2 November 1986

Minerva had the cunning to finally corner him outside of the Castle.

Snape had just slunk out of the apothecary- having run out of the ingredients for Sober-Up Potion for a record third time in one week- when the Deputy Headmistress came barrelling down the sidewalk and snatched his arm. Without any warning, the woman Apparated them out of Hogsmeade and next to a small stone kirk perched on a cliff overlooking the swirling silver sea.

The compression and chaos of the journey did not do his pounding head any favours. Snape found himself on the stony ground violently expelling the contents of his stomach. With petty satisfaction, he saw that the acidic splatter ruined the pristine shine of Minerva's boots.

To give her credit, she didn't so much as flinch at the mess, merely throwing up a shielding charm and proffering a snowy white handkerchief for him to wipe at his face when finished. Shakily, he pulled himself up to his knees, and she wordlessly handed him a deep blue phial with a challenging tilt of her head.

He didn't bother to ask what it was; if she truly wished to poison him, he would make no objection. The jumble of flavours was utterly atrocious, and he catalogued the brew gurgling down his gullet as a mixture of Sober-Up, calming draught and a wit sharpener. Homemade, then, he mused as the world seemed to tilt and then settle back on its axis with a dull thud. In the dying light of the day, it was impossible to make out their location, but he reckoned they were still in Scotland.

"Where are we?" he asked flatly, feeling like he should display some displeasure at being summarily kidnapped and dragged about the countryside.

"Mull," she responded succinctly and vanished the sick at her feet.

From the corner of his eye, Snape saw a wizened old man step out of the kirk and stiffened at the sight of the Muggle. Seeing the movement, Minerva turned and then relaxed.

"It's my father. He's the vicar."

"And why," he inquired icily, dredging up the remains of his ire, "…have we travelled to scenic and windswept Mull to visit such an august personage as your father?"

Compressing her lips at his mutinous expression, she pointed towards the heavy wooden doors of the church. "In, and I will tell you. Don't make me force you, laddo. You're not the only one who is quick with a wand, and I needn't remind you that you've already proven yourself rather slow on the uptake once tonight."

It was a tense standoff before Snape gave in with a dismissive shrug. Why the fuck do I care what she wants? The quicker this ends, the faster I can return to my rooms…

The dungeon quarters that he called home were the only place that he could find something approaching solace and that only because he could drink himself into a stupor. Snape had lived in the bottle for five years and two days; five years and two endless days since his massive failure, since Lily had been murdered and the Dark Lord was taken down by his own curse.

There had been no hint on that dreadful night that the world was about to come crashing down. Indeed, he had been rather bored until his Dark Mark had exploded into a fiery paroxysm of agony right in the middle of the Halloween Feast. Seeing his condition and accurately guessing at the cause, Albus had locked him into the Headmaster's office and swiftly disappeared in a billow of phoenix flames. Alone, the pain of the Dark Mark had almost driven Snape mad. In an effort to dull the horror he had drunk the office dry and made a credible attempt at hacking his arm off before eventually passing out.

Snape had awoken three days later in the Hospital Ward. A sympathetic Poppy Pomfrey had told him of events, and he had promptly fucked off to his rooms to drown himself in an epic bender. It had ended when the Aurors had arrested him on charges of high treason and being a Death Eater.

At the last possible minute, Albus had stepped in and saved him from being sentenced to a slow but ultimately welcome death in Azkaban. Plopped directly back into his teaching and Head of House duties, Snape was left to muddle along as of nothing had happened.

Grief, guilt and shame were his constant companions. Visions of Lily haunted him at every turn, and he did his damnedest to eradicate his remaining emotions and connections. Drinking became his only outlet, and if the jaundiced hue of his skin was anything to go by, it would be the death of him sooner rather than later. Assuming, of course, that the meddling, know-it-all, goody-two-shoes that I am surrounded by don't interfere… which given the events of today, seems quite unlikely. It appears that an intervention is the order of the evening. Well, good luck with that one, ducky! Unless you can bring back the dead, you haven't a snowball's chance in hell...

Giving Minerva a sour look, he entered the shadowy kirk, granting her father a brusque nod of acknowledgement as he glided past. She stayed hard on his heels the entire way in and only backed off once the doors had been shut and firmly locked behind them.

The chapel was dim and cool, the rolling swish of the waves and wind suddenly stifled by the thick stone walls. Something twisted uncomfortably in his chest; Snape couldn't recall the last time he had stepped foot in a church. A rustle to his left indicated that Minerva was at last moving away, and after a moment, he heard the familiar rasp of a match and caught a whiff of phosphorous.

One fragile golden flame gave birth to another as Minerva carefully lit a dozen beeswax votives. The gentle light was kind to her visage, wiping away several decades and gifting her with a particular sort of innocence. To his surprise, she knelt reverently and clasped her hands in prayer; the sudden wave of sorrow on her face was enough to make him take a jerky step back, instinctively searching for anything else to focus on.

Her father had lit a long taper and was laboriously making his way up the aisle, a hip ailment shortening his gait into a mincing step. A dozen or so pews lined the path up to the altar and Snape watched the old man's slow journey with his gut churning restlessly. With a nearly silent grunt, the vicar heaved himself up the five stairs that separated the altar from the rest of the chapel. As the wavering light filled the top of the kirk, Severus felt himself go utterly cold.

There, in a place of honour to the right of the lectern, was a beautiful, distinctly antique and much-loved grand piano. The well-polished wood seemed to glow with promise, and it was like being hit by a slicing hex. Five years, he recalled painfully, five years and three days since I have last played the piano…

He hadn't even been able to go in the bloody staff room for the first two years following Lily's murder. The silent hulk of a piano had been a reproachful, punitive reminder of the horror that he had wrought. It made him ill to even catch sight of the ruddy instrument; after all, he had repaid all of Mrs Evans' generosity and kindness by getting her daughter murdered. Shamefully, Snape wondered if she knew of his part in Lily's death. Had he ruined the magic of music for her, too?

A whisper of tartan drew his attention back to Minerva, and he saw that her expression was direct and determined as she rose from her knees.

"Why have you brought me here?" he hissed, already knowing the answer.

Instead of replying, she parried with her own question. "Do you know what day it is, Severus?"

"November the second, nineteen eighty-six," he shot back, feeling a frisson of rage raise the hair at his nape.

"It's All Souls' Day," she continued calmly. "A day to mourn those who have passed before us."

It took a monumental effort to still his first response- you can sod off with your ruddy talk of souls!- and he settled on a silent glare, crossing his arms over his chest.

The Deputy Headmistress was utterly unaffected by his attitude. "I brought you here tonight because you need to grieve. Severus…" Unexpectedly, her voice broke, a rare emotion rippling through his name. "…you can't go on like this…"

"I. Don't. Care," he enunciated pedantically, hands tightening into fists.

"Yes, you do," she murmured, reaching out to touch him. Defiantly, he angled out of range, and Minerva merely shook her head, arm dropping. "I know that you loved her…"

"You know nothing!" he bellowed, voice rebounding off the walls shrilly. In the wake of the sound, the candles flickered.

Her large, dark eyes were fathomless as she watched him. "I understand what it is like to lose someone you hold most dear. More importantly, I also know this: her son still lives, and our fight is not over. He is not gone. You know this, Severus. You still bear His Mark."

Severus could not speak, feeling as if all of the terrible sentiment bottled up inside of him would come bursting out in a river of pain and hate if he uttered so much as a single syllable.

"It is an absolutely appalling thing to ask of you, Severus, but you must survive this loss. You must live… we don't have any hope of winning if you aren't on our side."

Then she did touch him, cupping his cheek gently before letting her hand drop his pounding heart. "Grieve. Play. Say good-bye. Somehow, you must figure out how to become human again."

"You ask so little of me," he finally choked out, belatedly realising that he was panting rapidly in all his righteous fury.

"I know," Minerva whispered, eyes filling with tears. "I know, Severus, and I am so sorry. For so many things… but you must. We all have our parts, and we have to carry on."

Wiping her face, she spoke in brisker tones. "I've warded the kirk so that no one will enter, and no lasting harm can be done by spell or by force. I'll be with my father in the rectory." Without another word, she turned and left him alone in the dark but for the flickering of the votives.

There was very little he remembered about that endless night; he could recall only flashes of being sprawled out on the cold stone floor on his knees, begging for forgiveness, and screaming at the gods- screaming for anyone- to just listen to him. But there were no Faustian bargains to be made, and eventually, he found himself spent and trembling on the padded bench of the kirk's piano.

Mingled tears and sweat dripped onto the gleaming wood, landing with greasy splats. Severus did not dare touch the keyboard at first, feeling as though his long-fingered hands would despoil it as they had so much else. Like a magnet, the instrument drew his hands ever forward, and slowly, cautiously, he stroked the middle C. The note that rang out, redolent with magic- with his magic- rippled down his spine and through the kirk like a clarion bell. It loosened something in his chest, and he found that he suddenly could inhale more fully. Closing his eyes, he reached for the music swirling within; he reached for Lily, and the compassion and love and friendship that had bound him up so unequivocally. He deliberately drew forth the memories of time spent with her mother, and the joy that Mrs Evans had imparted on him during their lessons. Severus even resurrected those few halcyon days in which he had been in favour with his own father. With those memories hanging thick and heavy in the night air, he began to play.

At first, it was nothing more complicated than the scales, and then he moved on to a series of simple, juvenile variations. The effect was like turning on a tap, and after an hour he found himself all manner of tunes pouring from his fingers. Each spoke of a precious memory, recalling rainy, contented afternoons, of sneaking out to the park and lounging by the canal, of magical discoveries made over his Mam's old school books. It hurt, this recollection, but for the first time in a long time, it was a clean pain. Purifying, even. He found something in it; not peace, exactly, but a re-dedication to the cause. Severus' understood that his failures were not yet final. It was as Minerva had said- the first battle was over, but not the war and Severus Tobias Snape had a vital role to play within it.

He was playing the third movement to Prokofiev's sixth sonata when the rising sun illuminated the patterns of purple thistle in the stained glass windows. Like a benediction, the chapel slowly filled with a delicate, lavender light; letting the final notes of the song linger in the dawn air, Severus allowed a last wash of tears and then tucked that part of himself away forever.

With a lingering caress, he closed the fallboard and stiffly made his way to the rectory. Minerva had a hot breakfast waiting for him.

7 September 1992

The first note always hurt, but after that night, he returned to playing regularly. Minerva joined him for duets occasionally, and very rarely, he would consent to both sing and play; it turned out that he had not just the Snape facility for performing, but his father's grand voice as well.

Over the course of the next several years, Severus also discovered the joy of skewering people through music. Granted, most of his targets did not recognise that he was making fun of them—his tendency to play Muggle music almost guaranteed it—but inevitably, at least one person would appreciate the point made.

Severus had just started to pick through his collection of sheet music when a pompous voice sounded off behind him.

"I say, Severus old chap, do you play?"

"No," he drawled, allowing the disdain to drip from his tone. "I simply enjoy fussing about with things that I don't understand."

Gilderoy Lockhart made a sympathetic moue as he buffed his nails. "Not very good then, eh? That's a pity. I must admit, music is one of the few areas I've yet to master despite my great delight of it. I have quite the ear, you know. Why I can tell you right off the bat if something is quality or not. It's an absolute pity that my crusade against all things dark and foul has limited my free time to polish up such hobbies…"

With a sneer, Severus chose his first piece of the evening. For a moment he was tempted to let the blithering numpty's words hang in the air like a foul stench, but remembering a line from the book he had just seen, spoke again. "I suppose that if you had ever learnt, you would have been a great proficient, what with your true enjoyment and natural taste..."

Lockhart nodded sagely. "Precisely."

From the corner, Charity Burbage burst into laughter, placing a well-worn copy of 'Pride and Prejudice' down with a purposeful thump. Making eye contact, Charity raised a mocking brow. Playing the role of Lady Catherine de Bourgh tonight is Gildroy Lockhart…

In agreement, Severus rolled his eyes at the man's unchecked absurdity and began playing Bach's 'Toccata and Fugue in D Minor'. If they were going to have to listen to something so painfully camp and outré all year, the room might as well have the proper soundtrack for it.

12 September 1993

It had been over a week since Snape had set foot in the staff room; with Lupin's gloating presence, it was no longer a safe space for either socialising or playing. He seethed at the very thought of the man- that creature!- back at Hogwarts, not to mention teaching at the school. Indeed, Albus had gone completely mad to think that having a fucking werewolf on staff would end in anything but disaster.

His temper was not improved by Lupin's dramatic retelling of the form taken by Longbottom's bloody boggart just a week into term. It had been presented as a splendid joke for the amusement of the rest of the faculty, but in reality, it had just been another salvo in the on-going war between them. Alas, it had taken a bit of time to come up with something subtly humiliating enough to be used for payback; it was doubly pleasing to Snape that the action would also needle Albus to no end.

Banging into the staff room in a manner guaranteed to raise both attention and eyebrows, Snape was satisfied to see that the room was very nearly full. Without acknowledging any of the greetings, he sat down at the piano and began to play.

The tune was… different. Modern rock, to be precise. And it was Albus, bless his conspiratorial, manipulative little soul who fell neatly into his trap.

"Severus, that is quite a singular sound. What are you playing?"

Snape finished the song and then began making notes on the sheet music. "It's a composition by a Mr Warren Zevon, late of America. It's called 'Werewolves of London'. Shall I sing along with it?"

Without waiting for a response, Snape launched back into the tune.

I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand

Walking through the streets of Soho in the rain
He was looking for a place called Lee Ho Fook's
Gonna get a big dish of beef chow mein.

Aaoooooo!
Werewolves of London!
Aaoooooo!

Snape put a particular relish on the last 'Aaoooo', and then paused, shifting back to glance at Albus and Lupin. The Headmaster was trying not to look irate—Merlin forbid he give the whole game away this early in the term—and Lupin had turned a ruddy, pleasing shade of red.

"It goes on like that for a bit," he informed them gleefully. "Some of the verses are quite creative, actually."

From the centre of the crowded table, a delightfully ignorant Rolanda Hooch gave an exuberant cackle. "I rather like that song. It's got a bit of pep in it, doesn't it? Will you teach me the lyrics?"

"Of course, Rollie. Come sit with me…"

Naturally, Rolanda taught the song to her seventh years, who in turn taught it to the rest of the student body. The Castle was plagued by 'Aaoooooos' the remainder of the year.

23 June 1995

Even through the uncompromising white cotton of his button-down shirt, Snape fancied that he could see the Dark Mark imprinted on his forearm. The tattoo had grown steadily darker over the course of the school year, and now it stood out in vivid indigo contrast to his pale flesh. It sickened him, both for what it originally represented and what the deepening colour meant for Wizarding Britain.

The third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament was planned for the morning, and Snape couldn't help but feel they were hurtling towards some ghastly doom; he had argued, and pleaded, and finally begged Albus to cancel the ruddy thing, but the man would hear nothing of it.

And so Snape played the only thing that seemed appropriate: Liszt's Dante Sonata. The musical representation of wailing souls in Hell seemed horribly fitting; when else would the repeated use of the Devil's Tritone not be dissonant? The melancholy, shivering tune disturbed the assembled staff, even those who had never heard of Dante or his Divine Comedy. Minerva knew the song and what it referenced, however, and gave him a sharp look of rebuke. He flatly ignored it.

What was the bloody use of being a bellwether if no one listened?

24 June 1995

He was right, of course. It had been a trap. And now they were all as lost as any wailing soul circling the depths of Hell.

17 July 1996

A small part of Severus was highly amused to see Minerva chaffing so severely at Poppy's on-going restrictions; given that he was the one customarily hurt and residing in the Hospital Wing, it also made for a welcome change. While he hadn't wished for Minerva to take four stunners to the heart, seeing her sour reactions to weeks of Poppy's incessant fussing had certainly provided interesting… fodder.

"…I am not a bloody child, woman! Stop treating me as if I'm going to crumble into dust!"

"If you are going to use that tone with me, then you'd do well to remember that it's Madame Pomfrey, not 'woman'. And I'll stop treating you like a child when you stop acting like one!"

"Good afternoon, ladies," Snape drawled. Both women swivelled to face him, tempers delightfully high. He let his smile turn a shade more condescending. "As the Deputy Headmistress is feeling her confinement so keenly, I thought I would offer to take her for a short, supervised walk."

"Supervised?" Minerva hissed, the word coming out with a feline fury.

"What are you suggesting, Severus?" Poppy interjected, apparently wanting to be rid of her patient, if only for a little while.

"Not far- just over to the staff lounge," he answered smoothly. "I thought we might play the piano together for a bit."

As expected, both women softened, and Minerva actually appeared teary for an instant. Gryffindors, he thought with an irritable sigh. So utterly predictable…

"That would be lovely," Poppy said. "But no more than an hour or two. I have to administer the next round of healing draughts at three."

Before the older woman could start to grumble again, Snape proffered a hand. "Shall we?"

Stiffly, Minerva acquiesced and somehow restrained herself from making further comment when handed her cane. Like any good gentlemen, Snape ignored her huffing and puffing as they made their way to the lounge; privately, he was concerned with how poorly she was still doing. She's damned lucky not to be dead, and the Aurors were only half-hearted in their castings…

"I am surprised," she finally stated, "…to find you in the Castle in July. You don't normally spend any of your summer holidays here."

"There are several healing unguents that I need to make for Miss Granger. I am also required to brew Wolfsbane, and I refuse to do so in my home or with my equipment."

"Hmph." Minerva made a Scottish noise, not liking the unspoken insult to Lupin.

"Curiosity also compelled me to see how you were faring under the tender ministrations of Madame Pomfrey," he noted slyly, unable to resist needling her.

That earned him an annoyed look, and he merely smirked.

"So," she muttered with some asperity, "…it was a matter of two birds and one stone, eh?"

"Something like that. " Minerva was right to be sceptical, he reflected; he had a multiplicity of reasons for visiting the school. Most importantly, I've got to find out what Albus is doing. He's been too quiet as of late…

"Well, whatever the reason, I am glad for your company."

There was an undercurrent of something darker in her words, and Severus slanted a glance at her. "Has our fearless leader been making himself scarce again?"

She pursed her lips, vivid green eyes as hard as malachite. "Something like that."

With her claws out, there was no hope of getting her to spill any of the Castle gossip that he so badly needed. Later, he decided. They'll be time to pry it out of her once she's calmed down…

"I thought," he said in lighter tones as he opened the door, "…that I would finally teach you some of the northern folk tunes my father taught me, and in return, you could demonstrate some of the Scottish songs that you are always going on about."

Minerva wasn't fooled by the redirection. Still, some of the tension leaked from her frail frame as she hobbled to the bench. So, whatever it is that Albus is doing, she doesn't want to talk about it, or Albus is leaving her out of the loop, and she can't talk about it. Bloody brilliant…

"And are you wanting the hymns or the more secular songs?"

"Either. Music is music."

She gave a snort. "Ahh, so you wouldn't be offended if we started with something Jacobean, then?"

Snape rolled his eyes at the blatant jab. "Hardly. Have you ever known me to be a monarchist?"

"No, but you have shown a preference for other pureblood movements in the past."

The offhanded comment hit him like a slap, and McGonagall winced as soon as it fell out of her mouth. "Severus, forgive me… I've been in such a foul mood as of late…"

His gaze was a great deal cooler than before. "Don't apologise. It's the truth."

"Be that as it may, it was both unkind and unwarranted."

He gave her points for appearing sincere, but that fact didn't stop the embers of his long-held anger from flaring up. I am so god-damned tired of this. No matter what I do, my past is still thrown back in my face. I will always be the villain…

A dozen responses flooded his mouth, and for an instant, he was tempted to lash out with the most obvious of them. Had you done your ruddy job and protected all of the students, not just your precious Gryffindors, maybe I wouldn't have made the choices I did! Perhaps if I hadn't been made to feel like a worthless, greasy git my entire life, I wouldn't have chosen hate…

But he said none of these things. After all this time, there wasn't a point, not really. It was useless to blame others for the toxic results of his own hubris and pride.

"We only have a limited amount of time before Poppy arrives to chide you back into bed," Snape said, focusing on the abstract golden oaken swirls of the piano's surface. "Why don't we get started?"

From behind him, there was nothing but a lengthy silence. Snape wondered if Minerva was actually going to breach the topic of their shared past. As a cloud floated over the sun and the room grew dim, she sighed, giving in. It was a conversation that she didn't want to have, and they both knew it.

By twenty to three, Minerva had visibly started to flag. Opening salvo aside, it had been a pleasant enough way to spend an afternoon. It was clear that the Deputy Headmistress would be under Poppy's care for quite a while yet, and Snape suddenly felt weary at the untimely loss of another ally, however temporary.

Fingers unconsciously playing a tune, he tried to work out what the best approach to pull the required information out of the fragile woman was.

"'Abide with me', Severus? A curious choice…" she murmured tiredly, listening to the first few measures with a tilted head.

He jerked slightly, not realising that he had been playing the hymn. It had been one of the few religious songs that Mrs Evans had taught him, and while the tune was nothing special, Snape had always appreciated the lyrics. "Yes."

"Will you sing it for me?"

The request made him pause, some of the afternoon's hurt stirring in his chest. He could refuse. But what would be the point in it? he thought for the second time in as many hours. There is so little time left, and there is something appropriate in singing a song of suffering…

"As you wish." Taking a breath in, he waited for his mind to empty and then reached for the music that always seemed to be humming under his skin.

Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide.
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day;
Earth's joys grow dim; its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see;
O Thou who changest not, abide with me...

As the weight of the words hit him, Severus' fingers fell off the keys, leaving the song unfinished. He was so sick of it all. Sick of hiding, sick of playing games. Sick of the constant waste and people dying. Change and decay, indeed! Sod this for a game of soldiers, he decided, impotence and fear abruptly coming to a head. I need answers, and I don't have the time or energy to beat around the bush.

"Minerva, what is the old bastard up to?"

She stiffened at his language but didn't argue the underlying sentiment. "I don't know."

He snapped the fallboard shut with a jarring crack. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not." Seeing the raw fury in his expression, she reached a placating hand out. "Severus, I swear, I don't. Why do you think I've been so insufferable? Albus won't tell me a ruddy thing, and it's driving me mad."

"But you have a notion, don't you?" Snape said flatly, trying to rein in his emotions before they got the better of him.

"He's searching for something and has been since he was chased out of the Castle by Umbridge and the Ministry. That's all I've been able to piece together."

"Object or person?"

"Objects, I think."

"Atonement is all well and good, but I can't do this blind, Minerva," he spat.

"I know. And he'll tell us soon enough. He has to…"

"Does he?" he said mockingly. "Because if you recall he's kept us in the dark any number of times over the last several years."

"If he keeps something from us, it's for the greater good." Minerva's chin firmed stubbornly, and Severus reckoned that her injury had come at a most fortuitous time for Albus Dumbledore. An unharmed Minerva McGonagall would have never spouted that line of bullcrap, never mind been reduced to the role of a helpless and hapless woman.

His laugh was short and bitter. "If you insist." He put up a hand to forestall any further arguments. "Come. We need to get you back to Poppy before she attempts to put my head on a pike for keeping you out so long."

Snape had just decanted the base for Miss Granger's salve when the Headmaster's personal House-Elf popped into the room, trembling with terror.

"The Potions Master must come now! A most dreadful thing has happened!"

Putting the dirty cauldron down, he stepped forward, a feeling of dread filling him. "Calm yourself and tell me what has happened."

The elf shook his head wildly, ears flapping. "There is no time! The Potions Master must come now!" Without waiting for a response, the elf grabbed his hand and Apparated them both to the Headmaster's office.

Arriving in the centre of the room, he was shocked to see Dumbledore writhing on the floor in what appeared to be great agony. As a familiar whiff of dark magic filled the air, he caught sight of the man's newly blackened hand, a cracked, malevolent ring on his third finger.

Snape knew that any answers would come too late.

Theirs not to reason why, he thought dumbly, rubbing at his Dark Mark, …but to do and die…

9 January 1997

Three hours into his thirty-seventh year, Snape walked into the shadowy, empty staff room and sat down in front of the piano.

He felt… hollow.

What of my soul?

The room was cold and dark around him as freezing rain hit the windows with an icy rattle.

What of my soul, Albus?

Snape left the room without playing a single note.

A/N- A big thank you to sevslave1, Petrezselyem, Cukika, Azael-Ruthven, 00, and three guests for leaving reviews on the last chapter. The final chapter should hopefully go up shortly, I'm just making some last minute adjustments.