A/N: Hey guys! I'm still here, no worries! Most definitely am not giving up on this one. I am sorry it took so long to get this one out, but it was actually harder than it should have been to write this. Oh well! I've actually been working on it for a few weeks, and I'm relatively happy with it. It's proabably not what most of you are waiting for...but I swear next chapter is! And I've already started it, and I also promise it won't take as long as this one did.
Also, as we are very near the end, I may be stalling a bit in order to prolong my sanity. I truly don't know what I'm going to do with myself when this is done. So ideas? Please?
Anyway, enjoy! I added a little section in the other day because I felt bad for keeping you all waiting, so it's longer than most other chapters!
He had watched on with sardonic smiles and a quick lip, as Granger and Weasley packed up all of Harry's things. If he wasn't sure this was better for them both in the long run, his weak hold on his self control might have slipped, and he would have thrown them out and waited until Harry came back.
But as it was, the boy was not coming back. He had seen to that. His emotions on the topic were irrelevant. He had dug his grave, now he would lay in it.
Ron had looked at him with disgust, a death glare that may have been intimidating on any other face. Snape returned it happily with his best sneer, the expression that was so easy to recall back to his features. The girl, however, had looked at him sadly, almost as if she felt sorry for him. What did she know? What did she think she knew? He couldn't handle her pitying glances, and instead, focused his energy on looking as disdainful as possible. Easy enough.
He slammed the door behind them as they left and hovered near the window until he heard the tell tale cracks of apparition. Grumbling, he went back to his room to grab a few Potions Journals.
As he began tearing through his room, he caught sight of an open door. Putting down his papers, he walked through the bathroom and out the open door at the other side.
He stood in the middle of Harry's empty room and sighed, uncharacteristically slouching and rubbing a tired hand over his forehead. He looked at the bed, covers still rumpled from the last night Harry had spent in them. The room felt insurmountably cold, and he wrapped his cloak tighter around himself.
He growled low in his throat, coming to his senses. Nonsense. It was just a room, after all. And what would he have done with any of the boys things? He closed both doors as he exited and went back to his work, but his mind was still firmly planted in the middle of the now barren room.
x X x
He stayed in his house for weeks, never venturing farther than the fire pit in the back, and even those trips were seldom. He still couldn't fathom the draw the simple furnace held for Potter. It was dirty, the smoke caused him to cough near incessantly and it gave off a dismal heat. Excursions to the back patio usually left him frustrated and angry, as did most things in all actuality.
For the most part, he spent his time with distractions, often attempting to formulate new potions, which all, without exception, ended up in the trash next to his desk. After a few vain attempts at a cure for wizard's cold, he had moved on to writing his paper he wished to publish about the modified version of Belby's Wolfsbane potion. It had taken him years to brew it correctly, and years more to make it impervious to the nullifying effects of sugar. It seemed, however, that it would take him years more, to make his findings public. He had lost his focus for near everything, it seemed.
Late one night, as he sat twirling his quill between his long fingers, blank parchment on the desk in front of him, a knock came upon the front door.
He hesitated, looking up slowly. Could it be?
He was unaware of anyone that knew where he was currently residing, outside of Harry, of course, his friends, and a few choice members of the Order. But who would want to see him? And at this hour of night?
He got up and swiftly crossed the house to the foyer, throwing open the door with more force than he had intended. Standing in the dim light from his porch lamp, was Lucius Malfoy.
Snape's mood visibly darkened.
"Yes?" he drawled.
"Now, Sev, is that really any way to greet an old friend?" he smiled easily, straightening up and adjusting his grip on his cane.
"Don't fool yourself, Lucius. We haven't been friends for years,"
"Yes, well, that's not to say I don't still care about you," he said, striding into the house uninvited.
"Please, do come in," Snape muttered as he slammed the door, "Do tell, Lucius, how you came to know where I live?"
"I still have some connections, you see," he said nonchalantly.
Snape raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Ginevra Weasley, through Draco," he sighed, laying his cane against the mantle of the fireplace and removing his black traveling gloves.
"Ah, of course. And to what do I owe this...pleasure?"
"Can't just drop in on an old friend?" As Severus crossed his arms and stood glaring, Malfoy kept going, "Very well. My son seems to be under the impression you are not doing your best, and asked me to make sure that that was indeed, not the case."
"I am fine, now, if you don't mind," he said, gesturing to the door.
Malfoy tutted, "Unable to muster up even a little hospitality? Nevermind; I can tell you haven't slept. While you've never been, exactly... yes, well, you look tired, Severus."
"My sleeping patterns are of no concern to you," he said coldly.
"Perhaps not. Now tell me, you are glad to be rid of the child, are you not?" he looked to Severus, eyes dangerously neutral.
"Yes, of course," Snape said, after a seconds hesitation.
"Don't lie now, Severus," Lucius goaded. Snape stayed silent, eyes fixed on the far wall behind the blond.
"My god, you miss him," Lucius laughed, "That's why you're holed up here, not sleeping. You miss the boy. Honestly, Severus, I thought your taste had improved somewhat after that filthy Mudblood of a mother he had in your first year. What a sorry excuse for a witch. And he's no better," he scoffed. "You, of all people, should know that,"
Snape flinched, balling his fists, as anger bubbled into his throat.
"Out," he growled, voice dangerously low.
"Excuse me?"
"Get. Out." Snape took a step closer, standing what would have been uncomfortably close to the shorter man had he not been
consumed by anger. "Now."
"As you wish," Malfoy said, recovering from his temporary shock and bowing sarcastically. He grabbed his cane and gloves and made toward the door.
"So good to see you," he said, smiling as he departed.
Snape stomped over and slammed the door shut behind him, seething. How dare he.
He growled, turning his back on the door and pinching the bridge of his nose. He could already feel the headache forming.
He supposed he would have to strengthen the wards around the house in the morning. Or at the very least, add an exclusion ward.
The thought made him chuckle darkly. He'd love to see Malfoy's face as he came to that realization.
x X x
He was sitting in his dark wing-back, nursing a glass of scotch (his fourth if he were being honest), when a tap on the glass brought him out of his brooding.
A familiar looking tawny owl was sitting quite stiffly on his windowsill, staring intrusively at him. He waved a hand in dismissal and drank the bottom inch of his drink. The owl simply stared, never blinking. How eerily like its master.
"Damn you," he growled, putting his glass down and pushing away from his chair. He ambled over to the window, throwing it open. The owl soared in and alighted on the arm of his chair, but he barely took any notice.
As the cool night air hit his face, he leaned his arms on the windowsill, sighing into the darkness.
He wondered where Harry had gone; was he out on this cool evening? Was he with someone? Did he still laugh and smile, as he always had? Or was he morose and melancholy, as the Weasley's demeanor toward him had implied? He sighed again, wondering when this feeling would pass. He was unused to such emotion, and likewise had no way to deal with it.
He thought of the pile of empty bottles currently littering the kitchen. Perhaps that was not the best way of coping.
The owl hooted, low and impatient, bringing him back to his mediocre reality.
"Yes, yes," he grumbled, turning away from the window and crossing quickly over to his chair. He scowled at the animal, daring it to make a mess of his furniture. "What does that woman want now?"
He untied the letter and unrolled it, frown deepening at the tidy scrawl as the owl shifted but stayed in place.
"Waiting for a reply is she?" he huffed. The owl hooted once, quick and low. "Hmph,"
Severus- I hope you are doing well, and getting on with the peaceful life you so deserve in the wake of recent events. Indeed, I should think the absence of Harry would put you in the highest if spirits.
He could almost hear her clipped, disapproving tone through the ink. He sneered at the parchment. How little she knew.
But then again, it was nothing but his own fault if no one could tell how he felt. That was how he had wanted it. Job well done, Severus.
I was rather hoping you may be able to help me. Of course, should you wish to return, your job will always be waiting for you. The new Potions professor, Tarrow, is hardly of your knowledge or skill, but he's a story for another time. However, if you could perhaps brew some of the more complex potions that Poppy needs, it would be highly appreciated. You can come to work here, or the school could reimburse you for the use of any of your personal stores. I, of course, understand should you choose to decline. Sincerely, Minerva
He shook his head tiredly at her thinly veiled attempt at drawing him back to teaching at the school. He mulled it over. It could be strangely...therapeutic, he thought. The students would definitely anger him, and he could deal with anger. Anger was easy. This melancholy sadness, however, left him at a loss. Yes, he could storm through the hallways and let his anger burn every other emotion he didn't want to feel.
He sighed, knowing he did not want to return to Hogwarts anymore, even if he once had. Now there were twice as many memories to battle, two sets of green eyes that would follow him as he stalked through the dungeons.
No. He would find something else.
He grabbed an eagle feather quill and a spare bit of parchment to quickly scrawl a reply, resigning himself to the fact that he would have to return temporarily. He couldn't very well say no, could he? He shuddered at the thought of anyone else brewing the potions to be handed out to the students. He may not like them, but even he surely wouldn't wish that upon them.
Most of the ingredients he'd need sat idly atop the shelves at his old home, the one now inhabited by someone else. He and Harry had gone to collect all the things they would need most, not hesitating to grab anything replaceable, both wound tight with the anxiety that the Death Eaters may come back.
He grumbled at the thought of Harry as he followed the tawny owls with his eyes as it flew away.
How did he ever come to be in this predicament? Severus Tobias Snape, (in)famous ex-Death Eater known for his quick tongue and scathing remarks. But that explained it, he supposed. It was in the nature of his ways to push everyone away and completely alienate himself, even from those whom he most wished to stay close to.
He sighed, giving up. He had gone through this once before. It hadn't killed him.
"Damn close," he ground out through his teeth, fighting himself. He had only signed himself over to the most powerful dark wizard to ever live. How ironic, to think that his first heartbreak had led him almost exactly to his second?
He couldn't do this anymore. Even he didn't have the resolve.
Perhaps he would invest in a Pensieve, and purge himself of all these errant thoughts. An intriguing idea. Then again, did he really want to lose all the time he had spent with the boy? That was almost what was driving him forward at this point. Forward into what, he wasn't sure.
He cursed himself under his breath, damning Minerva, damning the boy, damning himself.
He cursed his father, the root of all his evil. He laughed darkly at the thought. If only it were that easy. True, it had started with his father, but it hadn't ended there. A stronger man would have been able to overcome the influence. Black defied his entire family, turning from centuries of traditions and rules. He scoffed, unbelieving he could ever compare himself to the mongrel. Look what his defiance had gotten him in the end; a life wasted in Azkaban, only to be killed by his own cousin.
He sighed, shaking his head. His cruelty knew no bounds, did it?
He grimaced, realizing again just why he wouldn't burden Harry with himself. Harry didn't deserve this. He deserved more. He deserved everything. Everything that Severus could never give him. He wouldn't bring the boy down simply because he himself wanted him so badly. This was one instance that he would not be selfish, no matter what it cost. He would not give in, and darken the boy's spirit with his own. For no amount of light could ever shine from underneath his influence. It was too late for that.
He walked back to his chair, forgoing his now empty tumbler and grabbing the entire bottle by the neck. He still had one good phial each of a hangover remedy and a Pepper-Up potion left in reserve. He would certainly need it tomorrow morning before he floo'd himself into the Headmistress' quarters.