Here's my second chapter. Again this is not, I repeat, not a work completely made by me. All characters as of this prologue, the settings, and most of the memories are true things in the world of Harry Potter. These go to the one and only J.K. Rowling.

The real story starts here. I typed this up a while ago, and I edited it while listening to the House of Flying Daggers soundtrack. If you've watched the movie, or perhaps heard the soundtrack, you might catch a glimpse of the mood behind the words. Once more, enjoy the story!

It was a gloomy, drizzling day for any visitor coming to Napa Valley. The clouds overhead were low and misty, a pearly white enhanced by the small, thin sheets of rain covering everything in small, wet droplets. A crow called harshly from a large sycamore, flapping its wings and disappearing into the clouds above a large, but somewhat cozy, house. The living quarters seemed to hold the same mood as the weather outside, and even the plants drooped with the weight of the water on their leaves. In one room, the window was wide open, allowing the thick, damp air come inside and rustle the thin curtains halfway closed over the opening. In the small space, lined with cream colored walls and furnished with only a large desk, a chair, a dusty bureau, and a small mirror hanging from above the dresser, a man sat, bending over the pages of an average sized, worn book. His eyebrows creased in concentration, dark hair covering his pronounced features, his deep onyx eyes took in what sat cradled in his hands before him. The scrawl on the pages seemed untidy and painfully small, but he read on, ignoring the inkblots and scribbles that decorated the page every now and then. Flipping the page, he continued reading, forgetting about the rain that drizzled through the window to dampen the floorboards inside.

Straightening from his bent position that he had been in for the past two hours, he stood up, stretching his back muscles as he looked around in the dim light before him. He ran his fingers through his thin, raven black hair in an attempt to keep it out of his face, pulling the ends behind his ears. But, as he bent down to place another robe in the bag at his feet, the silky locks of hair slid from their place behind his ears to form a curtain around his face once again. Peering in the small mirror that he had unhooked from the side of his wardrobe and was now sitting in his palms, he gazed at his reflection. The curse had hit the delicate instrument sitting in his pocket that fateful, intense day, setting loose the sands of time within, and the instrument had activated in a strange way that had made his appearance return to that of his 19-year old self. Of course, his memories still remained intact, though every physical feature had changed, from the trace of crow's feet in the skin by his eye to the length of his feathery wisps of hair. A pity that his hair was too short to place in a loose ponytail anymore, he mused as he ignored the distraction and continued emptying out his closet, placing the items in the luggage case on the worn floor he was standing upon.

Severus had been one of the few who had survived through the war. The last battle itself hadn't been the longest, yet, as each attack took away the lives of more muggle-borns and half-bloods, the population of the wizarding world had diminished, until, without proper balance, the society had caved in upon itself. Some, such as the healers at St. Mungo's, Headmaster Dumbledore, and a few of the more steadfast aurors still worked continuously to bring back up the population, to a reasonable number if not to the once large amount of wandering witches and wizards as there had once been. He himself had tried researching various potions, as was his expertise, or experimenting with others to find cures for those who had been hit by unknown curses, yet the efforts had turned out fruitless. After all the years of his hard life, and his failure in keeping Hogwarts safe, he had also failed to help those who needed him, and so he had decided to try and forget this life. So it was that he was packing, late into the night, hoping to escape the terrors of the fallen wizarding world and into the comforts of the muggles, who had barely a clue that anything had gone on just a year ago.

He paused in his packing, leaning his head against the sharp edge of the closet as he tried to rid his mind of the images swimming before his eyes. The nightmares the war had bestowed upon everyone held deeply to every person's heart, every child, every parent, even Severus, who had seen so much before in his life as a Deatheater spy. Failing in his attempt to continue his self-appointed task without the memories reminding him why he was doing the said job, he left it half-done, striding out of the room, grabbing his wand and cloak in the process.

It was cool in the corriders of the dungeons. As autumn neared, the temperatures had dropped, and he pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he shivered, not just from the chill, but the lingering memories that had just invaded his mind a few moments ago. Thank goodness no students were here to see him like such, so vulnerable. How he hated that, being helpless, and to think if people saw him like that!

It was not winter break, far from it in fact. And the corridors weren't empty because it was late at night, past their curfew. There was no curfew, no wandering students, and no small pieces of parchment left from the day's milling activities. The school was empty, devoid of anyone, anything. The only residents were Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, and himself. Passing by his old potions classroom, he paused, pushing open the door to gaze at the empty desks and workbenches inside. No cauldrons stood at the worktables, no potions sat in the cupboards; no mortars and pestles on the shelves, no bronze balances or scales gleaming from the light at his wandtip. The silence made the ex-professor almost wish for the noisy classes of boisterous students to fill the classroom again, as much as he detested the dunderheads. He hadn't hated them really. He just believed in the older teaching methods, much like the caretaker, Mr. Filch, had. Argus Filch. He too had disappeared after the battle. In fact, many had disappeared. No one had located the missing bodies, not a single trace. It was as if half of them had disappeared. Severus had a strong suspicion that many of them had become muggles, either stripped of their magic or out of desperation. Blinking back tears, he shut the door quietly, unlike his once favored slamming and dramatic entrances. He hadn't the heart to do it anymore. It brought back many unwanted memories.

He continued down the unused hallways of Hogwarts, remembering the daily bustle as he stepped over the smooth cobblestones that had become so worn from many years of use, recalling the accidents and detentions that had resulted from the students carelessness as he watched the frozen staircases and dusty armor, reminiscing over the staff meetings as he passed by various empty classrooms and the staff rooms, seeing the fireplaces that had once held cheery fires now dark with ashes. He hadn't taken such a deep look at this keep of magic for so long, he thought that he would have forgotten it all if he hadn't taken this last glance. Climbing up the stairways past the Great Hall, the students' dorms, the Headmaster's office, and finally to the heights of the astronomy tower, he gazed across the grounds, seeing the empty quidditch stands, the lifeless hut of the gatekeeper, the outline of the once forbidden Dark Forest. Even that seemed to have lost its horrific grandeur.

Upon returning to his chambers, he pulled open the door. There was no need for passwords or wards now. Hanging his cloak on the crooked coat stand by the entrance, he returned to his bedroom, sighing at the work left. Picking up where he had left off, he continued to fold his robes, which he supposed he would never use anymore, as the light of the candles flickered, the wax melting as time passed.

Yawning, he surveyed what was left in his chambers. The pieces of furniture, a little worn from the many years of service they had served, were now completely empty. The only things that had not been packed away were tomorrow's change of clothes sitting folded on the chair, the bath towels and accessories he would use before he left, and of course, the bed sheets and pillowcases that he would be sleeping with tonight. Giving himself a mental reminder to give the last few occupants of the great castle a farewell before he left tomorrow, no, today, for it was indeed morning, he checked the room once more before changing into his pajamas and climbing into his bed, the soft mattress lulling him into a deep, restful sleep.

The next morning came all too soon. Before he knew it, the sun was shining upon the grounds, his belongings had all been stowed away, breakfast and coffee had gone down, and it was time to give Albus and Minerva their farewells. Now, he stood at the great doors of the entrance he had entered so long ago, the exact place had felt the awe and wonder of the mystical building flood over him as a welcomed first year. Now after all of these years as a student, an apprentice, and finally a professor, he was finally leaving.

"Take care, Severus, we'll miss you." The Headmaster's blue eyes twinkled kindly from behind his spectacles, a tinge of sadness hidden behind the reflecting glasses. He gave the younger man's shoulder a slight, fatherly squeeze before stepping back and allowing the Transfiguration professor to give him her farewells as well.

"Yes, you can be sure we will. We'll keep in touch somehow, and we'll make sure you keep updated on the events here…" By this, she did not mean Hogwarts. After the last two last occupants left, it would stand just as the ruins of a great monument, not just to the non-magical, but to those who knew magic as well. Her eyes were filled with a misty look for a moment, then it cleared away, and her brisk being was back again. "Do you have everything? You did take along the refreshments, didn't you?"

Severus looked slightly guilty at the disapproving gaze Minerva gave him. He had left the sweets on the Head Table, or what had once been called so. Of course, the three still dined in that spot out of habit, and when the other two had been engaged in morning conversation during breakfast, he dropped them on the corner of the table, sneaking away before they noticed.

"Not to worry." The Headmaster ignored the guilty look on his young friend's face, pretending that the package had just been left there out of forgetfulness, not disgust. "I have them here, I found them and thought it was best to bring them along so I could return it to you later." He now pulled out the brown, slightly lumpy square, a makeshift bag that had been stuffed with candies and tied together with a piece of hemp rope, and offered it to Severus, who held back a groan at the unwanted parcel. Still, he accepted it, wanting to make them happy, even if he never would eat the contents. He had never had much of a sweet tooth, but he would be sure that they did not go to waste. After all, what was wrong with accepting a gift?

He nodded at them, taking the wrapped gift and placing it in one of his various bags. "I'll just say good-bye, then, if there is nothing else?" His eyebrow was raised questioningly, out of old habit.

"Of course not, we don't want to make you late." Minerva bustled around him, acting every part of a worried mother. Brushing off the hands that were attempting to flatten the collar around his neck, he pulled down the hem of his sweater, then picked up his belongings.

"Make me late" He snorted at this, then regained his respectful composure. "Good-bye, Minerva, Albus," he turned to each one in turn. "I hope to hear from you soon." Quickly, he turned away, trying not to be moved to tears at the wistful looks on their faces. Taking up his last bag, (he hadn't shrunken them as he was moving to the muggle world, where he felt it best not to perform magic) he turned, pushing open the door with difficulty as he exited. Slowing slightly, he walked down the path that led to what had once been an entrance, and now stood as an exit, to Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Turning back as he neared the gates, he watched two small figures waving to him, cloaks fluttering in the wind. Behind them, the stones that had held the most powerful witches and wizards a few months ago stood barren, empty. It seemed as if the walls could really become ruins, as if the illusion that it held to so many could become reality. He took one last long look at the castle, then resolutely pressed on, not looking back at the castle that had been his home.

With an effort, the man sitting at the table opened his eyes, staring at the steaming cup of dark coffee before him. The swirls of vapor dancing across the smooth reflecting surface threatened to send him asleep again, and he groaned. Not the morning he had wished for at all. And sleeping late for two long nights in a row did not help his mood. First, the whole night packing, then trying not to doze while waiting for the ministry to take care of his withdrawal from the magical community (in a rather unorganized way, he might add), and lastly as his taxi finally pulled up to the large estate he now owned. He never could sleep in muggle vehicles, and after a long, uncomfortable plane flight and the time difference that he now had to get used to, Severus wondered when he would be able to explore the sparsely furnished interior. Albus had persuaded him to let the house elves move the items from his father's old manor to the new estate in Napa, and he felt a little thankful now for the old man's foresight.

Quickly downing the contents of his rapidly cooling beverage, he pushed his chair back from the breakfast table and placed his cup in the sink, too lazy to think of washing it right now. He felt absolutely terrible. Even the shower he had taken earlier in the morning hadn't helped. The idea of buying food, unpacking his belongings and the task of overseeing the rather large grounds and even the small house he was inside of seemed to be too much. Oh well, first things first, he decided. Severus Snape never was a person to leave things to themselves, anyway.

Forgetting about the cup in his sink, he made his way up the staircase. He knew his bedroom was upstairs, at the very least. As he entered, he saw his various bags cluttered against the wardrobe against the wall and groaned again. Pulling the bags away from the closet so he could open the doors, he twisted his mouth in distaste as he surveyed the dusty-smelling interior. This was going to take a while; the furniture hadn't even been cleaned for the last five or so years. He was fairly sure he could see the house-elves' fingerprints in the dust where they had used their hands instead of a levitation charm. What else was there? It perked up his curiosity, and he decided to take a look at the rooms first instead. At least he was still getting something done. Still, he felt as if he was getting a bit lazy after just one day in the muggle world.

He peered out of the door, looking down the dim loft at the various doorways. He hadn't noticed earlier that every curtain had been tactfully closed, letting in no curious eyes, yet not allowing the least bit of sunlight at the same time. Pulling back the drapes that covered the window at the end of the den where the bedroom was situated, he immediately felt a flood of warmth flow through him as the sunlight streamed in. The whole area seemed brighter already. Turning back to the doors he had noticed earlier, he pushed open one of the double doors and stepped in. He could hardly contain his surprise.

It turned out that the room next to the bedroom was a large library, which seemed fairly free of dust but filled with his many books. One wall, only a large, ornate clock hanging near the high ceiling, was taken up by a large, recently used fireplace and a bronze mantel. Against another, his father's old mahogany desk stood, and closer to the fireplace were three armchairs, one even with its own footrest, a small table beside them. A chandelier was suspended from the crisscrossing beams of pine, the dim glow of metal reflecting a slit of light where the curtains were not quite closed. Stepping across the threshold, over the dark wooden floor, and onto the carpet that did not quite cover a good foot of the edge floorboards, he pulled open a set of the drapes, surprised at the sight that met his eyes.

From here, he could see the extensive grounds, only the few branches of a maple covering a small portion of the window. It took up that whole section of the wall, from ceiling to hardwood floor, and when he turned, he realized that the rest of the wall must have been a window too. Pulling open the other drapes with renewed vigor, he stared at the immense view before him.

If he had thought that the view had been grand before, it was nothing compared to this. He could see everything; he could have drawn a map of the gardens from here, the sprawling grounds on this side of the house, anyway. It would be a great place to read, the fireplace radiating heat as the chilly, autumn wind whistled outside, while he sat in the cozy room curled up in a chair, staring outside every now and then at the stars twinkling outside… He hadn't felt awe like this since he had first arrived at Hogwarts. Finally, he thought in satisfaction. A library like this to myself.

Smiling once more, he turned to exit the room, reluctantly removing his hand from the doorknob before leaving the inviting doors to explore what more the house, no, home, had to give.

He was about to go down the staircase when he caught a glimpse of a single door at his left. Turning back, he placed his hand on that doorknob too, and, finding that the door gave in easily to his slight push, he entered. The room seemed a bit disappointing, after the grandeur he had seen in the last one. The floor here was also made of wooden floorboards, but this time of a lighter, polished oak. The walls, a light crème, held only a single mirror, small and oval, which he recognized as one he had passed by many times in the halls during his childhood. The window, however, made up for its plainness; a great flood of sunshine falling in to puddle on the honey colored floor below. There seemed to be no curtains or covering whatsoever. Severus noted that, and that the room was in the corner of the house, for at the top of the wall adjacent to that of the window, three small squares also let in streaks of sunlight. His own desk was against the side of the window, accompanied by a small bookcase, and the only other piece of furniture was the wooden trunk against the wall directly opposite, the one that had sat at the foot of his bed years ago. It had been left behind when he had gone to Hogwarts, and, peering inside, he found that all of the small keepsakes inside were there still, untouched. Closing the lid as memories began to fill his head, he stood abruptly, leaving the room behind him as he stepped down the stairs.

Glancing about, it seemed as if everything bought back memories. In the foyer that he now faced, beside the dark mahogany doors, a single potted plant stood on the polished granite tiles, the pot being one his mother had favored when he had been no more than a child. Turning about, he found himself drawn to a small living room, and as he stepped onto the soft carpet, his toes curling over the fibers, he was claimed by another wave of memories. The set of couches, the ones that used to stand in the middle of the library that his father opened to his guests, looked the same as they had then. He could imagine himself curled up on one as he read yet another book across from his parents, who were recounting the day's events, to which he had once been so immune too. The same coffee table that he had hit his head against when he'd been a child was just as how he remembered it, down to the last chip, which he fingered now. The thick drapes he pulled open, along with the thin white muslin of the curtains beneath, and it seemed like yesterday that his mother had done the same, the thin lace edges brushing the ground like so. Having seen the rest of the room, he continued through a doorway to find an empty room, small and open to the kitchen. It must have been the dining room. Of course, Severus thought wryly. Any dining table his parents ever had would be much too large to fit here, as they had always entertained so many visitors. Peeking through another doorway, he found a bar, tinted windows causing the room to look a little old-fashioned. Yet another valuable asset, he thought to himself. It wouldn't be empty for long, he was in Napa Valley, wasn't he?

The kitchen was the brightest room in the house. Its white walls and bright oak floors reflected the sunlight that came in through the panel of windows above the counter, and to one side, it opened to a breakfast nook, a sliding glass door leading to the shaded patio and gardens outside. The pantry was against the opposite wall of the counters, underneath the stairs, Severus guessed. Passing the island, he was reminded of the mug he had left in the sink. Not stopping to wash it, he continued on his fruitful tour of the house, turning around the bend at the other side of the kitchen.

Another small room opened between the entrance room and where he was standing. It was like a family room, yet much too small. Looking at the near corner, he found exactly what the elves had intended this room to be for. His piano stood against the wall, polished and dark. The smooth surface reflected the dapples the leaves outside had cast on the window, and ignoring the beckon and retreating back upstairs, he went straight back to his room. He couldn't help thinking how glad he was that he had chosen a house like this: small, yet effective. The floor plans he had looked at before popped up in his mind, and he made a mental note to take a look around outside later.

Bending over to begin his unpacking, he realized with a start that they were unzipped and empty. His first reaction was that ill fortune had already overcome him, and that someone had taken his belongings (which he sorely needed), but then he glimpsed a small note on the bedside table nearby. Sitting on the bed as he reached for the note, he read:

I hope you are settling in. I sent a house elf to unpack for you, for I thought you might be tired after your journey. Besides, I thought a small piece of magic might send you its last farewells before it was altogether gone. Take care, and I hope I can see you again soon.

It didn't have a signature, but it didn't need one. He could hear the old man's voice as if he was speaking right next to his ear, and the words brought comfort to him. Folding up the note and placing it into the drawer, he shut it with a hollow clunk, rising from the bed to look at his wardrobe.

Placing the empty bags underneath his hanging pants and coats, he tugged a bit at the items that seemed to be sticking out, and then, smiling with satisfaction at the organization of his house, he whispered two small words, quiet yet meaningful.

"Thank you."

What he didn't know was that the house elf was still there, in the shadows, its eyes watering at the small bit of gratitude it had received before disappearing with a small pop.

Please review! Two chapters seem like enough to give you a bit of the story, and I'll gladly accept any feedback or comments you have. I've merged my first and second chapter to make it move a bit faster, and for those of you that have read this before and are looking for updates, keep on reading. I'm going to add some extra little events in. I'll update as soon as possible!