Althea was giving Kristine some thought. Charles was so angry, he had to bite his knuckles and deliver a very poorly written monologue. Then he slept with a waitress named Patricia for no good reason at all.
Severus sighed. He pushed open the living room window, keeping half-heartedly near it as he lit another cigarette. The only ones he hadn't liked were some honey-clove monstrosities which he'd executed by dropping them one at a time into the bushes from the second floor window. He'd made up crimes against humanity for each of them, passed sentence, and given a little scream each time one plummeted to the earth.
"I'm going slightly mad…" he sang, and idly contemplated shaving off all his body hair just to see the look on Potter's face.
It was a normal day. Normal and dull as most of the days before it. Quite likely as normal as those to come.
That was the heart and head-achingly tough bit. There was nothing to look forward to. Perhaps nothing to dread, either, but miles and miles of same on the horizon. Even in the blackest days at Hogwarts, he'd been able to clutch his wand until it hurt and think—this will pass.
But this wouldn't. Potter could schedule as many reviews as he liked; there would be no escape, save by the obvious route, and who needed the Wizengamot to accomplish that?
Severus contemplated his navel, his fingernails, fate, and the recipe for enchiladas spicy enough to make Potter cry like the prissy little door-opener he was.
Maybe he would shave himself from head to toe. It would be itchy growing back in, though. He might cut something vital, or get so carried away by the whole affair that he started slashing arteries.
Perhaps he'd just scrub the upstairs hall again.
The floo whooshed.
Then again. Then again—and again—and again.
Snape blinked.
Potter's floo was usually open to one person. Potter. He didn't have visitors, save the youngest Weasley's rare trespass, and even those visits had stopped since the engagement incident.
Maybe it was the Weasleys. Maybe it was Aurors come to tell him that, by some ridiculous accident involving an engorgement charm and a paperclip, Potter was dead. Maybe someone had set his floo incorrectly, or maybe a big Harry Potter fan at the network had broken in.
Severus wondered if he was obligated to offer them tea. He rose from the couch.
"HARRY POTTER!" thundered an unfamiliar voice. "WE KNOW YOU'RE HERE!"
"Yeah! And you're coming with us, one way or another."
Snape took a drag off the cigarette. He had the worst feeling that this was going to throw off the whole of the afternoon.
"Don't make us come looking for you, Harry!"
Of all the days for dark wizards to divine Potter's residence, it would be today. He stubbed out his cigarette on the sill. Diving out the window wasn't an option—the net of wards would snare him like a spiderweb, leaving him even more defenseless than he was now.
He heard shoes tromp into the kitchen.
Bugger.
Running wasn't an option. Hiding wasn't either, really; there were only so many places to conceal oneself without magic.
Right. Fighting it is, Snape thought.
He crept into the hall.
A wizard stood at the entrance to the kitchen, his back momentarily to Snape.
His hands itched for a wand. Like the one the wizard held loosely in his right hand.
There was a slight, erm, issue. 'I, Severus Snape, shall touch neither wand nor staff; nor shall I engage in the willful use of magic by any other means.' It was a condition of his release. A vow. Not Unbreakable, but a vow nonetheless.
But there the wand was, right there, begging to be held. 'Take me,' it seemed to call. It was short, made of what looked like yew, and didn't even have proper grooves worn into it. Bastard probably took it home and put polish on it to make it shinier. The wizard obviously didn't appreciate what he had.
Severus wet his lips.
"—check the upstairs," one of them said.
The wizard nearby began to turn.
Snape struck.
He wasn't so fast as he used to be, but was still fast enough. He had the wand in one hand and the other around the wizard's throat before the man could form a protest.
He considered casting binding spells. That would be the way to do it: honorable, laudable, and forgivable. He couldn't form the words on his lips. His first spell in so many years wasn't going to be bloody Petrificus Totalus.
"Incendio," he hissed, and shoved the flaming, screaming wizard forward into the kitchen while he stepped back, retreating quickly and quietly up the stairs.
He cast a chameleon spell on himself and pressed against the wall, listening to the screams and the sounds of the wizards' agitation increasing exponentially. He figured there must be at least four of them, with one disarmed and smoldering.
Oh, yes.
Snape pressed his back against the wall in the shadows near the top of the stairs. He fingered the purloined wand. It fit neatly into his hand, and didn't hiss or spit the way a truly incompatible wand would. It wasn't quite the same as his old one, but his old one was in small pieces (that were likely in a warded case at the bottom of the ocean, knowing Ministry paranoia). It had been fouled with polish. Severus wiped off what he could on his sleeve. "Hullo," he whispered. "Our acquaintance may be brief, but I shall endeavor to treat you with respect."
Perhaps it was the adrenaline, but he imagined the wand hummed at him.
"Right, then." There was an off-chance that they'd kill him, of course, but since he'd already violated the arrest agreement, there was every indication that he'd be locked in a very tiny box in Newtgate Prison come tomorrow no matter his intentions. Or theirs. Might as well enjoy the moment.
The voices downstairs hushed.
"Harry? This isn't the way we wanted it," one of them called. Nice suddenly oozed through his words. "We came here to talk. We're all Aurors here; we know how badly it could turn out if we all don't keep level heads about this thing."
His grip on the wand tightened.
Holy sodding hell.
Dark wizards were one thing. A child could call himself a dark wizard. He should've cast as many trap wards as he could when he had the chance. Snape edged down the hall, avoiding the squeaky floorboards.
"We're your brothers, Harry. We're all on the same team, here. We need you to drop the complaint."
A dull squeak. A foot on the bottom stair.
There was his bedroom or Potter's. His bedroom had nothing to offer, but unless Potter's invisibility cloak was draped over his bed… Actually, it was worth a look.
"It's not worth fighting over, is it? It's a little skim off the top. A little something extra. You know they don't pay us much. Not what we're worth. We're out there risking our necks."
"We appreciate that you're a good bloke, Harry," said another. "You're doing your job. But us grunts aren't all like you. We don't get special fees. We don't get supervisors who'll look the other way when we feel like slipping off home in the middle of the morning."
"We've got children to take care of. Wives."
"Ex-wives," one muttered. A dark chuckle answered it.
Apparently, Potter had been up to more at the Ministry than lecturing primary schoolers and filing paperwork. Typical Gryffindor.
"Come on, Harry. We're going to do everybody a favor. We'll fix the complaint and we'll all go about our business. We'll even cast a memory charm, if that'll make you feel better. Look, we don't want to hurt you. You're a nice kid. You may have scared Robbie, but we know you're not really going to hurt any of us. We know you too well."
Severus couldn't resist. "I wonder," he drawled, "how well you know the former Death Eater Potter keeps in his house? Who's now armed, by the way." He was gratified to hear cursing.
"So where's Harry?" one demanded.
Bit arrogant, Severus thought. He eased open Potter's bedroom door. They were backing him into a corner, true, but they didn't necessarily know that. With one eye on the landing, he drew a line in front of his own bedroom door with the wand. The ward was quick and dirty. He held little hope it would snare anyone, but he could try.
Severus waited.
"We're not interested in you. We're after Harry."
Close, now. Two more groans on the step. Three of them. The second floor hall ran perpendicular to the stairs; to reach the bedrooms, they'd have to climb to the top of the steps and turn the corner.
"He hiding up here? We're not here to hurt anyone. We want this to be as painless as possible—for everyone. If Harry's not here, we'll cast a memory charm and be on our way."
Heard that one before, thought Snape, and aimed close to the floor. It was a memory charm, and then maybe a Heartrace Hex while the victim was stunned, cast over and over until something inside snapped. Heart attacks happened every day.
The tip of a toe edged onto the landing. It was all Severus needed. He cast a leg-locker curse and retreated into Potter's room as he heard the thud, tumble, crash of a wizard falling down the stairs.
Two left. Maybe only one, if he'd taken one of the others down with him. …No, two.
He closed Potter's door quietly, cast a stronger stun ward inside the door, and glanced around. Laundry on the floor, of course, and books spread out on the dresser and stacked in piles on the shelves. Old, half-finished cups of tea garnished the mess.
"Should've let me clean his room." He frowned.
There wasn't an invisibility cloak apparent. He crouched behind the bed for cover. It had a red and gold bedspread draped across it. Snape suspected that it had been stolen from Hogwarts.
There was a crackle of his bedroom ward going off. They'd tripped it. From down the hall, he heard a sotto voice conversation. Strategy.
Quiet.
Severus gripped the wand more tightly.
He didn't smell it as soon as he should've. Not until it began rising into the air from under the door.
Smoke. A smoking charm. They were going to smoke him out.
After he'd been so bloody careful to hold his cigarettes out of windows. After he'd spent years cleaning and keeping the house nice. After he'd acquainted himself with every inch of his cage, convinced himself that prison could be home (it had been before), and had finally (mostly) stopped groping himself for a wand that wasn't there—they were going to smoke him out like common vermin, and ruin all his hard work while they were at it.
Deep down, the switches on all Severus' internal censors clicked off, shut down, went dark as the telly.
He rose, stooping just under the hanging cloud of black smoke, and blasted out the door. With a slice of the wand, he deflected the first, then second curse that came at him through the smoke. Magic crackled from his wand and his fingertips as he returned fire. Delivering cutting curses was always like flinging batter off a spoon, or maybe paint off a brush—but he'd never painted, except as a child with his fingers, once, and that had got him into trouble—
The stun ward inside the door activated, immobilizing a bulky Auror as he stepped into Potter's bedroom. He stared with wide eyes at the wand trained on his forehead.
Severus' wand flickered.
Wizards could fly without brooms.
There was a sickening crack, a crunch of bone and wood, and Severus could just see across the hall through the second shattered doorway into his own bedroom, where the Auror sprawled across the floorboards.
One left.
Only now he could swear he heard voices downstairs. Perhaps they were regrouping. Perhaps they'd called for reinforcements.
Severus ducked into the hallway. Immediately, he dodged a hex and sent one of his own.
The other Auror dodged as well. He was reedy, with a wispy red beard and a head as bald and round as an egg. He had a nasty grin. "Crucio."
Severus should've been faster.
The pain was short of blinding. His joints twisted. He dropped to the floor, but didn't feel compelled to scream. A non-specific, only vaguely malicious form of the curse—it made his eyes roll back and his fingers clench, but was nothing compared with Voldemort. He half-staggered, half-rolled back into Potter's room.
Footsteps behind him.
Severus didn't think. He pointed the wand at the garish Gryffindor bedcover and hurled it at the doorway and the approaching wizard. It fell like a net, leaving Severus time to lunge for the legs of his attacker. The wizard toppled, flailing at the covering. Snape climbed on top of him, all thought beyond instinct lost to the cloud of swirling black smoke and the pulse of adrenaline. He pounded at the struggling form below the blanket, beating at the hard shape of a skull beneath the cloth. He brought down elbows and knees, spitting non-magical curses until the wizard stopped moving and a wet, off-red patch appeared on the bedspread.
Across the hall, the bulky Auror on his bedroom floor hadn't moved.
He stood on shaky legs and lurched down the hall. Severus had to see what had become of the other two.
At the bottom of the stairs was the crumpled body of an Auror. Two others stood beside him.
Severus raised his wand.
One of them looked up. "Wait, st—"
He stunned one, the other, and the next out of the kitchen door, descending as he cast. There was a clamor. He heard it as if his ears were stuffed with cotton wool. One from the living room, one from the front door—
They got him in the side. He tumbled to his knees, but didn't let go of the wand. Someone was screaming. He hoped it wasn't him. He pointed the wand, seeking his next target.
He found Potter's face.
"Snape."
He blinked. Don't curse Potter, Snape thought, or he was liable to do something cruel and unusual, like take away telly privileges.
"Snape. I said back off," Potter shouted at movement behind him. "Snape. Are you all right?"
His eyes found the crumpled wizard again. He dropped the stolen wand. "Tell them I'd rather be executed. All things considered."
They caught him before he hit the ground.
XXXXX
Someone was holding his hand.
"It's a dangerous habit."
"I know."
"Well, he should give it up. And if you're the one who supplies him—you shouldn't be encouraging it."
"You don't understand." A sigh. "There's so little that he… that he actually likes. If he wants to smoke a bit—"
"Spells can't cure lung cancer, Mister Potter. If you'd like to see him in with a bunch of muggles, hooked up to a batch of machines—"
"No."
"There's nothing sadder than to watch a wizard at the mercy of muggle medical science."
"I think he might be all right with it. He's getting downright fond of muggles, these days."
A sniff. "In muggle hospitals, Mister Lancashire would be considered paralyzed. Here, we have the facilities to repair the damage to his—"
"I don't care what happens to those—those thieves," Potter hissed. "I'm not in the mood to debate muggle versus magical medicine with you. If you're uncomfortable with us here, feel free to throw us out."
"After your behavior towards my staff, I should!"
"Potter," Snape mumbled, "I don't recall letting in a harpy."
There was an affronted cry of "Hmph!" A door slammed.
"You're a tactful bloke."
"Mm." He was tired. Someone was holding his hand. "Are they taking me away?" His chest was a little tight. His eyes didn't particularly want to open.
"No. I let them know it wasn't an option. They don't want me running to Luna and Colin. Not when it involves an internal investigation. Of course, someone's leaked most of the story to the Prophet already anyway. No surprise there. Everyone made it out alive, though, even the prat you set on fire. He'll need major reconstructive healing to fix the parts of his back and neck where you more or less melted his skin off. How do you do that with an Incendio?"
"Been storing it up. Special occasion and all."
"Picked a good one, then. You made it through with barely a scratch. If you'd remembered a bubble-head charm, we wouldn't even be in here." Potter squeezed his hand.
It was quite… weird. "Bubble-head charm?"
"Smoke inhalation."
Under closed lids, Severus rolled his eyes. He sighed. "I never miss the subtle. It's always something stupid and obvious."
"Thanks, by the way. Not many people I know would fight four angry Aurors for me."
He snorted. "Things I do for a change of scenery."
"You haven't opened your eyes. You okay? Tired?"
"A bit."
Another hand squeeze. "Get some more rest. I'll keep watch."
Snape knew he would. Potter was a depressed idiot, but he was an honorable, depressed idiot. "You're holding my hand."
Potter dropped it like a hot skillet. "Sorry."
"I didn't say I found it particularly objectionable." It wasn't. Slightly strange, but…
"You don't mind?" Fingers threaded with his own again. "This is okay?"
Oddly enough, it was. "I don't like hospital," he said. Nor did he enjoy the thought of the likely fast-approaching inquisition, or the possible incarceration, or the likely execution. His heart beat faster. 'What did you do?' his mind screamed. 'What were you thinking?'
"Me, neither. They say you'll be able to leave by this evening. I've got a place for us to stay while the investigators finish with the house. Small, but it'll work for a while."
He felt nauseous and tired. "I don't have any of my things. I need my toothbrush," he blurted. His hands groped his pockets—or where his pockets would be, if he weren't wearing a hospital robe. The wand had been confiscated. "I need my clothes."
"We'll get them for you. Relax."
"Relax?" Severus barked a laugh. "Relax? They're going to kill me for this."
"No one's going to kill you, Snape. Not while I'm around. Get some rest. I'll keep watch."
Severus barely opened his eyes. The light was exceptionally bright, casting a halo around Potter's shadow. "It's a pity, really. I don't want to go, now. I was just getting used to the place."
"Home? Yeah. Yeah, me too."
XXXXX
"If you can't guarantee his safety, then why should I trust you?"
"It's not a question of that! When the Wizengamot set guidelines for this—this—increasingly farcical arrangement, I'm sure they didn't mean that you could go gallivanting off across the countryside to parts unknown with—with that!"
"You'll wake 'that' up, if you aren't careful." Potter's voice was eerily calm. "I'm supposed to provide for him. I'm to make sure he's safe and secure. That's against others and for others, both."
"That doesn't mean you can leave the country with a—a Death Eater!"
Snape opened his eyes.
The Auror stepped back.
"Afternoon, Snape," said Potter. "They're kicking us out."
"We are not! I don't speak for St. Mungo's, as well you know."
"Of course not, Captain," said Potter. "And I'm not leaving the country. I'm taking him somewhere safe. Right now, that isn't anywhere the Ministry controls. I started this mess. If he has to put up with the fallout by virtue of being all but shackled to me, then I'm going to look out for him." Potter's hair stuck out at odd angles, even more so than usual, and the skin around his thumbnail was bitten to bleeding. His robes were a matching scarlet, and made Snape smirk. They only made an appearance when Potter wanted to seem threatening.
How anyone under 5'7 could be threatening, Snape didn't know, but the robes did add a certain something.
"Sorry if that doesn't fit in with your plans. You're welcome to try and arrest us. I will scream bloody murder and eventually have your job, sir, but you're certainly welcome to make the attempt. Oh, and if he dies as a result of anything you do, you will pay for it. You're welcome to save that in a pensieve. That's a threat."
The Captain (of what, Snape had no idea, nor did he care) turned a contrasting shade of red. "If they decide—"
"I've been in touch with an old friend. Kingsley Shacklebolt. I believe you've met? He promises me that the Minister of Magic himself will have no problem with your decision to extend a little leeway to us, in favor of dedicating all your resources to pursuing the possible criminals within your own department."
The Captain of a Department of Something Somewhere took a slow breath, let it go between clenched teeth, and moved for the door. "Fine, Potter. Fine. Get away with whatever you like. Rules have never stopped you before. But mark my words. One day—they will. They'll stop you like a brick wall." The Captain slammed the door behind him.
"Who needs daytime telly?" Snape croaked.
"Yeah." Potter laughed shakily. He rubbed his palms against his knees. "How do you feel?"
"Well enough, I suppose. Why?"
"Not only did I just threaten a superior, but I haven't talked to Kingsley since the Order of Merlin ceremony a couple of years ago. Someone might figure that out soon. If you're okay, we should get out of here." Potter rose from the foot of the bed and moved to a little closet area. "I brought you a few things from the house, some clothes and a robe to wear. Dark gray. Couldn't find black, sorry."
Severus sat up. His back was stiff. "I don't wear robes anymore, Potter. Robes are for wizards."
"Yes, you do."
"Oh?" He took his feet carefully.
"You can't hide a wand in a plain shirt." Potter tossed the robe at him.
He caught it. Snape arched a brow.
Potter turned away. "I'll be right out in the hall while you change."
In the pocket. Short. Yew. It hummed in the palm of his hand.
"I didn't see it, understand? Nobody can," said Harry. He looked away and went into the hall.
XXXXX
After the excitement, he expected a harried flight from St. Mungo's. In reality, they walked out of the room, took a staircase down, and strolled straight past security out a side door into a relatively clean alley, then out to the street. Witches and wizards in business attire littered the sidewalks. A few families window-shopped.
Severus paused at the exit from the alley. There were people out there.
"Come on," said Potter, jogging his elbow.
Severus forced himself to keep walking.
"It occurs to me that this should've been more difficult."
"I cleared the way a little." Potter tried taking hold of his elbow again.
"I'm hardly infirm, and I'm not going to just dash off. I wouldn't know where to go. Half the old Order safe houses are picnic stops."
"I don't want us to be separated. You make a good human shield," he added. "Plus, I haven't figured out how to do a side-along apparation without hanging on to the other person."
Snape frowned. "It's nothing but focus."
"I'm blind; maybe that's it."
A few people on the street did double-takes as they passed. "Where are we going, Potter?" He felt very exposed.
"To a safe apparation distance. It isn't far."
"But where, from there?"
"Look, it—I promise, it's a safe place."
"If we're apparating straight before the bloody Wizengamot, Potter, you're going to let me know." He yanked his elbow free. "I wonder—have you stopped to think what sort of legal repercussions—"
"I'm handling it, okay? I'm handling it."
"You could be handling me to my death, Potter—let go of my arm before I rip one of yours off and throttle you with it! The war is over; my debts are paid." Merlin, it seemed like everyone was staring. "If you want my neck on the block during this little bout of Auror versus Auror, you're going to bloody well tell me what you've got planned."
"All right! All right, lower your voice. Please." He had the good sense to put his hands in his pockets. "Truth is—I didn't expect this to happen. You have every right to be angry."
"I am angry."
"Yeah, and you have every right to be—it's my job to look after you, and I'm utter crap at it."
"You expect to be dissuaded?"
"No. It's a statement of fact. Look. I'm trying. It's just that it's hard to think of you as a person," Potter blurted. "For a long time you were just a git. Then you were bloody-minded but on our side, then you were a traitor, then you were good after all but arguably dangerous. No offense."
Severus arched a brow.
"At the same time, you're the one who saved Ron and Hermione. Even Ginny. Even Remus, when you hated him. Even me—after you didn't have to."
"Spare m—"
"Only there's still that bit with my parents, and I have to hate you for that. Don't I?" He picked at his scar. "Then I see you making tea in your socks and I can't reconcile that with the cold-blooded killer I'm supposed to be guarding. Sometimes I almost start feeling sorry for you, then I remind myself of who you used to be, then I act like a git because the you that used to be was pretty awful." He threw up his hands. "But the you that folds laundry isn't the same one who used to take points for no reason, who isn't the same one that made friends with the wrong people and told them something bloody stupid that helped get my parents killed, I don't think." Potter finally paused for a breath. "Then I think, well, if my parents weren't dead, maybe all the Longbottoms would be, and maybe Voldemort would still be rampaging through Europe, and maybe my parents would be dead later anyway and I'd never have met Ron or Hermione—"
Snape blinked.
Potter's expression hardened. "It's—a lot of people are alive because things worked out the way they did."
"Are you coming to a point?" Potter was drawing spectators.
He frowned. "Things happened the way they happened. I didn't really mean for it to work out like this. I was mad about it for a long time. Because of it, I didn't always treat you as well as I should've. So—I guess I'm saying I'm sorry about that. Especially in light of you not holding it against me enough to bother defending the house and risk taking a bunch of curses meant for me—right now, I'd like to go on record as saying I'm going to make an effort to be…" Potter searched for a word. Apparently, he'd run through his daily allotment.
"A kinder, gentler jailer?"
"Nicer." Potter looked a bit glassy, the way he did when he needed a cup of tea and a nap. "I mean, you're a person, not a tiger."
"A tiger."
"I sometimes think of you as a tiger. That they've de-clawed and put in my house. Um. I've gone a little off-topic. I hope that all wasn't terrifically insulting, because I didn't mean for it to be."
"No, please, I enjoy being reduced to the sum of my crimes." He wasn't sure what to think about the tiger business. At least Potter wasn't comparing him to monkeys.
Severus really wasn't sure what to think of the rest of it. What he'd basically said was, 'You were a horrible person, but now you're just pathetic and I pity you,' right? Except that he'd then basically said, 'I'm grateful, an emotionally stunted idiot, and I'm going to be nicer.'
He thought for a moment.
No. No, he wasn't insulted. No more than usual, anyway.
Potter flushed. "We should get out of here." He took Snape's elbow again.
Severus let him. It seemed easier than hearing another disjointed monologue. "You and Albus Dumbledore, Potter, I swear."
"What?"
"Nothing."
XXXXX
Tall, cool grasses brushed their calves. The sunset blazed purple, pink, and gold.
"It's over the hill."
It didn't hit him between hospital walls and in the crush of milling passers-by, but it struck him then. The openness. The way the sky stretched tight as a drum skin from horizon to horizon.
He could hex Potter and go. It would be the work of a moment. He could stretch out and spend the night under a warming charm under the stars. He would disappear. He'd done it before.
And then what? To where? For how long?
"This way," said Potter, as if he were tugging a leash.
Severus followed.
Just over the top of the hill sat a squat cabin with a smoking chimney. Potter kept watch, his wand outstretched, and moved silently to the door. He knocked twice.
The door swung open.
Potter beamed. "Hullo, Ron." There was an embrace that involved a lot of back-slapping.
Severus averted his gaze and sighed.
The two pulled apart. "Professor Snape," acknowledged Ron.
"Weasley," he said, tipping a nod.
The redhead pasted on a smile. "It's good to see you." He cleared his throat. "Come in. We'll get you both settled." Weasley had put on a bit of weight since the war. Not that much, but enough to make Severus squint to picture the lighter young man he'd pulled from the school's wreckage.
"We?" asked Potter.
"Surprise!" As Potter entered, he was gifted with another hug from a decidedly bushy-haired witch.
"Hermione!" Another hug. "What are you doing here?"
"I forced Ron to tell me where he was going."
"She's not kidding when she says forced."
He let them chatter away. Severus remained below the step, a silhouette against the approaching night. He felt in his pockets. Potter had included a half-smoked packet of cigarettes and a small box of matches. He lit one and stared at the flame on the match before flicking it out, leaving purple pinpricks of afterimage behind his eyelids.
Granger approached him. "Professor Snape?"
"I haven't been a Professor for some years," he answered. Oh, bugger, they were all staring at him now. "What?" he demanded.
"Thank you," she said.
He was ready to nod if that was all, but Granger couldn't leave anything be.
"I never got a chance to say it then, and I know it's been a long time, but I wanted to tell you that I—"
"Didn't we already have this conversation, Miss Granger?"
To her credit, she didn't shrink back. "It was a little one-sided. And it's Mrs. Granger-Weasley now, unless you'd like to call me Hermione." She smiled. "I just wanted to say—"
"Your speech in front of the Wizengamot was eloquent enough, Mrs. Granger-Weasley. Potter," he called, "if it's a choice between running a Weasley gauntlet or fending off your enemies and smoke fumes—let us go home."
Potter scowled. "Don't be rude to my friends."
"Then tell them I don't require their validation so much as a meal and a comfortable place to sit and wait for my impending death." He swept into the cabin with his cigarette still lit and ignored the part of him that prized dignity over melodrama.
"He's cranky," said Potter. "Let's talk outside."
Severus sneered at the closing door, barely noted the blue-and white tiled kitchenette, frowned at the bathroom, dismissed the living room, and sighed as he found a bedroom. He flopped onto the mattress, kicked off his shoes, and pulled at the buttons on his robe. When the garment no longer strangled him, he paused.
His knuckles were still bruised.
Severus snorted. He wondered if the attending Healers had been flinching when they examined him, and if Potter standing in a corner growling like a terrier was the only thing that'd kept them attending.
Killer.
Severus Snape, the Death Eater. Thirteen witches and wizards. Thirteen! In one go.
Never mind that they were Death Eaters, and that he'd blasted out the support pillar under the balcony they'd been using as high ground. Never mind that he'd saved as many lives as he'd snuffed out—or thought he had; there would never be an exact accounting. Never mind that Potter had been the one to kill the Dark Lord—he'd only stood nearby, assisting. Never mind that Albus Dumbledore had begged Severus to kill him.
He was a dangerous criminal.
He'd been shackled in his cell. They'd recast the silencing charms every hour or so, sometimes more when the guards were nervous. He wasn't permitted visitors.
The elder Malfoys were executed. First Lucius, who died spitting that he would be saved, mad at the very end. Then Narcissa, trembling, weeping, and pleading for mercy, batting her long lashes. She blamed everything on her husband. The courts didn't feel remorse absolved her, though she seemed genuinely sorry. Severus thought she'd been genuinely sorry her ambitions had been spoiled.
Draco, given his options, chose to fully cooperate. They said the sum total of his memories lay in a pensieve in the Department of Mysteries. The RAC (Reassignment Action Committee) had given him a new identity (as a muggle, no less) and had tucked him away in whatever black hole had swallowed the other mind-wiped war criminals.
Others went to the newly constructed Newtgate Prison. It was Dementor-free, but apparently that was all it had to recommend it.
His trial had been pushed back week after week, until the guards had become so bold as to tip his food trays onto the dusty ground without so much as a cry of 'whoops!'
He hadn't reacted well to that.
Severus heard the faint sound of the cabin door opening and closing.
"Snape?"
They'd speeded his trial after the incident with the guards. He'd stood mutely before the court and only half-listened to the proceedings. He figured it was a foregone conclusion. Many spoke against him. A few spoke for him.
"Bloody Lupin," he muttered.
"Snape?"
"Follow the smoke, Potter," he called. Severus didn't particularly remember Granger's defense. It had gone on at some length.
A shadow appeared in the doorway. "Why are you in here in the dark?"
He did remember Potter at the trial, mostly. He'd been brief. 'I hate Severus Snape,' Potter had begun.
"I'm tired."
"Still? You slept half the day."
"I had a busy morning."
Potter nodded thoughtfully. "You don't have to hide in here. They're off, now. I asked them to pick up some dinner for us."
"Not pumpkin juice and crisps."
A smile cracked. "We're not students anymore. They brought Chinese. Put out the cigarette," he said, and walked away.
The speech was relatively uninteresting. Potter wasn't the type to move the masses with words. Quickly, his impassioned argument had devolved into petty bickering with the court. The Wizengamot remained firmly opposed to any kind of prison sentence after what had happened to the guards. They also thought he'd break out, then posed the theory that he'd prove a bad influence on other inmates. Someone even suggested Severus might find and train his own dark army within the prison.
Then Granger had refused to stay quiet, and Lupin was there in his least shabby overcoat, and so many voices raised and wands pointed that it had taken half a bloody hour to calm everyone.
Wherever Gryffindors opened their mouths, a circus followed.
"Oi! I'm not putting warming charms on the food!" called Potter.