In the end of the whole travesty of justice, the Board never heard of the incident, all involved parties remained in school, and they managed to ignore one another.
That always dredged up a different set of memories that Severus banished immediately. Some things belonged firmly in the past. Yes, in the past, if only for the safety of those involved.
No. Bury them deep where not even Voldemort could dig them out. Not impossible; he had doing it for thirty years now. What was a few more, because surely that was only as long as he would live.
Levering himself out of the bed, his bare feet silent on the sedate mint carpet (not his first choice, but certainly cool and relaxing), he retrieved a quill and parchment from the tiny desk. Laughable for an academician, but fine for a lowly Ministry employee. He sat at the desk and began to write. Tried to, anyway.
He certainly did not want his grandmother visiting him, but letter by a familiar hand wouldn't be unwelcome.
This added another item on his list of errands for the morning: an owl. And it couldn't be from Diagon Alley, unless he felt like using a disguise, but those days were long past. No, he'd have to find some new place to get his supplies, or have them delivered to the office at the Ministry if necessary.
And only a week to get his life into some semblance of order. Perhaps it was time to take a chance and live in disorder once more. With his time his own, things were looser, and with his house and his own space, it wasn't such an imperative to keep things locked up or secreted away. Merlin, could he survive leaving a book out of place? Or the door to his room unlocked? Even growing his own dangerous plants?
Living without the certainty of disaster every day...
How can I do it, Babushka? I barely know how to live?
Back and forth, back and forth. It was possible, with every transformation, to feel it growing easier. The pain dimmed to an ache, then just a general stiffness in his shoulders. That became part of his morning routine, and would so until it was perfected.
Breakfast was a brief affair, just toast and a cup of weak tea before he was on his way to Hogwarts. Such light food still gave him trouble as he apparated, his body barely used to flavors now. The time at David's hadn't cured him of Azkaban, and most likely he'd carry some of those scars with him forever.
No time to consider it though because the massive gates were waiting for him, open, as if the castle were aware of his return. So much the better. Maybe he'd be able to avoid Dumbledore.
The front doors opened silently under his touch, and he went inside, making his way immediately for the dungeons. Now the worry over the state of his things was biting at his heels. His potions equipment, his books, even his clothes and his most beloved cloak.
A cloak that he kept tucked away with th other memories mostly. It had been used more than once in an unsavory fashion that nobody ever needed to know about. Such comfort it could provide...
"Severus."
He stopped, not allowing himself to cringe. "I'm here to collect my things." His voice was as steady as he could force it to be, and he refused to turn around.
"I see." A pause, then the quiet sound of robes over stone. "I had it all moved for you so it would not be disturbed."
A silent nod. There would be no thanks here.
"I can show you--"
"Tell me where and I will retrieve it myself. I don't want to disturb the staff." Dumbledore was a very tangible presence behind him; he would not relax until the old man was gone.
A nearly silent sigh. "Your old rooms. We moved the classroom to avoid disturbing them, and put much of what was there away for you to sort through."
He nodded curtly to the hallway in front of him and walked away. It pleased him that Dumbledore did not follow; he wouldn't stand to have someone stare over his shoulder while he gathered his belongings. None of them had made it their business when the aurors had removed him, so he would not allow them to make it their business now.
This was his final washing away of Hogwarts from his person. It was only appropriate that they forget about him as well. In fact, he demanded it. No contact with any of them, no conversations on the street, no chatty letters, not even a card on the holidays.
Even the ghosts and Peeves had enough sense to avoid him as he swept through the dungeon. Hallways he still remembered, knew better than the house he had grown up in. Wards on the door he had enabled and disabled every day for his entire time teaching. It was most like coming home, but that was unwanted sentimentality that he squashed easily. Hogwarts was not as much a home as he would have thought two years ago.
Sorting through everything would have to wait until he was back in his new home because he just couldn't stand being in these dungeons any longer. Stone walls were enough to make his throat tighten up now; he needed to breathe. A wave of his wand, his new wand because his old had been snapped, and everything was stacked together neatly, even the furniture that belonged to him. Another wave and it was all miniaturized and in a pair of boxes.
The boxes flew to his hands without any effort of his wand, and he was free to leave. It was good to be going.
~
Breaking his old habits was a more difficult task than he had originally thought. If only those habits had been born of convenience... There would be no more shopping in Diagon Alley though, no more trips to the shops in Hogsmeade, and certainly no more trips to the obscure specialists he had once sought out.
It took the rest of his morning, but he finally located a place in Ireland that suited his needs and wasn't too far out of his way. He got anonymity there though, and it certainly wasn't too much trouble for that.
Everything he purchased from that row of tidy shops he had delivered to the Ministry. The new robes, the fresh assortment of potions ingredients, a sizable supply of parchment and quills, and even some basic household necessities. And he basked in the anonymity. Politeness greeted him at every doorway, enthusiasm when they saw the size of his purchases, and even fond farewells, asking him to return again. Once he even allowed himself to smile.
Briefly he considered a broom, but he wasn't in the market for a quidditch or racing broom, and thought that if he truly needed one he would either be informed or provided with one. He had no idea what passed for a good broom anyway. Years of indifference and then outright deprivation had done that.
However, he could not skip on purchasing an owl. Something fast, but not showy. Not one of those hyperactive midget beasts either. Letter and package delivery--with ease--were imperative. There was a shop, coincidentally next to the broom and quidditch supply store, that specialized in familiars of all kinds for wizards and witches of any age.
He wasn't sure exactly how much of the Irish wizarding community the store serviced, but the selection of familiars was impressive, certainly better than any one store in Diagon Alley. The shop was much larger on the inside than appeared and was filled with a huge selection of cats, toads, rats, owls, even a pair of sullen-looking German shepherds, and other more specialized animals.
A witch waited patiently behind the counter at the back as he walked slowly, eyeing all the owls. He snorted at a snowy owl. As if he would ever buy one of those.
"All fine birds, sir," the woman said as he grew closer. "Not one over a year old. Even have a raven if that's your preferred style."
"Unreliable things," he said dismissively. "Too nosy by half. I can't have a bird sticking its beak into my potions."
The woman was undeterred by his negative tone. "I agree completely, but there's always one or two that like the challenge."
"Mm." Familiars were very much like wands to him: one would make itself known to him, and that would be his choice. If the familiar picked the wizard then the issue of reliability and loyalty was not a concern. When no person could be counted on, he wanted a faithful owl.
"What about this one?" he asked as he stared right back into a pair of amber eyes. "Very unique. I don't think I've seen one before." It didn't jump to his shoulder, or nip his finger, or do anything beyond gaze at him, but this was the owl that had caught his attention. Almost, very faintly, he could hear it speaking, but took it for an effect of stress.
"We got it in just two days ago. From Sri Lanka. Very distinctive. Fast flyer. Reliable and easy to take care of. Some of those tropical owls can be right picky."
He raised his eyebrows at the bird, which blinked slowly in response. Then he held his arm out, and with the most dignified of efforts, the took its place there. "I'll take it." He smoothed the speckled feathers, and received a delicate nip.
"Him, sir. That's a him. Very handsome too. You'll be very pleased, I'm sure."
~
The owl, now named Lorenz, waited downstairs while Snape fixed the attic up. One part would be for storage, and the other was for Lorenz. "Lorenz!"
A quiet whooshing of wings and the owl maneuvered up through the hatch and immediately perched on the mid-level roost. This was acceptable.
"Are you ready to make a delivery?"
The first sound Lorenz made in his presence was a soft, affirmative hoot.
"I shall have a letter shortly then."
If I must.
Snape stared at the owl. "Was that you?"
Lorenz just closed his eyes.
Though not entirely sure, it seemed very much like the owl had spoken to Snape.
If you won't allow me to visit you, then you must come back to the manor for a day or two. I can't believe you even suggested that I not see you. Young man, your priorities are certainly cock-eyed.
Well, the old woman was right. He would have to see her if only to get her to stop pestering him. And pestering was the last thing he needed while working on these potions.
Eyes still raking over the letter, he absently stirred the potion bubbling madly away in his cauldron. Invisibility potions were notoriously easy to make, which was why they were never even mentioned to his... students...
That were no longer his students. He shoved the thought away and continued to stir with so much vigor the pale pink liquid sloshed over the sides. Hogwarts, he found, was still not important to him, but the thought of his students, his Slytherins... That was much more difficult to let go of.
So many had been influenced by him, not just to avoid Voldemort, but to actively fight against the dark wizard in whatever way they could. His reward for such loyalty and service... He truly believed that loyalty was the one thing he valued in the world. Too bad he couldn't give his to anyone, nor receive it from anyone.
With a casual wave of his hand not stirring the potion (he had used the wrong hand once before and splattered the wall with unfinished Pepper Up potion, leaving blue dots there for a month) he summoned quill and parchment. The most frightening thing about going to see his grandmother again was that his control would almost certainly slip in her presence.
I will have to see what days I am allowed, but surprisingly, the Ministry seems lenient on this regard.
What else to write? She would want as many details as he could give her, but they were not to be expressed in writing. In the end, there wasn't much to tell anyway for he would not speak of Azkaban, and the rest would wait.
He certainly couldn't tell her of what Dumbledore had done, as it was certainly the old wizard that had protected Snape's personal assets from the Ministry, and Sonia still harbored resentment for the werewolf incident. To mention Dumbledore to her would only get her started on why he hadn't protected Snape himself instead of just his possessions.
I am doing as well as can be expected.
What a pathetic excuse for a letter.
"Lorenz."
Too many bloody letters.
Yes, that did seem to be the owl "speaking" to itself. "That is your job," he snapped, and was rewarded with a quizzical look. "Yes, I am speaking to you. I know you understand me, and it seems I understand you. Now deliver this letter without the commentary." He fixed the owl with his best glare. "It is of no concern to replace you."
Touchy. Lorenz nipped his finger rather more viciously than necessary then took off with the letter.
TBC