Home, adrift

by Mothwing

Professor Snape was dead, Severus was alone. He did not mind. He was adrift, unmoored. He walked up and down the high street for hours, not even getting suspicious looks. This was not an area where grown men in funny clothes walking up and down high street aimlessly in the middle of the day got funny looks. This was not the kind of place where people looked at each other at all.

1. Prologue

Prologue

The click with which the door behind him closed brought him back and his shoulders hunched slightly immediately, looking around for signs of trouble in the hallway illuminated by the street light outside. But there were none. The oppressive scent of potpourri filled his nostrils, and as he made his way across the plush but worn carpet, he felt something too deep for words and too old to be conscious relax. There was nothing lying about, and no random stains in the carpet. This already was a good sign. There were no coats on the hooks, another good sign. The only pair of boots were old wellies that had stood there when he still lived here. He took a deep breath, synthetic roses and patchouli.

A peak into the front room revealed furniture he had not seen before, slightly worn, cream coloured and stain free, and for a moment he wondered if he was in the right house. But the scent of familiar stale cigarette smoke emanating from the kitchen reassured him. He furtively glanced into the kitchen as well—nothing on the table, the bin not overflowing, no staggering towers of dishes. Something else unclenched. There was a shopping list on the notepad by the fridge in his mother's cramped, spidery handwriting. He read it. He relaxed further.

Silently, he padded up the stairs. The door to his old room was ajar. He peeked in and saw boxes and a fitness bike. On silent feet, he turned and felt his way to the master bedroom, brushing the bottoms of familiar picture frames until he reached the door. It slid open at his touch and he crept his way into the musky darkness. It was a pleasant surprise, too. He sat down on the bed and felt the chilly, smooth surface of the duvet that his parents threw across it during the day. He lay back, sinking into the duvet with his entire body, shoulders, lower back, legs, feeling the chill seep into his back and surprisingly feeling the tension ebb out of him entirely.

Home.

Hours later, he felt more than saw someone hovering over him, putting a wool blanket over him, and leave again. He turned in his sleep.

For the first time in months, there were no dreams.