A/N: Hello again. I update quickly, don't I? How are you going to reward me for this, hmmm?

As for some of my reviewers:

Viscountess Babbles- On: Me? In trouble? Bring it on! Severus can die pretty much without any problem of consent on his side, at least the way I portray him... heh. But then again, frustrating him IS one of the best past times... or isn't it? hmmm... *dangerous musings*

Jaimyns Fire: ((cool pen name *wink wink*)) I have neither adopted or kidnapped Snape.... I think he wanted to collaborate with me so that certain differences between his personality and my own character Aaron's would be... settled. He is here of his own accord. *coughs*

Sparrow: Depression is Snape's middle name, isn't it? Apart from Alexander, which I have read in so many fics. It does suit him *nod nod*...

By the way, I forgot to pu the disclaimer on Chapter one, so I put it here: I don't own Harry Potter, and do not intend to. Aaron is enough. *heh*

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I return to the castle with my new wand and my changed outlook. Everything is changed, so different. I feel as if the whole world is re-defining itself, and adjusting so that the vaccum created by Voldemort's death will be compensated. I sincerely hope not in the same manner. I am definately not up for another decade of continuous war. For me, the war had not taken a break with the events at Godric's Hollow. I was never under the fickle illusion that everything had been corrected. First off, everyone kept reminding me of what I had been, regardless my return to the side opposing the darkness. Second off, the dark mark never ceaced to feel alive and leeching off my very life force, just like it did from every Death eater. I suspect that Voldemort was kept alive all the years before his re-ascension by leeching small amounts of the Deatheaters' lives through the Dark Mark. It's faded and dead now. That was how I knew that Potter had succeeded when Voldemort fell. It felt like that small piece of flesh was returned to my possession again.

And somehow, that little portion of flesh was what linked me back to humanity.

I am not sure if I like that or not. I have started to care far too much about what people tell me or how they react to me. I was free of such weaknesses before. But now there are few people that can not put a chink in the armor that had protected me so well through a nightmare that lasted half my lifetime or perhaps even more.

The castle is empty. The students were sent home for the rest of this half month, and there there are the Christmas Holidays. I hope that that will be enough time to get a semblance of routine back, to make Hogwarts what it was again. But without Albus, it seems it will never be the same again.

Of course, it existed before Albus, and nobody thought that Albus was going to forever be its Headmaster... but I didn't expect him not to be so during all of my lifetime... or at least to be -alive- through all my lifetime. He was a genius! He had known everything, he could see right to the cockles of the most well-guarded heart-- and I should know. Why did he allow himself to die instead of thinking a less altruistic way of protecting the castle after its wards were torn down?

I feel completely unintelligent as I muse over these things. I know the answers to all of these questions. I should be focusing on the questions I do not have any answers for: What will happen to Harry Potter? What can I possibly tell him if he wakes before Minerva does? And what will I do with the rest of my life now?

All my life had been actually revolving around Hogwarts of Albus. As a student I wanted to prove myself to be a genius, I wanted to test Albus and measure myself against him, I wanted fame and power through that process. Later on as a Deatheater, I was still trying to prove that I was better than Albus and that I could bring him down along with everything he protected... until I realised what that meant when put in practice. It was the most humiliating moment in my life when I realised that I had sold my soul for a childish, audacious contest in which I was the only one competing. I had crawled back to Albus, humbled in this way and defeated, because he had the wits and control to see what I had realised only when I put my hands on it, like a blind man led to a surface he has revised and theoretically knows what it is like, but has never actually experienced it.

It was ironic that I survived that mentor. That was what he was. I can never measure up to him, and frankly, after all this time and all I have seen, I do not want to or feel the need to.

But what do I tell Potter? Hi? Goodmorning? You're awake? 5 points from Gryffindor?

I sigh defeatedly, but even that is a mistake. The rushing air triggers a reaction of continual coughing and I have to stop midway to the infirmary. I inspect my hand and smile. No blood comes forth. The potion is in full effect. Which means that I have to be sharp and quick. The Panacaea has no specific time limit-- its effect depends on the severity of the illness from a week to months. And if, after wearing off, it has not managed to heal the illness it attacks, the said illness will render the patient in a worse state than before.

I walk brusquely to the infirmary, and I am pleasantly surprised.

"Good afternoon, Severus." Minerva tells me weakly, but with all of her uptight demeanour that used to anger me so much. I manage to smile at her, ever so slightly.

"Good afternoon, Minerva. You are up early."

Lupin looks at me surprised. I have spoken amiably to her. But I am so relieved to see her awake, to hear her reprimanding voice. She is reliable, and she is the Headmistress now. I will have a considerably lesser burden on my shoulders now, and I won't have to enter Albus' quarters to retrieve papers or anything else I needed to help the authorities or the parents in his place.

Minerva snorts and huffs. "I dare say I am not. Remus here has told me all that has happened the days I was unavailable. I will help you from now on." she says and throws the cover to the side. I am proud of the healing job I did even though I am not officially licenced as a medi-wizard. She had used her multibly fructured arm to throw that cover to the side, and it had not even bothered her now.

I nod curtly and do not succumb to the urge to tell her to stay put for another day, as Poppy used to tell me the multiple times I had ended up injured in her care. She knows full well the extend of her energy. I hand her a vial of potion from my stash.

"For the pain, or lightheadedness." I tell her when she questions me with an arch of an eyebrow. She nods and smiles at me again. Minerva never used to smile at me. After Albus' death, she never was milder than scowling when addressing me.

"Thank you, Severus." she says evenly, but it seems that by taking the vial from my hand she makes a promice, to herself or to me or to the very walls of this infernal infirmary about something. Then she walks brusquely off, completely unaware that her gown falls just a few centimeters over her knees. She doesn't look that bad in a mini skirt.

I turn and see that Lupin is smirking himself gazing at Minerva marching off. He looks at me, his eyes still pained but less desperate than when I had seen him the evening I brought Potter back from the battlefield.

"Did you get a new wand?" he asks me.

"Apparently so, Lupin, since it was the reason I went to Diagon Alley in the first place."

"I sent Ron to bed."

"Good; I will not have to tolerate his ineptness for the rest of the day."

Lupin looks at me again. I highly dislike him looking at me, ever since that incident in the Shrieking Shack. His eyes have the tint of the werewolf, and they penetrate you just as well as any fang would. I snort and attempt to walk away. Still a milder reaction than usual. But Lupin follows me around as I inspect the beds, purposefully leaving Potter's for last. I sigh.

"Has anyone appointed you to be my shadow, perchange?" I throw at him over my shoulder.

"As a matter of fact, I am you assistant. I sent away Linda as well. You are wearing them down and you will end up treating them as well, Severus."

I hate it even more from being stared at when Lupin's right. I have only kept two assistants that I can trust will follow simple orders and carry them out as I tell them to. Linda Mills and Ron Weasley. I did attempt to keep them off my personal schedule, but I indulged my usual behavior and did not take their needs into consideration more than I did mine.

"True." I hear myself saying without thinking. "So hand me that basin over there already-- or do I have to tell you everything as well?"

At nightfall Weasley and Linda return to their duties. I take my leave to eat. I hadn't realised I had not eaten for almost two days. My stomach is loudly protesting. I start walking to the dungeons, but I decide against it midway there; I can't go back to an environment that will trick me into imagining Albus alive all over again. I would end up expecting him to call me up for a game of chess, and I don't want to relive the disappointment.

I end up eating at the main dining room, sitting alone at the Slytherin table. It's the least reminiscent-friendly area for me. When I used to sit here, I cared not about who the Headmaster was. I eat some broth and vegetables. I don't want to stuff myself or burden my organism with heavy food. I did not stop to diagnose myself and see what I have. I am not completely idiotic nor so self punishing to wish for worse torture than will be waiting for me when the potion ebbs.

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One up, one to go! And guess what! I am still writing! I might even give you the third chapter, when I will expect Harry to wake up, or start to at least.

Now, about my reward...