Chapter 7: Lights Were Paling One by One

Snape curled his lips with distaste. The entrance was ringed with Weasley's followers, all of whom had a distinctly Gryffindor edge to them. Several of them stepped back in surprise at his appearance.

"Professor Snape?"

Snape crossed his arms over his chest. He felt cold without his robe. He was about to reply when a barrage of footsteps came from the far end of the corridor.

"Put down your wands!" a magically amplified voice boomed. "By order of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, any resistance will be met with force."

Several of Weasley's followers drew back in bemusement. Clearly, this was an unexpected turn of events. Snape smirked. He heard a shuffling behind him, and turned to find the two Weasley siblings emerging from the room.

"This is your last—" There was a pause. "Professor Weasley?"

"Boss?" the Weasley girl shouted. "Is that you?"

"Weasley," the voice said flatly. A moment later, the corridor was packed with a crowd of Aurors. Snape drew his arms closer around himself. He glanced sideways, almost unconsciously. Frost—Potter—was lying on a magically conjured stretcher. There was a frown on his face, and he was squinting his eyes. Snape turned quickly to look the other way.

"Jack Demme," Fred Weasley said warmly, as though they were at a Ministry cocktail party. "What brings you here with your folks?"

"I was sent by the Minister," Demme replied in an even tone.

"Really," said Weasley with a hint of sharpness in his voice. "Why? May I ask."

"Something about a Harry Potter," Demme said with a nonchalant shrug. Snape glanced at the Weasley girl, whose mouth was quirked in a slight grin. He followed her gaze to Skonser, who was sitting against the wall, nursing what looked to be a broken arm, but looking perfectly innocent.

"Are these the White Knight's men?" Demme asked, pointing to the five or six thickly-muscled men lying trussed on the floor. Pete, Snape noticed with satisfaction, was one of them.

"Yes," said Weasley. "May I ask, how did the Minister find out with such… alacrity?"

Demme shrugged again. "You could ask the Minister. The usual," he said to his Aurors. Snape felt a tinge of amusement as the members of Weasley's Order shuffled back, their faces torn between resentment and sheepishness, and the Aurors, with bored precision, stood over the captives.

"He needs St. Mungo's, Boss," the Weasley girl said, "and I think it would be a good idea to have an escort, given…" She paused.

"Cleared," Demme said. He paused, facing Fred Weasley, who had a stony look on his face. The Weasley girl was calling one of the Aurors to her side. The members of Weasley's Order were clustered uncertainly against the wall. Snape thought he caught a occasional flash of recognition between the two sides. The cluster around Potter was moving down the corridor, every so often hidden from view by knots in the rabble.

Snape straightened with shock. The boy Niles was not among the captured. No, he might have escaped the scene only to be caught by other Aurors who were sure to be securing the entire mansion. Unless—

"Where is Zabini?" he said, interrupting Weasley and Demme's talk.

Both men turned to him with their expressions hastily neutralized. "We did not meet him on the way down," Demme said.

Snape cursed inwardly. If Zabini had escaped, and the boy was with him— And he had promised the boy, bartered the boy's allegiance with a hope that he remembered seeing in the boy's hesitation— He felt an angry wrenching in his chest. He would be no better than Albus, or Jonathan, making promises that he would never keep…

"Professor Snape!"

It was the Weasley girl. He snapped around, acutely aware of the absence of his robes licking the backs of his heels. She beckoned him. A moment later, he saw Potter's pale face emerge as the man struggled into a sitting position.

His heart was beating furiously in his throat when he approached the stretcher. "What is the matter?"

"Severus—"

Snape turned his gaze from Weasley to the man in front of him. The eyes locked to his. A long moment passed. He had to swallow before he could talk. "The year is 2004, Potter."

"We told him that already," the Weasley girl said. Snape ignored the bewildered look she gave him. Potter's face was even whiter than before. He looked young, not childish, but as though he had been born fully grown, at the cusp of manhood. In all his memories, Jonathan had seemed older and weighted with something mysterious, but the present jarred a stranger's wand in his hand.

He turned to the Weasley girl. "I have business to take care of," he said. He paused, refusing to acknowledge to himself why he waited, and then Disapparated.

His flat had an aftertaste of Aurors. Fortunately, that was all that the Aurors had left; a brief investigation revealed that his flat had been minimally disturbed. It was probably Nymphadora Tonks who had come to take away the White Knight's men, he thought.

He would have to be careful, and there was little he could do. There was always little that he could do, besides grit his teeth and endure and wait for the slivers of information that came his way. And he never knew, no matter what Dumbledore said, how much it amounted to. That was what he was good at—enduring. Waiting. But the wait was over. He almost smiled, bitterly, to himself at the triteness of the expression. What was left then? To barge forth like a Gryffindor? But he had promised the boy.

He entered his laboratory. The cabinet was still open, and the ground covered with the black dust of the shen huo jing. The mess cleared with a flick of his wand. He returned to the sitting room, and his stomach made a low rumbling noise. He realized he had not eaten a proper meal in days.

The fireplace swirled green. Snape stood back, realizing a moment later that he did not have a robe on.

Granger's head appeared a moment later.

"Severus! There you are. Why aren't you here, at St. Mungo's? The whole Order's here."

Snape looked at her with mock bemusement. "Should I be? And you look awful, Granger. Get some sleep before you overstrain yourself."

"Harry's at the hospital."

Snape curled his lips and turned slightly. "I don't see how that obligates me at all."

"Severus!"

He stared silently at the mantelpiece, as though he could find the secrets to the questions that he was asking himself in the stone make. Why? He knew he was afraid, but it was not fear that made him petulant, that made him try to run away from the truth after twenty-five years of wait. He paused in his thoughts. If it was not fear, though, what could it be?

"He'll ask for you when he wakes." Granger paused, and then added, "It's an Order meeting, Severus, you shouldn't miss it."

"The Order was Albus's," Snape said coldly.

Granger sighed. "Well, if you change your mind…" She stopped. "Have a good day, Severus." The flames swirled and resumed their normal shade of vermillion.

Snape snapped around and stalked into his bedroom. He flicked his wand, and felt the comfortable folds of a robe envelope him. He hoped St. Mungo's would not misplace the robes he had draped over Potter's body; he was particularly fond of that one. It would also be nice, he thought, to get his wand back from Zabini. And the boy.

A moment later, he was back in the sitting room. He would need the Order's assistance, and the Potter-Granger duo, he was quite sure, would easily be the de facto leader. Fred Weasley would cease to be a threat if the Granger and the Weasley girl ensconced themselves well and, he thought with a streak of cynicism, played the media correctly.

"St. Mungo's," he shouted, tossing a pinch of Floo powder into the fire.

The moment he stepped out of the fireplace, he was nearly knocked back into it. The reception room was packed with reporters. The desk was completely hidden from view, and, he observed from the corner that he had been rapidly shoved into, it was impossible to get any closer.

A moment later, he noticed a plump nurse clamber onto the reception desk. She tapped her throat with her wand, and a clarion-like voice reverberated in the room: "EXCUSE ME. EXCUSE ME! THERE IS NO HARRY POTTER HERE. I HAVE NO CLUE WHO CAME UP WITH THIS RIDICULOUS IDEA. I REPEAT: THERE IS NO HARRY POTTER HERE! THIS IS A HOSPITAL, NOT A CIRCUS…"

Snape frowned. The portrait of Asclepius was winking at him and nodding towards the exit.

"Pardon me," Snape muttered, and wedged through the crowd to the doorway.

He stepped outside. The sky was darkening. He glanced to either side; the place was deserted, save for a clandestine interview that seemed to be going on between a hospital staff and a reporter.

"Professor! Over here. I'm under Disillusionment. This way."

Snape jerked his head in the direction of the Weasley girl's whisper. He followed the voice cautiously to a corner of the Muggle-store façade, next to a dented tin rubbish can. There was a faint sucking noise, and Ginny Weasley appeared.

"We can't have the reporters seeing me," the Weasley girl muttered. "They're attacking everyone with red hair." She led him to a section of the wall that had a swear word scrawled over its face, in handwriting as bad as that of a four-year-old. "This is a back entrance, actually."

"Interesting," Snape said dryly. "Where did you learn of it?"

"It's an Auror thing. Dracunculus." The wall slid inwards, revealing a dim interior staircase. "He's on the sixth floor," said Weasley.

As is Albus, Snape thought. Knowing this way of getting in would have been rather useful for his last visit.

"How did you know I had arrived?" Snape asked.

"Hermione said you'd probably come."

"I see." He was reluctantly impressed with Granger's ability to predict his actions, though it reminded him a bit uncomfortably of Albus. How did she end up in Gryffindor, with a mind like hers?

"They did the routine check-ups on him," Weasley went on. "From what I heard while I was there, there isn't anything wrong—physically. Magically…"

"We are keeping all the records?" Snape said sharply.

"Of course. We Obliviated the healer who did it. Magically, he's off the map."

"Yes," Snape said dryly. Granger's words did not need reminding.

They arrived in front of a metal door. Weasley turned the knob and pushed hard. "It doesn't fit well," she said apologetically, before lunging at the door again. This time she stumbled through. Snape followed into what appeared to be a closet. Weasley tapped her wand on the wall, which melted, a moment later, to reveal the blindingly white interior.

"Hello," said Granger. She was sitting to the right of the bed that stood in the center of the room.

Snape stepped forward. Fred Weasley was there as well, he noticed with distaste, standing on the other side of the bed. "He's asleep," he said.

"So he is," said Fred Weasley. "He was awake when he first got here, but I'm afraid you missed it, Professor."

"I see."

Granger turned her head. "Molly? Tonks? Severus is here," she called.

The two women entered, Molly Weasley first, blocking every part of the other witch except for the forehead and bristling pink hair.

"Severus, how good to see you," Molly Weasley said.

"Molly," Snape said with a nod. She seemed, strangely, much softer than he remembered. "It has been quite a while."

The wan smile she gave confirmed his impression. "Yes, it has." There was white in her otherwise red hair that he had not noticed.

"And Nymphadora," Snape said.

She scowled. "Hello to you too, Professor."

Snape turned to Granger, who was looking pensively at the wall. "Is this all of us?" He whirled around before she could answer. "Ah," he said, narrowing his eyes. "Lupin. No meeting could be complete without our token underdog, eh?"

Lupin's smile to him was even more hesitant than usual. "Hello, Severus. It's good to see you too."

"Please, a minimum of baiting," Granger said, but without any real chiding. Snape crossed his arms without saying a word, only smiling thinly at the look of surprise on Lupin's face. "I sent the summons to Mad-Eye, but he hasn't responded yet."

"He'll be around soon," said Fred Weasley.

Granger nodded with equanimity. "Very well then." She turned slightly, but enough so that she was addressing everyone in the room. "I called this meeting because Harry's back."

The Weasley girl gave a loud whoop and began to clap. Tonks joined in, but the two petered out a moment later.

"I am sure everyone is wondering where he was all this time," said Granger. "The answer is complicated." She paused and gave a brief glance first to Snape, and then to Lupin. She continued a moment later, as though nothing had happened. "None of us knows for sure exactly what happened. What we do know, however, is that Harry disappeared on the night of the final battle, and most likely spent the next four years encased in magical ice on the island of Svalbard." She stopped to take a breath. "Cases of magical hibernation are very rare, but they are usually… freak accidents, shall we say. In this case Harry will probably not be able to tell us much, since he was likely unconscious for most of it."

"For four whole years?" the Weasley girl said.

"It seems like quite a while, but Brunnhilde was supposed to have been sleeping for fifty or so years before Siegfried woke her."

"I thought that was only a Muggle legend," Fred Weasley said.

"Brunnhilde happened to be an Austrasian queen in the sixth century a.D. who played a prominent role in Muggle-magic politics," Granger replied evenly.

Snape snorted. "I take it that History of Magic was not your favorite subject, Weasley?"

A polite 'ahem' interrupted whatever Weasley's reply might have been. Asclepius was leaning halfway into the frame of his portrait. "There're a few wizards wanting to see Mr. Harry Potter," he said. "I believe they are the Minister and an Auror by the name of Cormac McLaggen."

"Well?" said Tonks.

"Well we know whose side the Minister is on," the Weasley girl said darkly. She crossed her arms over her chest, staring evenly at her brother. "Hermione and I found out yesterday morning," she continued. "I'm quite impressed by how deep your pockets are, Fred."

Snape snorted. In hindsight this new development was not so surprising, although it was worrisome. He had underestimated Fred Weasley. He quashed the voice in his head that reminded him of his tendency to underestimate Gryffindors in general.

"It might not be a good idea to alienate the Minister," Fred Weasley said, as though he had heard nothing.

"I wouldn't mind Cormac coming in," the Weasley girl went on, a bit louder, pretending, in her turn, that her brother had not said anything. "At least he isn't under anyone's agenda."

"Hmm," said Granger. Her gaze flickered from Fred Weasley to his sister, and then to the bed. "Or we can let Harry decide."

As if on cue, the others in the room lurched towards the bed. Lupin had a particularly vapid look about him, and nearly knocked Tonks out of the way. Snape hung back, letting his lips curl in disdain. He hated the fact that a fist seemed to have clenched around his stomach.

"Excuse me?" said Asclepius, who had reappeared. "Alastor Moody is there as well."

"Thank you," called Granger, who, besides Snape, seemed to be the only person who heard. "The Minister will be here soon," she announced. At Snape's frown, she added, "Alastor knows this back entrance, too."

"Severus," Lupin called. He had a strained look on his face. "Could you come over here for a moment?"

Snape set his lips in a thin line, and stalked to the bedside with as much coldness as he could muster. "Pardon me," he muttered, and Molly Weasley and the Weasley girl stepped back to let him through.

Potter had a tentative smile on his face.

"Severus," he said, and reached up a hand. Dumbly, Snape took it. The black markings of the Dark Mark looked awkwardly out-of-place on Potter's pale face. It was whiter than he remembered. He realized that, in his mind, he had envisioned Jonathan growing old with him. The hair should have been streaked with gray, and the eyes darker. But they glittered with the unnatural greenness that belonged to no one else but Potter.

A sucking sound came from the opposite wall. Snape let go of the hand, feeling his face grow hot with a flush. He wondered, too late, what the others would make of it. Perhaps Lupin was feeling tormented, he thought spitefully.

"Hello, Minister," said Granger.

"Granger," Rufus Scrimgeour grunted. He had entered with Mad-Eye Moody on his right, and a vaguely familiar man in his twenties on his left. He and the Weasley girl exchanged greetings; Snape supposed the man must have been an ex-pupil.

The Minister stepped forward and gave the room a cursory glance before resting his gaze on Potter. He seemed to change his mind a few times before saying, at last, "It's been a few years, Harry Potter."

"Minister," Potter said in an even tone. His gaze slid to the person standing to the Minister's right. "Alastor." The sound jarred in Snape's mind. He felt himself jerked back twenty five years, to stone-wall corridors and the rush of emotion, but he found himself aware, also, of how different this Potter was from the man of five years ago. This Potter sounded downright cold. Had he never noticed it in his memory, even after having known the truth?

"I expect you'll want to have some time for yourself to recuperate," said Scrimgeour. "Very glad to have you back, though. I think I can speak for everyone in saying that we are all extremely grateful."

Potter inclined his head. "Thank you, Minister."

Scrimgeour grunted and stepped back. "There's a lot of familiar faces in this room," he muttered.

"Yes," said Granger, "and with Alastor here, I believe we're complete." She smiled. "Even Albus is just next door."

The Minister grunted again. "I don't suppose I could address him as the leader of your Order anymore." He turned to Fred Weasley and cleared his throat.

"Granger, I believe, would be the most suitable for the role of leadership, if indeed you are looking for one, Minister," Snape said before Scrimgeour could open his mouth. Fred Weasley did not move, or even seem to hear. "All of us can attest that she worked more closely with Albus than anyone else." He paused. "Except for perhaps Potter."

"No, I couldn't," Granger said, demurely stroking her belly. "Being the Head of the Department of Mysteries is a task I would like to commit myself to fully." She paused. The Minister grunted in assent. Something had happened, Snape was sure, glancing in turn at the Minister's wooden face, the thin-lipped expressions of the Weasley siblings, and Granger's waiting look.

"Yes, Granger, your demonstration of the independence of the Department of Mysteries was most effective," Scrimgeour growled. He turned to Fred Weasley.

"You would be surprised at the amount of paperwork Hogwarts Headmasters have, Rufus," Weasley said with equanimity. "I'm not surprised that my predecessor declined any Ministry position."

Snape frowned. He felt the beginnings of understanding uncurl in his mind. Apparently quite a lot had happened while he was lying in a cold stone cell, his mind clouded by crackle.

The Minister cleared his throat. "Well then—"

"I doubt the Order of the Phoenix will have much activity in the future," Granger interrupted. "Voldemort is as dead as he was four years ago. My magicists and I checked with every possible tracker. But if you insist, it is my opinion that Harry should be the leader of the Order of the Phoenix."

"I second that," the Weasley girl said.

"Me too," said Tonks.

Granger looked around. "Then I believe the matter is settled."

"That is," Snape said dryly, "if Potter is willing to take the position."

Potter stirred. "I… sorry, but I don't quite understand," he muttered. His gaze darted from one face to the other, like a will-o-wisp. "If Voldemort is dead, I don't see the point of keeping the Order going. Albus always said that it should be disbanded in times of peace," he added.

Snape felt the expectant gazes in the room turn to Fred Weasley. Molly Weasley and Lupin, however, looked as confused as Potter. Snape curled his lips. So they were almost as ignorant and ill-informed as he had been a few months ago. And apparently Weasley was hiding his tracks from his family.

But it was not Weasley who answered. "There's never a time of peace, Potter," Moody growled. He unhooked the flask from his hip and took a swig of it. "Constant vigilance!"

"Yes," Potter said, sounding slightly exasperated, "but that's why we have Aurors."

"Do you think Voldemort is truly dead?"

The silence that fell glittered like small crumbles of glass.

"What do you mean?" Molly Weasley rasped. Her face was ashen.

"Alastor is referring to the fact that vestiges of Voldemort still remain in this world, but"—Granger raised her voice momentarily, which turned out to be unnecessary—"that is expected. We have discussed this more than once. And I have talked to you about this at least once, Minister." She paused. "Voldemort managed magic profound enough such that the eradication of his soul was not sufficient to undo its effects. His failed attempt to use Harry as a Horcrux is an example of such an attempt."

"A little bit here, and a little bit there," Moody growled.

Molly Weasley looked placated, and Tonks and the Weasley girl seemed only slightly uncertain. Snape found himself wondering how much it was due to Granger's lying, and how much was to their own. Granger, he thought with a pang of irony, was a suitable heir to Albus with respect to sugar-coated falsehoods. But there was really no way to breach the truth, that the souls of Potter and Voldemort no longer truly existed. There was now only a dark in-between, whose only light had come twenty-five years ago.

A memory floated to the surface of his mind, a reminiscence that tasted like the slick of old oil. Not long ago, he had been the only one who believed that Potter, or Jonathan Frost, was still alive. How long ago had that been? More than a year ago. Before he started frequenting the dens. Two years? Time felt slippery, a haze of cold November mornings. Images scattered like embers on a mirror: Granger admitting that she no longer thought Potter to be alive, the diary of Christolph burning in the fireplace. Lupin no longer trying. Leaving Hogwarts, and everything that had kept him tethered, that had kindled the incentive to do more than merely exist. The emptiness of his den. And now—this. He glanced at the stubbornly furrowed brow, the soft lower lip, the shape of the jaw, realities that hollowed memories with despair. Damn Potter for undoing what had taken twenty-five years to do. Was it some joke that a still-sane Albus was playing from behind curtains? Now he had to contend with a man that he loathed and abhorred, who had betrayed him, who had commanded more than half his life, whose memory he had clung to and fought against for more than two decades, and who was still the best memory he had.

"It's your business," Scrimgeour said gruffly. He stepped back. "I would give a press conference if I were you, Potter," he said. "And soon. Good day to you all."

"Good day, Minister," said Granger. The other murmured in accord. Moody tapped the wall with his wand, and the cavity opened. One by one, the three men stepped in, and disappeared.

"How nice of them to drop by," Granger muttered. There was a pause in the room. "Harry, how are you feeling?"

Potter stirred. The others leaned forward, and Snape tensed at the feeling of being surrounded. "All right," said Potter. He attempted a wan smile. "Everything's a bit… hazy right now. Memories, and things, I mean."

"You must live with us," said Molly Weasley. "It's been ages since the last time you did."

"No, I couldn't possibly impose—"

"The house is too empty," she interrupted, "and I can't cook for just Ginny and me. And if you feel obligated in any way, there's always the garden you could de-gnome."

Potter looked up with a hint of desperation in his face. Snape felt Granger's gaze on him. He caught it, and saw her glance at Fred Weasley, and then back at him.

"As much as I am aware of your desire to impose yourself on Molly, Mr. Potter, I'm afraid I'll have to borrow you for a few weeks," Snape said smoothly. "Some observation would be advisable, I believe."

Molly Weasley frowned. "Surely Ginny and I could do that?"

"Yes, I am sure you could," Snape said, as amicably as he could, "but there are certain… particulars that would be most easily achieved with Potter in my vicinity." He paused. "Poppy handed his hospital records to me," he added. "And there are certain potions that require the near-constant presence of the patient."

"I see," Molly Weasley said. She sighed resignedly. "Well, Severus, I hope you won't mind if I sent you some food parcels?"

Snape smiled thinly. "I am not planning on starving The-Man-Who-Defeated-Voldemort."

"Snape," Lupin muttered warningly.

Snape looked down at Potter. The disturbingly green eyes met his. "It's up to you, Mr. Potter."

"Yes," Potter said, looking around the room. From his position, Snape could see him swallow before speaking. "That would be the best thing to do, I think."

Snape clenched his jaw, and cursed his heart for pounding so madly in his chest. It was nothing—and at the same time, everything, just as it had been before.

The meeting ended soon after that. Tonks was the first to go, citing Auror duties, and Fred Weasley, from headmaster tasks; everyone else, Snape noticed with a bit of annoyance, was reluctant to leave, even though no one spent much time actually talking to Potter. They seemed perfectly content to loaf in his presence, as though he were a Muggle radiator on a cold day. Snape was thankful no one tried to engage him in conversation, particularly Lupin or Potter. Finally, he stalked to where the Weasley girl was listening to Molly Weasley's maternity conversation with Granger, and interrupted it.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Weasley," he said in a low voice, "I would like to ask of you a favor."

She gave a glance to the two other women, and then stepped aside.

"Do you remember the boy from Zabini manor? His name was Niles, I believe."

"The one who opened the door? Yes."

"I have an interest in him; he may be important, not just to the White Knight's operations, but to Potter as well." Strictly, it was not a lie. "If he has been taken by the Aurors, I would appreciate that you inform me."

The Weasley girl frowned. "I can do that. I don't think he was taken, though."

"No," Snape said grimly. "But you will inform me of any developments?"

The Weasley girl nodded.

"Severus?" Granger called. "I have some of Harry's old things." She glanced at the bed, where Potter was engaged in a halting conversation with Lupin. "You can drop by and pick them up later."

Snape scowled. He felt suddenly as though he were once again the dreaded Potions master, forced to care for brats he would rather see minced into ingredients, and once more twice Potter's age. He turned half an eye to where Potter seemed to have warmed up to the werewolf. Even seeing the Dark Mark scrawled over the pale face, Snape found himself reminded more sharply than ever of Potter's father. He tried to bat the thought away. James Potter had not entered his thoughts for a long time.

"Severus."

Ah, Lupin. Snape narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "What is it?"

Lupin's gaze shifted to Snape's left, where the two Weasley women were chatting with Granger. "Just… take good care of Harry."

Snape snorted. "Rest assured. Potter will receive no more damage than is necessary." Lupin's face tightened, but he excused himself and disappeared through the wall without further ado. Snape could feel the three women's gaze on him, and Potter's eyes, in the moment that he met their gaze, had a masked look about them. Snape gave an inward sigh. It seemed his fate to eternally be dealing with Gryffindors.

"Harry, you're always welcome to visit the Burrow," Molly Weasley insisted half an hour later. "We'd love to have you for dinner some time."

"Mum, he knows," the Weasley girl muttered.

"You too, Severus, and Hermione, don't you dare go buying baby clothes. You won't believe how warm Bill's baby jumpers are."

"Yes," said Granger, with a smile. "Roger and I are deciding Harry's clothing schedule. He'll be a Weasley on Mondays and Wednesdays, and a Pickering on Tuesdays and Thursdays."

"Don't believe in those Muggle things. Arthur insisted on buying one for Charlie, and he nearly caught pneumonia when he was three. Harry, do you think you'll have time this Saturday?"

"Mum!" the Weasley girl said, exasperated. "Come on, Mum. Bye, Hermione; bye, Harry!"

"Floo me if anything comes up," Granger called.

"I'll have Ginny send you a few scones tomorrow, Severus."

"I doubt Potter will go hungry. After all, he has gone four years without food."

"Severus!"

"Bye Professor—"

Granger stood, arching her back. She looked at Harry with a half-tentative smile. "I'm so glad you're back, Harry. Take care, Severus."

Snape nodded. "You too, Granger," he said. He put a hand on Potter's shoulder. "We're Apparating, Potter," he said curtly, and steadied himself. In another moment, he felt the surge of magic swallow him and blur the world before his eyes.

They appeared in the empty sitting room. The darkness was a relief from the blinding sterility of the hospital walls. Snape shut his eyes. He felt suddenly exhausted. A headache was pulsing somewhere in front of temples, and was slowly digging its way behind his eyes.

"Well, Potter," he said, letting go of Potter's shoulder. "This is my flat. I do not believe you have seen it before."

Potter did not answer for an unusually long pause. "No," he said at last. "No, I haven't."

Snape grunted. "Tibby!" he barked. The house-elf appeared with a pop. Snape opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Tibby tensed and jerked away from Potter. "Tibby?"

The house-elf's voice was more of a whimper. "Tibby is s-sorry. Is this—is this Master Snape's guest?"

Snape nodded. Potter's face looked hard, but also unsurprised. "Is something the matter, Tibby?"

Tibby shook her head. Snape had to strain his ears to make out what the house-elf was gibbering: "Magic not f-friendly… not b-belong in a home…"

"This is my guest, Tibby," said Snape. "I swear he will not harm you." He glanced at Potter, who was staring into space, and pointedly cleared his throat.

"What? Oh… um, Tibby…" Potter lowered himself into a squat. The house-elf shrieked and jolted backwards. "Guess not," Potter muttered. "I… well, I promise not to hurt you Tibby. I swear," he added hesitantly.

"Prepare arrangements for a guest, please," said Snape. "I would also like dinner now. Something light for me. And for Potter as well, I imagine."

"Yes, Master," Tibby squeaked, bowed hurriedly, and disappeared.

"I thought you were good with house-elves," Snape said.

"I…" Potter trailed off. "I used to be."

The pause strained the air. It was as though Potter had brought something darker into the room, something that was now waiting to spring from the voluminous layers of shadow.

"The kitchen is this way," said Snape. He glanced at the clock; the hour hand was nearly pointing to twelve. A uncomfortable trickle worked down his stomach. His bedroom was too small for two people. And Potter would not ask it, probably—and he would not allow it.

The chair he had summoned for the boy Niles was still there. Potter lowered himself into it and clutched his arms around his elbows. Snape frowned.

"Are you cold?"

Potter nodded. "Just a bit."

"You are wearing too little, Potter." He held back on pointing out that Potter was actually wearing his robe. "Wait here. I believe I have some clothes that might fit you."

He left the kitchen to the hallway and then his own room. The smell of it was familiar and strange at the same time. He wondered how much of a difference two days of absence made. Snape swung open the wardrobe door and held up his wand with a muttered, "Lumos." The wand sputtered; that was another thing he should have mentioned to the Weasley girl, he thought: his wand.

He returned to the kitchen with a jumper that Albus had given him towards the beginning of his teaching career, before Albus knew just what sorts of Christmas gifts he could appreciate. The food had appeared on the table, and Potter had begun eating.

"This should suffice," Snape said.

"Thanks," said Potter. "So… when's Hermione going to have her baby?" he asked a few moments later.

"Any time now."

"She's naming it Harry?"

Snape nodded. Potter seemed neither, or perhaps both, pleased and unhappy about it. His next words were more hesitant. "What about… this Order thing?" He paused. "I mean, I don't see why it's still around, or why Hermione hasn't disbanded it."

"You missed quite a lot while you were in the ice," Snape said dryly. "The Order was disbanded as Albus would have wished. However, not long after, Fred Weasley started his own Order. From what I know of it, it is something of a private vigilante group." He paused. "It is perhaps unfortunate that Weasley is the current Hogwarts Headmaster."

"Fred's Headmaster?"

"It is a surprise, I know."

"I always thought…" Potter trailed off. Snape waited. "Well, you, for one," Potter mumbled. "I couldn't really see Fred as Headmaster, although I guess he changed after George died…"

Snape grunted. They were silent for a few moments more. "I… don't remember a lot," Potter said. Snape waited. "Or anything at all, really." Potter frowned. "The place where I woke up—where was that?"

"That is something of a long story. I assume you are aware of the nature of drug cartels?"

"Drug cartels? You mean, like—" Potter paused. "Cocaine? Marijuana?"

"Yes. Recently, there has been a flourishing of magical equivalents. One of the results of this Muggle-wizard hybridization…" He let his lips curl in disdain, but only briefly.

"You mean, wizard crack? That sort of thing?"

"I believe so," said Snape, not entirely sure what crack was. "One of the more prominent leaders in the drug trade is a figure who calls himself the White Knight."

Potter snorted. "Sorry. Sounds corny."

"Indeed." Snape paused. He supposed that ultimately it would be futile to hide his business dealings from Potter. But it was no one's business besides his own. "Regardless his choice of name, he is not to be underestimated. The White Knight managed to include an agent in a Ministry mission to discover a thing of power…" Snape smiled at the taste of irony. "Which happened to be you."

"Me?"

"Yes. Using certain devices that Granger and her magicists invented, it was discovered that you have five hundred times the magic of Hogwarts."

Potter sat back. He appeared stunned, but there was something else as well, something in the paling of the face and emptying of those unnaturally green eyes, which made the lines of the Dark Mark show more strongly. Snape found himself wishing that Potter would pull the glamour over the hideous black lines, just as he had as Jonathan Frost.

Snape continued. "There was a struggle, I believe, between the Ministry and the White Knight. The White Knight temporarily managed to gain possession of you, as a block of ice, and hide you in Zabini Manor. Appropriate, as the White Knight is really Blaise Zabini."

"Zabini? Are you serious?"

"Yes," Snape said dryly.

Potter rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Damn," he muttered. "A lot's happened while I wasn't around."

"Mm. I would say the happenings during the first twenty years were considerably more substantial."

Potter let his hands drop to his sides. Snape clenched his jaw, but forced himself to remain calm. The kitchen was lit with garishly white lighting, which Granger informed him was taken from Muggle living spaces. It made the pallor of skin look closer to that of a corpse.

"How did you… find out?"

"Albus always knew," Snape said. His voice sounded cold, even to himself. "And Granger figured it out herself."

"So… you know?"

"Yes, I know," Snape snapped, lacing the last word heavily with sarcasm. Potter sat very still. "Though not everything, I'm certain," Snape finished, voice cool. There was a silence for a few moments. "Albus has gone insane."

Potter's looked up, this time genuinely stunned. "What?"

"A year after you disappeared, he began deteriorating," Snape said. "He is in St. Mungo's now. In fact, he was next door to where our meeting was held."

"But—how? How'd it happen?"

"Albus was old," Snape said coolly. He felt an inward stab of irritation at the naked bewilderment in Potter's expression. It was the first completely unmasked emotion that he could remember seeing on Potter's face since his awakening. "You may visit him, if you like. I am certain he won't mind."

"Look—I'm sorry."

Snape frowned. Their plates were nearly empty now. It was now even more difficult to think, to impose any clarity on the tired tumult of emotions in his mind. "For…?"

The word came after the barest hesitation. "Everything."

Potter was looking at him, meeting his eyes with that unyielding green gaze. "That is a highly generic statement, Potter," Snape said. There was a pause, held by the cold, fluorescent silence of the kitchen. "It gives no indication of whether or not you are even aware of what you are being sorry for."

There was an element of pleading in Potter's gaze, but it was a dim shade of what he remembered, clouded somewhere behind the inscrutability of green. "What… do you know, of what happened—to me?"

"What do I know?" Snape felt his lips twist into an ironic smile. "I am afraid that what I know does not amount to much." He paused. "Does how sorry you are depend on how much I know?"

"No! Severus— Please."

Snape swallowed. The voice was still the same. He felt as though a chord inside his chest, dormant and untouched for twenty-odd years, was suddenly vibrating with uncontrollable intensity. But the ripples of that motion had changed, and were now chafing painfully against the expanse of wounds that time was too slow to heal.

"I'm sorry—"

"I suppose it does not matter much, given our present situation," Snape said as neutrally as possible. "Voldemort is dead." He shrugged. "There is justifiably little space for complaints."

"No, what I did to you was wrong, I shouldn't have—"

Snape gazed critically at the other man. "You could have changed the timeline."

Potter's face whitened and closed on itself like a collapsing tent. "How did you know?"

"Granger told me," Snape said curtly, "and I verified her Arithmancy. It was not difficult, Potter. You did a poor job of covering your tracks."

Potter groaned. Snape felt a fevered touch of satisfaction, rising like the last remaining beam of a house that had burned itself to ashes. There was nothing to take satisfaction in, besides the cheap substitute of itself. He felt exhausted. If only he had some mort.

"Look, I'm sorry about that. It seemed like—" Potter stopped. "I don't know. I… I can't explain it."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "At least you are becoming more truthful."

Potter said nothing, only rubbing the bridge of his nose with his forefinger. Snape glanced at the clock: it was well past midnight.

"It's late," he said, getting up. "I'm afraid you will have to make do with my lack of a guest bedroom, Potter. You may sleep in my room tonight."

"Where will you sleep?" said Potter.

Snape paused. They were standing in the hallway. "In the sitting room." He waved his wand, and the lights in his room brightened. "The bathroom is that room," Snape said, pointing. "I shall leave you to your rest. Please come to me immediately if there is a problem."

He stepped swiftly out of the room and closed the door behind him. He stayed frozen in that position for a moment, recovering. It had never been so difficult to close a door. He felt as though he had directed a massive lead weight onto his chest.

There were things he still had to do before he could sleep. It would probably be a good idea to check the wards. Zabini might not be a proficient wizard, but he had more than proficient resources. Snape reminded himself to ask Granger or the Weasley girl about his wand first thing the next morning; he tried to remember, and failed, whose wand it was that he had…

The door in the hall opened. Snape sat motionless in the sitting room chair. Footsteps, and then the low buzz of the bathroom fan. Water running. Snape got up and began the arduous process of transfiguring the chair into a bed. He wished the wand he was using were not so stiff. It gave the pillows a distinctly wooden texture. From the hall he heard water stopping, the light switched off, footsteps. A silent moment, and then the soft thud of the door being shut.

Snape got up and walked to the bathroom. Tibby had provided a second set of toiletries, he noticed. He finished quickly and returned to the shadows of the sitting room. He was grateful for the fire; it was a cold night. He lay unmoving under the blankets, wondering how long it would be before he could fall asleep. But exhaustion flung a mantel over his mind right after he shut his eyes, and he was lost in uneasy dreams in a matter of moments.


A/N: Thanks again to Procyon Black's 'speta' (ie, speedy beta).

A/N2: Please review! Just thirty seconds to make the author happy.