is up to you and you alone as to how you choose to face it."

"I don't want to choose anymore, Albus! I just want –" he stopped, gasping for air.

"What, Severus?" Dumbledore whispered.

"I don't know," Severus whispered back. He stood in the middle of the room, staring off into space, for what felt like ages. Finally, with a quick breath and a shake of his head, he wiped his eyes and straightened his clothes. Nodding at Dumbledore's portrait, he turned to leave.

As he stepped onto the still-moving staircase, he heard Dumbledore behind him, saying, "I'm always here if you need me, Severus." Shaking, he barely noticed when Ron took his arm and led him back to the infirmary.

***

That evening found a very distressed Severus Snape sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of tea with a large drop of brandy in it.

Upon arriving at Grimmauld Place by Floo earlier that day, he had almost immediately seized, this time rather badly. Harry had almost had a fit himself, falling over himself in his efforts to make Severus comfortable, but Ron had been the one to turn him over to his side and keep him from choking. After Severus' seizure had passed, Ron and Harry got him onto the couch while Hermione double-checked his potions schedule.

"He's on track with all of his medications," Hermione read from Madam Pomfrey's color-coded list. "He's supposed to take a Calming Draught once in the morning and once before bed, plus a vial of Blood Replenisher to help his body replace what he lost – that one is only for one more week – and this one, an antivenin, once a day." Madam Pomfrey had explained that she thought that Snape's seizures were being caused by a buildup of snake venom; while the coagulant and blood-replenishing potions that he had taken had saved his life, they had also had the misfortune to trap enough of the snake's venom in his body and re-circulate it throughout his entire body. But she thought that a few weeks of increasingly smaller doses of antivenin would soon rid his system of the toxins, thus stopping the seizures. One week was too soon to tell, but this last seizure of his had certainly been the worst thus far, Hermione thought to herself.

Worried, she looked at Severus, laying on the couch underneath an afghan that Harry had raced to get for him. His face was pale and drawn; he looked exhausted. From watching him in the infirmary, she knew that even while unconscious, his seizures took a lot out of him. He'd probably be asleep until dinner, if not the morning, by the looks of that one. Tucking the blanket around his torso, she motioned her friends into the kitchen.

"How does he look, Hermione?" Harry asked anxiously. "Is he alright? Should I Floo Madam Pomfrey?"

Hermione sighed, sitting at the table. "I'm not sure, actually. I mean, I saw him have a few seizures in the infirmary, but that one was definitely far worse."

"D'you think maybe the Floo set him off?" Ron asked. "It does spin you around awfully, and the flashing lights probably didn't help."

"Bloody hell, I should have thought of that," Harry said angrily. "I could have brought him here by Portkey, or even the Knight Bus or something."

"Harry, relax," Hermione said. "Ron's suggestion is a smart one, but it's just a suggestion. We don't know for sure that the Floo triggered it, and if it did, then a Portkey or Apparition or any other mode of transportation could have done the same thing."

Harry pulled out a chair and slumped into it morosely. Ron cast a curious glance at him, then turned his attention back to Hermione. "If that was the worst one yet, should we expect that they'll keep worsening?"

"I don't know, Ron. Obviously, I'm not exactly a trained mediwitch," she replied cautiously. "But something just doesn't seem to be right. If the potions that Madam Pomfrey has been giving him were working, then clearly you'd expect that his seizures would be lessening, not the opposite. Still, he's in a brand new place, and I'm sure that a bit of rest can't hurt. Let's give him a few days to adjust to his new home, and if they keep getting worse, then we can have her here in a tick for a check-up."

"Sounds reasonable to me," Ron agreed. "Harry? You alright?"

Harry thumped his fist on the table. "It's not fair. After all he's been through, after all he's done for me, and all I can do is sit here and watch him jerk about on the floor. He shouldn't have to go through that. He shouldn't have to hurt more."

"No one's arguing that he should, mate, but unfortunately there's nothing that any of us can really do at the moment, except keep an eye on him and make him as comfortable as we can," Ron rebutted.

Harry grunted, tapping his fingernails on the tabletop restlessly. "Well, there might not be anything I can do about his fits, but I can make damn sure that people know about who he is and what side he really fought for. The Ministry –"

"The Ministry is in a bit of a shambles right now, mate," Ron said. "Don't know as they're in much of a position to get anything accomplished right now, even for you, Harry. Give it time. It'll all sort itself out, I know it."

The three of them sat around the table for some time, lost in their own private thoughts. Eventually Hermione was the one to break the silence. "What are we going to do about tomorrow, then?"

"The funeral, you mean," Harry said.

"Funeral?"

The voice came from the doorway. Startled, the three whipped their heads around in an almost-comical unison. If Severus' head hadn't been fit to burst, he might almost have laughed.

Harry jumped up and grabbed the man's arm, leading him to a chair at the table. "Here," he said, grabbing him a glass of water, "are you thirsty? Can I get you some tea, toast?"

"Relax, Potter." Severus exhaled as he sat down gingerly. "I didn't come here to fall apart in your kitchen."

"No, just the living room," Ron chuckled quietly.

"Ron!" Harry and Hermione hissed at him simultaneously.

"Well, he did," Ron said under his breath.

"Ten points to Gryffindor for Mr. Weasley's keen and insightful observation," Severus snidely rejoindered.

"Look, Sn- sir, there's no need for hostilities. We're all concerned for you, and seeing as how you'll be living here for the ... well, for the time being, it might be nice if we could make an attempt at civility," Ron said reasonably.

"Very well. Seeing as how you have so graciously opened up your home to me in my time of need, I shall take it upon myself to act with equal grace," Severus replied, entirely unconvincingly.

Ron cracked a grin. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" But catching Harry's set jaw and Hermione's stern glare, he sat back in his chair and waved them on.

"I believe someone mentioned a funeral tomorrow?" Severus continued, sipping at his water.

"Sir," Hermione ventured, "tomorrow's the funeral. For everyone."

Everyone. Severus knew there had been casualties, of course. It was war. There were always casualties, in the plural, never just one. "Who?"

The three of them exchanged glances with one another before Harry replied. "Professor Moody. Professor Flitwick. Colin Creevey. Lavender Brown. Remus Lupin and Tonks." At their names, Harry sucked air through his teeth, blinking, but continued the litany. "A bunch of Aurors. Several of the townspeople from Hogsmeade. A few other students. Those are just the ones we know about. There are still a few people missing."

"And of course the Death Eaters were taken care of already – none of them receive a proper burial tomorrow," Ron explained.

"Oh, Mr. Weasley?" Severus interjected in a deceptively calm tone. "And exactly what happened to them?"

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Suddenly the three of them felt like first-years in Potions class again, as Severus turned his black gaze on each of them in turn. Finally, Hermione answered, "We're not entirely sure, sir. We know that –"

"Hermione," Ron whispered warningly.

She gave him a look that brooked no argument, and continued, "We know that Kingsley Shacklebolt and some of his Aurors were put in charge of collecting Death Eaters after the battle."

"Dead ones, Miss Granger, or survivors?" Severus interrupted smoothly.

"Both, sir," Hermione replied quietly. "We're not sure exactly where the survivors went, but ... no one's seen them since."

"They certainly weren't brought to Hogwarts." Ron picked up Hermione's line of thought.

"When we found Kingsley on the grounds, he was with Lucius Malfoy's – with his body," Hermione said.

Severus started at the name. Of course Lucius would have gotten himself caught in the crossfire, he thought to himself with a little less malice than usual.

Hermione continued. "He was ... just sort of nudging him with his boot. We didn't stay with him long enough to find out what happened."

"We didn't want to," Harry said. "The look on his face ... we knew we couldn't let him find you – your body. Whatever they were doing to them, you didn't deserve that."

"How touching," Severus drawled. "Potter to the rescue again." Harry looked at him with a pained look on his face.

"Sir, we just wanted to make sure you were safe. That you would receive the funeral and the recognition that you deserved, not – not desecration by those you actually fought with, not against," Harry pleaded.

"As you can clearly see, I no longer require a funeral," Severus snarled. "And as for recognition," the older man spat, "I don't plan on holding my breath, and as much as I would like to advise you otherwise, I am forced to suggest that you do the same."

"Prof – sir," Hermione said, "We will make sure that everyone knows about your true loyalties. It's just that –" she paused and looked at her best friends. "Well, the Ministry, obviously, is in a right state at the moment. Half of its main members either died or – or disappeared. We haven't had a Minister for Magic in weeks."

"Dad's been working hard trying to pull things together, but it's hard work sifting through the rubble," Ron continued. "Everything has to be redone – filling positions, redoing paperwork, rebuilding the building ..."

"But that won't stop us, sir," Harry said earnestly. "Once everything's back in place, once everything's running the way it ought to be, we'll make sure that your name is cleared. I swear it."

Severus cleared his throat. "And exactly what should I do in the meantime, Mr. Potter?"

"Oh, don't worry, sir," Harry leapt to explain. "You're welcome here as long as you want. As long as it takes. My home is your home too. You're safe here – the building has been re-warded. No one can come in without my permission, so you don't have to be concerned about anyone else finding out about you."

"Anyone ... else," Severus said thoughtfully, hands clenching on the table. "Who, if I might ask, knows that I am still alive?"

"Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall, of course," Ron said.

"And Ginny, and Hagrid," Hermione added. "That's pretty much the lot, at least for now."

"It's just not safe yet to tell more people, sir," Harry said. "Not until we know who the new members of the Ministry will be. I don't think we can trust Kingsley, not just yet."

"And Mum and Dad would be happy to know you're alive," Ron said, "well, once we told them about the real you. It's just that until we know who's who around the Ministry, Dad knowing about you might do more harm than good."

Severus took several deep breaths. Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth, he thought. "Allow me, if you will, to summarize my situation, then," he spoke after a minute. "I managed to save myself from certain death only to find myself imprisoned here, with only the three of you and the occasional other unwanted visitor for company, until such time as someone, as yet unknown, obtains the proper authority to proclaim me worthy of rejoining a society that, as of right now, neither knows nor cares that I still breathe."

Hermione and Ron glanced at each other, then lowered their gazes to the tabletop. But Harry implored, "No, sir, you don't understand. We – I care that you survived, and I still have the Pensieve memories. Once everything's back in order, we'll make sure that everyone knows the truth! You'll see, sir – everyone will understand what you did, and you'll be given a hero's welcome!"

"Oh, just what I've always wanted, Potter – for the majority of wizarding society to know about my innermost secrets," Severus mocked. "That, I promise you, will not happen. If that is what my 'hero's welcome' will cost, then I refuse to pay it."

"It's alright, sir. We'll find a way. You'll see. One day, everyone will know the truth about you," Harry said intensely.

"Leave me," Severus whispered. The three of them didn't budge. "Get out!" he shouted, fists banging the table. Hermione looked at the other two and nodded toward the door. Silently, the three filed out. Ron and Harry made their way upstairs to bed without a word, but Hermione paused by the doorway. Out of Severus' line of vision, she stood watching him. He looked ... drained, she thought, and not just physically. As much as he tried to pretend, he just wasn't the same Severus Snape. The fire was gone.