If you love me

While Professor Snape is recuperating in the Saint Mungo, old secrets are revealed. D/G, H/G, S?

Please note that English is not my first language.

Merlin's beard, my head, it hurts! As if a Chinese Fireball had trampled on it. No, rather a Hungarian Horntail… And my throat was as dry as a parchment. I don't keep any Firewhiskey in my room, I'm sure of it, but I cannot imagine what else could cause such a terrible hangover.

"I see you're awaken."

I was surprised. It was a female voice. A woman – in my room? It would be the very first time; not a single woman had ever came here voluntarily, only I were every now and then at that wh… It's a shame that I can't even remember what happened yesterday. I am curious what it would be like when I'm not paying for it. Bad luck. Hey, wait a minute… This voice is familiar. "Who are you?"

"Ginny Weasley."

The Weasley-girl, in my room? What got into me to make me do this? I couldn't have been that drunk. Though there was a time when I would have welcomed a Gryffindor in my room… A certain Gryffindor. "And what are you doing here?"

"I work here. I thought your memory was better than this, professor Snape. Geez, who would have thought? But in your age it can only be expected."

In my age? I'm not even in my fifties! I opened my eyes, and all of a sudden everything got clear for me. Not the girl was in a wrong place but me. I was lying in a hospital bed, probably not with alcohol overdose, because it was the Weasley-girl's section, therefore the one for Artifact Accidents. Tall, slender windows and beds everywhere, curtains among them to draw across, although everything was kind of blurry – maybe she was right, it was my age, and I needed glasses?

"Your cauldron exploded into your face, professor. Before you lost your consciousness, you managed to call a house-elf to help. Poppy sent you here right away, and I can well understand why. Not much skin remained on your face. The common burning injuries I could heal easily, but the magical wounds are another matter."

"What do you mean? Are you saying that you are not able to heal me?" I tried not to show, but I was fairly scared. Although I'm not a dandy like that stupid Lockhart, I still didn't want to appear with a disfigured face in the world. It's hard enough to live with the memories I loathe myself for.

"You do not need to worry, professor, you will remain as seductive for the ladies as you were before." She was a tough girl, indeed. She knows how to defend herself and also how to hit back. She's got the nerve and courage – that could be the reason the Hat sorted her into Gryffindor. The loss of Slytherin.

"I managed to grow your skin and hair back, it was a relatively easy procedure. But one of the potion's ingredients was cursed, and it caused a nasty scar on your forehead, which I can't charm away, and the concealing charm has no effect on it either. I fear you will have to live with it for the rest of your life. But you could comb your hair over it.

Wonderful. Now I also have a scar on my forehead, like Potter.

Potter. This name has been hunting me forever. I never liked the brat, it's no secret, but it became apparent to everyone after the fall of the Dark Lord, that I had been right concerning his character all along. The Dark Lord took hostages, preferably among the friends of Potter, including this Weasley-girl, who was stuck to Potter's lips in the last weeks before my abrupt departure from Hogwarts. I get sick if I just think of it. I never understood what did she found appealing in him. But it makes no difference now, because as soon as Potter finished off the Dark Lord, he was like a different man – I mean, he became more arrogant and swollen-headed than ever before.

When the hostages were found in a tunnel in a faraway place, Potter settled for showing the place to the aurors, then the hard work was left to the others, while he disappeared from there to have himself celebrated. It is rumoured that he hadn't even stayed in contact with the Weasleys, he was so busy with all of the victory parties, balls and prize-givings. According the newspapers, he never appeared at any event alone, he was always accompanied by empty-headed, attractive women. I was there on one occasion. Weasley shouted at Potter for having treated his sister horribly. The argument deteriorated into a fight, and both trouble-makers were chucked out by the aurors with brilliantly executed Bat-Bogey hexes on their faces.

After Potter was awarded with Order of Merlin, first class, and couldn't hope for more celebrations because the wizarding world settled back into the old routine, he just disapparated with one of those empty-headed witches to the Caribbean Islands. Since then he has been sighted only once or twice a year, usually at the Victory Day Feast – although according to the Quibbler, he lives in a small cottage in North Scotland, dedicated his lonely life to potion-making, but I never read this kind of gutter press.

My life was much more boring. I spent the first few weeks in the cells of the Ministry, then Potter appeared on my trial and amazingly, he gave evidence in favour of me. Thanks to him, I got acquitted on the charge of murdering Dumbledore wilfully. I don't know how the brat knew that only the Unbreakable Vow and Dumbledore's order were able to force me to do what I did, but he knew it, and therefore saved my life. After that, I just loathed him all the more.

Right after my trial, Minerva came to me and offered my old job at Hogwarts. No, not the Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching, but my old post as Potion master in my dear, dusty dungeon, and being the Head on Slytherin. So I returned to Hogwarts. It's been ten years now that I am trying for ten months a year to pour the noble art of potion-making into the heads of less than unmerited students, and then I spend the summer holidays with filling up the school's stocks with basic healing potions. So did I this summer. I didn't feel like going out of my dear dungeon, because the whole summer was usually a continuous series of festivals, starring Harry Potter. The arrogant brat got the nerve to finish off the Dark Lord right on his birthday in July 31st.

But Ginny Weasley was not finished yet with putting me in bad mood – which was least of all rosy. "Your optic and olfactory nerves also sustained serious injury, that's why your vision is blurry, and why you cannot sense any smell at all. This condition of yours would only get worse till you lose your sight completely."

At this point I got really scared. I could live with glasses, no matter how humiliating it was, but what could I do blind? Teaching and potion-making would be out of question, that's for sure. I could try to get in the Wonderland for Withdrawn Witches and Wizards in Wales, but I know myself, and I'd even move into the Burrow than into a twilight home.

The Weasley-girl didn't give me much time to contemplate my fate, but made sure that I became even more nervous and edgy. "Ex officio, I reported the case to the Ministry…"

"What?" I cried angrily. Does this girl want to totally ruin my life? "So you reported to the Ministry that I wasn't able to make a simple Draught of Peace potion?"

"Nobody questioned your abilities, professor," I heard a very quiet, almost inaudible voice, and a shadow stepped out of the darkness. "One ingredient of the potion wasn't pure, and it caused the explosion. Your rare talent saved your life. Had you poured the powdered moonstone not little by little into the potion, but all at once as Libatius Borage recommended in the Advanced Potion-Making, it would have caused an explosion big enough to cover the walls with your bodily remains.

I was taken aback. How did this man know what I discovered so many years ago and noted down in a second hand, battered looking potion-making book? That book was lost long ago, and I could connect only one person with it, although indirectly: Potter. But he was currently sunbathing at the Caribbean Islands in the company of flirtatious witches. His father must be turning in his grave.

The balanced, even voice continued. "Somebody sprinkled something into the powdered moonstone and cursed it to enhance the effect," said the figure quietly. Who was this man? An auror?

I gave him a second look, but I didn't get more information. The stranger was tall and lean, but it was all that could be seen of him, because his whole figure was covered by a black cloak, and the hood was pulled deep into his face. He spoke in a quiet, muffled voice, and even it was impossible to at least guess his age. He could be twenty or sixty years old, it was impossible to tell.

"That's why I notified the Ministry. Somebody wanted to get rid of you, professor," finished Ginny Weasley. Now I understood. Although the war ended ten years ago, the aurors could not arrest and bring to trial all of the death eaters. Half a dozen of them, including Lucius Malfoy, were still at large somewhere in the world, plotting revenge. Lucius had every reason indeed to take revenge on me. He considered me his friend, I was the godfather of his son. And then it turned out that not only was I a spy, having stayed all along on the light side, but I also lured his son with me - although he didn't need too much persuasion. Draco was not able to kill Dumbledore, not even when the headmaster was standing in front of him unarmed and weak; I had to kill him instead of Draco, true to my word I gave to Dumbledore.

And when the young Malfoy joined to the Death Eaters, during the first few raids he realized that he couldn't bear the bloodshed and the violence at this measure. He should have realized this sooner, and then I wouldn't have had to give up spying and Dumbledore could still be alive as well, but it's no use crying over spill milk. Draco wanted to quit, and I helped him. Later he proved to be a worthy witness at the trials of the arrested Death Eaters. No wonder that his father has a grudge against me – for I never questioned for a minute that Lucius desperately wanted to kill me.

"When I saw that I could do nothing for your eyesight, I contacted the Hermit immediately, and – uncharacteristically for him – he flooed here right away to personally investigate the effect of the curse and the added secret ingredient, and to make the appropriate healing potion."

This statement calmed me and jarred on my nerves at the same time. If Ginny Weasley could not manage to heal me on her own, my condition must be really serious, for even I have to admit - although reluctantly – that she became a highly intelligent and erudite witch. However, a wise person can size up the limit of his or her knowledge, and obviously so did she, when she asked for the Hermit's help.

So this quiet, hooded man - whose voice could not be heard and face could not be seen - was the person I had been corresponding with for years now. I sized him of with renewed curiosity, although I couldn't see more of him than previously.

I first took notice of him in the scientific special of the Daily Prophet. He wrote a dissertation about the healing of a rare skin-disease and described a new healing potion, his own development. I didn't know where this born talent had been hiding so far, but I didn't want to miss this opportunity: I sent him an owl, then we started corresponding. It's a rare thing that I start to respect somebody, not many of my colleagues are in the receiving end of my respect either, but the Hermit achieved it, moreover, maybe achieved my sympathy as well.

He proved a rather bright and creative scientist who protects his privacy like a hippogriff. I never managed to learn his name, his address, not even his age. It was the same with the Saint Mungo. The healers frequently asked for his help as associate at serious injuries they didn't manage to heal. At this point I got very nervous again. So my accident was so severe that the healers didn't manage to treat my injuries properly?

Something must have been showing on my face because the Hermit spoke again with that muffled voice of his which could belong to anybody. "Be reassured, professor. Your treatment progresses at adequate rate. I managed to isolate the unknown ingredient and the healing potion is currently brewing. I hope that it will be completed before the atrophy of the nerves became irreversible."

Before I could utter a single word, he turned on his heels and glided away silently, presumably into the laboratory in the basement. It was a strange feeling. For the first time, my life was not in my hands, but in a stranger's. I didn't even know his face, but I had unconditional faith in him. It was a very disturbing feeling.

The Weasley-girl stared after him, and then glared at me. "Now I leave you alone," she said in her exasperatingly nice voice which I can't stand. "Try to stay put, otherwise I'll curse you." At times, she resembled Molly so much. Actually, not only sometimes, but all the time.

I think I had fallen asleep because I woke up with a start. But I didn't know why. The room was dimly lit, and for a moment I thought that my condition had worsened drastically. Then I glanced around and saw that my vision was still working, it was just too early in the morning. Slowly, the beds and windows became vaguely distinct, and I got a glimpse of two figures sitting on an empty bed next to the door.

"The aurors seized the shop and they are looking through the whole store item by item. I had been interrogated all night. They wanted me to tell them where I purchased this herb, when was the last time I sold from it and where the invoices about it are. Tell me, why would I attempt to kill Severus? Anyway, if I wanted to kill anybody, I wouldn't do it secretly like a Muggle thief, but face to face, like a real Malfoy!"

Now I knew what made me wake up. It was the voice of Draco Malfoy – but how had he got into the Saint Mungo at night? What is more: why?

"It wasn't easy to achieve what I have now on my own alone, Ginevra. And now somebody wants to ruin everything. I worked really hard for what I am now, and nobody can take this from me!"

I understood him perfectly. Draco had come a long way, indeed. After the war and after he'd managed to clear his name, he chose a completely different path than his father: he didn't want to live on the Malfoy fortune but opened a small shop on the Diagon Alley. He sold rare and hard to find herbs and potion ingredients. In the course of time, the small shop developed into an important store and of course, it drew the Weasley twins' attractions as well, who started business transactions with him. Before long, their example was followed by Hogwarts and the Saint Mungo, and from our correspondence I learned that the Hermit ordered the rarest ingredients from him as well.

Meanwhile, Draco got closer and closer to the Weasleys, and after a while he practically found a home in the Burrow. Back in the old days I never would have imagined this, although it was not beyond reason. Lucius mostly just controlled his son, instead of teaching or loving him, and Narcissa was even weaker than my mother… never mind. Because of the business relations, Draco had put aside his usual swaggering manners, and before he knew, the warm family atmosphere changed him for good.

He was left without family and friends, and he has been attacked by the newspapers and by the public opinion for a long time. Molly didn't betray her motherly nature, and took him under her wings. Percy was killed in action protecting the light side, and with his death he redeemed himself after having sided with the Ministry against his family. And I think, Molly was protecting herself with loving Draco instead of burying herself in grief.

With the speed Potter disappeared from the life of the Weasleys, the young Malfoy was taken into the family. And when he got better acquainted with Ginny Weasley, of course he couldn't avoid being affected by her, and one day I realized that my godson resembled more a Gryffindor than a Slytherin!

Along with Draco, I too were invited to a few family gatherings, and I noticed immediately that this strange phenomenon's root cause is feminine, has got red hair and accordingly a short temper. Draco had a hard time because he had to fight with not only her five vehement older brothers but with himself as well, still, one day I found myself with an engagement invitation card in my hand, delivered by the new post owl of the Weasleys. I never ever would have believed that this could happen: a marriage between a Malfoy and a Weasley!

And now Draco feared that he could lose this all. But the Weasley-girl wasn't a half-witted idiot like his auror brother, and she could see through my godson's words. She hugged him passionately.

"Don't fear, Draco! Ron will find the culprit and he will find out who wanted to frame you. You know you can count on him and on the whole family and also on Severus. No one of us have thought for a moment that you had caused the accident. We all stand by you.

I got sick. I could never stand this kind of sappy words. I'd prefer my… how should put it, future stepdaughter-in-law, talking less but having twice as much fire in her eyes.

"I know!" cried Draco as distressed as though he were being tortured. "And that's why it's so hard!" I must admit, I didn't understand this. During the most difficult times of my life, I would have given anything to have somebody beside me. "I've been given so much love and forgiveness by all of you that I could never repay even if I lived for 500 years. Your mother didn't care that my name is Malfoy and that I had been a death eater for almost a year, she just saw that I had nobody to spend the Christmas with. And your family… your family followed her example, even Ron."

What Draco said after that had much less meaning for me. "If I started a family, I would have it to be like yours. But it can't be grounded on half-truths… I should have asked this a long time ago, but I would have risked so much, I would have risked you and your family… Would you love me even if Potter came back, explained everything and apologized?

I saw the fire - which I missed before - now flaming in the eyes of Ginny Weasley. "You think that he could explain himself and I would take him back as if nothing had happened? Even if I still loved him, I would never ever do that. Before he left to find the horcruxes, he promised me that as soon as he finished off Voldemort, he would never leave me again. But the Harry who returned was no longer trustworthy, he couldn't keep his word anymore. What has he got to do with the two of us?

Her words had a dramatic effect on Draco. Even in this dim light I saw him turning pale and trembling. Suddenly, he got off the bed and turned his back on the girl, and me as well, so I could hardly catch what he murmured. "With us? Maybe nothing, maybe everything. It depends on you." They didn't move for a long time, then Draco spoke quietly. "I have to go now. Your brother let me come only to inform you about what happened." Then he left without a good-bye.

Ginny Weasley was sitting on that bed for so long that I thought she had fell asleep. I wish she were, because all of a sudden, she started to weep. I never could stand the female crying. And it revealed to me what I have already guessed from the overheard conversation: she still loved Potter. Even worse, she was still in love with Potter. I didn't want to be in the place of Draco now, because it was evident that he too realized this.

There was only one question: what would he do? Would he settle for the most he could get from Ginny, like a true Slytherin, and keep the girl he wanted or would he behave like a disgusting Gryffindor and honourably give up the girl who will never be entirely his?

I noticed that when you are a patient you are treated in an entirely different way. Since I had been lying here in Saint Mungo, I got to know more secrets than before in my whole life. And to cap it all, it was entirely unintentional, because the nurses treated me like I had no ears. I couldn't have been this successful if I'd practiced professional spying in the hospital room. I didn't, because I wasn't really interested in the private business of the Weasleys, to tell the truth.

I also discovered that nurses and mediwithces shared a common problem: they thought that curtains were soundproof. You'd think that they have never heard about Silencio charm! And the sun was shining at such an angle that I could see every movement through the strands of the textile. Unfortunately I couldn't see more because my vision had worsened considerably. And I started to worry. I hadn't seen the Hermit since the previous night, and I forgot to ask what kind of potion was he making in the basement. Had I known, I would have had at least something to think of, but now I had nothing to do but listen to the noises of the hospital and worrying myself to death.

As if he could sense my thoughts, a tall, hooded figure appeared suddenly. I don't know whether it had been his quiet, even footsteps that I had heard or his shape did I had glimpsed through the curtain first, but I was not the only one who registered his arrival. Ginny Weasley also got up from the bed next to the door where she had been sitting since dawn.

"Is it completed?" she asked hopefully. I was waiting for the answer with pounding heart.

"Yes," whispered the Hermit. "The last ingredient was added an hour ago. Now it's time for professor Snape to drink and wait for the effect."

They came to me and pulled back the curtain. My heart missed a beat because of what I saw. It was as though the curtain hadn't been pulled back, as everything remained blurry and foggy. I hoped with all my heart that the Hermit completed the potion in time, because without my eyesight I could throw my life into a dustbin.

"Drink this, professor" the Weasley-girl told me and held the goblet to my lips. My hands were perfectly functional and I wanted to inform her about this fact in a suitable tone when she tilted the goblet and I was forced to swallow. So I swallowed. It tasted terrible, the Hermit really should have put something into it to make its taste a little more bearable. When I finished drinking, she took the goblet from my lips and hurried away.

I didn't notice any change in my condition. In answer to my questioning glance the Hermit spoke quietly. "The effect should be noticeable in a short time," he whispered.

"And what if it won't?" I asked with sarcasm, but with a knot in my stomach. Indeed, what if it doesn't have any effect at all?

"In this case, I'd welcome you in my house, professor. Your knowledge and firm hand would be very handy in potion-making." Well. I don't know which perspective was scarier: moving into the Wonderland for Withdrawn Witches and Wizards in Wales or having somebody else to look after my everyday needs. I hoped with all my heart that it would never come to that, and I would never have to try if I'd be able to put myself at somebody else's mercy. I'm afraid that I couldn't.

At this moment I heard another visitor coming. It was Draco – does this kid live his life in the hospital? With his arrival the air temperature seemed to drop several grades. The Hermit glanced at him, and then turned to leave without a word. He passed by Draco halfway.

"Malfoy," said the Hermit quietly, but not whispering this time. I swore I had heard this voice before, but I was not sure when. "I haven't expected you to be here."

"Severus was attacked, and Ginevra takes care of him. Of course I am here," answered the young Malfoy. "Actually, I don't know if you have heard but we are going to get married next month.

The Hermit grabbed Draco's arm and squeezed it. "You'd better make her happy, Malfoy," he hissed, and if I hadn't known for sure that I couldn't speak in that language I could have sworn he spoke in Parseltongue. He then released Draco's arm and stormed away.

I stared after his fading figure with amazed eyes. This far, I came to know the Hermit as a peace-loving, even tempered mad who lacked the usual emotional outburst of the Gryffindors which I despised so much. Why did he lose his temper at the news of an impending marriage that meant to him… or did it? Who could be under that hood who is deeply concerned about the happiness of Ginny Weasley?

But before I could have asked Draco, the door opened with a great noise, and somebody burst into the room angrily. "Ginny! Is Draco here?"

I started to be convinced that my accident hadn't been an assassination but actually a class reunion.

"Good afternoon to you too, Ron" said Draco ironically. I hadn't heard this tone from him so long that I totally forgot what kind of a boy he had been before.

"We are finished with the investigation, Draco. It turned out that the powdered moonstone caused the explosion indeed, because somebody had sprinkled two percent of powdered mandrake root into it, and the mandrake mixed with hellebore - which is the main ingredient of the Draught of the Peace Potion - is highly explosive. Don't worry, your whole store hasn't been sabotaged, only the everyday stocks from which you serve your customers. I fear you must come into the Ministry to testify."

I didn't know how Ron Weasley had managed to grow so many brain cell to memorize all this information, but I have the highest regard for the auror training. After Potter and Weasley had broken their legendary friendship and Potter had disapparated to the South, Weasley got admitted into the auror training – how he'd done it, it remains a mystery to me. What is more mysterious, he managed to finish his studies with honours. In my opinion, it could only be put down to the fact that he also was there at the fall of the Dark Lord, and therefore he is a special guest at every Victory Day event, along with Potter and Granger.

However, the latter's name is not Granger anymore. At one time I considered her a reasonably intelligent witch in spite of the fact that she was a Gryffindor, but she showed the utter lack of common sense when she replaced her name Granger with Weasley. This happened seven years ago, and this fact convinced me that the degenerative change in the mental state of the little mudblood was beyond recovery.

"Try to understand, the Ministry is working on finding the real culprit!"

"The Ministry?" cried Draco. "I would sooner snog Goyle than the Ministry could solve a case. But of course you can't expect any more of them, none of the Ministry workers can think logically. We all know what happened to Sirius Black!"

It was rather harsh from the young Malfoy, regarding that half of the Weasley-family worked or had worked before at the Ministry. Mentioning Black was also a very unwise thing, and not too diplomatic either. Everybody was reminded of Potter immediately, even me.

"I hope you weren't referring to my father or my wife, Draco," answered Ron Weasley coldly. "Because I won't tolerate this, not even from you. And don't even try reminding me that I've known and trusted you for years. It's true, but it was true with Potter as well, and then the bastard dumped my little sister and he just left to sunbathe on some Colibrian or Cancerian Islands!"

The argument was interrupted by a tall, hooded figure who stepped out of the darkness. I almost forgot that the Hermit was also in the hospital for he could stay in the background so well - and to tell the truth, I hadn't noticed when he came in. In that commotion, it was no wonder. He spoke in his usual, whispering voice. "I understand Dean Thomas' father is a Muggle policeman. With his help, the young Malfoy can clear himself of the charges."

The Weasley-brat was as idiot as hot-headed, of course. "How could a wizard clear himself by Muggle means?" he demurred.

"Fingerprints," answered the Hermit quietly. "Every person has unique fingerprints, through which the Muggles identify the culprits generally. If anybody sabotaged the powdered moonstone without using gloves, his or her fingerprints must be there everywhere."

Weasley still didn't get it. "And how does it help us?"

"Surely you heard about Veritaserum, Mr. Weasley," remarked the Hermit evenly. "As far as I know, even the Ministry acknowledges that its effect can't be manipulated or evaded. If Draco Malfoy is indeed involved in the attempted murder against Severus Snape, he will confess it, even against his will. As for the fingerprints… I hope you have a suspect, Mr. Weasley. Everybody knows who has the most reason to kill the Potion-master of Hogwarts. The Ministry surely has been keeping Lucius Malfoy's wand from his short time spent in Azkaban. You can compare his fingerprints with those that can be found in the young Malfoy's shop."

I must admit, my respect for the Hermit grew greater than ever. He was a cool-headed, logical wizard with a comprehensive, vast knowledge in a great number of speciality. I didn't know such a great wizard since Albus. I was proud to have him as my acquaintance. I worried about only one thing: why did the Hermit want to kill Draco first, and then the next minute save him?

It seemed to make my godson wonder as well, for he stared at the Hermit piercingly. This was when I first noticed that I could see a little more clearly, but before I could feel myself relieved or I could think over if it were real or just my imagination, Draco's words drove away every thoughts from my brain.

"You are right, Ron, when you fear for your sister, when you think I am not good enough for her. You shouldn't wish her less than the one whom she truly loves and who is worthy of her hand. I may not be that one, but I love her so much that I am able to step down for her happiness. A true Malfoy is no less a man than a half-blood Potter!"

With that, Draco swiftly stepped to the Hermit and yanked off his hood.

I had thought I couldn't be more surprised than I had been when I learned what Sybill's prophecy meant and who it concerned. I had been wrong. The hood revealed a young man with rumpled, black hair and painfully familiar green eyes. It was Harry Potter.

Later, when I was reminiscing about this moment, I knew that I should have been thought: the potion has worked, because I could see very clearly how much horror spread over his face. But at that moment, I could just think that it was impossible.

I stared at Potter, and the first time in my life, I couldn't find the words. I wanted to snarl at the brat, questions him: by what right had he made me believe that he was not so arrogant and swollen-headed as he actually was. Through lies he wormed himself into my life and confidence, who knew what kind of dirty motives he had. He might have wanted to make a fool of me, or he might have wanted to give away my secrets in gutter-press!

I couldn't believe my eyes, so I looked around. No doubt, I didn't imagine things. The Weasley-brat was standing frozen, a quaffle could have flew in and out of his open mouth easily. Ginny Weasley was paler than the white wall, her stunned face almost faded into the curtains. And Draco looked as if he had been burying somebody. The last time I saw him this mournful was at his mother's funeral, ten years ago.

"I hope you're satisfied, Malfoy," spoke Potter, this time in his own voice. "You managed to take my last friend away. If you wanted revenge on me because I hadn't shaken your hand on that first Hogwarts Express, then you have it now."

I didn't know who he was referring to. Which famous friend or pretty girlfriend of his had he lost when Draco unmasked him? Would there be anybody in the wizarding world who rejected him and claimed not to know him after learning his true identity? And why did Potter say that this person was his last friend?

I started to think. I can think and I do it generally, contrary to Ron Weasley. That Potter who seduced girl after girl in the Caribbean Islands without a twinge of conscience would have trampled on me, hard. But that Potter existed only in my imagination, or rather in everybody's imagination in the wizarding world except Draco and the faithful readers of the Quibbler. That Potter whom I got to trust lived in Scotland like a hermit, killed the time with potion-making in his loneliness, and he had been keeping contact only with one person from the outside world: with me.

With me, Severus Snape!

And it really pained Potter, losing my friendship. What an irony! Me and that arrogant, petulant brat I always considered him to be. Now I knew why he hid his identity from me, why he uses Quick Quotes Quill to avoid me recognizing his handwriting, why he hid his face from me and why he spoke always in a muffled, whispering voice. Although he was not a secretive man; aside from his true identity, he shared many of his secrets with me. At a stormy night, in a letter stained with Firewishkey, he also admitted that he had even less experience with women than… So generally he was not secretive at all.

But not everybody is as intelligent as I am. For example, Weasley still couldn't pull himself together, and was gaping at Potter and Draco in astonishment. The latter finally took pity on him and started to speak.

"No, I don't want to take revenge on you, Potter, but to give you both back what I took from you ten years ago."

If I hadn't heard it from his own mouth, I think I couldn't have believed my ears. When Draco betrayed the Dark Lord, he also benefited from changing sides. He was the one who revealed the location of the hosts – including Potter's current girlfriend - to the Chosen One. But he did this not free of charge: he had the brat swear that he would never ever approach the Weasley-girl again, never would lay a finger on her and never would tell anybody the reason It was a revenge worthy of a true Slytherin, even I couldn't have come up with a more cruel one. And Potter was so idiotically honourable a Gryffindor that he kept his oath taken on his mother's remembrance, and he never told anybody a word about why he avoided the Burrow and its occupants.

Of course, everybody – including me - took for granted that Potter was more interested in the parties, balls, pretty women and fame than in his friend. According to Draco, he never took those girls home. Finally, he bought an old, dilapidated cottage of the Malfoy family and moved in in secret. I wonder who was that smartass who came up with the idea of Potter having disapparated to the Caribbean Islands, but I resolved to cancel my subscription to the Daily Prophet as soon as I could.

Narrated by the young Malfoy, the story seemed rather logical and believable. If I had heard it from another source I would have considered it a false report of the Quibbler. Potter wanted to occupy himself, but the women didn't work so he started learning, and for some mysterious reason, he chose Potion-making as his speciality. Maybe it was his hero complex and that's why he started to research new cures for old diseases, he might have wanted to help others or he might have wanted to prove himself, I really don't know. In essence, he knew who I was when I first sent an owl to him, and he answered to me nevertheless.

Draco told us that he hadn't been thinking of the Weasley-girl romantically for years, but once he came to know her he fell in love with her. The next logical step was marrying her. The Weasley family was a pureblood one, and thanks to the success of The Weasley Wizarding Wheezes, they weren't as poor as a church mouse anymore, so marrying a Weasley was not a foolish idea, not even in my opinion. Except that the bride was annoyingly thin and a former Gryffindor - but in intelligence she surpassed many Slytherins, so it was a forgivable sin.

But Draco wasn't finished yet. "You all are thinking the worst about Potter, but in truth, I never met a man more selfless than him. Ginevra," he said to the girl. "Potter loved you so much that he stepped down and gave you up just to save your life. I am a Malfoy, so I can do it after him..." Draco looked at the Weasley-brat. "Now I am ready to go with you to the hearing, Ron."

The silence was so complete that even nonverbal spells would have sounded like shouting. Draco dropped his head, it vas evident that he had told everything he wanted. I looked around. The Weasley-boy seemed as if the Full Body-Bind curse had been cast on him. Ginny Weasley's face was not pale anymore but glistening with tears. Have I mentioned that I can't bear crying women? I don't know what to do with them. There is only one worse thing than that: a crying man.

Fortunately, Potter didn't weep, he was just standing there with lowered head like a green first year student having been given a detention. It was a standoff. I couldn't bear it any longer so I got out of the bed, indicating that I also was there, and was no part of the furniture. They weren't aware of my presence too much, so I managed to take his wand away from Weasley easily - how could the Ministry let this brat became an auror? – and I murmured a quiet transportus at my bed. Draco heard this and glanced at me.

"It was a very fascinating performance, you could play it in a Muggle theatre," I remarked sarcastically. "And you, Potter, you could have been more sensible than to enter into this business with Draco's conditions. Any Slytherin could have beaten the answer out of Draco without entering into negotiations with him." He finally looked up and into my eyes. "I haven't even thanked you for saving my eyesight, and I will need it if I want to keep corresponding with you."

I'm not very willing to admit, but I would miss his… friendship? Lack of something better, let's call it a friendship, but I'd prefer turning into a werewolf than admit it in public. However, it seemed it was enough for Potter, for he smiled at me sheepishly – what a strange feeling! – and then gazed at Ginny Weasley, maybe the first time in ten years.

I looked at Draco, and he caught my meaning. With combined force we grabbed Potter and Ginny Weasley, and pushed them onto my bed. They disappeared instantly.

"Draco!" roared Ron Weasley. "What did you do with them?" As if he'd never ever heard about portkeys before.

"Mr. Weasley, I hope that your friend had put his dirty socks away and that he has an extra sweater for your sister, because she will be his guest in North Scotland for a while, I think. Ten years is a long time, they have a great many things so talk over."

Fortunately, nobody questioned this last remark of mine.

Since Arthur had been elected Minister for Magic the paperwork has decreased and the office work has speeded up. Ten years ago, I had had to wait for three weeks until my hearing. Draco got his hearing that day, they took his statement, and by dinner he was released already. The contagious influence of Hermione Granger who worked at the Department of the Magical Creatures' Personal Rights was already showing on him: he employed five house-elves with salary and paid holidays to guard his shop round the clock.

The aforementioned Muggle policeman, Dean Tomas' father was successfully involved in on the investigation by the Ministry. After comparing the fingerprints and a full inquiry, it turned out that indeed Lucius Malfoy was the culprit, as we had guessed. Ron Weasley asked me to cooperate with the aurors. Hermione Granger published two articles in the Daily Prophet and in the Witch Weekly. According to them, I got hurt in a serious accident, I had become disabled and completely blind, and I had been vegetating in the hospice ward of the Saint Mungo. Unfortunately, the Quibbler published that I had been hiding in the house of the Minister of Magic learning to knit, but luckily, nobody took is seriously. Not even Lucius, who was arrested after five days of waiting and after a short fight with the aurors. The Wizengamot sentenced him to life imprisonment in Azkaban.

There was no news about Potter and the Weasley-girl for days. Then finally a big snow owl arrived with a tiny slip of parchment tied to its leg. It said – in a really short sentence – that Molly didn't need to cancel the party service for the wedding, only the names would be changed to Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley. Presumably they were to occupied with something to write more, but Molly understood what happened nevertheless, and started to cry.

And I fled from the Burrow right away. After all, I started to find the knitting really boring: the two little Weasley-boys had been growing at an impossible speed and they had been consuming more knitted coats and hats than their father in his whole life.

As for Draco, his shop is a bigger success than ever but he has changed. It's promising that he is not like Potter: he hasn't given up and hasn't shut himself away. He also hasn't been disowned by the Weasleys although he is spending a lot more time in his shop than he has before. Shortly after having employed the house-elves, he took on a female assistant to manage the correspondence and the ordering. I have met her already. She is rather pretty, she's got red hair – what else, I wasn't even astonished anymore – she speaks fast, she eats too little, but he can organize things wonderfully.

She has only one flaw: she is a squib!

END

Many-many thanks to csikla and gilda who helped me with their wonderful advice during writing, and an Order of Merlin, First Class to AgiVega for her great patience with me. She weeded out my grammar mistakes – which were many! - without complaining.