Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Two more days and Snape was back on his feet, complaining bitterly about his weakness and the necessity of leaning on Draco's shoulder if he wanted to walk for more than a few steps. Draco, on the other hand, didn't mind at all to get snapped at by Snape – he had missed the sarcasm and the pointed remarks, had feared the depressive mood Snape had been in and was massively glad that those times seemed to be over for good.

"Had you eaten more than a bit of soup in the past weeks, you wouldn't be in such a lousy state," Draco pointed out and held out once more a shirt for the Potions master to put it on. It was black, it was new, and Snape took it without objection.

In fact, Snape admired the silken quality of the fabric, but would have rather choked on the words before saying so. He couldn't even remember anymore why he had insisted on wearing his old, ripped and torn shirt. It's in the past, he thought, and immense relief washed through him, leaving him nearly breathless. It's over, once and for all!

Then he put on the shirt and closed the buttons. "Had you offered me decent food, I might have eaten it," he growled. But he knew – as Poppy had explained to him – that he couldn't have eaten whatever food Draco might have offered him, and he knew that Draco was aware of that fact as well. They were just nagging each other, and they both enjoyed it; there even was a thin smile showing on Snape's lips.

"I thought I was on the run, so I couldn't summon our house-elves," the young, blond wizard said. "Had I known you to be a gourmet, I would have learned to cook ages ago just in case I would be burdened with you one day."

"Would have been sensible," Snape grumbled. "Learning how to cook, that is. It comes in handy, now and then. In case you have guests; or in case you want to eat something that's actually edible."

They had reached the bed, and Snape stared at it for a moment – he had no intention to lay down again, but he knew he needed a rest. Turning to the chair by the window, he suddenly drilled his long fingers in Draco's shoulder, causing the young man to look up at him in confusion.

"What?"

"Thank you," Snape said simply. "For saving my life not once, but twice. If you hadn't brought me here, Nagini's venom would have killed me, and if you hadn't told that damn werewolf about my whereabouts, I would not have survived either. You even dragged Poppy here. So... Thank you, Draco. I did not expect this loyalty from you, but I'm nevertheless grateful."

Shuffling his feet uncomfortably, Draco desperately tried to find the right words to say. "Not loyalty," he finally managed. "I just thought it'd be a shame to... to... erm...

"To let such a nice person like me die on the Shrieking Shack's dirty floor," Snape continued dryly.

Draco waited until Snape was safely sitting in his chair, freshly showered and shaved and dressed in a clean, whole garment. "As long as you don't think I like you." He grinned and laughed when Snape scowled at him in his most dreadful manner. Then brought the Pensieve and placed it on the small table next to the chair. "Are you certain you want this?" Draco asked, but by the look on Snape's face, the man was very certain indeed. So Draco pulled out his wand, placed Remus's memories into the empty basin and quietly left the room.

For a moment, the Potions master looked after the boy, somewhat amused that he indeed had taken a liking to Lucius's son and fully aware of the fact that the feeling was mutual. Being in a surprisingly good mood, he took a deep breath and lowered his face until he touched the surface of the memories. A heartbeat later, he was getting pulled in, into a past he didn't know a thing about yet.

*********************

Remus, shaking with pain and grief, staring at the pools of blood in an empty Shrieking Shack, Poppy by his side. She was supporting him as well as leaning on him, her hand pressed on her mouth, her eyes dashing to every corner of the small room. They were obviously looking for something.

Not something. Someone. They are looking for me, Snape realised.

"I need to talk to him," Harry answered. He sounded empty, hollow, and lost. "There must be a portrait. There must! He's been Hogwarts Headmaster for nearly a year. He's entitled to a portrait."

Remus sat on the bed beside her. (They must be at Grimmauld Place, Snape guessed.) "You haven't eaten much lately," he pointed out gently. "You'll fall ill if you continue like that."

She's too thin, Snape observed. And she looks unhappy.

She's depressed, Snape realised with a shock. What on earth happened to her that she's in such a black mood?

'Your death has ripped holes in people's hearts, old friend,' he heard the werewolf's whisper in his mind, and then Snape felt himself getting pushed out of the Pensieve as the final memory ended.

***************

Gasping for breath, the Potions master found himself sitting in front of the window, feeling as if someone had knocked the air out of his lungs. The memory of memories danced in his head, snippets, bits and pieces, pictures that hadn't been there a moment ago.

He opened his mouth to make a snarky remark to the empty room simply to comfort himself, but couldn't. That Remus had been right, that he had told the truth, was nothing less but disturbing, and even now Snape for himself had seen the impact his death had caused, he still couldn't fully believe it.

It seemed not everyone hated him.

A moment ago, he would have considered it impossible that anyone, one single person, would have grieved for him. And now he had to face the fact that there wasn't only one, but plenty of them.

Arse. He wasn't good in dealing with people at all, not to speak of dealing with people who actually would be happy to see him alive.

People – people who knew him, people he had threatened and insulted and mistreated, people like Potter, Granger, Lupin, and McGonagall – grieved because they believed he had been buried in that coffin. They considered his death a loss and wished they could have saved him.

Oh, blast. How on earth should he deal with that?

Rubbing his hands across his upper arms as if he were cold he had to admit that he was truly uncomfortable at the prospect of leaving this house. It was safe; it was like a shell, and he could hide behind its walls.

Only a coward would hide, though. And he wasn't a coward. Never had been, never would be.

Slowly, Snape got up and looked out of the window. What was a safe haven for him at the moment would become a prison if he allowed it.

No way. He had been imprisoned long enough, had been forced to do and endure things too cruel to describe. There were people out there who were devastated by his death, and that was unacceptable. Time to face facts – another few days, and he would let them know he was still alive.

Well, he would have to be able to stand on his feet for longer than a minute before doing so. He was still weak as a kitten.

Best go and grab something to eat, Snape thought, still quite surprised that his appetite had decided to come back after all.

Carefully, he put a supporting hand towards the wall and slowly made his way outside the room, downstairs, and towards the kitchen. He was hungry, and maybe he could persuade the house-elves to make him a sandwich before dinner.

But the kitchen was occupied by Draco, Remus, and Poppy. And about half a dozen elves, stowing away the shopping Draco had done. There were bags with salad on the table, a fair amount of wine bottles, a small basket with eggs and another one with pasta, at least ten bars of chocolate, cream, fresh bread, tomatoes, red and yellow peppers, spring onions, parmesan and something Snape's nose discarded as impossible.

"Good you came downstairs, Severus," Poppy greeted him. "Sit and rest. We were just discussing dinner." She sat at the laden table, a wide smile on her face as she saw Snape on his feet with something close to greed in his face when he saw the shopping.

Snape didn't even hear her; instead of doing as she wished, he went to the table in the middle of the kitchen. "Where did you find them, Draco?" he asked and put one hand on the smooth wooden surface to steady himself whilst the other sorted through the goods.

"Hmmm?" Draco frowned and prevented a house-elf from vanishing the last bottle of red wine from the crate. He took it, opened it, and poured four glasses full of dark liquid.

"The mushrooms. Where did you get them – it's a bit early for truffles, so tell me who sold them to you!" Impatiently, Snape shoved away a cucumber and a carton full of ripe strawberries. "I can smell them, I... ah!"

In a small paper bag, hidden behind the basket with the vegetables, Snape finally found what he'd been looking for. Unceremoniously, he tore the bag open and let its content carefully roll onto the table.

"Charcoal?" Lupin asked, eying the round, unevenly shaped, ugly little things suspiciously.

"Truffles!" Snape corrected him, then picked one of the mushrooms up and held it between his long, sensitive fingers as if it were a diamond. Gently, he ran his fingertips over the velvety surface; tenderly, he brushed off a bit of earth that clung to it. Finally, he cupped the truffle that indeed looked like charcoal in his hands, brought it to his face, closed his eyes and inhaled the delicate, unique fragrance.

Three pairs of eyes stared at him in disbelief.

"Quite the sensualist, Snape?" Draco remarked dryly after a stunned moment of silence, which caused Madam Pomfrey to giggle like a little girl. Snape falling for food and wine – she wouldn't have believed it only a few days ago, but here stood the proof, sniffling mushrooms with sheer delight in his face.

Snape, though, ignored the comment entirely. Dreamily, he placed the truffle back with its siblings, scanned the goods on the table once more, then absent-mindedly took a sip from his wine-glass. "May I use your kitchen, Draco?"

"What for? To blow it up?"

A small smile quirked the Potions master's lips. "I could do that, if it pleased you, but actually I would prefer to cook in it," he answered sarcastically. "If you can rein in your house-elves so they leave me alone for a while."

"You can cook?" That came simultaneously out of three different mouths.

Snape was close to rolling his eyes, but prevented it in the last moment. "Yes, I can cook. I'm a bachelor, and I don't have house-elves to serve me during the summer vacation. So I learned to prepare my own food. It's not much different from potion making."

Remus laughed. "Well, unlike with your potions, you certainly won't be able to kill us with those mushrooms whatever you plan to do with them," he pointed out and watched Severus gathering the truffles, the cream, the pasta, and a few other items to take them with him to the workbench. He observed as well that Severus's movements were less forced, that he walked without steadying himself, and that he barely protected his injured shoulder anymore. "Take it easy, old friend," he said, reminding the Potions master that it had been less than a week since his near death.

"Don't call me that," Snape hissed automatically whilst already chopping spring onions.

"Take it easy, git," Remus replied smoothly.

Snape whipped round, knife in hand, looking every bit the dangerous Death Eater he, not too long ago, had been. Narrowing his eyes, he took in the werewolf's lazy grin, his relaxed posture, holding his glass in his hand. There was mischief in Lupin's eyes, not a threat. No wand was to be seen.

Remus met Snape's gaze squarely and saluted him cheerfully with the wine. "Your choice, Severus. I call you what you wish me to call you."

Silence whispered through the kitchen. Then Snape grumbled, "The former, then," and continued with his chopping business, pretending not to see the happy grin on the werewolf's face.

***************

Dinner was nearly ready, the sauce simmering to perfection, when Draco suddenly said, "I hope you made enough for five, Snape?"

Snape, momentarily distracted by the task of washing strawberries and melting chocolate at the same time, just raised an eyebrow. Lupin, though, was more curious.

"Did you invite someone? Didn't we agree to wait for Severus to come back to life for another few days?"

Ruefully, Draco uncorked another bottle of wine, a white one this time to go with the mushrooms. "Well, I had no intention of doing so, but then I bumped into Granger, and she looked so massively miserable that I just... All right, I sort of invited her. She's not herself since you've died, Snape; she's lost at least a stone and looks deader than you did a week ago. I took pity on her, but don't blame me. I thought another face than that of the werewolf might cheer you up a bit. Well, a bit more."

"Highly unlikely," Snape said and placed the bowl with the pasta onto the table. Then he took a swig from the white wine. "Nice one. Rare. Fruity. Perfect for the truffles." He seemed to recall the last few minutes. "Granger? Hermione Granger?"

"That's the one. Potter's friend. Babble-mouth. Your student. Ex-student. Hope you can bear the sight of her, but really, the rings under her eyes were dark enough to look faked. She can't have slept much in the last few weeks, and I thought she should know. She won't eat much, believe me. I doubt she remembers how to eat at all."

For the first time in nearly an hour, Snape took a seat. His hand sneaked unnoticed up to his neck and gently began to knead the aching muscles under the new skin. "She was devastated," he murmured, and only Remus knew what he was talking about – the memory he had given his friend.

"She accused herself. She couldn't let go; she felt guilty," Snape continued, then nodded briskly. "You did well to invite her. But if she doesn't arrive soon, she will be late for dinner."

Conveniently, the doorbell chose to ring at that precise moment. A house-elf rushed to open the door, and the four people in the kitchen heard footsteps, the sounds of a jacket being taken off, a faint, "Thank you." Then the kitchen door opened, and Hermione walked in, her wild hair covering half her face.

She was thin and pale; she was shivering ever so slightly, as if the mild breeze outside had chilled her to the bones. Her body language spoke openly of her discomfort at being there, at Draco Malfoy's place, but it told equally openly of her determination to finish whatever had brought her here in the first place, which very obviously wasn't the prospect of having dinner.

With an impatient gesture, she wiped her hair out of her face. Her eyes widened when she saw Remus and Poppy – clearly she hadn't expected them to be here. Neither had she expected dinner as her mouth fell open when she saw the pots and bowls on the table, the dozens of candles, the wine bottles. "Draco, you said you've got a wild..." she began, anger making her voice sound flat.

Then she half-turned and saw Snape, standing only a few feet away from her, drying his hands on a kitchen towel.

The shock at seeing him, a man she believed dead, hit her hard. First, she dropped her bag as her fingers went limp and the handle just escaped her grip. Then she tried to say something, but her mouth and her tongue obviously didn't obey her command. Her hands began to shake, then her shoulders, finally her whole body. The blood left her already pale face – she was close to fainting when she staggered back, ready to fall onto the floor.

Snape reacted quickly. As if he had foreseen her reaction, he took a step himself, reached out, and caught Hermione's upper arms right before her legs gave way. Swiftly, he steadied her, held her at arms length and growled, "Draco! Didn't you tell her about me?"

"Of course I didn't! What do you think I should have said – hey, Granger, come round tonight, have dinner with me, and by the way, Snape's still alive? She would have killed me on the spot, thinking I was mocking her!"

"I can't believe you didn't tell her at least..."

"Professor," Hermione whispered, stepped forward, and wrapped her arms round Snape's waist, hugging him so tightly it hurt. She was strong, not only for a girl of her height, but for a girl who hadn't eaten and slept enough in the past weeks, who had spent too much time crying and worrying and daydreaming what could have happened if only...

In addition to her hug, Hermione rested her head to Snape's shoulder and took a deep, shuddering breath. Then she began to cry.

Helplessly, Snape watched the bushy brown head nestle into his chest, felt the grip of those thin arms, felt the warmth that emerged the girl's body and the tears that wet his shirt. He could smell a faint fragrance of orange – either her shampoo or the soap she had used – and it mixed with the scents that wavered in the kitchen: the gently simmering sauce, the cream-laced chocolate melting on the hearth, the strawberries, and the wine. It was overwhelming, that mixture of scents, but even more so was the feeling of this young woman that clung to him as if she were drowning.

He knew exactly how she felt as he had been taken by similar emotions only a few days ago when Draco had told him so carelessly that the Dark Lord was dead. Something inside him had broken back then, something horrible and frightening, something that had held his mind in a dark, powerful grip and had prevented him from thinking straight. When Draco had so easily dropped the news that he wouldn't have to go back spying, that Potter had defeated Voldemort, he had cried himself, unable to stop the tears. Snape knew only too well how Hermione felt and was glad for her as he knew from experience that she would feel much better as soon as the tears had ceased to flow.

Knowing all that, Snape wrapped his arms around the girl he, until now, had only known as an ever babbling, always alert, impossibly brilliant know-it-all. He hugged her tightly, held her close, didn't even think of pushing her away. Accepting her hug, her emotions, her relief, he just embraced her as long as she needed it and wasn't too surprised at being presented with the sensation of how good it felt to hold her and comfort her.

Minutes passed, and no one in the kitchen said a word. Draco stood and stirred the chocolate so it wouldn't burn, Remus Lupin placed a fifth plate on the table and got another chair, Poppy Pomfrey poured another glass of wine. They didn't look once at the tall man and the crying girl.

Finally, Hermione sniffled once more, freed herself from her former professor's arms and rushed out of the kitchen.

"Bathroom first door to the right," Draco called after her, and to Snape he said, "Really, there wasn't a way I could have told her. She wouldn't have believed me, so I just said I had a book I couldn't rein in. She is playing with the thought of becoming a bookbinder, I heard, and I reckoned it worth a try. Didn't know she'd react like that. I mean... you always were nasty to her."

Instead of scolding the boy, Snape stirred the sauce one last time, poured it into a saucier, and placed it on the table as well. As if nothing had happened, he filled his own plate and the plates of the others, added sauce, and began to eat, apparently unaware that one place was still empty.

When Hermione sneaked back in, standing in the doorway like a forgotten umbrella, he didn't even turn to her, but simply ordered her to sit down instead.

"I..." she began, but Snape interrupted her.

"First, you will eat with us. Then you will have dessert. You will drink the wine Draco has poured for you. Afterwards, I will answer your questions. Is that clear?"

A tiny, nearly invisible smile crossed her lips as if his harsh tone had wiped away the last doubts she might have harboured about this man's identity. "Yes, Professor," she said, took spoon and fork, and began to eat.

************************

When the pasta had vanished into their hungry stomachs, Draco served the strawberries and the melted chocolate, picking one and dipping it into the sweet, rich liquid with a happy grin on his face. "This snake venom must have added some decadence to your system, Snape," he managed whilst munching. "Strawberries and chocolate – that's definitely something I wouldn't have expected from you."

Snape lazily licked a drop of chocolate from his little finger. "It was you who did the shopping, Draco. I just used what you bought."

Remus stole two strawberries at once and pulled the bowl with the melted chocolate closer. "To add chilli flakes was still pretty unusual." One bite, and both strawberries were gone plus a generous amount of the dip.

Hermione leaned back in her chair. She hadn't said much during the meal, but had emptied her plate to the last bit of sauce. Now, holding a tiny strawberry in her hand and after having taken a small sip of wine, she said briskly, "I apologise for sobbing into your shirt, Professor, but would you tell me how... how you are alive again? Please?" She was barely able to look at the man opposite of her, but there was a hint of steel in her quietly asked question.

Offering a fruit to Poppy, Snape wiped his hands off on a napkin. "I have never been dead, Miss Granger," he said. "Nearly, but not completely. You saved my life, along with Mr Malfoy – you stopped the bleeding in my shoulder and neck, he gave me the antidote to the snake venom. Combined forces, one could say."

Being reminded of that night obviously distressed her, but she pressed, "Then... why did no one know? Where have you been, what happened in the last five weeks when everyone thought you dead and buried? I was at your funeral – we all were – and why the hell didn't you let us know you are alive!" The last words she shouted at Snape, clearly furious at the thought that she had suffered and grieved for no reason at all.

Remus placed a calming hand on Hermione's arm. "He didn't do it on purpose," he soothed her. "Draco didn't know that Severus was Albus's man all along, so he hid him. And Severus himself was in an awful condition until a few days ago."

But calming down Hermione when she was in a mood to scold wasn't an easy thing. Staring angrily at Snape, she continued, "As you are obviously not dead, will you at least hinder that... that... woman to taking over Hogwarts, or will you continue to hide in Draco's house?"

Poppy Pomfrey nearly slipped off her chair. "Don't tell me... It can't be true! Fudge wouldn't do that! He wouldn't dare!"

"He did dare," Hermione snapped. "It was on the news just before I came here. Umbridge is Hogwarts' new Headmistress. Again. Obviously, I won't go back to school for my seventh year."

"Nor will anyone else," Remus said gloomily. "What a shame. I hoped Minerva would take on the job."

"Umbridge?" Snape cast in casually. "In my school? In her dreams and only over my dead body."

Now that statement left everyone speechless for a few moments. Snape took the opportunity, snatched up the nearly empty chocolate bowl, and used his index finger to reach the last drops.

After an eternity when everyone watched the Potions master licking chocolate off his fingers, Poppy said weakly, "If you go to Fudge and claim the job for yourself, you might even be successful."

"I don't have to claim this job, Poppy," Snape corrected her. "I am Hogwarts' Headmaster. I never stepped down and have no intention of doing so now. Remus, why wasn't Minerva nominated?"

"She was, but declined. She said she was happy to step in at the time, but wouldn't do it for good. She told me as well she'd quit if Umbridge got the job again. Didn't impress Fudge, though."

Hermione, in the meantime, had rummaged a bit in her bag that was lying at her feet. When she had found what she had been looking for, she emerged again from under the table. Without a word, she placed a wand on the table right before Snape. "I guess this might come in handy if you plan to threaten Minister Fudge," she said.

Thirteen and a half inches, black, with no trace of blood, it lay there on the kitchen table – Snape's wand, looking quite innocent and not at all as if it had been missed dearly ever since its owner had first opened his eyes in Draco's house. Snape, though, looked positively delighted.

"I found it in the Shrieking Shack; it had rolled into a crack in the floor, and I nearly missed it when I first came back there to look for you," Hermione explained, her eyes never leaving her Potions master's face. "I cleaned it; I hope you don't mind."

"Several hundred points for Gryffindor as soon as we are both back at school," Snape said and took his wand, stowing it away in the same instant. Then he flashed a quick smile over the table that left Hermione blushing. It was rare that Snape smiled. It was even rarer that he smiled at a student. Never, so far, had he smiled at her.

For Snape, her thoughts were written clearly on her face. I could get used to this smile, her eyes said, and she smiled back at him. "Thank you, sir," she murmured.

"Any plans for tomorrow, wolf?" Snape now asked with a raised eyebrow. "Because I plan to corner Fudge, and I think it wouldn't be a bad idea if you came along to hold me back in case he provokes me into killing him. Umbridge – the sheer thought is revolting. So will you accompany me?"

"Sure," Remus agreed. "Wouldn't want to miss Fudge's face when you storm into his office. And afterwards, we can talk about my teaching abilities."

"Good gods, Snape, don't allow him back at Hogwarts," Draco pleaded and opened the third bottle of the evening. "He's still a werewolf – he's too dangerous for us poor children."

With a perfect snort, Snape accepted the tiny glass of Calvados Draco handed him, admiring the velvety fragrance and the deep amber colour. He took a sip and sighed contentedly. "Werewolves, stray students, war heroes, traitors, former Death Eaters, even impossible little know-it alls," another little smile went into Hermione's direction, "everyone is welcome at my school. Sorry, Draco, but you will have to cope with Remus being a teacher at Hogwarts again. Can't teach Potions and Defence against the Dark Arts and ruling a school all at once."

Draco grinned maliciously. "Well, certainly none of those you mentioned can compare with your horrible reputation, Snape."

Stunned into silence at the remark, Snape stared at the boy for a moment. Then, he began to laugh, wholeheartedly and accompanied by his friends after only the smallest shocked silence at the fact that Hogwarts' former and future Headmaster was not only able to laugh, but in the mood to accept a joke on his behalf.

There is a sequel to this story called "Scampi and Cherry Cream". Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed this little fic.