Snape's feet returned him to the castle once again without any input from his brain. He was so engrossed in contemplating the recent tumultuous events that he was standing in the entrance hall before he realised where his inbuilt 'point-me' charm had brought him.
His own emotions had always been a weary tangle of pain which he preferred to ignore until Kingsley invaded his life and made him open up. The exhausting night-time confessions of the past few weeks had been a radical departure from his habitual rigid life-stance, and though it had felt good to have another person understand a little of what went on inside his head, he was not enjoying the current vulnerability and feeling of dependence. It looked as though Kingsley would recover his memories after all, but it had been a terrifying reminder of the inadvisability of dependence on others.
His self-reliance was the aspect of his character of which he was most proud. He had acquired it young, as soon as he realised his parents' commitment to sulking or screaming at each other outweighed the nurturing of their son, and it had served him well into adulthood. The only major slip before now had been the shameful eight months when he allowed himself to believe the promises of a manipulative madman – he had learned the hard way that the selling of one's soul is a non-reversible transaction, that to buy back that which he gave in a moment of flesh-searing recklessness would take years of giving more than he could afford, just to keep abreast with the interest.
But he had finally achieved it. Dumbledore, his Mortgage Advisor, had exonerated him after twenty years of hell. His soul was his own again, to do with as he pleased.
He had shown it to Kingsley, who had seemed keen to claim it in the midst of the fighting and the killing which threatened both their lives at every moment. There were two questions which Severus needed to ask, now that the world had entered its blissful transition period into Peacetime. Would the auror still be interested in his soul and his body now that their life expectancy was longer than a day? And would it matter if he was not?
Voices echoed from one of the corridors leading to the hallway. Even with the distortion of stone walls and flagstones, Severus could recognise the cheery Griffindor tones of the hero of the hour, chatting away to someone. The only distinct word he heard was 'Remus'. That was enough to send him dashing for the grounds. He had hoped that with all the confusion after the fall of the Dark Lord, the Headmaster would have forgotten his offer to let Potter and that confounded beast move into the castle. Evidently not.
Blinking in the sudden glare of the afternoon sun, Severus realised he had fled to the little terrace which overlooked the forest and the rolling lawns which led towards it. Dumbledore and McGonagall were apparently taking tea at one of the little ironwork tables, and beamed up at him in unison.
"Severus! How nice to see you!" smiled Dumbledore, patting the empty chair next to him. "Do join us, my boy."
Severus searched frantically for an excuse, but now that his only duty was to nurse himself back to full health, he gave in to the enforced sociability and sat down. McGonagall transfigured a biscuit into a spare cup and saucer and poured him some tea.
"How are your burns today, Severus?" she asked him pleasantly.
"Tolerable. My arm is still sore, but I have a good salve which helps," he avoided her eyes, remembering their last conversation, where he had moaned like a lovestruck teenager because Kingsley had forgotten him.
"That's good news," smiled Dumbledore, eyeing him studiously. "And that new hairdo has taken years off you!"
"No, Albus," he returned, with more amiability than he expected, "That would be due to intense relief at the Dark Lord's demise."
The Griffindors chuckled.
"You're not the only one to feel it," confided Albus. "I happened to notice someone chasing butterflies around like a kitten this morning."
"You saw?" Minerva flushed in embarrassment, glaring at the Headmaster.
"Did you catch any?" asked Severus seriously. "Crushed butterfly wings are used in a large number of mood-enhancing potions."
McGonagall sat up straight in mock-indignation.
"I caught several," she sniffed. "Naturally I released them again. I'll not help them end up as homesickness cures for snivelling first years."
The giggle escaped before Severus even knew it was coming. He clapped his hand over his mouth in alarm but it was too late. Albus and Minerva were staring at him like two proud parents hearing their baby's first word and Snape felt just about ready to die of shame. He grabbed the teapot and deftly topped up all the cups as a diversionary tactic while his older colleagues smiled indulgently to each other.
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and sighed happily.
"You know, Severus, I have an extra reason to feel relaxed today."
"Indeed?" asked Snape, refusing to look up until the flush had gone from his cheeks.
"Oh yes. I have just handed my resignation to the Board of Governors," he stated smugly.
Snape's cup hit the table with a clink and cracked in half, dousing the entire table in hot tea.
"What!" he demanded. "Why! For Merlin's sake, you may not have been directly involved in the last part of the battle, but almost every person on the winning side was fighting under your banner! Surely the Ministry do not blame you for being cursed off the battlefield when we won anyway!"
Albus waved a hand to quieten him, the slightly dotty smile not faltering for a second.
"You are correct, my boy. They do not blame me at all. In fact, I am to receive even more honorary titles and decorations, which will no doubt make signing letters even more time-consuming. I have simply decided to retire."
Snape stared at McGonagall in disbelief. She nodded encouragingly at him. Evidently, this was not news to her.
"But…" he began to argue, then stopped, for once at a loss for words to express his consternation.
"It was not a decision made lightly, I can assure you. I love this school and so many within it. I will miss the place dreadfully, but I think, at one hundred and fifty-one years of age, it is time for me to confine my senile ramblings to the domestic sphere and let the youngsters take over." He grinned at Minerva, who leaned over and smacked him gently on the elbow.
"You're not senile," she corrected him. "Rambling, indubitably, but far from senile."
"Then, my dear Headmistress, it is only right for me to step aside while I am still compos mentis. I'm sure you agree, Severus?"
He stared into the twinkling blue eyes for a long moment, wondering if his own sanity could cope with so many fundamental changes to the Established Order of Things. But Fate was not quite finished with him yet.
"Of course," Minerva broke into his reverie, twinkling at him just as brightly. "Albus will be a remarkably hard act to follow and I shall expect to rely very heavily on my deputy."
"Flitwick," murmured Severus distantly.
"No," they both replied in chorus, grinning maniacally now.
He stared. They grinned some more. He scowled. They actually had the audacity to laugh at him. He folded his arms across his chest and sulked. This was not part of the plan, he thought, furiously, until his conscience reminded him that, the last time it checked, he had no plan at all.
"Me?" he snapped.
"Of course," Albus became serious again. "Filius came to me at the end of last term, asking to step down as Head of Ravenclaw. It seems he wants fewer responsibilities here so he can return home to Hertfordshire every evening and write his book."
"A Charms book?" Severus sounded interested, Flitwick had been a champion duellist, his expertise would surely be worth a read.
"A romantic novel, I believe," Dumbledore smiled again and Snape snorted. "But he would not have been my first choice in any case."
McGonagall took up the explanation.
"You are the most qualified person in this school for the job. You have all the necessary qualities, in spades, and I think every member of staff would agree that you are the perfect person."
"Even the old bat in the belfry?" he sneered in flagrant disbelief.
"I am afraid that Professor Trelawney has been unhappy in her position for some years," said Dumbledore evenly, his lively face for once displaying no emotion. "Now that Voldemort is dead and she is no longer in danger over the Prophesy, I was able to give her permission to leave the castle. She chose to do so immediately."
Snape brightened considerably on hearing the news. He and Trelawney had been sworn enemies from the moment he had been caught eavesdropping in the Hog's Head, and her rapturous predictions of his messy and imminent death had been less than amusing.
"Now, aside from your own attributes, Severus, there is another reason for your appointment. I must stress that this is the secondary reason, a bonus, if you will, and I hope you will hear me out." There was a warning in Albus' eyes, and Snape began to dread what was coming next. How typical of these two to flatter him in order to soften some terrible blow. "You, more than most people, are surely aware that the reputation of Slytherin House lies in ruins after almost a century of association with dark wizardry. This has been compounded by a series of Griffindor-led administrations at both Hogwarts and the Ministry, with only scant involvement by anyone from other houses. This has possibly been the result of the Old Boy's Network, but mostly, I think, through coincidence.
"However, it means that practically the only former Slytherins in the public eye are murderers and criminals, and our young snakes have had no positive role models since Lucius Malfoy's disastrous fall from grace."
Minerva took over again, looking faintly ashamed with herself.
"Prejudice against Slytherin is at an all time high. I confess that I have been as guilty as the rest of condemning members of your house out of hand, but we need to begin to redress the balance. As it stands, a quarter of the children are going to suffer because of this, and though it is easier to conceal one's school house after leaving here, our world is small enough to make things difficult for the Slytherin adults too. The wizarding world has suffered enough during this war, we don't need further alienation."
Severus rested his good elbow on the edge of the table and placed his chin on his hand, suddenly weary and worn again.
"You wish me to become a role model to show young Slytherins that they can be a success?"
"Young and old," explained Dumbledore. "And to show everyone else that being cunning is a practical form of intelligence which should be celebrated, not derided. As the Sorting Hat is so fond of pointing out, what is most important is that all wizards should use their individual strengths and work in harmony. Your role in the defeat of the Dark was crucial, and could not have been undertaken by anyone but a Slytherin. Do you understand me, Severus?"
He did not answer immediately. Casting 'reparo' on his broken cup, he re-heated the pot to 90 degrees Flamelheit, poured himself a fresh cup of tea and added precisely the correct amount of milk, stirring it clockwise six times before tapping the spoon twice against the rim and placing it carefully in the saucer.
"There are a dozen reasons why I cannot be held up as a model Slytherin. I was a Death Eater, for a start," he argued.
"You realised your mistake and returned to us. As Miss Skeeter would no doubt tell you, people love a reformed sinner," chuckled Dumbledore.
"My personal lifestyle…" he began, sounding desperate even to his own ears.
Albus became immediately serious. He dunked a biscuit into his tea and chewed it thoughtfully before answering.
"Perhaps it is time that our homosexual students had a role model too," he suggested.
"They do. That rock star with the, ah, amusing hats and what's-his-name from the Wimbourne Wasps. But a teacher? The Board of Governors will never consider it appropriate to have a known queer in a position of authority over tender young minds. They were reticent enough when you made me a Head of House." Snape was wide-eyed now, wondering if McGonagall's proclamation of the old man's sanity had been somewhat premature.
"The Board has always been rather easily led. I fear our newest school governor is already dominating meetings," Albus was twinkling again, but Severus was too engrossed in the discussion to wonder what he meant. "They feel that you have conducted your private affairs with discretion for the last sixteen years, so there is no reason to condemn you on that score."
The large nose which had been trained to perfection by years of brewing intricate blends of delicate substances was already scenting trouble. The drawback with creating idols out of mortal beings was that, like every mortal being, they made mistakes. Unlike normal people however, their mistakes were blown out of all proportion and the disgrace heaped upon them was as passionate as the adulation which preceded it. Look at Lockhart. Witch Weekly was vitriolic in its defamation of the former pin-up. It seemed the famous smile had lost its charm once its attractive owner had been revealed as a ruthless fraud. Severus would have to lead a perfectly blameless life from now on.
"Albus, Minerva, that is an enormous responsibility for one person to shoulder," he told them with a sigh.
Dumbledore watched his face closely, still nibbling on biscuits the whole time.
"Bigger than risking one's life to spy on a homicidal maniac while living in a castle surrounded by the children of his sympathisers?"
Snape shrugged. He honestly did not know. No one had ever looked up to him, he wondered how it would feel to be a figurehead. Perhaps he should ask Potter.
"You are equal to your new task, Severus," Minerva stated with sudden fierceness. "Damn it, I don't know how I will cope doing mine without you!"
He smirked at her determination to make him agree. Perhaps working more closely with the new Headmistress could be rather interesting, she was certainly easier to tease than Albus. He sat straighter in his chair as he thought it over. He had never been one to back away from a challenge, and life was threatening to become rather placid now the war was over. Regaining a little of his earlier amusement, he fixed McGonagall with a serious expression.
"If we have any trouble we could always ask Madam Umbridge. She knows a lot about being a Headmistress."
…….
The next day, a very relieved Kingsley was discharged from St Mungo's. Arriving back at his flat, the place looked strange and unfamiliar, as though he had been away for far longer than three days. Pushing open the French windows, he stepped out onto the balcony and sat on a wooden deckchair to enjoy the fresh air and the view of the river.
His head was still a little misty, though more and more memories were trickling back.
Snape's father's funeral, the startling news about Mrs Figg. Other Kingsley holding off a small army of inferi with streaks of fire while Snape accioed a terrified child from MacNair's bloody grip. All the tiny panes of Flourish & Blott's mullioned windows exploding outwards as unrecognisable figures battled inside. Ollivander's shop glowing with blinding white light as the stacks of wands responded to the overwhelming power of magic surrounding them, while the proprietor sat calmly at his desk as though oblivious to the horrors outside. Hermione Granger calling across the street to the Weasley twins that she had a plan.
It was a pity that the children had been so closely involved, he thought, then frowned. Actually, he was wrong there. It had been about children from the beginning. The battle lines had been redrawn the moment that fateful Avada Kedavara had ricocheted off a toddler's forehead seventeen years ago, changing everything.
He wondered what the effect would be on the social order when a set of teenagers had more than earned the respect traditionally shown to their elders. What could be in store psychologically for those who had grown up too soon? His thoughts meandered to Shastri Khalili. The adolescent veterans were the lucky ones - she had been given no chance to grow up.
Shastri was related to Severus, he remembered. And it was her death which had propelled him into the potion master's arms. Though he was certain that parts of their time together were missing, he could recall plenty of images of their relationship, not all of which made sense. It had been a matter of weeks, during which time they had seen each other fairly infrequently – so why did Kingsley have such a vivid memory of waking, sated and relaxed, and deciding that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Snape?
It must have been the war. It can only have been the knee-jerk reaction of clinging to some comfort when the wider picture was so bleak and devastating. It was a proven fact that people were more sexually active during wartime, as they tried to prove to their terrified souls that they were still alive amidst the overpowering atmosphere of death. There was also a feeling of recklessness which overrode any normal shyness. Why bother agonising over morality if you could be dead the following morning?
That went some way towards explaining his uncharacteristic behaviour. Kingsley's first loyalty was to his job, and he was proud of the fact. Wartime or not, the life of an auror was unpredictable, demanding and dangerous, which was why so few in the department of Magical Law Enforcement had any permanent attachments. It was bad enough that some aurors had parents and siblings to worry about them. Shastri's funeral had reminded them all of their own mothers' silent fears. Even before he qualified, Kingsley had been grateful that he was not the kind of man who settled down, the casual encounters he permitted himself in the anonymity of the muggle world were pleasant interludes on his night off, quite separate from the life-or-death decisions of his working day.
An open-topped boat trundled past the balcony, a uniformed woman with a microphone explaining the Greenwich Meridian in several different languages to a set of gawping tourists. He wondered if any of those baseball-capped muggles had any idea of the huge events which had unfolded in Diagon Alley during their trip to London. Not if the Ministry's muggle liaison office had done its job properly, he hoped.
From what he had been told, Dumbledore, Moody and scores of the other Light fighters had been pushed away from the battle and out onto the bustling Charing Cross Road, packed with ordinary people. Fortunately, Soho and nearby Covent Garden having been the spiritual home of street theatre for over two hundred years, no one batted an eyelid at the sudden appearance of an outlandishly-dressed troop of misfits. A Japanese tourist had even given Mad-eye a pound for his entertaining use of a 'firework stick.'
Kingsley heard the floo flare back inside the house, and turned to see Severus stepping carefully into the living room. Still looking rather delectable, he noticed.
"Good afternoon, I hope I am not disturbing you?" he asked from the hearth, making no further move into the room.
"Not at all," Kingsley assured him. "Do sit down."
They both sat on the sofa, Kingsley's body immediately aware of how close it was to Snape.
"I trust you are fully recovered?" Severus asked him.
"Almost," he replied, trying to fathom what was different about this wizard and the one in his recently-restored memories. Aside from the shorter hair.
"Good," he said. Then he smirked a little, the tone of his voice halfway between pleased and flirtatious. "It would seem that I have received a promotion. You are now sharing a sofa with the Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Kingsley laughed as he gave his congratulations, now realising the change for what it was. Confidence.
The desperate, insecure man he remembered was now no longer in fear of his life, his miserable past had obviously stopped haunting him now that his future was bright. Snape had always been undervalued and overlooked. Now that the world had seen his worth, his whole bearing had changed. The lines on his face now looked distinguished instead of petulant, while instead of slouching like a beaten animal, his shoulders fell backwards into a relaxed posture. The smirk was as enticing as ever, and Kingsley decided he was glad about that.
Black eyes, now sparkling with mirth and not malice, swept questioningly over Kingsley, setting off a series of tiny explosions of lust in the auror's belly.
"Why are you staring?" Severus asked, not with defensive aggression as he might have during Order meetings at Grimmauld Place, but gently as though he were truly interested in the response.
Kingsley reached out and tugged him forward by his hips until their faces were almost touching. Turning his head a fraction to the left he whispered against Severus' ear.
"Because I fancy the Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Snape's breath caught in a ghost of a laugh, and Shacklebolt could feel both their hearts pounding at the sudden proximity.
"Indeed?" purred the potions master. "And do you intend to act upon this unusual emotion?"
Kingsley grinned a wide, white, predatory grin.
"Yes," he said.
…….
AN: Hello my dears! I hope everyone had a fun Halloween, full of cinder toffee, pumpkins, parkin or whatever your regional traditions entail!
Thank you yet again for a lovely crop of nicely-written reviews! I hope you'll forgive me for the newish direction this fic is taking, but I think you'll agree that so much of Severus' personality is based around being downtrodden, he is bound to change fundamentally with all these wonderful new developments. (Even if he hasn't noticed yet!)
Charing Cross Road – As far as I recall, we are not told the exact location of Diagon Alley in London, but the bookshop they use as the Leaky Cauldron in the films is smack in the middle of Theatreland, on Charing Cross Road. I had this mental image of loads of buses, taxis, pedestrians etc swarming around the main tourist areas with their Lonely Planet guides to London, oblivious to Dumbledore et. al. running around trying to get back into the Alley and the desperate battle inside! I'm not sure how the Death Eaters locked them out – some kind of powerful barrier spell, I think, a great strategy anyway – to put their strongest opponents right out of the picture.
Increased sexual activity during war – I nicked this from the Camomile Lawn, by Mary Wesley, though the concept turns up all over the place. Wesley's WW2 youngsters are at it like rabbits during air-raids etc. Wonderful book.
Next time: (Maybe, I never do grand plans, so I won't say for certain.) Kingsley and Severus adapt to their new circumstances. How are Remus & Harry? Who is the new school governor? Is the world really ready for a gay former Death Eater in an important post?
Thanks for reading! (Crosses fingers in the hope of seeing Snape in a nightie in the new GOF film!)
