Negotiations

"Miss Flamel?"

It took a minute for Attica to register the presence of another person in the room. But when she did, her head snapped up from her hands. She stared at the man in front of her, taking in the sullen expression partly hidden behind a curtain of black hair.

Snape.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice sounded tired and was still raspy from disuse.

Her demeanor seemed to surprise him. He was undoubtedly expecting her usual snark in response, but she was too weary to deliver it.

"I came to see how you are faring," he said slowly, gauging her reaction. He searched her gaze and stepped closer to her as one would approach a wounded animal. His look was part concern and part wariness. She did not concern herself with trying to determine which part was greater.

Attica scoffed. "Obviously I am doing wonderfully, Snape. Can't you tell?" She could almost see her red-rimmed eyes, her blotchy, tear-stained face, and her mutinous hair reflected in his black eyes. "You seem to have fared far better, though." She nodded toward him, indicating that his crisp new robes and boots had not gone unnoticed.

"I do not want to be in possession of anything remotely reminiscent of Voldemort," he shrugged. "I got rid of everything he gave me. At least everything that can be removed." Attica's right hand immediately sought her left forearm, and she stroked the soft cotton of her sleeve where it covered her Dark Mark.

"I see. And of course you wanted to groom yourself for your big heroic debut, yes?" She nodded to the newspaper lying on the step beside her. The Daily Prophet had been hailing Snape as a tragic hero.

Attica had never questioned the motivation behind Severus Snape's actions. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was truly loyal to Dumbledore. She had heard him warn the old wizard that the Death Eaters were coming the night they had come searching for the instructions to the Stone. He could just as easily have led the Death Eaters in Dumbledore's capture that night. And then, when he had remained silent upon her entrance into Voldemort's ranks, her suspicions concerning his loyalty had been solidified. He was the only Death Eater who had failed to congratulate her.

And now she knew why he had been protecting Harry Potter. It was for the sake of a woman who had been dead for more than sixteen years, and he had been doing it from inside the Dark Lord's inner circle.

He had played his role flawlessly for so many years, and she had been the only one to truly figure out where his allegiance belonged. Now, the entire Wizarding World knew the whole story. Potter, believing Snape to be dead, insisted on the "real story" being told. Now, Snape was being portrayed in the Daily Prophet as a lovelorn man whose anguish over losing Lily Evans had driven the actions that led to the salvation of the entire Wizarding world. For had it not been for Severus Snape, they all would have been doomed.

But even in her grief-stricken madness, Attica had been able to find mirth in the embarrassment evident on Snape's face when he was spotted emerging from the Forbidden Forest the day after the final battle and was faced with an onslaught of questions pertaining to lost love and his "heart-breaking quest for redemption." The photos depicting this embarrassment had brought Attica the only semblance of a positive emotion since she had arrived at the empty manor.

Snape shifted where he stood and pursed his lips. "Rita Skeeter is an abominably conniving woman who will stop at nothing to convince the masses of anything that will force them to purchase a copy of the revolting piece of garbage she calls a newspaper. And if people are thick enough to believe the lies she feeds them, then their opinions really are of no worth," he said, crossing his arms. It seemed to Attica that his indignant response should be accompanied by a stomp of his foot. For one brief moment, she tried to picture the surly man before her as a surly child crossing his arms when he didn't get his way. She couldn't do it.

"I have always known you to be a private man, Snape," Attica said. "Who knew that you were itching to have your story told so badly that you gave Potter, of all people, those memories? I have to admit, I'm a little affronted. I thought we were closer than that. I always fancied that when you grew weary of keeping so many secrets and felt that you had to break down and tell them to someone, that you would come to me. But it seems that Harry Potter is more worthy of your trust."

His eyes hardened and all traces of wariness vanished. She quickly averted her gaze. She had not meant to sound so petulant, but once she had started, the words had all come tumbling out in a rush. She was loathe to admit it, but the words she had painted with sarcasm rang true. She had been shocked to discover these snippets of his past among the pages of the Daily Prophet. He had told her little about himself during their time together, but what he had revealed to her had been telling. She also knew that he was privy to much more about her own life than she had learned about his. He had been there when her world had collapsed, and he had helped her to slowly rebuild it. Knowing that he had shared these private memories with Potter and not with her had only fueled her hatred for the boy. But then she quickly reminded herself of the secret she had been keeping from him and tried to bury the feelings of betrayal.

Attica could tell she had hit a nerve. "Miss Flamel, had I known that I was not breathing my last breath, I can assure you, I would have given Potter nothing but the information he absolutely needed to defeat the Dark Lord."

"Do you regret it?"

There was a slight pause. "Regret what, exactly?"

"Spilling all your dirty secrets to Potter," she clarified.

He did not answer her inquiry, but instead straightened his posture, seeming to weigh his words before he spoke them.

"I am, as you say, a private man. I was not prepared for the delicacies of my past to be blatantly plastered on the front pages of the newspapers by people who think they know me without ever having had a conversation with me." His black eyes met Attica's and under his scrutiny, she slowly got to her feet and prayed that her legs wouldn't fail her. He had already seen her weeping like a child. She didn't want to forfeit any more of her pride in his presence.

"Potter appears regretful as well. He's looking for you, you know. He wants to make amends, I daresay," she offered.

Snape nodded curtly. "I do not want his apologies. He defeated the Dark Lord. That is enough. I would rather be left in peace. It is becoming increasingly difficult to dodge his sorrowful accolades and the nuisance that is Rita Skeeter."

"Oh, the burden of the celebrity," she gushed sarcastically, pushing her unruly curls from her face.

His jaw tightened. "I did not come here to listen to your snide comments, Miss Flamel," he said coldly.

Attica crossed her arms over her chest. "Then what do you want?"

"I came to thank you," he said simply.

She was taken aback by his sudden show of thoughtfulness and remained silent.

"I have never been one to overlook a kindness. I am well aware that I owe my survival to your actions in the Shrieking Shack," he said in a quiet voice. He studied the cuff on his right wrist before seeking out her eyes with his own. "I am also aware that my injuries were so severe that a mere murtlap and Mortemque treatment would not have sufficed. Those were the only healing potions I had in my possession that night."

She sniffed, breaking her gaze from his and looking away. "Then I guess you are far luckier than you believe."

"No, I am not. Luck had nothing to do with it." Snape studied her face. "You gave me Elixir. I was not aware any still existed in the world, but I am certain that Elixir is the only substance capable of reviving me after the injuries I sustained. Nothing else would have responded to Nagini's venom. And your grandparents being who they were, it wasn't hard to come to a viable conclusion."

Attica shrugged. "There is no more, if that's what you're after. My grandfather gave me one vial, and I used it on you. It's not as if I know how to create more," she said solemnly.

But if I could, my wand would become so much stronger. I would become so much stronger, she added silently.

"Of course you can't. I don't expect you to," Snape said, shaking his head. "Your grandfather was a brilliant alchemist. It would be impossible for even the most talented Potions Master to recreate the Stone from scratch without any residue," he said curtly. "I simply came to offer you my thanks. I greatly appreciate that you used the last of the substance to save me. It was completely undeserved, and I cannot fathom how I can ever repay you. But I do realize the weight of what you have done for me. I need you to know that."

The emotion in his voice was enough to render Attica speechless, but something Snape had said was echoing in the back of her mind.

Residue. Snape had said that the Stone could be remade using residue. Was there enough left in the vial? Could it be possible?

Assuming that Attica was going to make no attempt to reply, he had turned toward the door.

"Wait!" Attica took a few steps toward Snape and reached for his arm. He turned his face to her, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Help me recreate the Stone."

He issued a bark of laughter, but the desperation in her eyes quickly dissolved the sound.

"It is impossible. Your grandfather was the only person who knew how to produce it." He eyed the pale fingers grasping his arm.

"If anyone can figure it out, it would be you."

"Flattery will not do you any good..."

She waved her free hand to dismiss whatever he was about to say.

"You said it could be recreated if there was residue. What if I had residue? Then could you do it?" She tugged on the chain around her neck, pulling the vial from where it hung under her shirt. He was silent, so she continued. "The Elixir was in this vial from the time I received it from my grandfather until I used it to revive you. There should be enough residue left to recreate the stone. Right? We have a chance, don't we?"

It seemed to pain him to see her this way. She was usually so controlled and impassive, but in that moment, her eyes were wild and beseeching.

"Even if it is possible, it could take months or even years to get results. People have wasted entire lifetimes brewing and rebrewing in fruitless efforts to find just the right combination of ingredients to yield the Sorcerer's Stone."

"I don't know about you, but I don't have any urgent plans in the next few years. You are trying to escape from the public eye, and I can offer you refuge," she proclaimed, looking up into his face.

Although he had stood beside her on countless occasions, he had never noticed how small she truly was. "My father's potions lab has been well maintained over the years and is fully stocked. It is here for your unlimited use, if you agree to help me. You could even continue your research here when we have finished, if you wish. I can procure whatever supplies you will need."

She could see him considering the few options she knew he had. He could stay with her or he could... what? Go back to Spinner's End and await the next wave of reporters who were undoubtedly staking out the place? Or worse, Potter himself might show up to offer his meaningless apologies.

"I do not think it is wise," he said finally, gently tugging his arm from her grasp. "Good day, Miss Flamel. And thank you again."

She could not let him leave. With his help, her possession of the Stone would no longer be outside the realm of possibility.

She dropped her hand and decided that the best course of action was to target his honor. "You wanted to know how to repay me for saving your life. This is it. Help me. No questions asked. If it doesn't work, you can leave. No debts left to repay."

Snape looked surprised. He studied the young woman before him, silently appraising her. She locked eyes with him for a long moment before he spoke.

"Very well, Miss Flamel," he exhaled. "Show me to the lab."