Chapter 2

As the service went on, the invisible man in the third pew said not a word and I was grateful for it. Already there was a bright red shameful flush to my cheeks, and the blouse at my armpits felt sticky from sweat.

The decision to seek him out here of all places was, in the cold light of day, awful. Here I was: sitting near the box of his mother's ashes, as if I belonged. As if I was mourning. It was insulting and I was ashamed. Frightened, too, but the situation was so horribly surreal that fear simmered, rather than boiled, and mortification took precedence over true—and sensible—fear. There was an odd sensation of being outside of myself, of watching my body twitch and tremble in the pew, while an unseen wizard grumbled and swore under his breath about both my stupidity and the 'snivelling wanker' of a priest. It made no sense at all – it was bizarre, and I couldn't quite grasp the idea that this moment of stupidity could lead me to death, or worse. I had suspected that there was more to the events on the Astronomy Tower, but suspicions and cold-hard knowledge were vastly different.

And underneath it all was a perverse and entirely wrong sense of safety that I felt, sitting beside a murderer. Presumably because I could have left at any moment and yet there I sat, in the third row at Mrs. Snape's funeral, cringing every time the priest looked me in the eye as he droned on and on about new life and gratefulness. Instinct, or perhaps sheer disbelief at my naivety and Professor Snape's mild-mannered greeting—considering the circumstances—kept me solid in the uncomfortable wooden seat. Brightest witch of her age, indeed.

It would have been wiser to leave it alone.

Yet the notice in the paper had asked for mourners, and so I would bloody well mourn. The box of ashes loomed in the corner – disdain leaked out of it like a rolling carpet of smoke. Like the man sitting stiffly beside me, it was not able to be seen, but I felt it; as sure as I knew the suffocating horror of Dementors, I knew the affronted glare that would have been on Eileen Snape's face, should she be here to sit and view us all. Regardless, a tear snaked its way down my left cheek in reference to a life lived and ended without anyone to mark it.

"And let us pray," the priest said, his voice suddenly louder as he neared the end of his sermon, "for the soul of the newly departed Mrs. Eileen Snape. May she be welcomed into the open arms of the Lord, and may she rest in eternal peace. Amen."

Professor Snape snorted.

Walking with the tip of a wand pointing at my back was surprisingly easy. Like driving lessons last year when Mum told me once to accelerate when coming out of a corner and not before, the methodology of it felt simple. Left foot in front then right foot, wand jab, hissed insult, repeat.

I clutched the box of ashes to my chest – if this were any other situation, I might have laughed from the absurdity of it. Having no one else to palm them off to, and after hearing my vague attestation that yes, I did in fact know someone or other who was related to her, the priest was glad to be rid of Eileen. It was quite easy to convince him, Confunded as he was.

"I thought ashes were buried," I had commented, though only when they were securely in my arms. The Professor's wand poked me in the back just once in response.

The priest looked uncomfortable. "There were no other instructions," he said. "And we don't like to presume."

"Right. I understand." I didn't – he was a poor shepherd, indeed.

And that was how I came to be stumbling along the pavement, the day now warm and muggy, while carrying the remains of Eileen Snape.

We walked for long enough to see the difference between the high street and the homes that directly surrounded the old Mill. The inner city had obviously been cleaned up thanks to families that sought affordable mortgages, yet the further we walked, the dirtier it became. The stench of the river was ever present, though not overpowering; summer had not yet really sunk in. No doubt it would be revolting when the heat truly arrived. I recalled then a story about flooding in the North; the rivers in old towns had risen and fish had flapped themselves to death on the banks. It had been the height of summer—strange times for flooding—and the stench of dead, rotting fish was noteworthy enough to reach the television in our Midlands lounge room.

"See anything you like?" the Professor's ghostly voice rose up into the fog from behind me as I paused just once to take in Spinner's End. There were rows and rows of houses, if one could even call them houses in the first place. Mostly, it was dirty and dark and depressing; a street of brick dilapidation.*

"Not really," I admitted, too hot and uncomfortable to lie. He was quiet, but I suspected that he was smirking.

"Last house on the right," he directed, prodding me again.

"Did you hear that?" I said to Eileen. "Last house on the right." His eye-roll was close to audible.

"Don't give my mam cheek, Granger," said Snape, his voice a low growl. "You've already intruded far too much."

Attempting—and failing—to brush off another tinge of mortification, I asked feebly, "So why not send me home?"

"Home?" he echoed, clicking his tongue. "You've no more of a home than I do."

I opened my mouth in preparation to argue such a ridiculous point—we had nothing in common, surely—when we came to a stop in front of a sad, abandoned-looking house. And then comprehension dawned: Professor Snape called Hogwarts home, and he had destroyed it with sickly green shot of light. We both of us were homeless then, though I took comfort in knowing that he could have no inkling of what I myself had done to lose two homes – not just Hogwarts, but my childhood enclave of safety as well.

"How did you know that?" I said instead, watching as a faint shimmer in the air alerted me to his coming around in front to escort me through the wards. He did not answer and for one disconcerting moment, his invisible hand was on the small of my back – 'Body contact will save you from a painful and long-lasting death, stupid girl' – as he pushed me inside the boundaries.

I had expected them to feel dark and clinging, yet instead a brush with his magic felt… gentle. He scoffed and I jerked my face away, sure that he had been listening to my thoughts.

"No, Granger," he chastised, "but you must learn to not be so transparent."

With a harrumph, I stormed inside the house and waited, heart pounding and stomach flipping, for the Potions Master to reveal himself.

The inside of the house was like him: sharp and unforgiving. The lamps could not completely push the darkness of the sitting room away, and the worn moss green carpet couldn't mask the way the house managed to give a weary, creaking sound with each step.

I flinched when I heard him scoff again, and whirled around to see his face properly for the first time in over a month.

"Oh," I managed, drawing back in shock.

"Oh," he returned flatly, mimicking my surprise with a sneer. His breath was sour. "Foolish girl."

"You might be right…"

For he was a fright indeed, looming over me with a savage sneer painted on his sallow face. With hair now lying flat on his head from grease instead of the usual shine at the parting of his hair during the school terms, Snape was a mess. His eyes were bloodshot and withdrawn, and his body was slighter than I had ever seen it. There was a faint line across the bridge of his nose, from reading glasses I assumed, and a short, untidy beard covered his cheeks. He stooped over me with a glower, but it was then that I knew. I knew. Suspicions became fact, something that might have been scoffed at but here, in the damp and musty-smelling room, it seemed we understood each other. This was no man basking in glory, resplendent in triumph. This was no applauded right-hand man – or if he was, the man himself did not revel in it.

His grief was so tangible, so naked and raw, that there was absolutely no possibility that he wasn't consumed by it – for his mother and, I decided rashly, his now-dead Headmaster. More prudent would have been considering why he'd lifted the curtain for a wayward witch found in a church, but surely there would be time to deliberate on the strangeness of this tableau later.

"You look terrible," I breathed, barely registering the movement of my hand that reached to cup his cheek. And in his shock he allowed the touch; for one short, blessed moment, I was sure that he even moved into it with a weary sigh, but as soon as I knew what it was to feel his paper-thin and bristled skin, he pushed at my chest with two flat palms and I landed on the couch with a squeak.

"You didn't mean it, did you?" I demanded, shockingly naïve that I was. "The Headmaster. There's more to it, isn't there? Look at you!"

"Foolish," he repeated; the venom in his voice sounded false.

I pressed my lips together and assembled my limbs in an orderly fashion on the couch. When I was properly seated instead of the graceless sprawl that I'd fallen into, the Professor straightened his cuffs and sat down in the one single seat opposite. He held both my wand and Eileen, and I stared, nonplussed, as I realised that he had both disarmed me and taken my cargo without so much as a flick of his hand.

Hoarsely, he demanded, "Is he dead? Is that why you are here?"

I shook my head slowly. "Who?"

"Potter," he spat, leaning forward. "Is Potter alive? Is he here?"

"Harry? Is Harry here?" I echoed stupidly, nonplussed. "Of course he isn't here. He's—" Here I paused, uncertain. The Professor gave a wry, sarcastic laugh.

"She strolls into the lair, then questions why she is to be eaten," he commented drily. His gaze lacked heat, but it was angry all the same. The hands on the box of ashes were clenched around it so tightly that it was a wonder his fingers did not snap from the effort. With a start, I remembered our morbid shared purpose earlier this morning.

"I'm sorry," I offered softly. "For your mother. For your loss."

Ebony eyes narrowed, and Snape hissed, "You are not. Do not lie to me, Granger. Not in my house, and not today."

It was fruitless to protest, but I did it anyway. "I'm not lying – I am sorry. What a fucking horrible month it's been."

Despite his own colourful language inside the church, he looked mildly scandalised, and his eyes flashed down to the ashes – almost as if he expected his mother to appear like a djinni and whack our backsides. Curiously, there was no annoyance in his eyes when he met my gaze again – merely something that hinted at grudging toleration. It only served to highlight his ragged appearance. He crossed his arms, and the stench of his stale sweat rose in the air.

"Do you think… that is, do you want… I could make myself scarce if you had planned to—to bathe…" Unperturbed, Snape merely shrugged. "I only ask," I continued on, "as it was rather hot and I was quite uncomfortable walking back and I assume that you—"

"Fuck-all," he groaned, glowering, his discomfort at coarse language seemingly out the window. "And this is the idiot who is supposed to keep Potter within her capable hands… First, she comes to the Death Eater, offering herself up like some prig on a stick. And now…" His lips curled; he looked disgusted. "Are you suggesting that we bathe together, Granger?"

I could not play his game; I looked away, and he nodded to himself. "I'm not suggesting anything," I said, perhaps more bravely than I felt. Snape—for it was strange to think of him as Professor or Sir when I had suggested that he rid himself of clothing and scrub himself raw—fixed his disconcerting gaze upon my face and waited. Despite his dishevelment, he looked mostly tired. For once, as he sat hunched in the chair, I could see him for what he was: a man of no more than thirty seven, and exhausted.

Later I would realise that it would have behoved me to be aware of this calm and startlingly honest mien, for I had seen him furious far more than calm. But alas, though there was too much warmth in the room from the weather, and though my blouse was sticking to my back, I was lulled into a sense of security.

"I only meant," I said, tilting my chin up until I faced him head on, "that perhaps you need to rest, sir. Refresh yourself. And…" I swallowed, perturbed by the way his eyes tracked the movement, "I will still be here when you are finished."

"You are out of your mind, idiot girl." He narrowed his eyes. Strange, that my offer gave him pause to think, but it must have because he looked at me closely: a hard, scrutinizing stare. In that moment, I felt a pull towards him. I shied away from the instinct – it was preferable to think that someone should stay with him and that it might as well be me, than to confront my twisted desire to support a grieving man who had often treated me as if I were mud underneath his shoe. He hadn't even denied the theory that there was more to be known about the night on the Astronomy Tower. That in itself was more a confession than anything else; he had given me no lies thus far, and I was oddly inclined to believe that he wouldn't.

"Interesting…" he commented slowly; his voice was like a waterfall, enunciating the first syllable and then allowing the rest to taper off. "…That you should make such an offer, considering I have your wand."

He did, and, remarkably, I was unfazed. "And you have Eileen, too," I said, jerking my chin at the box. "Shall I hold her for you? You can keep my wand," I added hurriedly, desperate to maintain the link with him, even if it rendered me useless and defenceless. Snape twirled it in his fingers – looking far too smug – and tucked it away near his belt.

"You are remarkably stupid, Granger. It's almost painful to watch you, desperate to please as you are."

I bit my lower lip. "I think you've made that clear." But I've got this far, haven't I? I found you, and I'm here, I thought.

"Obviously not, if you are still entertaining the idea of sending goodie Death Eater off to have a piss and a bath, you fool of a child! Is this what you took from all of your schooling?"

"It was just an idea! When my grandmother died, all Mum wanted was sleep and hot baths, sleep and hot baths, sleep and bloody hot baths. I'd suggest it to anyone and I'm willing to bet you would be doing that now if I hadn't gone and ruddy intruded!" Bluffing, I continued, "You don't want to hurt me. And you won't. I'm just trying to—you haven't killed me yet, have you? So that must mean—"

Snape snarled, baring his stained yellow teeth. "Unbelievable. You are…" Words failed him. Instead, to my stunned amazement, he stood and thrust the box of ashes into my hands. There was a dark and dour expression on his face. "If you so much as step outside, the wards will render you dead. Or terribly uncomfortable, depending on which one you manage to trigger first. You cannot Apparate from here. I have your wand," he snarled, pausing thoughtfully for a moment. "Ah," he said, almost conversationally. "I'll take that." He grabbed my beaded bag and eyed my body. "And that…" he amended, somehow moving past the notice-me-not charm in order to yank off the charmed galleon necklace. "…and I seem to remember you as being too half-witted to master wandless magic. Do not think that I am moved by your naïve declarations, girl. Do not think that you are safe. You have nowhere to go – and no-one knows you are here, you brainless twit. I could go about my business and leave you here to starve – it'd serve you right."

"I don't have anywhere else to go," I muttered, agreeing with the overall sentiment of his little speech. "And I think we have much to talk about."

His eyes roamed over my face. "Interesting," he said again, though this time he looked puzzled. "For all of your foolishness, you have provided me with a break from monotony, I'll grant you that. Even if this is the stupidest act that you have ever done. You will regret this, one way or another."

I stayed silent while he examined me; I did not dare to think on just why I hoped that he would not find me wanting. When he nodded sharply, I breathed a silent sigh of relief and watched him pivot and tap his wand to one bookcase, before ascending the stairs that it swung open to reveal.

When the bathroom door opened and closed, my body began to tremble violently.

This was too simple. Far, far too simple. And I did not know why.


*'Side by side they stood looking across the road at the rows and rows of dilapidated brick houses, their windows dull and blind in the darkness.' - Chap 2, 'Spinner's End', HBP.