a/n: Sorry for the delay in getting this out, it's proving the proverbial prickly pear (how's that for alliteration?). Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Please read and review!
Found
(The third and final story in the Charlotte Parnell trilogy)
As per usual, anything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. I'm just here for the food. (and as an impoverished student, I have very little to offer would-be litigators)
In your world, you're alone in your face.
You're alone in your world, you're alone in your face.
How you said you never would leave me alone, oh.
How you said you never would leave me alone.
Never before, never again,
You will ignore, I will pretend.
- the Cranberries "How"
She bent her head over her bag, searching for the keys she knew were hidden in its depths. A sudden blast of cold air sent goose bumps running up her exposed neck and she reached her hand up to touch her hair. The cut was a week old but she still wasn't used to it. It was a chin-length bob that her friends and coworkers called "cute." She didn't think she'd go that far. She had walked into the salon and asked for a change and a change was what she got. It hadn't been this short in years—Severus had always liked her hair long. Of course, that hardly matters anymore.
By the time she reached the parking garage a light drizzle had begun to fall from the night sky. Her Vespa was untouched as always, courtesy of a few complicated wards that made the scooter invisible to any would-be thieves. Charlotte had always wanted a Vespa; it had been her first purchase after securing the job at the Ministry. With the help of avid Mugglephile Arthur Weasley she had made a few "improvements." Usually, however, she preferred the feel of the pavement under her on the short trip to her flat. Her colleagues in the Ministry couldn't understand why she needed the Vespa in the first place, and why she insisted on parking it in a Muggle garage all day. Aside from the fact that repeated shrinking and resizing seemed to have an adverse affect on complicated devices like scooters, Charlotte was used to the idea of a commute. Commuting to work gave her a chance to people watch, and it made her feel normal, a feeling that had been in short supply in recent months. Of course, the real reason she liked to ride home from work especially was that it prolonged the inevitable, the heavy security door slam that signified she was once again all alone.
Unlike some others, Charlotte had sunk into relative anonymity following the defeat of Lord Voldemort. She had been awarded the Order of Merlin Third Class for her service, but so had anyone who had shown up to the last battle on the side of good. She hadn't been there when The-Boy-Who-Continued-to-Live had dealt the final blow, she had been coordinating the wounded and helping the Ministry contain the impact on the Muggle settlements near Godric's Hollow. That was how she came by her present job, newly appointed Minister of Magic Weasley knew he needed someone who understood Muggles to help him navigate the days ahead, and he knew that Charlotte was the one for the job. She had no real desire to be there for the final showdown, and she had been told in no uncertain terms by her husband that it was off-limits. She sighed, feeling the raindrops land on her hair and skin as she cruised through central London. Getting married had been her idea. It was stupidly sentimental of her, but she didn't want to face what might be the last day of their lives without committing to paper that they belonged to each other forever, however long that might be. Especially if it wasn't very long, she wanted it known that she loved him, no matter what he had been in the past. He had acquiesced and with only Professor McGonagall as a witness, they were married in the Headmaster's office by the man himself. Dumbledore had stowed the magical contract way, promising to make it publicly known whatever the outcome of the fight to come. Following their first kiss as man and wife, he had promised her that, if they survived, they would have a real wedding. She accelerated through an intersection. So many promises.
For the most part, her flat looked like any other in the building. She had no television, but she did have a computer. It was spartanly finished, but that was because she had no real desire for it to resemble a home. It wasn't her home; it was just where she lived. Spread over the small kitchen table were piles of books more suited to a museum exhibit than the bright fluorescents of her modern apartment. Putting down her bag and keys she returned to where she had left off the previous evening, searching for something that would bring him back to her, make him himself again—anything to combat the ugly truth that he no longer needed her. She pulled up her chair and started flipping through pages. The next thing she knew, the clock on the wall began to chime. Looking over, she saw the words 'TIME TO EAT' illuminated in red script at the top of the face. The other quarters had similarly helpful messages like 'BED TIME,' 'GO TO WORK,' and 'TEA.' The clock had been a flat warming gift from a former student who understood how all consuming an important project could be. The fact that she was rarely hungry didn't really matter, she was smart enough to know that she needed to eat. She microwaved something simple from the freezer and forced down every forkful before returning to her work. She had been researching for nearly three months with little success. Everyday, however, she kept looking. When she ran out of books, she went back to the library and found more. Severus had once called her a 'deluded optimist' – she certainly wasn't going to change now. Her ruthless search for an answer continued until the clock chimed again for bed.
***
A young house elf, Nibby by name, scurried to answer the knock at the front door, now on its third attempt. They'd had no visitors many weeks and Nibby had not been paying proper attention. The house elf made a mental note to throw himself down the stairs later and pulled open the heavy wooden door.
"I'm Ron Weasley," said the redhead who was waiting on the other side, "Is your mistress at home?"
Nibby sadly shook his head. "Nibby is sorry Ron Weasley, but mistress is not here."
"What about your master then, is he here?"
"Master is here yes. But master is telling all the house elves that he is not to be disturbed."
"I know he'd want to see me," said Ron earnestly, "I've brought good news for him!"
The house elf's face brightened. "Good news for master? Master is needing good news! Come with me Ron Weasley!" Nibby led the gangly young man up the grand staircase and down a long hallway. They stopped in front of a door and Nibby tentatively knocked. There was no answer and the house elf seemed almost relieved. He opened the door and motioned for Ron to follow. The room was barren except for a large armchair and low table. One window looked out on the lake that bordered the manor. The chair faced away from the door, but a pair of long legs was stretched out in front, indicating that it was occupied.
"Nibby has brought you a visitor, master. Ron Weasley! He has good news for you!" There was no response from the chair. Nibby gave a Ron half shrug and bowed himself out.
The door latch caught with an audible click. "Well, Severus, how lovely to see you again," purred a voice of spun steel. Where Ron had once been now stood a smug Lucius Malfoy.
Severus Snape leaned forward in his chair. "Lucius?" his voice was weak from disuse. The rest of him looked equally well taken care of, thick stubble lined his cheeks and his hair had grown long and stringy. Malfoy's lips curled at the sight.
"It pains me to see the last of a noble wizarding family reduced to this state."
Snape looked at him in confusion, "Thought you…dead." he forced out.
Malfoy turned from his inspection of the window. "Oh no, I survived. No thanks to you of course." His voice turned harsh. "The great Severus Snape, one of the Dark Lord's favorites, a potions master beyond equal, a traitor to the cause all along." He laughed, "and look where it has gotten you. Alone, with only your pathetic house elves for company, unable to save your dear Headmaster, unable to even keep your filthy mudblood wife happy." He smiled cruelly as Snape's head jerked sharply at the mention of his wife. "Oh yes, I know you married her. Even in my recent forced exile I still had access to that information. I suppose it is too late to offer my congratulations."
"Told her to leave," Snape replied with effort.
"Of course you did Severus. But you see, I am most desirous of finding her. We have some – unfinished business." He paused, searching Snape's face for further reaction. "Where is she?"
"I don't know."
"Really, Severus, you seem most inept at looking after people." Lucius was amused. "Never fear, I will find her and her broken body will be the herald of my return and the rebirth of the Death Eaters." He leaned in close to the sunken figure in the chair. "And when I have finished with her, I will have you publicly hung as befits a traitor." Like a coiled snake, his silver headed cane flashed out and made sudden, forceful contact with the side of Severus' face. Lucius sneered. "I will be sure to give your regards when I see Mrs. Snape." Suddenly, Ron Weasley returned. "What do you think of the disguise? You should be honored, I would not adopt such a shabby appearance for anyone less." The lofty tone ill-suited the redhead and with a laugh he was gone. Reaching up a trembling hand Snape touched his bruised cheek. The blood that came off on his fingers consumed his whole attention until it was too dark to see.
***
By all rights, her full name was Dr. Charlotte Louise Parnell-Snape. However, the few wizarding friends she had were too tactful to use her married name, and her Muggle postman could hardly remember her flat number, let alone what she was calling herself these days. Wizards, while awarding doctorates, did not really have much use for that title in the academic realm. There were a few of her former students around the Ministry who called her Professor Parnell out of habit, and Charlotte admitted that she actually found it rather comforting, when it didn't remind her of why she had this naming conundrum in the first place.
No one doubted that the last few months had not been easy for Charlotte. They had not been easy for anyone. The initial jubilation at Voldemort's defeat six months ago had faded into a somber relief, tinged with grief for all the good witches and wizards lost to the fight. Chief among those who had given their lives to the war was one Albus Dumbledore, beloved headmaster of Hogwarts. Few knew what had happened that fateful day in Godric's Hollow. Flanked by Harry Potter, Dumbledore had led only four others into the last fight: Hermione Grainger, Ron Weasley, Sirius Black and Severus Snape. Six heroes went in - only five emerged, tight-lipped and spent. They had not been very forthcoming about the events of the battle, which did nothing to endear them to the Ministry or the wizard press. Yes, Voldemort was defeated, no, Dumbledore had not survived was the only information that could be pried from them. The Ministry had talked vaguely of performing an inquiry but nothing came of it, the general populace preferring to imagine the Headmaster's heroics rather than seeing them splashed across the front page of the Daily Prophet. Long-time media darling Harry Potter unfortunately received the brunt of the public's interest along with his godfather, whose sad story of false imprisonment and redemption caused many a young witch to sigh meaningfully and clutch their copy of Witch Weekly to their chest. Severus, and by extension his new wife, were able to escape much of the public's attention. Any number of reporters and Ministry officials still had vivid memories of their potions lessons, choosing to avoid Snape rather than face those demons again. In the end, Charlotte was glad of the anonymity – it made the weeks afterward far less complicated.
***
Charlotte was fidgeting restlessly with a quill when there was a tap at the window. A sturdy barn owl was waiting outside with a sizeable package. She absently showed the creature to some food and water before picking up the quill again. Not pleased by this careless treatment, the owl nipped her on the finger before flying away. Charlotte tried to focus on her mail, a series of public service announcements made by the American Department of Magic about the dangers of improper Muggle handling, but the words swam before her. She had been very close to a possible solution when the clock had chimed for work, and only an innate sense of duty and her respect for Arthur Weasley made her leave the books and go into the office. She could hardly wait for the end of the day, but time seemed to be moving more slowly than normal. There was a commotion outside her door, and she went to investigate, glad of the distraction.
Beyond the door the Ministry offices were in an uproar, everyone talking at once, rendering Charlotte unable to understand anything. There was new strain in the air – something was wrong. At last Arthur came striding down the hall, followed by several Aurors. The room went abruptly silent.
"The Dark Mark has been seen outside the Muggle town of Ely. I am dispatching people to the scene immediately," he said, gesturing to the robed wizards behind him. "Tell nothing to the Daily Prophet, they will be given a full report as soon as I have more information." He looked across the sea of pale and worried faces and smiled weakly, "There is no reason to suspect that this is anything other than an isolated incident – the work of a former Death Eater with delusions of grandeur. Voldemort is part of our history and will remain so. I ask you to continue your work and refrain speculation. Thank you." The crowd dispersed back to their desks and offices, somewhat relieved. Arthur was a popular Minister, unlike Fudge before him, and his staff trusted him. He might be a little over-interested in Muggle affairs, but when push came to shove he knew how to focus on the serious matters at hand. It was a valuable talent that the majority of his children had inherited. Charlotte made to return to her office, but Arthur stopped her. "Charlotte, I'd like you to accompany the Aurors to Ely. I don't know what you'll find there, but there may be some Muggles who saw what happened. Find out what you can and then –" he coughed delicately "expunge their memories."
Charlotte nodded. Destroying a person's memories wasn't exactly a pleasant prospect, but it had to be done. "Of course sir." She grabbed her cloak and followed the Aurors to the apparition point.
It seemed inappropriate that this business should be conducted under a clear and cloudless sky. As Charlotte understood things, Death Eaters preferred the cover of darkness for their activities. The Aurors speculated that this must be the work of someone who wanted to attract the attention of the Ministry. The green skull still hovered over the small farmstead like some single-minded firecracker. A small slightly hysterical witch was pacing in front of the site, oblivious to the growing crowd of Muggles behind her.
"Someone get rid of the Mark and get that witch calmed down!" Charlotte didn't recognize the barking voice that came from the group of Aurors, but she knew the man on sight – 'Mad Eye' Moody. As a special favor to Dumbledore and Arthur, Moody had temporarily rejoined the Aurors as their leader as the war came to a head. Now that the fighting was over, no one was going to remind him that he could retire – he was just too valuable. At his command his staff sprang into action. Charlotte and the remaining Aurors moved forward into the home. The door was hanging open, and the group advanced cautiously, wands at the ready. It looked like the occupants had been preparing a late breakfast, a teakettle was whistling incessantly and a pan of sausages was beginning to burn on the stove. Charlotte quickly levitated the pan off the head and shut off the gas, no need for a fire to further impair their investigation. They walked through to the living room. Sitting in two armchairs, facing a television still playing the morning news, was a man and a woman, clearly dead. Charlotte had seen her fair share of casualties during the last few years, but to see these two, who had done nothing, who had been murdered for no reason at all, with know knowledge of who or what had killed them was somehow more awful than what she had seen during the war.
One of the Aurors stepped forward and examined the bodies. "The Killing Curse, sir," he said to Moody.
The older wizard nodded and gruffly dispatched to Aurors to help Charlotte interview Muggle witnesses while those that remained would look for clues inside the house
Interrogating the Muggles proved expectedly useless. No one had noticed anything unusual until the green skull appeared over the farmstead. It was just too easy for a witch or wizard to conceal themselves. Charlotte did manage to obliviate all memory of the Dark Mark and the troop of Aurors that had descended upon the house. It was well into the afternoon by the time the Muggle medics removed the couple from the scene. Heart failure was the announced cause of death, which seemed to satisfy everyone who didn't know the truth.
"Whoever it was obviously knew what they were doing," Moody said later in Arthur's office. "Nothing was disturbed and nothing was left behind."
"The mediwitch reported that both bodies had been exposed to the Crucatius and the Imperius," said one of Moody's junior officers, consulting his notes.
"Then we can almost guarantee that there was more than one Death Eater in the house, one putting on a show for his companions." Charlotte felt slightly ill thinking of a group of Death Eaters tormenting the poor Muggle couple for sport.
"But who? And why did they select Ely as their target?" asked Arthur, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"That we don't know. I've got my people checking the records and tracking down suspects. We'll find them."
"I have every confidence in you, Alastor. We just have very little to go on at this point. I'm afraid of this incident creating a mass panic. Voldemort may be a memory, but he is still a very powerful specter in the minds of our countrymen." The others in the room nodded. "I will tell the Daily Prophet that it was an isolated incident. Keep me apprised."
Charlotte kept her cloak on the rest of the afternoon. She just couldn't seem to shake the chill that had followed her from Ely. She had assumed, foolishly apparently, that there were no more Death Eaters - that they were all either dead or locked up tight in Azkaban. Even those with sympathies were laying very low at the moment. Don't be naïve, it's not that easy to get rid of evil, said the cynical voice in her head. "Who said it was easy?" she muttered. Please. The First World War had a hundred times more casualties. Just because you lost two special people is no reason to think that you fought in the war to end all wars. "Get stuffed," she told the voice, and tried desperately to concentrate on the materials from America.
***
The sound of miserable sniffling and the feel of a cold flannel on his face pulled him back into unwelcome consciousness. At his side was Nibby dabbing at the wounded cheek in between pitiful hiccoughs. When the house elf saw his master watching him, he jumped back with a squeak.
"Nibby is sorry, Master! Ron Weasley said he had good news for Master, Nibby had no idea that he would hurt Master!"
"Wasn't Weasley," Snape slurred, "…Malfoy."
The house elf seemed to have trouble processing this information. "But Nibby thought that Malfoy was dead."
"Apparently you were mistaken," Snape replied with a faint trace of his old asperity.
Nibby resumed his ministrations. "What did Malfoy want with Master? Master fought against You-Know-Who and Malfoy." There was no response from the chair. "Master, please!" The little elf was desperate, "Don't go away again! Stay and talk to Nibby!" But the weak light in Snape's eyes was gone, and he seemed to shrink back into his chair. Nibby finished treating his master and turned away. "You are needed, Master. The house elves need you, Mistress needs you, Hogwarts needs you." Silence reigned in the small room and the elf went away without another word.
***
Charlotte had wanted a distraction, but a murder was not exactly what she had in mind. Nevertheless, before she knew it, it was time to retrieve the Vespa and head back to the flat. As she rode through the busy streets the gloom that hung over her began to dissolve into anticipation. Waiting at home was her research and the answer to her problem.
It was her misplaced optimism that told her that her research would make everything all better again. What's the good of finding this miracle potion if you can't get him to take it? Assuming that you can even get in the door. She asked the part of her brain that was already visualizing her success. He didn't exactly leave a light on for you. She would have to simply find a way. Beneath her cloak and robes, protected by an anti-tarnish charm, lay the proof that he had once loved her more than anything and that he one day could again. Although the necklace never left her person, the hope often did. Sometimes in the dark she could only hear the loathing and revulsion in his voice as he told her to get out and never come back.
They had returned to the manor on the evening of "the great triumph" as it came to be known, exhausted in every way possible. She had left Severus in the study saying, "I need a bath." She hoped that all the things she was feeling would wash off with the dirt, but such was not the case. Charlotte could only think how strange it was to be sitting in a tub piled high with bubbles when only a few hours ago she had been involved in a war. The movies never showed what happened after the victory beyond the glorious ride off into the sunset. Watching the foam froth around her she was suddenly struck by the fact that Albus would never enjoy another bath, which was a pity because the old wizard had been quite fond of them. He'd even developed a special bubble solution that smelled like lemon drops, his favorite Muggle sweet. She spent the rest of her bath sobbing, the harsh sound bouncing off the tile walls and making her ears ring. At long last, having quelled both the tears and the dry heaves that had followed them, she had dried off and wrapped herself in a thick robe. Padding back to the library she saw that Severus had not moved.
"Do you want to talk?" she had asked.
"No," his reply had been very clear. She wanted to crawl into his arms and hide, but there was something in his manner that gave her the impression she would not be welcomed there. He was so closed off. Charlotte couldn't even begin to imagine what he was feeling, what images were seared on his brain.
"Alright love," she kissed his forehead, "I'll be upstairs staring at the ceiling if you need me." He hadn't replied, and when she awoke the next morning there was no indication he'd even come to bed. He was still in the library, the only change a nearly empty bottle of fire whiskey. "Severus, have you been up all night?"
"Yes." He didn't appear drunk, not that she had ever seen him drunk, but a third of the whiskey he'd had would lay her flat on her ass.
"Would you like me to get you something to eat?"
"No." Not even when they had first met had he been so cold and distant. She tried to be patient, she had the house elves bring him food, muttered the occasional cleaning charm over his head, and generally did her best to make things comfortable. He remained fixed in his chair, glass in one hand, slowly folding in on himself. He said little and did nothing, spending his days in contemplation of the fireplace. It made her heart break to see him this way, and after a week she took matters into her own hands.
"Severus you cannot stay in that chair for the rest of your life!"
"Why not?" he asked coolly.
"Because it's killing you! We've all got to move on, continue living, make something of this world that so many good people died for." She fidgeted helplessly. "I don't pretend to know what you're feeling, but whatever it is we can get through it together. Just tell me what you need."
At this point he looked up at her, as if just noticing she was there. "What I would like," he began slowly, talking as one would to a small child, "is for you to leave."
Her shoulders sagged. "All right. I'll bring you some dinner later."
"I think you misunderstand me. I would like you to leave my house."
Charlotte looked at him in confusion. "What are you saying? This is my house too."
Severus rose from his chair and drew himself to his full height. "Get out!" he thundered. Charlotte cringed, he rarely yelled. Her upper arm was suddenly wrapped in an iron grip. Severus dragged her through the house to the front door and threw her out on to the portico. "I have no desire to see your face ever again!" The door slammed shut, leaving Charlotte on the ground in a heap. Her heart was racing. Surely he hadn't meant it, he was just dealing with his grief. She decided that maybe it was in her best interests to spend a night away from home. The thought of facing his ire again made her shake. She returned to Snape Manor the next morning after a sleepless and tear-stained night at the Three Broomsticks. After a minute of standing awkwardly at the front door, she knocked.
Milly, one of the older house elves, answered the door. When she saw who it was, her normally cheerful face fell. "Oh Mistress, Master is telling us not to let you in. He is having us pack up all your things." She pointed to a trunk just inside the door. Charlotte could only blink at the little creature. "Milly is sorry, Mistress, but you must go now." The house elf moved the trunk out beside her mistress and turned away, beginning to sob. Once again Charlotte was face to face with her own door. After a moment of indecision, she ran around to the windows that looked into the library. He was still sitting there, as though nothing had happened.
"Severus!" she yelled, banging on the pane. The man gave no indication that he had heard her. She kept banging until at last he stood up and walked out of the room. A moment later Nibby was at her side telling her she had to go. She had gone, reluctantly, but she was back every day that week. Severus had never spoken to her again, but increasingly teary house elves continue to tell her that she was not allowed in. She had begun to slide into depression, an unhappy state that was averted by the appearance of Arthur Weasley at the Three Broomsticks with a proposition for her. Charlotte had accepted the job with a new plan forming in her head. At the Ministry she would have access to resources that would otherwise be unavailable. She could research, and find something to help Severus. Six long months had passed since she was ejected from the manor. There had been no communication from Snape or any of the house elves and Charlotte found the idea of paying another visit too painful to contemplate without a cure in hand. With a very Gryffindor tenacity she had focused her efforts on the research and at last she had found an answer. She studied the page before her carefully. It was a complicated potion, well beyond her grasp, but she knew one person who could prepare it and not ask too many questions. The clock chimed for bed and Charlotte enjoyed a peaceful sleep for first time in months.