Chapter 5

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, would I be writing fanfiction?

Chapter 5

I did not see Minerva again until I stood before the gates of Hogwarts, waiting for her to let me in as an official sign that I was once again welcome here. If I so desired, I am sure that I could have walked onto the grounds, the restrictions of the wards set by Albus met. But I felt like a stranger, although I had only been gone for three months.

The gates opened at Minerva's approach, sweeping the snow on the ground aside as they did.

"Welcome home, Severus. Exactly why you wanted me to meet you out here in the cold is beyond me. Did you forget how cold winter in Scotland is?"

I flushed. It was true that my travels had taken me to warmer climes, but perhaps I could make amends for dragging Minerva out into the cold. "I thought a drink either in The Three Broomsticks or The Hog's Head would suit."

Minerva gave me a sceptical look, but accepted my excuse. One of the privileges granted to the Head of the school was the ability to whistle up a thestral-drawn carriage instantly, allowing us a more comfortable journey to Hogsmeade.

After the promised drink, Minerva couldn't hold in the question she had obviously wanted to ask since I had arrived. "I hope you are more at peace now. Have you at least learned what the concept of it is?"

"In a way. Although I doubt I have to the satisfaction of most people."

"I have known you since you started your education at Hogwarts, Severus. I would not expect anything else of you."

I drained my second glass of Ogden's best. "Promise me something."

"Within reason, I will. I'm not about to enter into a suicide pact with you."

I glowered at her. Minerva had the memory of an elephant; she would never let me forget such unfortunate statements as being unable to be at peace unless I was dead. "Just promise me that you will keep away any misguided fools hoping to 'ease my pain' by replacing Hermione. My actions resulting from such a situation would be unfortunate."

"I will do my best, although you should be warned that Narcissa Malfoy has been asking after you."

"I thought you loathed Narcissa," I stated, puzzled that Minerva should be in possession of such knowledge.

"There is such a thing as gossip. There are also at least two gossip mongers resident at Hogwarts." She gave no names, but I was well aware of who those gossips were. Between Hooch and Filch, it was a wonder that there were any secrets left in the wizarding world.

"At least I know to avoid Narcissa like the dragon pox now."

Minerva wished me luck, while exchanging a knowing look with me. We both knew that Narcissa was all but impossible to avoid. I might manage it for a few more months, but sooner or later she would catch up with me. Now that Lucius was dead, however, she would face an unpleasant surprise. I no longer had a reason to be civilised; it was time to introduce Widow Malfoy to the real Severus Snape, terror of the Hogwarts dungeons. Unfortunately, knowing my luck, dear Narcissa would be unfazed. She doubtless knew that I was 'not myself', lost in grief. Plus she had known Voldemort. Compared to the late Dark Lord, I was not so scary.

For a Gryffindor, Minerva was fairly good at keeping her face clear of emotion. As a Slytherin, I am adept at reading into such attempts. I could tell that she was all but biting her tongue to keep from saying anything that I might take offence to, like resigning myself to bachelorhood. I suspect that if it were anyone but Narcissa showing interest, she might have risked our tentative friendship.

Our conversation shuddered to a halt. Minerva was not the only one keeping herself from saying anything. I could feel the weight of Hermione's engagement ring dangling from the chain around my neck, a burden that I might be able to share. But I was afraid that if I showed the glow to anyone else, it would fade, taking my hopes with it.

"I must be getting back. I may only be Headmistress until midnight, but there is a fair bit of bureaucracy to wallow through before I can have my old position back."

"Allow me to escort you." I offered Minerva my arm as we made our way out into the bitter weather.

That night I sat before the fire in my quarters, idly ruffling through Hermione's letters, her diary placed precariously on top of the pile. I yawned widely, slumping back in the chair. Lulled by the firelight, my eyelids slid closed. I jerked awake as a sudden crackle roused me, a strangled cry escaping my throat as I spotted the cause of the noise. The contents of my lap had slipped forwards as I dozed off, tipping the letters and the diary into the flames. I had enough presence of mind to extinguish the fire with a panicked, jerky jab of my wand before reaching into the ashes for what remained.

The letters had largely collapsed into ash, but the diary was undamaged. I threw it to the side, frantically trying to salvage the scraps of singed parchment still remaining. Trust Hermione to enchant her diary; why couldn't she have also applied the same fire resistant charm to the letters? Why hadn't I? A movement in the corner of my eye drew my attention back to the diary, where it had fallen open to the last page. Previously blank, words were gradually forming.

14.3.97

Hermione

Eyes burning with the effort of suppressing tears, I brought my hand up to grip the bridge of my nose, teeth clenched and breathing harsh. 'She couldn't have known what was to happen! She would have told me.' My throat ached with suppressed sobs. 'If she truly loved me, she would have warned me.' Face twisting into a mask of misery, I collapsed to my knees on the hearthrug. 'She had known. I suspected as much.' My other hand joined the first, shielding my eyes as my fingers slid into my hair. 'Yet even if she had told me exactly what those nightmares were about, would it have helped?' The first of my tears escaped me as I gave up the fight against my sorrow. There was no point of manfully suppressing my feelings when alone, no façade of pride to display, no one to deride me with the insult of Snivellus. Sometimes tears were cathartic. Hopefully this was one of those times.

"Hermione, why?" I cried into the silence broken by my sobs, swiping futilely at my eyes. My gaze dropped to the last words written by her hand to me, tears blurring my sight. Clutching at her ring, I lay sprawled in front of the hearth until the welcome oblivion of sleep claimed me.

An hour or so later, a bizarre looking creature wrapped in piecemeal, threadbare clothing appeared in the Potion master's quarters. A tower of shapeless woollen hats wobbling as he shook his head, nonplussed by the obstacle in the way of his work.

"Why is Professor Snape not in bed? Dobby wonders why he is on the hearthrug, looking like Missus Norris." Dobby leaned closer, large bulbous eyes blinking as he attempted to put together the pieces of the mystery.

"Professor Snape is very sad, he is missing Harry Potter's friend very much. He is also sad because his letters is all burnt. Perhaps Dobby can help?" Snapping his fingers, Dobby glowered at the scraps of parchment as he called on his magic to reverse the damage. He smiled as he put the once again pristine letters in a pile beside the armchair, using the discarded diary as a paperweight.

"Dobby will tuck Professor Snape into bed now. Winter is no time to spend a night on cold floors." Magic crackling from his fingertips, the house-elf floated the gently snoring man into his bed chambers, almost dropping him as he tripped over the end of one of his dangling scarves. Once his charge was safely ensconced in bed, Dobby bowed.

"Goodnight, Professor Snape."

I slipped through the threadbare cloth, at once feeling no resistance at all yet also as if I were sliding through quagmire. I fell to my hands and knees once I was through the veil, my sight swimming. I blinked slowly a few times to clear my vision, catching sight of runes trickling across the stone floor like blood each time my eyes opened. It was from an obscure runic alphabet, the letters familiar: 'A', 'R' and 'O'. I forced my eyes to open, managing to catch the full word denoted by the start and end runes. 'ATROPOS'. This ancient chamber was greeting me...

My head snapped up as the door at the far end of the room opened. I bit back a groan at the swelling ache accompanying the abrupt movement. The man entering the room looked straight through me. I do not have an invisibility cloak as such, but my robes were specifically designed to hide me. Unless the observer knows what to look for, I cannot be seen. Needless to say, it's highly unlikely that anyone in this world does.

"Active again? I wish we could know what they say. That would settle the debate about this room for sure," the Unspeakable grumbled as he conjured a scroll of parchment and a dictation quill. "Right, runic flare in the Death Chamber at 0200 hours, 21.12.1998."

That answered my question about the flow of time beyond the veil. Bit of an anticlimax, really.

With the door still open, this was the perfect time for me to escape undetected by the wards surrounding the room. I struggled to my feet, only to collapse back down, thankfully all but silently. My journey had greatly weakened me. I swallowed my pride and crawled across the room. Even that left me collapsed on the floor outside, gasping for breath. How long would it take me to recover my strength? If only I could Apparate out of here... I wistfully ran a finger along the intricately carved wood of my wand. I could feel from the lack of vibration that my magic had been affected as expected. The same was true for my other powers.

Yet the curse affecting me was not the benediction of my enemies. The gradual return of my powers as the curse wore off would allow me to slip under their notice. For now I would bide my time, although first I would have to find my way out of this rabbit warren before anyone tripped over me. Special robes or not, they wouldn't stop people from walking into me.

Of course, my time in this world would be very limited if another Necromancer already inhabited it, as they would feel my presence before my powers had fully returned; I would be a sitting duck. As such, my first point of call should be the Aurory, where the Dark Detectors are likely to be. If they could detect me, I deserved to be found.

The bored junior Auror manning her post was too busy poring over Playwitch to notice as I slipped inside the room, the security wards absent. This Ministry must be of the opinion that a room full of Dark Detectors does not need wards. Leaning over the Auror, I slipped a dose of a potent Sleeping Potion into her coffee. The next slurp she took had her snoring, leaving the room unwatched.

Approaching the Foe-Glass, I fiddled with the partly disguised knobs on the front to reset it to show my enemies. The fact that I was able to do so without magic said something about the shocking complacency of this Ministry. I peered in, seeing nothing but indistinct shadows. If there was a Necromancer resident in this world, I should have been able to see whoever it was clearly. A slow smirk spread across my face as I realised that I could use this pathetic Aurory to my own ends by resetting all of the Dark Detectors to my needs. Of course, it was possible that they would realise that all of their precious instruments were meddled with, but that was unlikely judging by the incompetence I had observed so far. Just in case, a small act of sabotage to each device would ensure that I would be undetectable even if they did reset everything in this room.

As it was, I was almost found before I could leave the Aurory. The lift doors opened just as I got to them. Even as I dived against the wall in an effort to get out of the way, one of the disembarking occupants of the lift tripped over me, kicking my shin in the process. I shoved the knuckles of my fist into my mouth to muffle my cry of pain.

"Tonks! That's a fine start to your shift," a tall, stately, dark-skinned man boomed in his deep voice as he extended a hand to help up the woman who had all but crippled me.

"Shut up, Kingsley. I know a trip jinx when I feel one. Just because our illustrious Head placed you on the graveyard shift doesn't mean you can take it out on me. We're in the same boat, y'know." Hair abruptly flashing crimson, Tonks revealed herself as a Metamorphmagus to me. Interesting, but irrelevant. She would be no danger to me when my powers returned.

Rolling his eyes as he pulled Tonks to her feet, the two Aurors walked off, bickering. In the time it took me to get to my feet, the lift had gone. Typical! After summoning the lift, I stepped back to stretch my battered muscles, only to be unceremoniously dumped to the floor. Swearing viciously, I sat up, glaring around me to identify what I had slipped on. One of the Aurors, presumably Tonks, had dropped a vial. Picking it up, I read the label, a slow smile spreading across my face. While the strengthening elixir I had just found wouldn't return my powers, it would accelerate the process.

The occupants of the next lift were mystified as the doors opened, seemingly to let no one on. Shrugging, they continued their conversation as I stepped inside before the doors closed, the precious vial in my pocket.

"So the memorial will be unveiled next year?" A toad with a passing resemblance to a middle-aged woman asked of her companion, a tall, stringy young man with a shock of red hair.

"On the second anniversary of You-Know-Who's defeat, yes. The statue will be revealed at Hogwarts, where it is to stand in the Great Hall."

So the Dark Lord had been defeated in this world as well. That was...unfortunate. Something for me to rectify when I had the ability to do so.

"Oh, Mr. Weasley, tell me what the design is," the Toad simpered in her grating girlish voice.

"Madam Umbridge, you know that is a trade secret. Only the Minister and the Artisans have any idea of what it will look like. You have a better chance than me of finding out."

I idly wondered if all Weasleys were as pathetic as where I came from. Looking at this specimen, I presumed so.

"Who will be honoured with a mention?" Licking at her lips, a greedy light in her eyes, I could only assume that Umbridge wanted her name to be so honoured.

"Our dead, of course. The Minister did mention that only those who truly deserved the honour of their name immortalised would be on it." Weasley leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "He let slip that some of the names have already been engraved, and none of them have been rejected by the enchantment."

"Which names? Surely at least one of the so-called heroes is undeserving."

"I know for a fact that the, er, most controversial name has been accepted."

"The N-n-necromancer?" Umbridge stuttered over the word. My ears pricked up, my eyes widening in disbelief as Weasley nodded. A Necromancer, honoured by the Light?

"She did rid the world of You-Know-Who. Of course, if she had survived circumstances would be different. The only Necromancer the Ministry can tolerate is a dead one." Weasley paused, fidgeting with his horn-rimmed glasses. "I suppose we shouldn't be surprised. After all, Hermione Granger was posthumously awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class."

Granger? I clapped a hand across my mouth to stifle my gasp. That name I knew all too well. I fought down the surge of panic rising in me. She's dead. She's been dead for over a year here, she can't come back.

I breathed easier once Weasley and Umbridge had departed the lift. By the time I had reached my destination, I was calm. With Granger gone, my self-appointed task would be considerably easier.

Looking around the hollow spectacle of the Atrium, I bared my teeth with a mirthless smile, unseen by the few workers arriving by Floo, a shadow within shadows. The days of this bungling Ministry were numbered as soon as I staggered through the veil.

The End... for now

AN: Continued in Resurgam.