Part XXXIV - Coming Back: Day

Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of J.K. Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.

All my gratitude to my beta AmyLouise. Many thanks to all my kind readers and reviewers.

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

Part XXXIV - Coming Back: Day

A whisper broke the lingering silence.

"Ginny..."

Snape and Ginny raised their heads simultaneously. Harry was looking at them from the picture that had been Snape's home, his body surprisingly enlarged by the much bigger size of the frame.

In spite of the perfect resemblance, he looked like he had been flattened. Third dimension was only a visual illusion, Snape thought, and involuntarily, his eyes focused on his hands, enjoying the wondrous roundness of his fingers.

And in doing so, he noticed Ginny was trembling. Her hand, still clasping his, slowly released its grip. The woman rose and moved closer to her husband's portrait.

"Harry...," she murmured, and Snape realised how frightened she was despite her previous bold attitude. A weird compassion and a pungent envy tightened his heart, seeing how strong was the link that connected his two former students.

Harry's eyes were serious, almost prayerful.

"Ginny, please... do you remember what I asked you?"

She bit her lip, and for a moment, she seemed to struggle with herself. But finally, she nodded, took a deep breath and turned to look at Snape.

"Harry has a...," she began. Then, after a quick glance to the portrait, she stopped abruptly and corrected herself.

"We have a special present for you, Professor," she said in a low, dull voice, as if repeating mechanically something that she had learned by heart. Her eyes twinkled again in an undefined emotion. "Please wait for me. I'll be back as soon as possible."

Confused, Snape nodded. He would have liked to object, but the tension he could detect in both Harry and Ginny was making him uneasy, so he resolved to keep silent.

With a last glance, Ginny left, and Snape and Harry looked at each other from their exchanged positions. With a smile, Harry indicated Marcello Bernardi who, evidently exhausted by the powerful magic performed, had placidly slipped into a nap and was snoring quietly, head on his grandfather's shoulder.

"How do you feel, Professor?" Harry finally asked.

Snape surrendered to his sensations. "It's strange," he murmured, and Harry tilted his head.

"I agree," he said slowly, almost weighing his words. "It's strange for me, too, but it's exciting at the same time. I think I will try a tour of the pictures in the castle." He smiled. "I remember that I would have liked to visit some of them as a student."

Snape didn't return the smile.

"Where is your mother?" he asked, and Harry opened his arms and shrugged with an indulgent expression.

"She went looking for other friends with my father. I have personally brought Sirius' and Remus' portraits here to celebrate this occasion. And I have arranged Mad Eye's delivery from the Aurors' Gallery. It's going to be a nice meeting."

Again, Snape was left in a bitter mood. For Harry, it seemed that it was a game, another adventure to add to his already long list. And he had even found a way to meet his friends...people whom Snape also had known and had met in his previous life but who probably wouldn't be happy to see him again.

People whom he had never thought to meet as a portrait. People who were dead and who had accepted being so. But he... he was different. And that difference was making him suffer so much! Wouldn't it have been better to disappear into oblivion? Why instead had he been called back so powerfully?

He took a deep breath. He, too, had friends now. Friends who were willing to put their lives at risk for him. And one was in front of him. Perhaps coming back would reserve some nice surprises for him as it had for Harry?

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

Minerva quietly entered the room.

"Severus," she said, and her eyes moistened at the repetition of a name that recalled so many memories and that now was addressed again to a living man. Emotion took over once more, and the normally reserved old witch again enfolded her younger colleague in an embrace.

"I... I still can't believe it," she stammered, and Snape felt very embarrassed.

She understood his uneasiness and let him go immediately.

"I'm sorry," she said, raising her head with a touchingly contrite expression.

"There is no need to apologise, Minerva," he replied softly, and suddenly, he felt compelled to hug her back, mutely asking for comfort and consolation, a support to his current unbalanced feelings. Again, the realisation of the miracle he was experiencing hit him powerfully. He was holding a living being in his arms, a body that was warm and breathing and vibrating with emotion. He closed his eyes to enjoy that sensation and lock it in his mind.

"You don't need to apologise," he repeated slowly, savouring his words. No...no more apologies, no more accusations, no more harsh words. It was so sweet to be accepted, to be needed, to be embraced. His spirit was begging to be loved.

"Severus," the old witch finally said, wiping her eyes and looking at him like a mother would do with her son, "I have a question for you. Would you like to meet anybody else? Your fellow professors are all about to leave now. They don't know what has happened behind these doors. Finlay had prepared a show of magical fireworks and has performed it superbly. But I have asked everybody to spend the feast with their families this year. For the first time, we won't have our traditional Christmas lunch because today is your day, Severus, and today, Hogwarts is yours. This is the only present I can offer to you. A miserable one, I know, and I wish I could have... I wish I had..."

She recovered her balance just in time. "But then I thought that perhaps I have been too hurried in making this decision. So, is there anyone you would like to meet?"

"No," Snape said, and his voice trembled in despair. He was feeling more and more uncomfortable. Precious minutes were slipping inexorably through his fingers, and suddenly, he felt an obscure anguish. But this sensation didn't last for long because the door opened again, pushed by a decidedly disconcerted Longbottom.

"Filius told me that... ah!" Neville's face altered in almost comical surprise, and he stopped in his tracks, as if he had been hit by a thunderbolt. Then he raised a wavering finger and breathed, "I... you..."

Minerva stood back, smiling, while the two men faced each other. What a disconcerting sight! They both were the same age, but Neville looked younger, his eyes widened in childlike astonishment and reverential awe.

Snape inclined his head in a greeting, touched and amused by the amazement so evidently displayed.

"Mr. Longbottom," he said quietly. "Neville," he corrected himself almost immediately, and his characteristic lopsided smile tugged up the corner of his lips.

Neville smiled too. "Severus," he replied, and his smile opened more and more in uncontainable elation until he took a step forward to clasp Snape's arm in a comradely gesture.

"This is really a merry, merry Christmas," he said slowly, watching Snape with deep affection; then he exploded in a mess of chaotic statements.

"So, it was true. I thought that Filius was joking, as always. Can't believe it. Why did nobody tell me? Oh, well, I understand why. Still, I suppose...," he took a deep breath and concluded happily, "it's a great honour and an immense joy for us to have you back for an entire day. Is there anything with which I can help you? I am completely at your disposal!"

"Unfortunately, my time is limited," Snape replied to that impetuous torrent of words. In spite of Neville's good intentions, the magical atmosphere had been broken, and something dark was aching again in his heart at being reminded of time elapsing. Snape averted his eyes to hide his feelings.

"I think I'll have a walk in the castle," he said. "There are places I wasn't able to visit anymore as a picture, and I would like..."

Words failed him. How to explain that horrid sensation of emptiness that was annihilating his thoughts?

"I'll come with you," Minerva offered immediately.

"No!" he replied harshly, and then his tone softened. "Forgive me, Minerva, but I need to be alone. Let's say that this is... is a pilgrimage."

Minerva looked saddened, Neville desolate. Snape saw them exchange a glance and then nod quietly. That covert compassion was so exasperating!

"Where are you thinking of going?" Minerva finally asked with false nonchalance.

Snape smiled sadly and thought, Don't worry about me. I can't be hurt more than I have been. But he didn't express his feelings. Instead, he replied as casually as possible, "I'd like to visit the dungeons."

"I'll go and check if the others have left," Neville hastened to offer, and after a last meaningful glance at the Headmistress, he went out.

Alone again, Minerva hesitantly put her hand on Snape's hand and squeezed it gently.

"It's your day, Severus, and we are here for you. I only hope you can find answers to your questions and that you can finally be... happy."

This time, she couldn't stop the tears.

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

He left and began his solitary walk. How depressing the empty castle looked and sounded on that feast day! Rooms and corridors, normally echoing with the happy noises of hundreds of voices and feet, now looked and sounded hauntingly deserted. He shivered and hastened to reach the stairs. Down, down, down he went, following the spiral of stony steps that led to the dungeons.

The dungeons: his realm and his lair, the place to which he had never dared come back as a picture. Filled by so many memories of his previous life. Every stone, every corner, every object recalled an image, a sound, a merry or a sad episode.

And then he was there.

In front of the room in which he used to keep his archive.

His lab.

His shelter.

Slowly, he turned the doorknob, and the heavy panel dutifully opened itself, showing him the dark interior. He stopped, his breath growing shaky. Bottles and ampoules were still neatly lined on the shelves, their liquid essences glowing in many different colours. Hundreds of extraordinary specimens floated lazily in oily or alcoholic solutions. New ones had joined the old ones. Other hands had written their names on the small parchments positioned under every sample. Yet those who had replaced him in taking care of his realm seemed to have followed his footsteps in its organization.

Trembling with emotion, he contemplated the relics of his past...the evidence that a man of flesh and blood had lived, studied, worked, written, suffered, and cried there. Oh, how many tears he had shed in that room! With a lump in his throat, Snape turned to go out and found himself in front of a plaque that had been positioned over the door, so as to be constantly visible to those working inside.

In this room, Severus Snape, Potions master and Headmaster, spy and saviour of the wizarding world, spent a great part of his adult life as a teacher and finally offered himself to destruction to fulfil his commitment. Remember him, those who follow. May his name be a shining example to future generations.

His lips twitched with emotion. His existence, his death, and his doom had been sealed in those few sentences. He closed the door and wandered aimlessly in the corridors until he found the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

Lost in his thoughts, he entered, and no magical guardian resisted his venturing there, but the enchanted locks meekly opened one by one to welcome him. He stood, overcome by innumerable sensations and emotions. For a moment, he was again in the past.

There, for instance, scared and anxious, he had waited to learn where his dormitory was on the night he had arrived as a first year. Into that lonely corner he used to retire when he was meditating. The brick at the left of the door still had two little doodles imprinted on it, made on an evening when he was particularly happy. In a haze, he crossed the rooms. He let his fingers touch the stones, the marbles, the wooden chairs, and the iron chains suspended on the walls. The original furniture hadn't changed so much during the years, and that gloomy atmosphere in which silver and green elements scintillated here and there had an intoxicating effect on his soul.

Suddenly, he felt the oddness of his situation. Dead man walking. Why had he decided to go there? What was left in that world for him?

Slowly, he walked with unseeing eyes until his attention was attracted by another plaque positioned over a door.

Severus Snape, Slytherin, Potions master and Headmaster of Hogwarts, guardian of Harry Potter and of the wizarding world. May he always be honoured by those who are loyal.

And below, two numbers enclosed in brackets to seal that statement: 1960 – 1998.

Snape felt dizzy. There it was again, the evidence that his life had begun and concluded its arc in a handful of years. There it was, what was left of him. A shining brassy plaque with shining empty words engraved on it.

He was dead. He was dead, and there were no places in the world that could welcome him back. Overwhelmed by feelings, he turned and hurried out of the room.

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

He climbed the stairs, looking for light, for fresh air that could regenerate his eyes and his spirit. Alone. He was alone. The House of Slytherin had conveniently celebrated him with a plaque and confined him to the realm of ghosts. His real body lay buried somewhere. His old mates lost, dispersed, prisoners, or dead as well. No, there was nothing he could do, nothing he could change, and nobody was waiting for him except the shadows of his past.

In a blind haze, he crossed the halls and the corridors he had just passed a few minutes before when his heart was dilating in expectation. Everything was haunting him now, reminding him how vain his quest had been. Silence was everywhere. Even the other portraits seemed to have deserted their pictures, and for a quick moment, Snape wondered if that was another courtesy...or trick, he corrected himself ferociously...of the Bernardis. Whatever it was, he felt utterly abandoned.

Then he heard a whisper and froze in alarm.

Slowly, he turned his head and saw Albus Dumbledore looking at him from the wall. The old wizard looked strangely uncomfortable, and Snape felt a grim satisfaction. At least he wasn't alone in his misery.

"Severus," Dumbledore called hesitantly.

"Albus," Snape replied coldly and crossed his arms in his usual defensive pose. Now what else was his old mentor going to say? What deep philosophical interpretation was he going to offer?

"May I walk with you?" Dumbledore surprisingly asked instead.

"Why would you do such a thing?" Snape retorted rudely.

Albus looked even more hesitant. "You haven't noticed, but I've been following you since you left your room," he said, and Snape's lips curled in anger.

Dumbledore hurried to add, "It has been a pilgrimage for me too. A pilgrimage and a tribute, Severus. So many memories have arisen today... It has been an amazing exercise in nostalgia."

He sighed and glanced at Severus in uneasiness. "Watching you walk through these corridors, I've wished that we could go back in time and change the past. I've wished that we both could be alive and friends again...."

"Friends? We were never friends, Albus," Snape interrupted him bitterly. "I was never anything but a slave to you... You were always too blinded by your reason to reason with your heart."

Albus lowered his head. "I'm sorry. But you know that desperate times call for desperate measures."

"Desperate measures indeed!" Snape reacted sarcastically. "Yet I distinctly remember you declaring so many times that love is the most powerful force in the universe! Voldemort used to mock you for such a naïve statement. Well, where did your love go? Whom did you really love in your life?"

Dumbledore stiffened.

"You chose your own fatal path, Severus, the day you took the Dark Mark", he said in an attempt at deflection. "But please, calm down now and remember: Who did you go to when you realised your mistake?"

"To the man I thought had the power to help Lily!" Snape replied. "But that man promised to save her and then let her die. And then that same man chained me to my remorse, precluding me from ever seeking a different future and condemning me to a life of perpetual regret."

Dumbledore backed away at those accusations, but Snape continued his speech. A flow of angry, obscure emotions were invading his heart, and the younger wizard felt overwhelmed by their intensity.

"I lived almost all my life with contempt and suspicion. When you died, I was marked as a murderer. I spent my last months in Hogwarts in a living hell. I had neither friend nor confidant. I was alone. And if luck hadn't helped me, I would have died alone and forgotten in the Shack!"

He stopped to breathe, strangled by his indignation. Then, with an effort, he continued in a low steady voice.

"I'm not going to deny my faults. But you used me like a tool, regardless of my feelings. You never cared about me, Albus. You never tried to lessen my punishment. You knew that my name would be consigned to eternal shame, but the thought never bothered you."

Snape inhaled deeply and opened his hands in a last angry accusation.

"If Potter had not seen my memories, would you ever have told him about me?"

Silenced, Dumbledore didn't reply, so Snape shook his head again in disenchantment and concluded bitterly, "You know, I've learned to appreciate Harry. At least he never pretended to be better than he was."

He turned his shoulders from the portrait and began to walk.

"No! Please, don't go!" Albus called, an unusual emotion in his voice. "I have been watching you all these weeks, day after day... the astounding things that you've been able to do... The way you saved Lucius, in spite of your being a picture... You have left me speechless, I admit it."

He took a reverential tone. "And today you are even back amongst the living. I am deeply impressed, Severus. I never imagined you could conceal such power inside you. I wish I had understood it before..."

The older wizard extended his hands as if in prayer. "I... I confess that I have been wrong in my previous life. I have made a mistake...yes, many mistakes, and I can't bear it any longer. So, if you would accept my apologies, I..."

"No", Snape said slowly. He had stopped, and his look of expectation had gradually turned into a disillusioned expression. "Don't you see, Albus? It's always about you. The day you feel sorry about me, then you will be allowed to continue this conversation. Till that moment, there's nothing you can say or you can do."

"Severus, please, at least let me come with you," Albus begged, trying to follow the younger man by passing fluidly from picture to picture.

"No!" Snape replied, accelerating his pace. "Let me be alone, as I always was."

"But why do you want to wander in solitude, now that you are back?" Dumbledore had stopped and was watching, with desolate eyes, the man who was getting farther and farther away.

"I'm not back, Albus. I'm inside a nightmare."

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

He left the saddened portrait behind him and began to climb the stairs. Step after step, his body felt heavier, and his spirit struggled to keep his legs moving. That conversation had disheartened him even more.

Why, why, why? Why was he clinging so tenaciously to a cold shell to which he didn't belong anymore? Other stories had been intertwined in the castle, and his thread could no longer fit in that canvas. He had been buried, and a plaque now conveniently remembered it. Perhaps Minerva and Filius were the only ones who really missed him: old, tired and sad, they were probably fearing their impending end and, therefore, preparing themselves by making amends....

He opened the door of the Potions room. There was nobody inside. Minerva had evidently found the two Bernardis a more convenient place to rest. Or perhaps they were having lunch with their hosts somewhere. Celebrating. All things that were denied to him, in spite of his being there in flesh and blood.

He sat and put his elbows on the table, leaning his forehead in abandon on his fists.

His freedom was slowly turning into a sort of cage, even more horrible than the one he had just left. He touched the wooden surface of the table and suddenly noticed that his hands had a warmer shade of colour now. In spite of his anguish, life was slowly permeating his reluctant body.

Ah, Zabini had been so right! Was Snape going to prey upon the living beings? Who needed him there? And for what task?

Now he understood why Tomaso Bernardi had been so sure of his offer, and why he had looked at Snape with that compassionate gaze. Who would have liked living in such a condition? The captains and philosophers and architects whom Bernardi had described in his presentation had been called back almost immediately. Somebody had been waiting desperately for them. They had a mission to accomplish, while he...

Who was missing him? Who needed him?

Who?

Who?

A knock at the door startled him, and he raised his head in alarm. Ginny Weasley Potter peeked in and announced quietly, "I've come back, Professor."

She opened the door completely, and Snape's astonished gaze met the equally astonished gaze of the three younger Potters. The children were evidently dumbstruck. Taken by surprise as well, Snape didn't know how to react. Uncertain, he got up and saw James and Albus Severus take a step back as if frightened at the sight of him. Wounded, he stopped and waited.

As always, it was Lily who broke that tense silence.

"Uncle Severus!" she exclaimed and ran to reach him, opening her arms as if to hug him. But, at the last moment, she seemed to hesitate and slowly raised her head, considering his figure.

"Wow, how tall you are...," she whispered reverently. Then she recovered her spirit.

"I have a present for you!" she announced proudly, and at that declaration, her mother looked amazed, and her brothers cautiously advanced, tilting their heads in curiosity.

With a joyful smile, Lily took out a little rectangular box from her pocket. It was wrapped in silver paper and decorated with a green ribbon. Disconcerted, Snape raised his brows, not knowing what to say.

She smiled at him. "See? I have chosen the colours of your House. I like them; they are much more beautiful than Gryffindor's red and gold."

It was impossible to resist such candid trust, and wordlessly, Snape extended his hand. As soon as the little box touched his skin, it enlarged in his palm. Lily raised her head again at him.

"See?" she repeated. "I asked the clerk to reduce its size so I could take it in my pocket without damaging it."

"Lily!" her mother said, evidently baffled. "When did you go to the shop? And why didn't you tell me anything?"

The girl looked offended. "Because it was a surprise," she replied immediately, then hurried to add, "and I bought it with the money I saved, Mum."

She turned to Snape again. "Open it, Uncle Severus", she practically ordered.

Still silent, Snape fumbled with the ribbon and the paper while Lily waited, rocking impatiently on the heels of her feet. Abandoning their reserve, both her brothers came nearer to watch.

Snape opened the box. Inside, he found a marvellous quill, coloured in nice shades of green. He looked utterly disconcerted, and Lily smiled proudly.

"You can use it for grading so you will remember me."

Suddenly, she seemed to notice the alarming lack of reactions, and her face altered into something similar to anxiety.

"Don't you like it, Uncle Severus?"

Snape looked at the quill and the little one so trustingly staring at him. Something painfully sweet was invading his heart, and he replied with a wavering smile, "It's beautiful. Thank you, Miss Potter."

Lily furrowed her brows.

"You can call me Lily," she said and tugged his sleeve, as if wanting to tell him something. Instinctively, he bent to get closer to her.

"Merry Christmas, Uncle Severus," Lily said simply, and encircling his neck with her short arms, she kissed him on his cheek.

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

The boys were still wary. They were watching him in a sort of weird fascination, but they didn't dare talk. Snape noticed that, incredibly, even James seemed to be subdued, in spite of his notorious boldness. For a moment, he felt desperate. How to explain and reassure the children when he himself was still wallowing in anguish? Albus Severus was studying him with circumspect eyes, and the wizard felt out of place.

"Don't worry," he said in an incongruously apologetic tone. "I am... I am an experiment. I have just one day to live in this form, then I'll be back in my picture again."

Ginny intervened, addressing the children in a tone that brooked no arguments. "Today your father wants you to stay at Hogwarts and celebrate Christmas here with Professor Snape... and Aunt Minerva."

"Oh!" James sounded disappointed, but obviously, he didn't try to dispute with his mother. "So, we are not going to play Quidditch with our cousins at the Burrow?"

He frowned; then a new thought seemed to hit him, and he declared, "Hey, but we could use the pitch here!"

He got excited. "Yes, could we, Mum? I could teach Al the Sloth Roll Grip. Would you like to try, Al? Perhaps Aunt Minerva will allow you to fly since there's nobody here to watch."

"I want to fly, too, James!" Lily interrupted him, jumping up and down in anticipation.

"No way, little pest, you are too small!"

"I'm not!" She stuck out her tongue. "I can catch the Snitch better than you! Uncle George always says that I am the most damn... Oops, sorry, Mum!"

"Your Uncle George is a bit careless with words. You mustn't listen to him", Ginny said, tightening her lips into a line.

"But we may ask Auntie, may we, Mum?" Lily insisted, and as her mother didn't answer, she turned to look at Snape. "May we, Uncle Severus?" she begged with that characteristic pleading voice which no adult can resist. And Snape was all too willing to cede.

"You know," he said slowly, "Today is Christmas, a day for gifts. But I haven't got any presents at the moment. So, I have come to a decision. I will grant each one of you a wish."

The children suddenly looked up at him in excitement.

How easy... how predictable... but after all, why not? Snape considered silently, looking at the little faces turned up so expectantly. Why not, before disappearing into the void again? At least there would be someone who would keep a nice memory of him.

Someone he could make happy.