Severus Snape was not in the mood for this. He was already half in the bag as this doe-eyed young woman stood before him doddering on, shaking his hand with a distant kind of grace. Several fresh faces surrounded her, all sweetness and sympathetic glances. He supposed he should be grateful he was not dead or otherwise incapacitated, but all he could think of was the bottle of Firewhiskey he had left open in his temporary quarters. The drinks here were too weak to maintain the comfortable level of inebriation necessary to dealing with these people.

"I just wanted to say thank you. For everything you've done. We doubted you and that was wrong." The girl simpered.

"So wrong." Her companions echoed softly.

"We hope you understand. We are so grateful to you now."

What did they want him to say? If it were not for the occasional sharp glance from Minerva, he would have been gone long ago. She had wheedled a promise to 'be nice' to everyone. He had scoffed at first, but with half the wizarding world still baying for his blood, it occurred to him that it may be a good tactic not to completely isolate those who may choose to believe in his innocence. Social interaction was far from his forte and thus he turned to the best known social lubricant to ease his path. Sadly, this only took a small edge off of his intense dislike of this entire situation, not to mention gibbering idiots like the one that now clung foolishly to his hand.

He mumbled something that, hopefully, sounded humble and vaguely worthy of a double-agent-cum-war-hero before striding away with an air of importance. If anyone had been looking, they would have recognized his renewed attempt at a hasty retreat, but luckily, Minerva was otherwise occupied.

Unfortunately, Severus' escape plan was fouled as he found himself nearly blindsided by a fellow war hero.

"Prof- erm... Good evening, Sir."

Part of him was almost mollified that at least one person in attendance at this dreaded Ministry affair remembered that he had once had a title of respect. For all their fawning, not one of them had addressed him with deference to his former position, or even his current one as an unemployed Potions Master. This wave of mild appreciation passed as quickly as it had come when he recognized the former student in question.

War had been nearly as unkind to her as it had been to him.

"Miss Granger."

The curly haired friend of the Brat-Who-Lived inclined her head by way of greeting. "You are looking well, Sir." Her voice was curt and polite.

Severus suppressed a snort of amusement at the obviously false formality. "No need for flattery, Miss Granger. My dance card is already quite full." He sneered merely out of habit.

The slight flush that flitted over her face was a stark contrast to the chilliness of her gaze. "I should not keep you then, Sir." She did not wait for a response, heading quickly toward her table.

As she brushed past him, it occurred to Severus that Miss Granger had not spoken to him since the night Minerva had contrived for him to make his case to the Potter boy. Of course, he had had little occasion to speak with any other members of the Order after Potter had warily agreed to trust in his advice. He had developed a grudging respect for the boy, despite years of fine tuned hatred. Potter had even been kind enough to testify that it was, indeed, evidence from Severus that allowed him to locate and destroy the final Horcrux. However, it seemed Minerva's wishful assurances that Severus had turned over a new leaf were all for naught, as Potter and his nearest and dearest had been pointedly ignoring him since the end of his trial. That suited their former Professor perfectly. There was a tacit truce, padded on both sides by deep-rooted dislike. He saw no need to change that. Miss Granger's behavior to him was almost reassuring, it signaled a kind of social stagnation to which he hoped to become accustomed.

Let them despise, so long as they leave me alone.

There had been a few idle death threats and many muggleborns remained convinced of his guilt. Severus could not think to blame them. A murderer is still a murderer, no matter what the motivation.

He could remember thinking that quite clearly as he sat frozen while the Wizengamot deliberated. If he was honest with himself, Severus would have admitted that he did not expect to survive the war. Once the Dark- Voldemort- was vanquished, a small hope had worked its way into the back of his mind. He had ignored it, then, focusing all of his energy on ridding the world of his fellow Death Eaters. Trial after trial passed by, he gave testimony after testimony, stoically relating horrors that somehow seemed so commonplace, most ordinary, really, when sitting in a crowded courtroom.

Finally, he sat at his own trial. Minerva was most adamant in presenting the pensieve left to her by Dumbledore. The memories compiled therein provided sufficient evidence of Severus' role as a double-agent and cleared him of any malevolent complicity in Dumbledore's death. He stayed silent, refusing to speak in his own defense. No decision of the Wizengamot would ever truly clear his name. Minerva's concern for the small, lost boy she had once known would not bring him back, nor change the decisions he had made.

The charges were dropped completely. Potter's testimony clinched the deal. It was perhaps the first time in his life, Severus had been rendered speechless. Minerva had guided him gently from the courtroom and set him up in a hotel in London. There, he had quietly crawled into a bottle, relishing the chance to relax his guard. Intoxication was a welcome relief after years of constant vigilance.

That brought him here, staring indolently at Miss Granger's receding back as she crossed the large hall that held yet another Ministry-run press banquet. Having received the Order of Merlin for his aid to the Order had appealed to his sense of irony at the time, but now he was quite ready to be done with all of this synthetic adulation and go back to bed.