Chapter 1
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated characters belong to JKR. Not to me.
AN: This is a sequel to Redivivus, but not the sequel. I'm still in the process of gradually plotting that out. A good portion of this is spent in flashbacks of various kinds, so this is technically part prequel. Needless to say, this will make little sense without first reading Redivivus, which can be found on my author page.
Updates will be scarce, but should happen at least once per month. Due to real life constraints I can't promise more.
"He's here again, my love. I wonder who the Grangers were to him for him to visit with such devotion? He cares for their gravestone as much as I do for yours." The elderly man scrunched up his handkerchief and used it to polish the surface of the slab of marble, however much it didn't actually need it yet. He lovingly caressed the inscribed name of his late wife, before peeking over the top of the stone at the man approaching one of the most recent additions to the cemetery.
Ordinarily George Sutton would have no compunction about approaching a stranger in this quiet graveyard near the town crematorium, but this man did not look very friendly. Tall, dark and severe, dressed like a refugee from Victorian times, Mr. Unapproachable had been coming here ever since the third name had been added to the grave.
"I reckon it's the daughter he comes for. The dentists Granger died seven months before he started coming. I think he may have been responsible for the strange addition of their daughter. Judging by the epitaph, it's almost as if she died in a war. I wish I could tell you more, dear heart, but I daren't ask him," George whispered into the flower holder at the base of the slab. He stole another look at the stranger. "Forbidding is a pretty poor word to describe his presence. I'd better go before he notices me. Until next time."
I stand before her cenotaph, clutching a single tiny flower between the tips of my finger and thumb. A forget-me-not. I let it go, to flutter down to stick to the slick stone. It had been raining, stopping minutes before my visit. At first I intended to stay away from here, promising myself never to come back. I broke that promise within a month. I think I do well not to visit every day.
It has been over a year now; eighteen months alone. For someone who has spent decades alone, you would think that I would be used to it by now. But for almost two precious years, I was not isolated. That period of companionship has ruined me. I am a shadow of the man I once was. Without her, I have no reason to live on, yet every time I so much as touch a vial of poison, I catch a glint of light. A glimpse of hope. Even when I am not wearing it, my thoughts are drawn to the faintly glowing gemstone of the ring I made for her.
Kept from joining her in death, I instead steadily poison myself with bittersweet memories and mementoes of the past. I know Albus and the few other people who call me friend worry for my sanity. I can see why they question my decision to dwell in the past; I could easily lose myself in it. As it is, my grip on reality is slipping. I care not. Who cares if I forget the names of my current students? Not I. Does it really matter if I rehash the same old tired syllabus? Binns does it all the time. Albus keeps trying to get me to take back the Defence position, but that one year was enough for me. Besides, it is far easier to churn out the same old material in familiar old Potions. I keep shocking the faculty by continually refusing to take back the job I would have killed for. I cannot fathom why they do not realise that there is only one thing I would kill for now…
Yet killing will not bring her back. Nor will spending my evenings (and nights sometimes, I admit) poring over what I have left of my time with her, but at least it will allow me to feel closer to her for a few precious hours. Sometimes I can almost fool myself into thinking that she's still here, or within reach by owl if I happen to be reading one of her letters to me.
It's painful to so much as think her name, yet she is always on my mind. Hermione. I liken the spark of pain at the thought of her name to a split second under the Cruciatus Curse. I do wonder if in the event that she ever does manage the impossible and return to life, whether I will still be the man I was. I suspect that I'll belong in the same ward as Longbottom's parents in St. Mungo's by that time. If that time ever comes…
My stare down at the memorial I engraved for her is intense enough to be read as a glower by the few Muggles frequenting the cemetery. I stave off the impulse to kneel and run my fingers over her name, instead giving in to the urge to return to brooding in my quarters at Hogwarts. I stalk off, leaving for the nearest place suitable for Apparition.
2.7.95
Dear Diary,
I know I'm not terribly good at filling you in on events (if I was, you'd have a name rather than 'Diary'), but I can't keep this to myself. Yet I can't share it with anyone else either. Sometimes it's a Godsend to have an enchanted diary. In days like these, I can't help but think that the enchantment is not permanent. Anyone can read this after my death. I only hope those whom this concerns can forgive me if their secrets are revealed because I'm careless enough to die before my time. Of course, I can also imagine the worst case scenario where Voldemort (good lord, I was tempted to write my stutter over his name) wins and I live to die later in slavery. There are worse things than death, after all.
Agh! This is part of the reason why I don't tend to regularly keep a diary. I ramble on and go off point. The real reason I'm writing in here is to vent. I don't want to let this out anywhere else: Severus Snape is a complete and utter bastard. If his parents were married when they had him, I'll substitute prick for that. And Ron thinks that coarse language never escapes me…
I only wanted to help Snape and he goes ballistic. You'd think he'd be a little more susceptible to accepting assistance when barely on his feet, suffering Cruciatus Curse lag (as opposed to jetlag), but nothing doing. He is impossible! Although from what I know of him, I shouldn't be surprised by what happened last night.
Having overheard Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall discussing various confidential issues (what am I becoming?), I decided that they had enough on their plate. If I could manage to get Snape to accept me as his helper (God, I make myself sound like an elf – Santa's little helpers and all!), then he could assure people like Dumbledore who are also concerned for him that he has arranged his own assistance, freeing up some of Dumbledore's valuable time.
So I set a basic trip ward on Snape's office, which would alert me when someone entered it. Now that the impostor Moody has been dealt with (poor bugger, does anyone deserve the Kiss?), no one else has reason to enter that room save Snape. He returned late last night, jerking me awake. I hurried down, narrowly avoiding Filch and the dreaded Mrs. Norris on my way.
I expected to find Snape slumped on his desk, aftershocks of the Cruciatus wracking his body. Needless to say, I would have been hexed into next year if I hadn't ducked. I thought he was going to burst a vessel. The saving grace was that he was incoherent with rage, a Gryffindor seeing him in a weakened state; no house points lost or detentions! Mind you, I'm not sure my eardrums will ever be the same. I hate it when people shout at me, but I think I find it far more unpleasant when they alternate between roaring and hissing. If Snape has an Animagus form, I'd be willing to bet it was a Chimaera or some other lion/snake composite creature.
Thank God the man has self-control. At one point he raised his hand to strike me, but stopped short. I could have sworn he mumbled something about not being his father… But even his self-control has limits. He was overwrought to begin with, too. I don't mean that he got physically violent with me, just that his yelling (all right; my yelling too. I had to make myself heard somehow!) came close to breaking through the silencing spell he set up. Before that could happen, he collapsed. On top of me. For such an almost skeletally thin man, he's heavy. I think I might still be winded. I tried shoving him off me first, but he was literally a deadweight. Thankfully I could reach my wand, so I Levitated him off me before lowering him to the floor. I hope he appreciates my fine control over the spell, or he'd be as bruised as I am. At first I couldn't find a pulse. I panicked, before the training my parents gave me in first aid took over. Then my knowledge as a witch took over, or perhaps it was that I didn't really want to perform CPR on Snape if I could possibly avoid it. The thought of my lips coming into contact with his, albeit in a non-romantic fashion, was… weird. I tried a Revival Charm, and then tried again to find his pulse. I began to suspect that he was either dead ('Oh my God, I killed a teacher!' was my panicked thought) or really was a vampire when I finally managed to find it. Then his eyes opened. I could feel my stomach plummeting to the vicinity of my feet as those black holes narrowed dangerously. By this point, his throat was too raw to, er, roar anymore, so he just hissed his invective menacingly at me. I wouldn't be surprised if that triggers my old nightmares about the Basilisk. I helped him into his chair, a kindness I doubt he'll be able to forgive. He tried to magically Summon a potion to help dissipate the pain clearly wracking him, then grudgingly ordered me to retrieve it before demanding I leave him in peace. His eyes weren't focusing clearly, something made clear by his addressing the coat rack to my left by 'Miss Granger'. I waited until his eyes slid closed before appearing to obey his command. I opened the door, shut it and ducked down, lunging noiselessly for his desk, out of his sight should his vision recover when he opened his eyes. I heard Snape sigh, muttering something uncomplimentary about interfering, insufferable know-it-alls before gulping down his potion. Nothing happened for a while, but then my jaw dropped as I heard something quite unlike Snape. He was laughing – make that giggling. I couldn't believe my ears. Many things about the wizarding world make me question my sanity, but hearing Snape giggle like Lavender and/or Parvati takes the biscuit. "Am I the next best thing to house-elves? What is Miss Granger intending to call this ill-fated pet project? S.O.S.? Save Old Snape?" He dissolved again into hysterical laughter. I heard a thump followed by a series of bangs. I cautiously peeked over the edge of the desk to see Snape with his head on the desk, fists hammering on the desk as his shoulders shook. I can only guess that either this was a side effect of the potion or that Snape was very different in private. Somehow I doubt anyone can act as unpleasant as he is, so I'd be inclined to suggest the former. He confirmed my hypothesis with his next statement, a prayer that I was far out of earshot by now. That if I were to see him in his currently unguarded state, he'd be doomed to have me wheedle my way into being his apparently unnecessary handler. But he also sniggered that even if I managed that, he wouldn't remember a thing. I ducked back down beneath the desk as he raised his head, snatching up the empty vial. I think he kissed it, strange man. Snape's oddly good mood didn't last. He began to sniffle, sobbing incoherently. It's probably just as well that he can't remember a thing of his potion-addled time, or I'd become as paranoid as Moody. Snape isn't a Potions master for nothing! Poisoning my food or drink, hell, even my books, would be child's play for him. He noticed my presence when I shifted uncomfortably at the sound of his all-out bawling. He somehow managed to ask whether I'd come to laugh at poor, pathetic 'Snivellus' between sobs. I stood up, shaking my head. He wouldn't believe me at first, until I reminded him that I'd only come down out of concern for him. That I wanted to help him in any way I could. He muttered that I must be insane to want to do so, speech broken up by hiccups. He's right. I must be insane – anyone sane would have run for it the moment he began shouting the first time. But my insanity met results! We actually had a civilised conversation after he'd recovered from his crying jag. Unfortunately, before I could manage to stitch him up with a mutual wand oath, the potion wore off. I'd just made my end of the deal, my wand tip pressed to his when I saw him blinking in the flash given off by the sealed oath as if he'd just woken up. He demanded to know what I'd done. After I told him, he raised his wand. He tried to Obliviate me. After all, a student taking advantage of a teacher in a backhanded attempt to help them is outside of the jurisdiction of school rules. I suppose I was lucky he didn't hex me, although he might as well have.
I staggered under the force of a blow that seemed to hammer my mind. I could feel a killer headache starting, throbbing behind both temples. Snape's voice echoed inside my skull, with accompanying pictures of an alternate sequence of events, with Snape finding me in the dungeons, leading me to his office to assign detention and of course deduct points. I shook my head violently, instantly regretting it as the headache worsened and spread to encompass my entire head before it centralised behind my eyes. With that pressure, the false version of events was forced out of my mind even as blood began to trickle from my nose. I wonder if he'd have tried the Memory Charm if he'd known what the effects would be? Harry and Ron would no doubt think so if they ever found out, after an ill-fated attempt at tearing Snape apart with their bare hands. I can't blame him for trying. I would have done much the same in his shoes. He had no way of knowing the true extent of my memory and what an attempt to modify it would have. That doesn't mean that I forgive him for requiring me to take a Blood Replenishing Potion. Bastard. For someone usually on top of things, even unexpected things, he stood there like a lemon while the flow of blood increased. I must have fainted, because the next thing I was aware of was once more being in close proximity to the cold stone floor. At least when Snape collapsed, I had the decency to attempt to catch him, which led to him almost flattening me. When gravity exerted its dominance over me, he kept up the lemon behaviour. Well, at least he's consistent! After he ascertained that I wasn't concussed, he made himself useful by staunching my nosebleed (perhaps flood is a better term?). Then he sent me back into his cupboard to retrieve the aforementioned required potion. I didn't need him to prove his bastardly nature, but of course he thought he did. Of course no apology was forthcoming for the backfired Memory Charm. I wasn't expecting one, nor did I think I really deserved one, what with my attempt to take advantage of his potion-induced lack of Snapeness. I certainly wasn't expecting him to finally threaten to hex me with a curse I still haven't managed to decipher. He did say something about a deterrent from carrying on with my infernal do-gooding, that I'd regret it if I continued to pry in his affairs. He raised his wand again when I tried to defend my position. I decided to retreat before I ended up returned to my parents in a matchbox. I haven't given up on him. He may have won this battle, but he's lost the war. I have a cunning plan… I bet he hasn't a clue how to fend off a determined penpal! HJG
Minerva McGonagall observed Severus shut the diary, having read it over his shoulder from her position perched in the shadows on top of one of his many bookshelves. It was odd reading in her Animagus form as a cat's eyes worked differently than a human's. At once it was both easier and harder to process what was seen. Minerva found that while she had no trouble finishing each page long before Severus did, she had to reread each one several times in order to get more than just the gist of it.
Anyone else wouldn't have attempted to read what was obviously private, but Minerva shared many of the same flaws as her Animagus form. She was known to play with her food, be driven wild by catnip and be especially partial to meat of every variety save forbidden meats such as human flesh, but her chief failing was her curiosity. If she was aware that someone had a secret, she would stop at nothing to discover what it was. No one collected gossip quite like she did, although she disappointed other gossipmongers by keeping what she found out to herself. For instance, whenever Minerva caught Severus dwelling in the past, she spied on him, but she didn't breathe a word to anyone. Albus no doubt would try to put a stop to it if he knew just how much Severus's mind was back at least eighteen months, something that might well destroy what was left of the breaking man. So Minerva just watched and waited, ready to intervene if Severus really did lose his mind.
"Why did she choose to persevere? I injured her, mostly unintentionally, and she still kept going."
Minerva froze at the sound of Severus's voice, which sounded deeper still through the ears of her cat form. Had he noticed her presence?
"Yes, I know you're there, Minerva. My wards alerted me to your presence. Why are you here?"
Hopping down from her failed hiding place, Minerva gave him the inscrutable look that cat's specialise in before turning back into her human form. She shrugged. "Curiosity killed the cat. You know I could never resist a riddle."
"I see. Don't think that you're out of trouble. You invaded my privacy. In return, you can answer my questions. As a woman, you might better understand, after all." Severus glowered up at her, his eyes bloodshot.
"Very well, ask away."
"Hermione," Severus choked the name out, "kept up with her crusade even after I'd hurt her. Why?"
"You needed help. She could give it. What other reason would she need?"
"I could have managed. I didn't need anyone then. I don't now, either!" Severus snarled, lurching to his feet.
"I'd beg to differ. Hermione kept you going when you'd have given up—"
"Do not speak her name," he spat, interrupting her. "No one else has any claim to her save me."
"Severus, what am I to call her? She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Don't be ridiculous. I know you're hurting, but other people are too. You may have been worse affected by her death, but you have no right to hoard what remains of her. By sharing your grief, the burden will be less."
His face twisting, Severus inhaled harshly, tears shining in his eyes. He angrily dashed them away before any could fall. "Leave me," he demanded.
"Not like this. If you carry on like this, your pain will destroy you. I speak from experience. How else do you think I became such a 'dried up old prune'?"
Severus winced at her words. "You're never going to forgive me for that, are you?"
Minerva sighed. "I forgave you almost immediately. I won't let you forget it anytime soon, however." She pushed her square framed glasses down her nose to peer at him over the top, causing him to squirm uncomfortably as the gesture threw him back into his days as her student, continually getting Transfiguration wrong. "Part of your problem is that for some reason you think that you never deserved her in the first place. A guilty voice in your sorry little mind is telling you that if you never let her get close in the first place that she would still be alive. Am I getting close?"
Before Severus could stop it, one of his hands reached up to rub at the back of his neck, a classic sign of a guilty conscience.
"For the last time, you had nothing to do with her death. Cruel fate and the need to vanquish V-V-Voldemort are the only things responsible."
"That's part of my problem. I was useless, unconscious. I didn't deserve her if I couldn't keep her safe." Severus bit his lip, as if he wanted to keep himself from working through some of his issues.
'Oh no you don't, laddie!' Minerva reached up to adjust one of her hairpins, a clear warning sign to the currently clamming up Severus should he choose to observe it. He opened his mouth, the phrase 'I didn't deserve her' clearly about to be repeated. Quick as a pouncing cat, she struck. Literally. Severus's head snapped to the side with the force of her open palmed blow. He stared at her, baffled, one hand rising to cradle his reddening cheek.
"Don't look so gobsmacked. I'm sure that if Hermione could hear what you just said, she would have done much the same. You deserved that for doubting yourself. She persevered with you because you are worth it. You have the potential to be a great man; perhaps not a nice one, but a powerful wizard all the same." Minerva's lips thinned to the point where they almost disappeared. "Now, do I have to repeat that lesson, or reiterate it in a different way?"
"I may be miserable, Minerva, but I have no wish of being miserable in any form but my own," Severus said, eyeing her hands warily. To Minerva's vague surprise, she was idly passing her wand from hand to hand. It was a constant struggle for her not to act on her impulses. Severus was lucky that she had sufficiently trained herself not to act without the conscious intervention of her brain unless severely provoked, or he would find himself Transfigured into a Pygmy Puff. She pocketed her wand before her temptation could prevail.
"I seem to remember a very different tale from you concerning how Hermione managed to work her way past your defences. You seemed to imply that you accepted her as a confidante that night; something about welcoming her concern like a cat enjoys a lap to sit on in front of a fire."
"It was like a man in the desert accepts water, actually. I also never said exactly when I accepted her as my confidante." Severus turned back to his desk, resting one hand protectively on top of Hermione's diary after sitting back down. "I wasn't nearly drunk enough to tell you the truth."
"You lied to me."
"No, I omitted certain truths. Bald-faced lies are hardly my style." Severus Summoned a bottle of Firewhisky, together with two shot glasses. "Drink with me, if you'd care to know more. Drink me under my desk and you may end up with the truth."
Whipping her wand out to Transfigure a comfortable chair, Minerva sat down next to him. She accepted the proffered drink, raising it to eye level. "To Hermione."
AN: Thanks to LadySunflower. Your services as beta were very much appreciated, especially in saving Snape from being OOC before being dosed with and after recovering from a certain potion.