Severus Snape—lying in a pool of his own congealing blood—glared up at the impertinent scroll that had smacked him about the face. Magic bristled at its curled and golden edges.
It was a Letter of Understanding.
A, 'Let's overlook this little blip in the well-oiled machine that is your Ministry for Magic, shall we, hmm?'. And a, 'Here. Here's a little…incentive to forget a-l-l about it'.
He had no doubt there was an enslaved army chained to the depths of the Ministry churning the bloody things out.
"What have you done now?"
His voice was a croak and he brought a slow hand to the swift hot pain that cut through his neck. He hissed. The bite from the thrice-damned snake was still tender to the touch…but his magic, his expertise and his bloody-minded will had worked. He was alive and —mostly— healed from having his throat torn out and half a gallon of magically toxic venom pumped into his flesh.
He let his head sink to the floor and winced at the fresh and cold push of his blood into his already thickly matted hair. Cleaning could wait. He was in no rush to have his magic revealed. There was silence beyond the cursed walls of the Shrieking Shack. He could only hope that Potter had done what he had been hand-fed to do.
A stone settled in Severus chest. At least…at least Lily would be reunited with her boy.
The letter sparked, as if aware that his mind had wandered, and he fixed his glare there again.
"Well?"
"The Ministry would like you to understand that as your magical core darkened and vanished from our register for…twenty-nine seconds, your will was executed."
A rusty and pained laugh broke from him.
Dead. He'd been dead for all of twenty nine seconds, but that was enough for the obviously greased cogs of the Ministry to whirr into action. Perhaps they were always eager to get their foul little fingers on anything left to them by some stupidly kind-hearted witch or wizard?
But there was nothing in his estate for them. Not a bent brass knut.
"The Ministry hereby returns your properties, wealth, patents and all other listed sundries to yourself, with the understanding that the offer of compensation —an Unplottable five acres of land with furnished cottage in Northumberland— will close the matter."
The address cut itself into the air. Hart Burn House.
Oh, that would be changing…
But Ministry compensation —sour names aside— was always quite sweet. And always what the witch or wizard needed at that exact moment. The magic of it was fearsome. If not, the bumbling errors frequently committed would've had wizardingkind burning the Ministry down to its foundations. Every Tuesday.
"Give me a copy of my will."
Over the last few days, his nerves had been drawn to a tight, thin string —strain, lack of sleep and the fracturing of any trust others had in him had all but worn him away. He had no real memory of what he'd rattled off the night before. He vaguely remembered wanting to stick two fingers up to the entire wizarding world as he believed —in a dark and fatal moment— his end was close. And yes, he wanted to let the magical community drown in his bile—
A rolled parchment dropped from the aether and smacked against his bloodied coat. Blood fizzled away under protective spells.
"Have we reached an understanding?"
The Letter was pushy. But then they always were.
A sweet plot of land in which to hide and recover? Exactly what he needed and the Ministerial magic knew it.
"We have."
"Thank you, Master Snape. Please continue to think well of your Ministry of Magic."
And with a pop and shower of golden, sparking magic, the Letter vanished.
"Unlikely."
The word, little more than a croaked whisper, seemed to echo in the rafters. The shadows of the room in which he'd died for half a minute thickened and unease crept up his spine. What was happening beyond the strangely quiet walls? The outside silence was heavy now.
Was it over? The fight that had consumed half his life? He snorted at his own melodrama…but he was distrusted by both sides. No matter the victor, his life would be forfeit. Again.
He groaned and rolled, the unpleasant suck and slurp of congealed blood forcing a disgusted frown. The scroll still sitting on his chest rolled to the floor. Yet more blood swept back and steamed under the powerful protective magic enchanting his will.
Reading it —and seeing what mischief it could've caused in the seconds of his death— could wait until he was safely behind the wards of his badly named house.
Severus found his wand, the cedar coated in blood, picked up his will and climbed with suppressed groans to his feet. The world swam. Fuck. He'd lost pints and his body was feeling it. Double fuck. He had to get out. Use his magic. Before…he couldn't risk his rooms, or his old house, not until he knew how the war had faired. Now, the Ministry's ineptitude had stepped in. He had this one shot to get out. He had to risk it. Pulling in the tattered threads of his magic, he half turned—
"What the hell is this about Argus Filch?"
Hermione Granger burst into the room, her hair a wild mass of curls, a flood of colour in her gaunt face. She wagged a sheaf of paper at him…
Then staggered back. She pressed a fist to her chest and the red to her face bloomed. "You're…you're…" A fierce grin broke across her face. "Alive. Fucking hell, I mean, fuck, I…" She shook her head and her fingers snatched at the shrub on her head. "I mean, sorry, sir, professor. Headmaster." That grin was on him again. "Oh, this is brilliant. Utterly."
Her shoulders sagged, her smile settled into one of…joy and the shine of tears filled her eyes. "You have no idea how happy I am right now. No idea."
She frowned at the paper she still held. "But…this?"
"Did you come to berate a dead man?"
What had he sent her? He remembered something vague. Something that had picked at this bones since he'd become headmaster. Something he'd never had the time to fix as his life was one explosion of shite after another.
"No. Yes. Probably."
She barked a laugh, something wild and joyous and Severus' heart lurched. She was happy —more than happy— that he was alive. Who had last felt that? Merlin, he couldn't remember. Even he hadn't been too pleased about it himself at times.
"How do you have it?" He nodded to the paper and his vision blurred. Fuck. He willed himself to stay upright. "The Ministry has returned my will."
"It began to vanish as I was reading it. I stunned it. Burned the words into the air and then planted them on this." She wagged the paper again.
Quick thinking. Tenacious…
Argus Filch.
Argus fucking Filch.
He'd sent her the foul secret about the Hogwarts' caretaker. He could do nothing…though he'd railed at Dumbledore's portrait, who simply shrugged and twinkled and said nothing could be done. It was impossible. Their hands —and magic— were tied. Other headteachers had shaken their heads and hummed in agreement.
Impossible? Really…?
No, what they'd never had before was a witch quite like Hermione Granger.
And yes, he'd fucking cackled as he scrawled out the secret, able to share it because it and he were caught under the nigh-unbreakable enchantment of a wizarding will.
She was there. She was alive and free and taking up another cause. It had to mean…
"Did we…?"
"Voldemort is dead. Harry is alive. And everyone —everyone— is aware that you were a fierce soldier for the Light."
The little witch straightened her shoulders, a sharp pride shining in her eyes. Had she worked it out? Seen what others were all too happy to ignore about him, about his character? Of course she had. Insufferable little know-it-all.
Severus put out a bloodied hand and she blinked. "I will explain, if you will come with me."
She hesitated and something squeezed in his chest that she would doubt him now—
"Are you well enough, sir? To side me along? I can…I can take us, if you would give me the location." Her hand slid into his, her small, slim fingers trembling until they threaded between his own. The warmth of her magic chased along his tattered nerves and he sucked in a tight breath. It was…golden. Perfection. Perfect…for him. And Severus thanked whatever gods and demons were listening that he'd never touched her before.
She was frowning at her hand in his. "What…?"
But she didn't pull back.
"Something else to…discuss." He drew in another breath, the flow of her magic easing the ragged pain in his flesh. His own magic swirled around hers, growing deeper, sharper and before he could fall into it like the drowning man he was, he yanked them through the stomach-churning aether to his new home.