A/N: I have work now. Actual work. It's amazing how much time that eats up, now that I have an actual job. My next post will probably be in June, when I finally have a week or so of vacation. It's always hard to edit when a story is nearing the homestretch, but even harder when you have so little time to do so.

Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.

There was an awkward silence as the four of them—Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Severus himself—stood in front of the sink in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Hermione placed a hand over her mouth, looking distressed. Ron was giving Harry a look that said what do you think you're doing that Severus recognized all too well. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and then allowed his hand to drop to his side, feigning composure.

"What do you mean," he said softly, "that you've suddenly lost the ability to speak Parseltongue?"

"I can't do it," Harry said, one hand on the snake-decorated tap and looking bewildered. "I could do it before. I don't know why…"

"Must be from the link," Ron said, looking a bit green. "Now that you haven't got it, you can't use some of those abilities You-Know-Who gave you."

Of all the worst possible times to not be mentally linked to the Dark Lord, Severus growled inwardly.

Ron made a choked hissing sound that jerked him to attention, and then gave Harry a sheepish look. "It sounded something like that, when you did it."

Hermione was wearing the same expression she always did when contemplating something very hard. Severus placed a palm over one eye and rubbed hard, trying to rid himself of an impending headache. And then his eyes flew open as he heard a strangled hiss not from the two boys who were attempting to coax the sink open, but his wife.

There was a sudden clunk, and they all took a quick step back as the porcelain began to slowly sink into the ground, revealing the tunnel that would carry them under the school. He gave her a look of amazement, and she returned it with a sheepish smile and a shrug.

"I've heard it spoken a few times," she said. "I know how it's supposed to sound." She gave both boys a smirk. "I suspect you had the right word, but severely mispronounced it."

"It's Wingardium Levi-oh-sa," the redhead muttered under his breath, as they peered down into the darkness. "Not Levi-oh-sar…"

Satisfied—no, relieved—that they had still somehow managed, Severus rolled up the sleeves of his robes and leaned over. It was unfortunate that they had company and were attempting to keep their presence largely unknown, or he would have taken the opportunity to push Hermione down first. She would kill him for it later, but it was always worth it. But he would not be so undignified in front of Potter and Weasley. Not today.

Tucking his wand inside his sleeve, he pushed himself forward without another word. His world turned black, as the walls of the tunnel sped by in a blur of darkness and stone. It took longer than the secret passage behind the One-Eyed Witch's hump, but the ride came to an end as he fell out at the bottom, landing gracefully on both feet. He lit his wand, not waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom.

Snakeskin. Snakeskin everywhere, sized for a monster he never wanted to confront. He kicked a rock out of his way as he quickly cast a revealing spell, and finding nothing alive save for a few rodents scurrying about in the darkness, began picking his way forward. There was a sliding sound, and then a dull thump from behind.

"Severus?" Hermione's voice stopped him, and he heard her boots crunching down on the discarded snakeskin. There was a pause, and then he felt her fingers searching for his, and grasp them tightly. It took him a moment to realize that she was unnerved. "Do you see it?"

"No." There was a wall of rubble just beyond, and Severus raised his wand toward it. The debris slowly lifted up and began to float away, clearing their path. "Potter said there was a cave-in when they were last here. It'll be beyond." He cocked his head at her. "Are Potter and Weasley staying behind?"

"I ordered them to," Hermione said flatly. "There's no need for all four of us to be down here."

The tunnel continued to weave back and forth, and eventually, came to a stop. The wall had an opening guarded by two snakes, and it looked as though it had been left ajar for years: a fine layer of dust had collected on the sides of the door. They cautiously stepped through.

They found themselves at one end of a long and dimly-lit chamber; it was grounded by pillars that rose up and out of sight, into the darkness and beyond. A flick of Hermione's wand, and the ancient snake-carved torch brackets flared to life, revealing them in all their glory. The room was a Slytherin's shrine; enormous snakes hovered in the shadows, looking quite real for all that they were made entirely of stone. More than once, Severus thought he saw one move, but was convinced that it was a trick of the light. The room was entirely silent save for the echoes of their footsteps as they made their way across the damp floor.

And then, at the other end, Severus's eyes alighted upon the carved visage of his house's founder. His heart let out an unwitting jolt; this was the legacy of the man whose house he had grown up in, had served in, had categorically defined himself by for most of his life. A man whose values he had adopted since childhood—cunning and ambition chiefly among them—yet whose many philosophies he had also come to abhor—the prejudice against his wife's heritage, for one…

And then his eyes slowly grazed down to the floor, where the crumpled figure of Slytherin's monstrous creation lay. It was nothing but skin and bones now, though the coolness of the chamber had helped preserve it. Hermione stopped as they came closer, and she released his hand to allow him to approach without her. He knelt down beside the creature's head, and the hole in its skull gave him pause: it was where Potter had rammed the sword of Gryffindor through the roof of its mouth to kill it. Part of him had always doubted the veracity of Potter's tale, and deep down, he had believed it to be an exaggeration—and yet, the proof was staring him in the face. Metaphorically, of course. The beast's eyes were long gone.

"I…" he heard Hermione say. She swallowed. "I never got to get a good look at it, not the first time it Petrified me, and not the night I saw it when Ginny wrote the first message on the wall…"

Wordlessly, Severus reached into his pocket for a pair of dragon-hide gloves, and slipped them on. He closed his hand around a prominent fang jutting out, and pulled; it snapped free.

There was a moment of silence, as he retrieved a phial and began extracting the remnants of the venom from the fang; there was very little of it left. He set the fang aside, and with two fingers, reached up into the cavity just above where he had removed the tooth. Something dark and venomous-looking leaked out, and he placed the phial underneath to catch it.

"To think we had this thing roaming about the school for a thousand years." His wife gave a hollow laugh, and it was at this moment that he knew: she was rattled. This creature had caught her once, and had been removed in an out-of-sight out-of-mind manner; fear of the creature had festered, and now she was finally facing it. "Slithering around in the pipes. It's a shame it had to be killed."

This gave Severus pause. "A shame?"

"It didn't hurt anyone until Riddle deliberately set it to attack," Hermione said quietly. "I saw Harry's memories when I was teaching him Occlumency. Every time the snake attacked him, it was because Riddle ordered it to do so." She shrugged, and looked away. "I doubt it would have hurt anyone if it had been left to its own devices."

"Perhaps," Severus said in a clipped tone, as he finally pulled the phial away from the body and capped it. "We'll never know."

"This feels wrong," Hermione admitted, as he pocketed the venom and began running his glove-clad fingers along the skin that was still intact. She sounded reluctant, as though afraid of saying the wrong thing, but he knew that would hardly stop her from saying what she thought needed to be said. "So many of Hogwart's treasures have been destroyed in this war. They're—they're casualties." She struggled to articulate herself. "Pieces of history destroyed."

"I don't suppose you considered it a casualty when it was going around attempting to kill you all?" Severus asked dourly, not pleased at the memory.

Hermione let out a nervous snort. "No. But I do now."

"I think the school's better off without a Basilisk in our pipes," Severus muttered, as he flicked out a knife and began to cut back some of the skin. Yet, he found himself agreeing with her, albeit on a very faint level: the snake was, in effect, a relic of Slytherin's past and contribution to the school. Not a very pleasant one, though. He certainly wouldn't want his son attending with it alive and present, and it was because of the Basilisk that they had sent him away the first time. He doubted Hermione would either. Still, he was not unsympathetic to what she was trying to express.

"Well," he said at last, after he had collected what he wanted. "If you're looking for piece of Hogwart's past, we still have the Sorting Hat."

He threw the carved statue of Salazar Slytherin a last look, his expression furrowed in contemplation. He knew what it meant to be a Slytherin. He did not know whether Slytherin himself would have approved of the way the world had changed, or of the change of heart experienced by the man who now represented and cared for his house—but the core values of what made the House of Slytherin notable had remained the same, and Severus was resolved to them. Satisfied, he turned to leave.

Hermione wrapped her hand in his again, once he had removed his gloves.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked quietly, as they made their way back to the tunnel.

"Whether I should have taken the Basilisk's head to mount over our fireplace," Severus replied, his voice droll.

"Goodness, no!" his wife protested, as they stepped back into the darkness. A smile crept upon his lips when she added, with a trace of her particular brand of cheerfulness, "It would clash with the décor."

~o~O~o~

He smacked Wormtail's hand away from the cauldron he was supervising.

"Hands to yourself, Wormtail," he said lazily, as he brought the temperature down to let the cauldron's contents simmer. "I don't need your clumsiness ruining my work at this stage."

There was a hiss from beneath the worktable, and Severus felt his cheek twitch at the sound; Nagini had taken to roaming the house at will months ago, oftentimes following Wormtail wherever he went, and today was no exception. Severus suspected it was on the Dark Lord's orders: with a snake on his tail, it would be very difficult for Wormtail to get away in his Animagus form. He was a slippery and untrustworthy creature, and though useful to the Dark Lord, was clearly not to be trusted.

There was a shout from upstairs, and Severus's head jerked around when he heard a loud crash.

"Get this filth off the floor," Lucius's voice snapped, muffled through the door. "Why did you bring them here, Greyback?"

There was a muffled, raspy response that Severus recognized as Greyback. His voice grew clearer when Wormtail scurried over to the door to pry it open in order to eavesdrop. "—Ollivander. And the other, his companion—" There was a subdued thump "—looks to be the ice cream wizard."

"It's Fortescue," Wormtail whispered, more to himself than anything else. "He's still alive."

Severus said nothing, but turned his back on the door to decant his potion.

"Lock them in the cellar. No—no, Greyback, I'll inform the Dark Lord," Lucius said crisply. There was a sudden snap of "Wormtail!" and the man let out a squeak of surprise at the summons before hastily opening the door. It shut behind him, once again muffling the sound of what was happening upstairs. Moments later, there was a shuffle and a snap as the door was opened again, and this time, Wormtail reappeared—dragging two bodies with him.

It was indeed Ollivander and Fortescue. It was immediately apparent that they had both been in hiding—they were pale and thin, and quite haggard. Fortscue's beard was scraggly and stained with blood from what looked to be a broken nose; Ollivander's white hair was dirty and caked with streaks of brown. Both men were unconscious, and Wormtail unceremoniously hauled them down the steps and to the far end of the cellar where Charlie had once been chained up. Nagini watched him with a beady, poisonous eye, and then turned away with a hiss.

Severus forced himself to calmly assess the situation. He had two men—unconscious, and now chained—down here with him, along with both Wormtail and Nagini. The Dark Lord would undoubtedly arrive shortly to interrogate the prisoners. Ollivander would likely be spared because he was useful, but he knew Fortescue would not. How Fortescue had survived and managed to fake his death, Severus was not certain; but it was immediately apparent to him that the owner of the ice cream parlor had spent the last year and a half looking after the older, frailer wand-maker.

If he was already planning to compromise his position, he might as well use the opportunity to rescue the pair, he mused. He was loathe to abandon them in order to save his own hide—in the past, he had to make sacrifices to maintain his cover for the greater good. But he had no such excuse here, nor would he entertain it.

But there was the problem of the Dark Lord's ever-approaching arrival, as well as the presence of others in the house—as well as Wormtail and Nagini. He needed more time. If the Dark Lord was out of the way, he could remove them…

Upstairs was quiet, save for the sound of Greyback arguing with Lucius over how much gold he and his Snatchers were owed for the capture. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of Severus's forehead, and it had nothing to do with the heat coming from the cauldron. It would either have to be now, or after the Dark Lord had come and gone, after which only one or even neither might still be alive. He made a quick calculation: the Dark Lord had not responded to the summons immediately, meaning that he did not consider the matter urgent. He could come any minute now, or he could come hours, days, perhaps even a full week later. Severus doubted it would be that long, but if he had not already arrived, there was a chance he had a good window to work with.

His hands slowly slipped into his pockets; one fingered his wand, the other the small phial of venom he had extracted from the Basilisk. And then, quick as a cobra, he struck. There was a flash of red light, and Wormtail slumped to the floor from where he had been adjusting the prisoners' chains. Nagini reared up, fangs bared, and Severus felt a flash of fear—mixed with rage—as he faced the snake. Three steps forward, placing himself between Nagini and the prisoners, and he raised his wand to her:

"Sectumsempra!"

A jagged cut sliced across Nagini's belly, causing a shower of dark red to spurt out, and she lunged for him; venom in hand and uncorked, Severus threw it. It crashed into her and shattered, leaking dark liquid and stained glass into the wound. And then the world blurred: there was an angry and wounded hiss. Her tail lashed too quickly for his eyes to follow and swept his legs out from underneath him, and before he had fully registered what happened, he was on the floor. And then he registered the sharp sensation of fangs sinking into his shoulder. He struggled to throw her off, grappling for his wand, but unable to hold it right as Nagini's venom seeped into his body. His shoulder was starting to tingle with disconcerting warning, and he thrashed underneath her weight, trying to free the deadly fangs from his arm—

A brown, leather-clad foot struck the dying snake in the face, causing her to jerk back in surprise, thereby releasing him in the process. Struggling to sit up, Severus leaned back and kicked, catching the side of Nagini's face, preventing her from striking him again. He felt both pain and panic welling up inside him—he could die here, trying to kill Nagini. He could die, and Hermione wouldn't know—Selenius wouldn't understand—he couldn't—

He kicked out a second time in desperation, and the snake swayed. Instead of attempting to strike him again, the head fell to the ground with a thump; her body twitched once, twice, three times—and then lay still. The Basilisk venom had done its work. Severus lay there, panting. He had intended to poison Nagini and then leave before anything happened, but the situation had quickly spiraled out of control. Heaving himself onto his feet, knowing he had to move quickly, Severus staggered over to one of the shelves lined along the wall. Anti-venin—he needed it, and quickly, he was already losing feeling in his arm…

There was a quietly muttered "Relashio!" and Severus's head jerked around in time to see that Fortescue had his wand. The man scrambled onto his knees, and after doing the same to Ollivander's chains, hauled the still-unconscious wand-maker up and onto his back.

"We need to get out of here—"

"Quiet," Severus hissed. His fingers groped the shelf, searching for the right bottle. "Don't make a sound—they mustn't hear…"

His hands closed around what he hoped was the right vial. He struggled to open it with one hand, and when this did not work, lifted it to his mouth and yanked it free with his teeth. He spat out the cork, and without bothering to measure out a dose, took a liberal mouthful of the life-saving liquid. He was in pain; his left arm was a mass of writhing, paralyzing agony—but he was alive. Leaning against the shelf, still panting from the exertion, he closed his eyes for just a moment.

"Give me back my wand," he said quietly, when he had opened them again. He was feeling woozy—the venom was undoubtedly still making its way through his body faster than the antivenin could counteract it—and forced his eyes to focus on Fortescue. The man hesitated. He had known Severus for years, he knew his wife, and was likely one of the few people aware that the Snapes perhaps had a son. And yet, this was such an outlandish and frightening situation, and to give up the only weapon he had was the height of foolishness. Yet, he held it out to him. Trusting him. Severus took the stick of ebony back with shaking fingers. "We need a way out."

"You didn't have a plan before this, did you?" Fortescue asked. Aside from the blood smeared on his face, he looked rather well for a man who had been beaten and thrown into a cellar. His eyes were intense, alert, and hopeful despite their current predicament.

"You were not a part of the plan." Severus squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of pain washed over him, with the force of a crashing wave, knocking his feet out from underneath him. He fell to his knees in surprise. Dizzily, he assessed that he had perhaps gone about this the wrong way. "Anti-Apparition wards… we need the Floo—"

"The only Floo I know of is in the drawing room upstairs, and last I saw, there were Death Eaters there," Fortescue said shortly. He frowned for a moment, and then his face brightened. He gave Severus the sort of smile that suggested that he was about to recommend something monumentally stupid as an escape.

"Snape, give me your wand."

"What are you going to do?" His words were deceptively calm for a man who, at the moment, knew his own survival was in serious question. Nevertheless, he surrendered the wand to Fortescue, who pointed it at the door. It felt wrong to give up his wand—just about as wrong as chopping his own hand off and gift-wrapping it to someone else—but it was the only tool they had, and he was in no condition to cast.

"I'm not an expert on Medieval witch-burnings for nothing," Fortescue declared. He shifted Ollivander's unconscious to one side, and pointed at the doorway: "Incendio!"

The door to the cellar burst into flames. Without a moment's halt, Fortescue reached down with his free hand and grabbed Severus's wrist, hauling him unsteadily to his feet. There was a cry of alarm from above, but Florean Fortescue was not to be discouraged: half-dragging and half-carrying both wizards up the steps, waved the wand once over himself and his companions, and gave the door an almighty kick. It caved in.

"You're insane," Severus managed to get out, as Fortescue dragged him through the other room. They were surrounded on all sides by hungry flames, and though they licked at their feet, Severus found that he experienced nothing more than a peculiar tickling sensation. Through the flames, he could see the faint silhouettes of the Death Eaters who had either been caught in the blast, or had come to investigate. They were all hanging back, shouting at each other, trying to understand what happened— and as the fire spread through the room, devouring a fortune in its wake, the three wizards making their escape went unnoticed.

Severus found it only mildly odd that no one else seemed to have considered casting a Flame-Freezing Charm.

The fireplace was only twenty feet from the door, and most conveniently, already lit; Severus felt himself being hauled toward the grate and was unceremoniously pushed inside as Fortescue reached for the Floo powder to turn the flames green.

"—look! Someone's using the Floo—they're trying to get away!"

Strong hands grabbed his shoulders and shoved him into the fireplace. His head lolled to the side as the world spun in and out of focus.

"Diagon—"

"No—" With a heave, Severus managed to push himself upright. "Tine Cottage!"

The flames glowed emerald, and then their world began to spin dizzily. Severus caught a last glimpse of Lucius Malfoy through the flames; the blond man was gazing at him in rage and disbelief. And then ash whipped up into his face, causing him to cough, and the sickening rotation stopped.

He fell backwards from the grate and onto the cobblestone floor. He let out a grunt of pain as both Fortescue stumbled over him, bringing both himself and his unconscious companion down on the Potions Master, knocking the wind out of him. It was still daylight; the various colorful glass decorations by the kitchen window sparkled at them in merry greeting. His eyes closed in relief, and he squeezed them shut when he heard a chair scrape back, and a familiar—and entirely unwelcome—voice spluttered out, "Bloody hell! Snivellus!"

He couldn't seem to force his eyes back open. He was too exhausted, in too much pain, and wasn't certain he could move his arm. Something warm and wet was pooling by his head, soaking into his hair, and the coppery tang it left in his mouth alerted him to the fact that it was blood. His own blood.

And then he stopped being concerned about that, as two pairs of hands dragged him fully out of the fireplace. The realization of what he had done finally hit him. He was free. He wasn't going to go back. He was done serving the Dark Lord.

And then he fainted.

~o~O~o~

The room he was in was dark when he awoke, and when he first registered it, he lashed out in panic, terrified at the thought he had gone blind. That was his first fear. But after a moment, the silhouettes and shapes of furniture sharpened into focus, and he slowly sank back into the bed. He couldn't move his arm, and his neck felt stiff. But gradually, as his senses returned to him, he realized he was not alone. There was somebody up against him, a familiar and pressing weight curled up against his side. His eyes flicked to the side, and he felt warmth spread through him as eyes confirmed what he already knew: Hermione was here.

There was a second weight, and he realized that on his other side, there was someone else. And then something soft, warm, fluffy, and slightly ticklish flicked by his head. His head shifted slightly, and Crookshanks' tail fluttered under his nose, as though threatening to make him sneeze if he so much as disturbed the cat's sleeping spot. He closed his eyes. Hermione was here. Her cat—and his son's, by extension—was here. And that meant the smaller, unfamiliar weight by his other side was…

Struggling against the paralyzing stiffness that had overtaken a good portion of his upper left body, Severus twisted his neck to the side. Selenius was there. He couldn't see very well at this angle, but he could tell that his son was curled on his other side, and that half of Crookshanks's enormous body was being used as his pillow.

A pair of orange eyes glowed at him from above, glaring at him as though to blame him for the indignity, and Severus weakly smirked at the half-kneazle.

"Suffer," he muttered hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper.

The cat blinked at him, and then turned his head away.

Severus yawned, and then allowed his head to sink back into the soft pillow. His heart was beating erratically, though with fear or excitement he could not say. He could only register the peacefulness of the moment, how right it felt to be with his family. It was as though a heavy burden had been lifted; the threat of the Dark Lord still loomed, yet with Nagini gone and he himself no longer among the Death Eater's ranks... he was experiencing an incomprehensible, indescribable sense of relief.

He glanced over at his wife's bushy head, her hair spilling over the pillow in a wild spread, and managed to curl his arm underneath her cheek. She shifted, and then one eye opened.

Their gazes met, though neither said a word. Black met brown, and then she smiled at him. Her hand came to rest over his wrist, and she turned her lips to his palm. No words were necessary as she kissed the inside of his hand, and then moved in closer to kiss his lips. Her eyes told him everything: pride, concern, happiness and joy. There was determination and uncertainty mixed in there, but her gaze told him that he had done well. She was pleased with him, to say the least.

He tilted his head toward her, and she snuggled up closer to his side until her cheek was pressed against his.

He studied her, even after her eyes had slid shut again. This woman who had led him safely through twenty years of madness, had sacrificed her well-being to maintain his cover, had shown him unwavering love and trust—and even at this late stage in the game, where they were bone-weary of this war, and were starting to shed their roles… she was still by his side. All things considered, he had rather bollocksed his attempt to kill Nagini. And yet, despite knowing this, for he knew that she must know the story by now—she was still… here. As always.

Nagini was dead, of course. But it had been much messier than planned. So much for poisoning a rat and feeding the dead rodent to her, but attempting to rescue Fortescue and Ollivander had thrown a wrench into his careful, simple scheme. Suddenly uncomfortable from sitting in the same position for so long, he tried to shift his left arm.

A wave of wooziness hit him so suddenly that his eyes fluttered shut. No. He mustn't do that. Deciding not to reopen his eyes—he could ponder the events that had led up to his currently incapacitated state later—he allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

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