Here is the third chapter! Before posting it, I'd just like to thank my
beta, who proofread the three first chapters, and also answer some of my
linguistic interrogations! I hope you all like the story without grammar
errors, and you're all very grateful to her!
I have indeed problems with the uploading process, which insists on eating all my ellipsis and italics, police. I find it just as unpleasant as you, but flaming will lead nowhere. Though, if you know how I can avoid it (especially the ellipsis problem), I'd be very glad to hear it!
3. Carthago delenda est!
Four days later, in an absurd, blurry, mostly white world.
Ouch. That ached. What was "that", anyway? God. No. Whatever it was that was manifesting itself painfully, it was clearly bodily. Which meant. Oh, no, please, not that. It was coming right on him, at full speed. He tried to focus on the degree of consciousness he had been bathing in until then. tried hard. But only vainly. He already didn't remember what he was trying to keep. Everything was zooming away from him. Colours were swirling toward him, and light. Light? No! For God's pity, no.
All right. Not that much to fuss about.
He was alive.
No, really, not much. He had to stop his wailing mind, and just open his eyes.
Why again had he thought he could be dead? Surely one of those stupid convincing dream again. A particularly excruciating one, judging by the state he was in. He really didn't feel like any other morning. What was that nightmare about, exactly? He mentally snorted! As if there were that many possibilities. Oh, no, now he remembered. It was a particular one.
No, it was no dream- Not a dream? At that he opened his eyes. Ouch. Well, he had tried to open them anyway. He concentrated on that heavy task. Lifting an eyelid, then the other. Light cracked in. And he tried to conceal a suffering moaning.
And closed those silly eyes back before he could have seen anything.
Oh, no. Why conceal? If he was on the battlefield and the others were still fighting, then nobody would hear it. And if they did... Well, perhaps it was his only chance to be healed. Not that he absolutely wanted to live, but since the deities seemed to have decided so, who was he to protest? But then, he just wanted the pain to be alleviated. The physical one, that was.
There was some movement around him. Better stay discreet, then, his old instinct ordered in spite of his uncaring self.
Which curse had got him, again? Oh, yes. Nott. "Treacherous crosser!" that one had thrown at him, before all lights went off. But he didn't remember the curse in itself. Strange. Perhaps had it come from someone else?
He wasn't truly aware of wailing again. And he didn't care if he sounded like a banshee. Either someone would achieve him, or heal him. That would stop, anyway. That.
Then he felt something. Down his throat, surely a potion. Who was administering it? Never mind. Was it really his throat? It didn't feel like it would obey him, anyway. Was that mass his body? It felt more like a corpse he would have liked to quit.
He should really try to get a real view of his surrounding again, and see if they had won, or lost. The battle did seem finished. No sound- or not much. A desolated landscape, where corpse and hurt lied, came to his mind. And mediwizards trying to do their job. Yes, that would explain the potion.
Oh. A familiar feeling. Consciousness was returning. His body felt his again. He wasn't sure if that was an improvement, though. It certainly did not felt like that. It really ached.
"Severus?" He heard, far away. He tried to move his head, but something stopped him.
He sighed. Oh, sighing was a painful movement, two. Would that ever stop?
And then he decided to do it. He had to, and now was as good a time as any other. On the count of three. One. Go on, it won't be that bad. Two. A bit of courage. Three.
Ouch. He gritted his teeth and resisted.
And through his newly opened eyes, he was served with the sight of Mme Pomfrey's face. So it was she. And it was her hand that was on his forehead, to calm him, he noticed.
That bore the mark of monotony. Not anything new, there. Waking-up under Mme Pomfrey's hands.
And then, he realised that light was also really familiar. So, there he was. He had been transported. There had already been too much wake-up in that infirmary, he thought.
But he had to admit his state was really more uncomfortable this time. And also, he knew it was the last time. Whether they had won, or lost. No more spy duties.
Good point.
His expression certainly had come into focus, because the nurse judged that it was time to speak to him.
"Miss Granger went to fetch Dumbledore. He'll be here any moment, Severus."
He managed a groan. what did she say? English was a complicated language.Dumbledore, there. Yes. That he understood. Then Miss Granger. Memories came, flooding back from the day before. Yeah, that night, she had come to speak to him. And then he hadn't seen him until the battle. Apparently she had survived. Good for her.
Suddenly another voice addressed him, and he felt the hand on his face retreat.
Oh, yes. Dumbledore.
His senses were coming back, and his mind competent again, with less of that highly slowing and disturbing wool around and in his brain. He found himself actually able to see the old man. And to understand him.
Dumbledore looked relieved. Good sign? Oh, the old man wouldn't stop hoping if they had lost anyway. Better ask if he wanted to know, his own sarcastic conscience reminded him.
"Albus?" He managed. And choked abundantly. what a messy disobeying body. It was highly unpleasant. Though he didn't feel pain any more, since some time, he suddenly realise. Good point, surely due to the potion.
"Albus," he repeated when he had regained his ability to speak, "did we lose?"
"A highly pessimistic way to say it, my friend" the headmaster answered.
So that was it, he should have known, they had lost. His heart sank lower. Which was a proof that it wasn't already at its lowest. In itself, a strange statement.
Hey, Albus had spoke again, what had he said? No? Not lost? Then?
"No, really, Severus, don't give me that look, Voldemort is dead."
The old man looked at him in silence for some time. Severus's mind processed that piece of news slowly. It made sense, though. The final battle, plotted so carefully. Him here, in a hospital bed. And Voldemort dead. Some kind of new world it built.
Albus was still there. Patiently waiting for him to fully understand the meaning of that all.
It was madness.
In the middle of the afternoon, that day. Severus Snape's quarters.
'I'm an impotent man', Severus Snape thought as he finally relaxed in one of his armchairs... or whatever else it could be. It just didn't matter. And his foul mood increased. Feeling unable was a bad thing in itself. Doing so in front of others was a humiliation to which he had never become accustomed.
And here he was, finally in his quarters after hours and hours of asking and ordering and threatening Madam Pomfrey. And the intervention of an amused headmaster. Damn him, that wasn't amusing in the least! He wasn't a mere child in an infirmary. He had his dignity. And even down there he couldn't be alone. He had to allow regular visits of the nurse, of several other people, including but not limited to Albus. Pomfrey and Dumbledore were bad enough, but as if they all enjoyed belittling him, he had been obliged to agree to other, to tons of visitors. Well, or maybe it was just an additional three of them. But two were Gryffindors, so they counted double pain. Subsequently it was a crowd he would have to bear.
The current person wasn't the worst, at least. Hermione Granger had agreed to help him to his quarters. Again, humiliating to the core, but. Well, even he had to bitterly admit he wasn't in a state to move alone through the half of the castle.
He turned his eyes to her. She was staring at him in a way. well, apparently she had had that look for about 5 minutes now, ever since he had sank into his sofa. A typical stupid, damned. Gryffindor look. She was being compassionate. With him. Who did she think she was? He wasn't one to pity. Did she thought because of yesterday. No, it wasn't yesterday, he admonished himself. Had to remember he had been err. asleep all those days. Anyway, what he said or did in front of her that evening wasn't an allowance to anyth- Right. He had to calm down. She was just trying to help, however untactf- No.
He really had to stay alone for some time and sort his thoughts. Much things had happened since the last time he had seen the sun. He had to get her out of there, in a civil way. Yes, definitely. After all, he owed her something, and however infuriating it was to him, it was suppose to mean he would be. No, not gentle. But he should be at least human to her. Just let's say that if he was to hurt her, it would be after that horribly necessary sorting of thoughts.
"Professor?" she said.
'Don't fabric problems to yourself already' he admonished his undisciplined instinct, and decided not to bark. He could imagine the coalition of Gryffindors he didn't want to affront amongst the staff. Well, namely McGonagall. But she alone, would be enough to make his life hell. Beside, she was also one of those he had agreed to receive in his quarters. She could become even worse that he already knew Sinistra would be. Although how on earth they expected that last to rule the Slytherin House in his place during what they all insisted to call his convalescence, even with his advice, was beyond him. He was sure she had already had problem in those few days he had been. err. away from his duties.
He wasn't sure it would be great not to be a spy anymore, if he was to deal with a hurt Miss Granger and an infuriated Minerva. So, he just had to be polite enough.
"Professor?" Hermione Granger repeated.
Oh, yes. An answer for Miss Granger. He really was in a bad state.
"Yes, Miss Granger, I'm all right."
Shouldn't the girl be attending a lesson, anyway? Albus had said lessons had started again, hadn't he?
"Oh." the doubtful girl replied.
"I assure you. Just a bit tired." Oh, yes, it was a potion hour, for 7th Years Gryffindors. So no lesson that afternoon of course.
"Right," a totally unconvinced Hermione added. "I'll just help you to our bed, then, and."
"No you won't." He said, staying very calm, indeed. Something to be proud of, considering the horror that had seized him at the very idea. Nobody had put him to bed for decades. "The armch- err, I mean the sofa is comfortable enough for now," he informed her, finally getting a look at the room around him.
"As you wish," she muttered, clearly against her best judgement. "I'll tell professor McGonagall that you're here and alone then, so that she visits you when she. err. see fits."
He forced him not to hear the implied meaning of it. Or he would be awful; he knew it. "I thank you Miss Granger. You do that, indeed, and go back to you homework. I'm sure you've got much to do until the NEWTs."
And then he couldn't help just know what she had implied: "And no, you won't tell McGonagall how bad, and feeble, and pitiful, and. well, you just won't tell her to come to check on me in five minutes time."
He regained his relative calm and finished: "I just need some privacy, right now, Miss Granger."
Surprisingly enough, she nodded with an accepting look. "I understand, Professor. I'll tell her not to come until the evening then. I'm sure she'll want to have dinner with you." She turned on her heels and went to the door. "Oh, and professor." she added as an afterthought, "the NEWTs are not before everything is back to normal, and we really are prepared for it." She paused, and hesitated. "Lessons just started back yesterday, you know." She flashed a small smile. And with that she was gone.
Well, she sometimes really was quite. well, not so little minded, for a Gryffindor. He could nearly feel grateful. Nearly.
Two hours later, in the same sofa.
Severus Snape sighed. He just wasn't good at human relations; he knew that. He hadn't done anything wrong yet, but it would come. It was bound to happen. He could nearly feel it waiting around the next corner of his troubled life.
So, briefly. No Voldemort any more. No classes to teach until he felt better. Right. No classes was nice. No Voldemort was brainstorming. He just didn't know what he was supposed to be, then. No spying, so. just a teacher? Could he be just a teacher? Was that a life, for him? Where was the sense of it?
He was quite angry against himself. Voldemort gone. He was supposed to be relieved. The hell with joy. He was just disorientated. Absurdly. He couldn't see where his world was heading.
And then, there was them. All of them. Albus would want to see him happy. Was he able to be happy? He was still mean-spirited, hateful and hated Severus Snape. Hated? There was Minerva. She had always been civil to him, and quite nice in her own way. Had she a way of being nice? He snorted. And then stopped. He was being unfair to the woman. She had never been sweet toward him, but caring enough, and that in itself was rare, not to say miraculous. Considering who and what he was, and who and what she was... Yes, it had felt good to be accepted as an equal by her, all those years ago. And, of course, there was Professor Sinistra. Right, that was just a few professional visits, on the subject of his House. Not that bad, he tried to convince himself. He would survive a colleague being professional. Even if it was nice, beloved and understanding Sinistra. He wondered when the last time was, that anybody had mentioned her as an argument, just in order to prove to him that a rigorous and efficient professor could be also nice and popular. He hated to see his supposedly final arguments destroyed that way. And Hermione Granger. Ouch. He had shown weakness in front of her. Though she had seemed to know what he felt already. which only meat that anybody who wasn't a fool would have seen it, just like her. Great. Considering the amount of fool under his pupils, those weren't preoccupying him. One or two hours of being the professor he could be, and even the others would forget whatever they could have thought about him being weak. Or even human, he mentally mocked. Others like Minerva, for example, would be more difficult cases. He just didn't want to appear. less competent than she had always been, herself. And what if she decided he needed her help? He wasn't prepared to deal with. people. Friendship. Or even idle unproductive small chat. What a hell! But to the point, he had shown a lot more to Miss Granger than was comfortable for him. She hadn't behaved like a winning and mocking Gryffindor that afternoon, but still. You were never sure, with those. What if.
Someone knocked. He grimaced. He was not a social person.
"Come in," he called. "If you're bound to, anyway." He added in a lower tone.
"Of course I'm bound to, and you know that." McGonagall's voice came in reply.
Jesus. The woman's ears were too efficient. It wasn't good. Or had he said it aloud?
"Still on that sofa, Severus? Don't tell me you stayed there all afternoon."
He was about to answer, or to spit out a mean sentence anyway, when. A thought struck him. "Still? Wait a minute, you didn't see me today." His brain was working very quickly, suddenly. And he felt a pang of something totally unidentified when suddenly Miss Granger appeared in a new light. Was the girl repeating everything he did? Was that the purpose of everything? So, had he misjudge her in such a way?
"Severus" the older woman called. She sighed and sat down in front of him. "Let's do this like two adult reasonable adults. All right?"
He looked back at her.
"I don't want to play games with you." She went on. "Yes, the girl spoke with me. But no, it wasn't because I asked her for information, or any of that sort of hypothesises you could build. Don't protest; I know you could imagine that."
He decided to ignore the 'No offence meant' contained in her expression.
"Which implies?" he asked, menacingly. Or so he hoped to sound.
"Absolutely nothing Severus." She closed briefly her eyes. "I refuse to fight, actually. I don't think I'd like to, if I were in your place"
He arched an eyebrow interrogatively. So. it was becoming unusual. What were the rules of that new communication?
"I mean, it has to be a difficult time for you. Your life is changing a lot because of. those recent events, and."
That sounded suspiciously like Dumbledore's briefing. Or discussion with him. Perhaps just his influence on his Deputy Headmistress over the years, he corrected himself. They could be, after all, very alike. That friendship of theirs, he had to admit, did seem valuable. He returned to listening to her.
"I wasn't accusing you of paranoia, anyway. I promise. I just thought that any human being in your place," she went on with caution, "and you in particular, given what your earlier life was, could be subjected to. perplexities in front of that situation?"
He barely acquiesced, but it seemed to be enough for her. So. She wanted honesty.
"Miss Granger," she added, "was just confused on some points. I don't think she told me everything, or every thought she had about you, I mean. I didn't ask; I just listened to what she wanted to share. And we didn't really discuss you and your behaviour and its reasons, I only gave her advice about what she was to do or not do toward someone like you..."
He tensed. He hated to know people were speaking of him behind his back. What did they say? He felt terrible, not knowing. They had analysed him, and he just had to stay there and not know, and-
She was watching him carefully. "I promise we weren't psychoanalytical, anyway." she smiled.
He couldn't help just let his mouth curve a little at that. He should calm down. His nerves were really quite touchy. Too much.
"Severus?"
"Yes, Minerva", he said, staring back a her. And deciding that, after all, he was a mature man, able to handle some change. He wouldn't throw out a helpful and reasonable woman he respected, and who wasn't even really invading his privacy. Because that would be childish.
"I think Hermione wants to help you."
He took a deep breath. And thought. He clutched to the resolutions he had just taken. Minerva wanted to be sincere with him, right? So he wouldn't play with her. What did he really think?
"I saw that. I'm not just that sure she can do it."
"Pleased to know you accepted the principle of fair and open-minded discussion, Severus."
He lowered his head onto his joined hands, because her appreciative look reminded him too much of the one she had as a teacher being proud of her students success.
"Really," she insisted, "it's nice to know we can really speak, sometimes."
He smiles coldly briefly behind his own hands.
"Do not add anything, Minerva. You've reached the limit."
The silence followed, until he finally levelled his eyes. And she smiled at him.
"All right." She added in mock defence. "Just remember it then, and I'll try not to repeat too much nice things, for fear of. offending you."
They smiled. But she seemed to have understood nonetheless. He felt relieved when she conjured the dinner. They ate in silence for some time, and then spoke of a current research about potions, at Stonehenge Institute, of Lockhart's last progresses in the medi-institution where he had been placed. She did not venture any. difficult subject until he finished his dessert.
And then, when she put her spoon down, he raised the subject himself. "So, tell me, dear colleague, what did that pupil of yours tell you about me?"
McGonagall considered her thoughts for some time. His face had been serious, and he knew she had understood to what he referred. "I don't think I'm the right person to tell you that, you know. Why not ask her?"
"Because I don't know if I want to speak with her." Came the spontaneous retort.
"Oh," the woman acknowledged pensively, "I suggest you do it, though. She's really a nice and intelligent person, you know."
"And so?"
"And so I imagine you could actually find yourself able to suffer her presence without too much of a foul mood."
"So is it with you Minerva." He articulated, locking his eyes with hers. "And what exactly does that lead to, if she can indeed, like you, bear me and make herself bearable?"
She didn't answer. Just looked at him with a face he found very exasperating. Her own Dumbledorish face.
"All right I'll speak with her," he finally admitted. "I know, it can be pleasant, and I do think I remember all that fuss about friends and being nice, and civil."
"Do you?" she smiled again.
"Really, I heard of it." He noticed cynically.
She laughed. "After all, Albus does hand around you, you know. You couldn't have convinced me you never heard of human care and pleasant relations with friends."
"Albus?" he cocked an eyebrow. "You really think Albus rubbed off on me?" He gave a nearly afraid expression. "My dear Professor, you should remember I'm a Slytherin, and therefore immune to whatever contagion exists between the lot of you."
"Right!" Her eyes twinkled. "And here I was, wondering what I had forgotten."
It was nearly, very nearly pleasant to have her for dinner. For once, being taken out of his mourning wasn't that bad. Even if it was by a plotting of Albus that perhaps not even the woman in front of him suspected totally. He was sure Albus had known how it would turn, when he had forced him to accept some visitors. It was most clearly not in a mainly medical purpose. Unless his psyche could be considered as a medical case, of course. Which, now it was pointed out, wasn't that impossible.
It had been ages since he last had that sort of civil conversation with anyone else than Dumbledore. And in those recent times, even with the Headmaster, cups of tea had became more. strategic meetings. He had never stayed that long without a game of chess. At least three months, he evaluated. Yes, the war had touched him, and eaten his life part by part. And if he was franc toward himself, he knew it had begun long ago. It was not only the last months of it, before the Hogwarts Battle, as everybody already called it. His life had been a battlefield ever since he turned spy. if you excepted the ten years pause after the Potter's death, and until the boy came back to the Wizarding World. Only ten years. Now he had been proven right, and didn't care being called an utter pessimistic. He had been the one foreseeing it. Ever since famous Harry Potter was in his first year, Severus had seen everything coming back. He had felt all of it would happen again. He had made his life a preparation for the returning fight. Well, considering that his life had been decent before everything, which it itself was another interesting judgment. The very thought of building a life again, or perhaps finally building it, after about 40 years of crawling, working, hurting, mourning and carrying unhappiness at the surface of the earth, was exhausting, for a tired man like Severus Snape. Was it worth it? Damn Albus and everybody for proving him that it could be.
As if he couldn't have just died, physically, or at least crawl into his dungeons like all crustaceans do, under rocks. And just wait there, refusing to live. He sighed. It would have been easier. He would have known how to do that. After all, he had had practice during those very 10 years without any Potter on he face of the Wizarding World. Although. No? Oh, yes, now he thought of it, he hadn't been the real hermit. Albus had got him out of his loneliness, more and more, over the years, and. And Minerva. And also the last decent DADA teacher the school had had, in his opinion, who had been helpful, before and despite her death. Well, all right. If there hadn't been that danger coming back, they would very probably have cured him of his unliving attitude. Without him even noticing.
Oh, well. Then he was just lost, wasn't he? They had nearly done it once, when doubt planned on the real condition of the Dark Lord. It was becoming very clear to him. They would succeed now, with the definite end of that precise menace. He tried to apply their lesson and cheer up. At least, they had had the decency to announce themselves, this time. No, he was no good at seeing the nice side of things.
I have indeed problems with the uploading process, which insists on eating all my ellipsis and italics, police. I find it just as unpleasant as you, but flaming will lead nowhere. Though, if you know how I can avoid it (especially the ellipsis problem), I'd be very glad to hear it!
3. Carthago delenda est!
Four days later, in an absurd, blurry, mostly white world.
Ouch. That ached. What was "that", anyway? God. No. Whatever it was that was manifesting itself painfully, it was clearly bodily. Which meant. Oh, no, please, not that. It was coming right on him, at full speed. He tried to focus on the degree of consciousness he had been bathing in until then. tried hard. But only vainly. He already didn't remember what he was trying to keep. Everything was zooming away from him. Colours were swirling toward him, and light. Light? No! For God's pity, no.
All right. Not that much to fuss about.
He was alive.
No, really, not much. He had to stop his wailing mind, and just open his eyes.
Why again had he thought he could be dead? Surely one of those stupid convincing dream again. A particularly excruciating one, judging by the state he was in. He really didn't feel like any other morning. What was that nightmare about, exactly? He mentally snorted! As if there were that many possibilities. Oh, no, now he remembered. It was a particular one.
No, it was no dream- Not a dream? At that he opened his eyes. Ouch. Well, he had tried to open them anyway. He concentrated on that heavy task. Lifting an eyelid, then the other. Light cracked in. And he tried to conceal a suffering moaning.
And closed those silly eyes back before he could have seen anything.
Oh, no. Why conceal? If he was on the battlefield and the others were still fighting, then nobody would hear it. And if they did... Well, perhaps it was his only chance to be healed. Not that he absolutely wanted to live, but since the deities seemed to have decided so, who was he to protest? But then, he just wanted the pain to be alleviated. The physical one, that was.
There was some movement around him. Better stay discreet, then, his old instinct ordered in spite of his uncaring self.
Which curse had got him, again? Oh, yes. Nott. "Treacherous crosser!" that one had thrown at him, before all lights went off. But he didn't remember the curse in itself. Strange. Perhaps had it come from someone else?
He wasn't truly aware of wailing again. And he didn't care if he sounded like a banshee. Either someone would achieve him, or heal him. That would stop, anyway. That.
Then he felt something. Down his throat, surely a potion. Who was administering it? Never mind. Was it really his throat? It didn't feel like it would obey him, anyway. Was that mass his body? It felt more like a corpse he would have liked to quit.
He should really try to get a real view of his surrounding again, and see if they had won, or lost. The battle did seem finished. No sound- or not much. A desolated landscape, where corpse and hurt lied, came to his mind. And mediwizards trying to do their job. Yes, that would explain the potion.
Oh. A familiar feeling. Consciousness was returning. His body felt his again. He wasn't sure if that was an improvement, though. It certainly did not felt like that. It really ached.
"Severus?" He heard, far away. He tried to move his head, but something stopped him.
He sighed. Oh, sighing was a painful movement, two. Would that ever stop?
And then he decided to do it. He had to, and now was as good a time as any other. On the count of three. One. Go on, it won't be that bad. Two. A bit of courage. Three.
Ouch. He gritted his teeth and resisted.
And through his newly opened eyes, he was served with the sight of Mme Pomfrey's face. So it was she. And it was her hand that was on his forehead, to calm him, he noticed.
That bore the mark of monotony. Not anything new, there. Waking-up under Mme Pomfrey's hands.
And then, he realised that light was also really familiar. So, there he was. He had been transported. There had already been too much wake-up in that infirmary, he thought.
But he had to admit his state was really more uncomfortable this time. And also, he knew it was the last time. Whether they had won, or lost. No more spy duties.
Good point.
His expression certainly had come into focus, because the nurse judged that it was time to speak to him.
"Miss Granger went to fetch Dumbledore. He'll be here any moment, Severus."
He managed a groan. what did she say? English was a complicated language.Dumbledore, there. Yes. That he understood. Then Miss Granger. Memories came, flooding back from the day before. Yeah, that night, she had come to speak to him. And then he hadn't seen him until the battle. Apparently she had survived. Good for her.
Suddenly another voice addressed him, and he felt the hand on his face retreat.
Oh, yes. Dumbledore.
His senses were coming back, and his mind competent again, with less of that highly slowing and disturbing wool around and in his brain. He found himself actually able to see the old man. And to understand him.
Dumbledore looked relieved. Good sign? Oh, the old man wouldn't stop hoping if they had lost anyway. Better ask if he wanted to know, his own sarcastic conscience reminded him.
"Albus?" He managed. And choked abundantly. what a messy disobeying body. It was highly unpleasant. Though he didn't feel pain any more, since some time, he suddenly realise. Good point, surely due to the potion.
"Albus," he repeated when he had regained his ability to speak, "did we lose?"
"A highly pessimistic way to say it, my friend" the headmaster answered.
So that was it, he should have known, they had lost. His heart sank lower. Which was a proof that it wasn't already at its lowest. In itself, a strange statement.
Hey, Albus had spoke again, what had he said? No? Not lost? Then?
"No, really, Severus, don't give me that look, Voldemort is dead."
The old man looked at him in silence for some time. Severus's mind processed that piece of news slowly. It made sense, though. The final battle, plotted so carefully. Him here, in a hospital bed. And Voldemort dead. Some kind of new world it built.
Albus was still there. Patiently waiting for him to fully understand the meaning of that all.
It was madness.
In the middle of the afternoon, that day. Severus Snape's quarters.
'I'm an impotent man', Severus Snape thought as he finally relaxed in one of his armchairs... or whatever else it could be. It just didn't matter. And his foul mood increased. Feeling unable was a bad thing in itself. Doing so in front of others was a humiliation to which he had never become accustomed.
And here he was, finally in his quarters after hours and hours of asking and ordering and threatening Madam Pomfrey. And the intervention of an amused headmaster. Damn him, that wasn't amusing in the least! He wasn't a mere child in an infirmary. He had his dignity. And even down there he couldn't be alone. He had to allow regular visits of the nurse, of several other people, including but not limited to Albus. Pomfrey and Dumbledore were bad enough, but as if they all enjoyed belittling him, he had been obliged to agree to other, to tons of visitors. Well, or maybe it was just an additional three of them. But two were Gryffindors, so they counted double pain. Subsequently it was a crowd he would have to bear.
The current person wasn't the worst, at least. Hermione Granger had agreed to help him to his quarters. Again, humiliating to the core, but. Well, even he had to bitterly admit he wasn't in a state to move alone through the half of the castle.
He turned his eyes to her. She was staring at him in a way. well, apparently she had had that look for about 5 minutes now, ever since he had sank into his sofa. A typical stupid, damned. Gryffindor look. She was being compassionate. With him. Who did she think she was? He wasn't one to pity. Did she thought because of yesterday. No, it wasn't yesterday, he admonished himself. Had to remember he had been err. asleep all those days. Anyway, what he said or did in front of her that evening wasn't an allowance to anyth- Right. He had to calm down. She was just trying to help, however untactf- No.
He really had to stay alone for some time and sort his thoughts. Much things had happened since the last time he had seen the sun. He had to get her out of there, in a civil way. Yes, definitely. After all, he owed her something, and however infuriating it was to him, it was suppose to mean he would be. No, not gentle. But he should be at least human to her. Just let's say that if he was to hurt her, it would be after that horribly necessary sorting of thoughts.
"Professor?" she said.
'Don't fabric problems to yourself already' he admonished his undisciplined instinct, and decided not to bark. He could imagine the coalition of Gryffindors he didn't want to affront amongst the staff. Well, namely McGonagall. But she alone, would be enough to make his life hell. Beside, she was also one of those he had agreed to receive in his quarters. She could become even worse that he already knew Sinistra would be. Although how on earth they expected that last to rule the Slytherin House in his place during what they all insisted to call his convalescence, even with his advice, was beyond him. He was sure she had already had problem in those few days he had been. err. away from his duties.
He wasn't sure it would be great not to be a spy anymore, if he was to deal with a hurt Miss Granger and an infuriated Minerva. So, he just had to be polite enough.
"Professor?" Hermione Granger repeated.
Oh, yes. An answer for Miss Granger. He really was in a bad state.
"Yes, Miss Granger, I'm all right."
Shouldn't the girl be attending a lesson, anyway? Albus had said lessons had started again, hadn't he?
"Oh." the doubtful girl replied.
"I assure you. Just a bit tired." Oh, yes, it was a potion hour, for 7th Years Gryffindors. So no lesson that afternoon of course.
"Right," a totally unconvinced Hermione added. "I'll just help you to our bed, then, and."
"No you won't." He said, staying very calm, indeed. Something to be proud of, considering the horror that had seized him at the very idea. Nobody had put him to bed for decades. "The armch- err, I mean the sofa is comfortable enough for now," he informed her, finally getting a look at the room around him.
"As you wish," she muttered, clearly against her best judgement. "I'll tell professor McGonagall that you're here and alone then, so that she visits you when she. err. see fits."
He forced him not to hear the implied meaning of it. Or he would be awful; he knew it. "I thank you Miss Granger. You do that, indeed, and go back to you homework. I'm sure you've got much to do until the NEWTs."
And then he couldn't help just know what she had implied: "And no, you won't tell McGonagall how bad, and feeble, and pitiful, and. well, you just won't tell her to come to check on me in five minutes time."
He regained his relative calm and finished: "I just need some privacy, right now, Miss Granger."
Surprisingly enough, she nodded with an accepting look. "I understand, Professor. I'll tell her not to come until the evening then. I'm sure she'll want to have dinner with you." She turned on her heels and went to the door. "Oh, and professor." she added as an afterthought, "the NEWTs are not before everything is back to normal, and we really are prepared for it." She paused, and hesitated. "Lessons just started back yesterday, you know." She flashed a small smile. And with that she was gone.
Well, she sometimes really was quite. well, not so little minded, for a Gryffindor. He could nearly feel grateful. Nearly.
Two hours later, in the same sofa.
Severus Snape sighed. He just wasn't good at human relations; he knew that. He hadn't done anything wrong yet, but it would come. It was bound to happen. He could nearly feel it waiting around the next corner of his troubled life.
So, briefly. No Voldemort any more. No classes to teach until he felt better. Right. No classes was nice. No Voldemort was brainstorming. He just didn't know what he was supposed to be, then. No spying, so. just a teacher? Could he be just a teacher? Was that a life, for him? Where was the sense of it?
He was quite angry against himself. Voldemort gone. He was supposed to be relieved. The hell with joy. He was just disorientated. Absurdly. He couldn't see where his world was heading.
And then, there was them. All of them. Albus would want to see him happy. Was he able to be happy? He was still mean-spirited, hateful and hated Severus Snape. Hated? There was Minerva. She had always been civil to him, and quite nice in her own way. Had she a way of being nice? He snorted. And then stopped. He was being unfair to the woman. She had never been sweet toward him, but caring enough, and that in itself was rare, not to say miraculous. Considering who and what he was, and who and what she was... Yes, it had felt good to be accepted as an equal by her, all those years ago. And, of course, there was Professor Sinistra. Right, that was just a few professional visits, on the subject of his House. Not that bad, he tried to convince himself. He would survive a colleague being professional. Even if it was nice, beloved and understanding Sinistra. He wondered when the last time was, that anybody had mentioned her as an argument, just in order to prove to him that a rigorous and efficient professor could be also nice and popular. He hated to see his supposedly final arguments destroyed that way. And Hermione Granger. Ouch. He had shown weakness in front of her. Though she had seemed to know what he felt already. which only meat that anybody who wasn't a fool would have seen it, just like her. Great. Considering the amount of fool under his pupils, those weren't preoccupying him. One or two hours of being the professor he could be, and even the others would forget whatever they could have thought about him being weak. Or even human, he mentally mocked. Others like Minerva, for example, would be more difficult cases. He just didn't want to appear. less competent than she had always been, herself. And what if she decided he needed her help? He wasn't prepared to deal with. people. Friendship. Or even idle unproductive small chat. What a hell! But to the point, he had shown a lot more to Miss Granger than was comfortable for him. She hadn't behaved like a winning and mocking Gryffindor that afternoon, but still. You were never sure, with those. What if.
Someone knocked. He grimaced. He was not a social person.
"Come in," he called. "If you're bound to, anyway." He added in a lower tone.
"Of course I'm bound to, and you know that." McGonagall's voice came in reply.
Jesus. The woman's ears were too efficient. It wasn't good. Or had he said it aloud?
"Still on that sofa, Severus? Don't tell me you stayed there all afternoon."
He was about to answer, or to spit out a mean sentence anyway, when. A thought struck him. "Still? Wait a minute, you didn't see me today." His brain was working very quickly, suddenly. And he felt a pang of something totally unidentified when suddenly Miss Granger appeared in a new light. Was the girl repeating everything he did? Was that the purpose of everything? So, had he misjudge her in such a way?
"Severus" the older woman called. She sighed and sat down in front of him. "Let's do this like two adult reasonable adults. All right?"
He looked back at her.
"I don't want to play games with you." She went on. "Yes, the girl spoke with me. But no, it wasn't because I asked her for information, or any of that sort of hypothesises you could build. Don't protest; I know you could imagine that."
He decided to ignore the 'No offence meant' contained in her expression.
"Which implies?" he asked, menacingly. Or so he hoped to sound.
"Absolutely nothing Severus." She closed briefly her eyes. "I refuse to fight, actually. I don't think I'd like to, if I were in your place"
He arched an eyebrow interrogatively. So. it was becoming unusual. What were the rules of that new communication?
"I mean, it has to be a difficult time for you. Your life is changing a lot because of. those recent events, and."
That sounded suspiciously like Dumbledore's briefing. Or discussion with him. Perhaps just his influence on his Deputy Headmistress over the years, he corrected himself. They could be, after all, very alike. That friendship of theirs, he had to admit, did seem valuable. He returned to listening to her.
"I wasn't accusing you of paranoia, anyway. I promise. I just thought that any human being in your place," she went on with caution, "and you in particular, given what your earlier life was, could be subjected to. perplexities in front of that situation?"
He barely acquiesced, but it seemed to be enough for her. So. She wanted honesty.
"Miss Granger," she added, "was just confused on some points. I don't think she told me everything, or every thought she had about you, I mean. I didn't ask; I just listened to what she wanted to share. And we didn't really discuss you and your behaviour and its reasons, I only gave her advice about what she was to do or not do toward someone like you..."
He tensed. He hated to know people were speaking of him behind his back. What did they say? He felt terrible, not knowing. They had analysed him, and he just had to stay there and not know, and-
She was watching him carefully. "I promise we weren't psychoanalytical, anyway." she smiled.
He couldn't help just let his mouth curve a little at that. He should calm down. His nerves were really quite touchy. Too much.
"Severus?"
"Yes, Minerva", he said, staring back a her. And deciding that, after all, he was a mature man, able to handle some change. He wouldn't throw out a helpful and reasonable woman he respected, and who wasn't even really invading his privacy. Because that would be childish.
"I think Hermione wants to help you."
He took a deep breath. And thought. He clutched to the resolutions he had just taken. Minerva wanted to be sincere with him, right? So he wouldn't play with her. What did he really think?
"I saw that. I'm not just that sure she can do it."
"Pleased to know you accepted the principle of fair and open-minded discussion, Severus."
He lowered his head onto his joined hands, because her appreciative look reminded him too much of the one she had as a teacher being proud of her students success.
"Really," she insisted, "it's nice to know we can really speak, sometimes."
He smiles coldly briefly behind his own hands.
"Do not add anything, Minerva. You've reached the limit."
The silence followed, until he finally levelled his eyes. And she smiled at him.
"All right." She added in mock defence. "Just remember it then, and I'll try not to repeat too much nice things, for fear of. offending you."
They smiled. But she seemed to have understood nonetheless. He felt relieved when she conjured the dinner. They ate in silence for some time, and then spoke of a current research about potions, at Stonehenge Institute, of Lockhart's last progresses in the medi-institution where he had been placed. She did not venture any. difficult subject until he finished his dessert.
And then, when she put her spoon down, he raised the subject himself. "So, tell me, dear colleague, what did that pupil of yours tell you about me?"
McGonagall considered her thoughts for some time. His face had been serious, and he knew she had understood to what he referred. "I don't think I'm the right person to tell you that, you know. Why not ask her?"
"Because I don't know if I want to speak with her." Came the spontaneous retort.
"Oh," the woman acknowledged pensively, "I suggest you do it, though. She's really a nice and intelligent person, you know."
"And so?"
"And so I imagine you could actually find yourself able to suffer her presence without too much of a foul mood."
"So is it with you Minerva." He articulated, locking his eyes with hers. "And what exactly does that lead to, if she can indeed, like you, bear me and make herself bearable?"
She didn't answer. Just looked at him with a face he found very exasperating. Her own Dumbledorish face.
"All right I'll speak with her," he finally admitted. "I know, it can be pleasant, and I do think I remember all that fuss about friends and being nice, and civil."
"Do you?" she smiled again.
"Really, I heard of it." He noticed cynically.
She laughed. "After all, Albus does hand around you, you know. You couldn't have convinced me you never heard of human care and pleasant relations with friends."
"Albus?" he cocked an eyebrow. "You really think Albus rubbed off on me?" He gave a nearly afraid expression. "My dear Professor, you should remember I'm a Slytherin, and therefore immune to whatever contagion exists between the lot of you."
"Right!" Her eyes twinkled. "And here I was, wondering what I had forgotten."
It was nearly, very nearly pleasant to have her for dinner. For once, being taken out of his mourning wasn't that bad. Even if it was by a plotting of Albus that perhaps not even the woman in front of him suspected totally. He was sure Albus had known how it would turn, when he had forced him to accept some visitors. It was most clearly not in a mainly medical purpose. Unless his psyche could be considered as a medical case, of course. Which, now it was pointed out, wasn't that impossible.
It had been ages since he last had that sort of civil conversation with anyone else than Dumbledore. And in those recent times, even with the Headmaster, cups of tea had became more. strategic meetings. He had never stayed that long without a game of chess. At least three months, he evaluated. Yes, the war had touched him, and eaten his life part by part. And if he was franc toward himself, he knew it had begun long ago. It was not only the last months of it, before the Hogwarts Battle, as everybody already called it. His life had been a battlefield ever since he turned spy. if you excepted the ten years pause after the Potter's death, and until the boy came back to the Wizarding World. Only ten years. Now he had been proven right, and didn't care being called an utter pessimistic. He had been the one foreseeing it. Ever since famous Harry Potter was in his first year, Severus had seen everything coming back. He had felt all of it would happen again. He had made his life a preparation for the returning fight. Well, considering that his life had been decent before everything, which it itself was another interesting judgment. The very thought of building a life again, or perhaps finally building it, after about 40 years of crawling, working, hurting, mourning and carrying unhappiness at the surface of the earth, was exhausting, for a tired man like Severus Snape. Was it worth it? Damn Albus and everybody for proving him that it could be.
As if he couldn't have just died, physically, or at least crawl into his dungeons like all crustaceans do, under rocks. And just wait there, refusing to live. He sighed. It would have been easier. He would have known how to do that. After all, he had had practice during those very 10 years without any Potter on he face of the Wizarding World. Although. No? Oh, yes, now he thought of it, he hadn't been the real hermit. Albus had got him out of his loneliness, more and more, over the years, and. And Minerva. And also the last decent DADA teacher the school had had, in his opinion, who had been helpful, before and despite her death. Well, all right. If there hadn't been that danger coming back, they would very probably have cured him of his unliving attitude. Without him even noticing.
Oh, well. Then he was just lost, wasn't he? They had nearly done it once, when doubt planned on the real condition of the Dark Lord. It was becoming very clear to him. They would succeed now, with the definite end of that precise menace. He tried to apply their lesson and cheer up. At least, they had had the decency to announce themselves, this time. No, he was no good at seeing the nice side of things.