A/N: Updating is slow not due to time constraints or lack of inclination, but moreso because I am slowly determining where I want this story to go. Therefore, I highly encourage feedback if you have enjoyed the tale so far - what do YOU think the next step should be? I have specific plot events that I will of course be addressing, but I'm pretty open and flexible on many other issues. It's kinda fun just to see where the story takes me - but definitely slow! :)


Chapter 4: Misericordia

On the morning of Snape's supposed day of release from St. Mungo's, Hermione Granger came storming into his hospital room, looking frazzled and very stressed. She dropped her small beaded bag on the floor next to the bedside chair in which she seated herself. These two resounding thumps woke Snape from his uneasy sleep.

Hermione was fidgeting nervously, and examining everything in the room except for its other inhabitant. Snape pointedly rolled his eyes at her, and picked up a potions book he had started reading the day before, attempting to ignore the impertinent girl.

After a few minutes of uneasy silence, Hermione reached into her beaded bag and pulled out a notebook and a few quills, and placed them quietly on Snape's lap. He glanced at these items, and then raised one eyebrow in question at Hermione. She sighed.

"I just thought… well at least until you get your voice back, you could use this journal to write in your… requests. I have a companion journal of my own; anything you write in your journal will appear in mine. That way if you need me… or, uhm," She hesitated at his narrowing glare, "if you wanted anything from me, or something like that… Well, this way you can communicate with me."

Snape hmphed. Normally "hmph" is not a verb, but somehow, in the absence of any vocal abilities, Severus Snape had managed to invent his own new ways of communicating his annoyance, anger, and other various reflections of his displeasure.

"They are releasing you today," Hermione murmured absent-mindedly. Snape looked up again in interest. This was news to him. He thought he would have been required to stay a few more days, especially since he still had not regained control of his vocal abilities, but apparently the staff of St. Mungo's felt otherwise. He offhandedly wondered if it had anything to do with the healer on whom he had practised a few wordless jinxes, just to see if he still "had it". "Had it" he still did. Invalid my arse, Snape thought smugly.

The silence was uncomfortable. Finally, with an annoyed sigh, Snape picked up the journal and a quill, and began writing inside of it. As he began writing, Hermione gave a small smile, and pulled her matching journal out of her bag to read his words.

To where, exactly, am I being released? Snape had written.

"Wherever you choose, I suppose." Hermione responded softly. "Officially, you are a free wizard. You can return to your home, if you like."

Snape considered this information doubtfully. Spinner's End rarely, if ever, had felt like "home". The closest thing he considered to "home" was Hogwarts, but he had no doubt that particular destination was not to be made available to him anytime soon. With a resigned sigh, he shrugged, and slumped into his bed.

He had never given any thought to how his life would turn out if the Dark Lord were defeated. He had never really considered it, because he had never believed he would survive it. As he closed his eyes, and remembered his visit with Lily in the hazy park of his memories, he tried desperately to recall how she had convinced him to choose the path of life. So far as he could tell, he was still alone, hated, and now purposeless, practically homeless, and unemployed. The depression had begun to seep in the day before, when the unending line of annoying visitors he expected had never arrived. He quietly admonished himself for ever thinking anyone would stampede into his presence, wanting to know his story, caring one bit about anything he might have to communicate.

Hermione had been watching him carefully, but despite the parade of emotions going through Snape's mind, his face remained stoic and resigned. She purposely put all her personal woes and troubles in the back of her mind, where she preferred them to rest, and focused on the task at hand. As the engines of her sharp intellect began to work, she felt a certain relief work through her muscles; The distraction of her newest pet project was exactly what she needed, even if it was wreacking havoc on the rest of her life.

Ron couldn't understand. He was incapable of comprehending why helping the greasy git was of the utmost importance to her. All he seemed to recognize was that she was not there for her ginger haired companion in his time of need. The past year their affection for one another had become increasingly evident, culminating in their kiss at the Battle of Hogwarts. Unfortunately, the deeply tragic and personal loss that Ron felt with the death of his brother had thrown all his attentions and affections for Hermione onto a back burner. Hermione had her own horrors to face, or deny if she so chose, so she did not begrudge him his own change of demeanor. What he needed now was comfort, a listening ear for his mourning, and a certain level of understanding. Harry had been spending as much time with the Weasleys as possible, to help them through their tragedy. Hermione, however, had not. Her obsession with helping Professor Snape had now come between them – it was her own way of dealing with tragedy, and she sought no comfort from others.

It wasn't exactly that Ron felt Snape did not deserve to live, or have a second chance. Logically, he knew that Snape deserved all these things, and likely more. However, the wounds in his heart would not allow him to feel anything but resentment towards the former Professor. He could not help but feel that there was some distinct injustice in the world, when a rude and seemingly heartless ex-Death Eater was able to be revived from death, but his own brother, who had never willingly done anything evil or dark, was being laid into the ground. The loss was palpable, and Ron was incapable of being objective regarding the matter.

Hermione did not help matters, but simply made them worse. Whenever she was around Ron and Harry, she continued to babble about what could be done to help Severus. Instead of helping Ron grieve and mourn, her distraction was leading to their distance. Still unable to face the horrors she had witnessed in the final Battle, Hermione resolutely stuck to her Snape-obsession. In the forefront of her mind, she knew she was hurting Ron; She was normally not so insensitive a person as to be ignoring him in his time of need. However, she continued to champion her cause, desperately and fanatically seeking respite from her pain in her own way. Mourning with Ron would require facing the pain that she was not ready to endure.

Thus, she sat in a chair next to Snape's sickbed, continuously trying to solve the problem of the Professor's future. Though she and Snape had not exactly become friends, their uneasy night in the shrieking shack had softened them enough towards one another that they could sit in somewhat amiable silence. While Severus was slightly resentful of her presence, knowing she had seen him in one of his most vulnerable moments, and hating that he felt a debt to her for staying with him that awful night in the shack, he found that when she was not babbling nonsensically, she was not entirely disagreeable. She had not looked at him with pity, which he would not have been able to bear. Instead, she seemed to eye him with a warm, but calculating look. The calculating he could relate to; it was only the warmth he found foreign. She had kept her emotions reigned in, and merely presented a logical mind bent on problem solving; The fact that he was the current "problem" she intended to "solve" was not lost on him, but he was too exhausted to begrudge her at the moment. In fact, though he would never admit it to her, nor even to himself, he was grateful for her presence on this day.

"I am terribly sorry I did not come to visit you yesterday," Hermione finally disrupted the uneasy silence. "I had some personal matters to attend to."

Snape shrugged noncommittally. He would never admit how he had missed her presence. It wasn't exactly her presence he had missed anyway. Though he was accustomed to being alone, he was still smarting from his expectation that after his pardon, others amongst the wizarding community might show any concern for his well-being. He felt like a fool, but would never admit this to anyone, Hermione least of all.

"Well then. I suppose our next step is to decide upon your next destination, after departing St. Mungo's," Hermione spoke in a falsely chipper voice, earning herself an eyeroll from Severus. "I understand you do have a house away from Hogwarts. Would you like to return there?"

Again, Snape shrugged with resignation. He supposed that was his only real choice at the moment. And, truth be told, he was anxious to return to his personal laboratory at home, so that he could begin the process of creating the potions necessary to heal the wounds and remaining injuries from his confrontation with Nagini. He had refused to ingest most of the draughts prepared for him by the healers at St. Mungo's, stubbornly refusing to relinquish his long held superstitions against potions made by any other than his own hand, and acknowledging that his own creations would undoubtedly provide better results, anyway.

"Well then, Spinner's End it is, I suppose. I will help you on your journey. I imagine it is still too soon for you to be attempting Apparition, so you can side-along with me, although now that I think about it, it will be tricky since I do not know what your home looks like, or where exactly it is, and I'm simply not sure if muggle methods…" Hermione's rambling was cut short by a piercing glare from Snape. In answer to her confused look, he began scribbling violently in the journal again.

I have no need for your pity, Granger. Kindly bugger off. I'm quite sure I can manage on my own.

After reading these words, Hermione's head snapped up and she looked at Snape in shocked horror.

"You think… you think I pity you?"

Snape raised an eyebrow.

Hermione let forth a desperate, mirthless half chuckle, and slumped down in her chair. She lowered her head over the journal again, and allowed her hair to hide her face. An uncomfortable silence fell over the room, but Snape was aware that she seemed to be leaking things from her eyes, and he sighed in a very impatient manner.

She lifted her face, and looked him straight in the eyes. The redness around her own made him distinctly uncomfortable, but he found himself pierced by the clarity of her gaze. For the first time since that night in the shack, she seemed entirely… present. Normally she seemed distracted and slightly frantic, but for a brief moment, her calmness and sense of purpose shone through.

"I do not pity you professor. It never crossed my mind that I should. You neither require nor deserve my pity. Every step of your life for nearly the past decade, from what I can tell, has been meticulously calculated and planned. I have no doubt you expected death from the hands of Voldemort, though it would seem the antidotes you had perfected and created showed some hesitance of accepting that fate without some small manner of resistance. Every action you have taken suggests an acceptance of the consequences, however reluctant. While I may deem many circumstances of your life unjust, do not mistake my efforts on your behalf as pity. If you must categorize them in some way in order to accept them, deem them respect. You don't need my pity, but you deserve my respect."

She stood and gathered her things. As she walked to the door to leave, she paused, but did not turn around. Her parting words were spoken softly.

"If anything, Severus Snape, I would like for you to pity me. I realize that I probably do not deserve that either. But actions of pity are rarely deserved – they are merely given for lack of ability to impart anything better."

She quietly closed the door, and did not look back once to witness the angrily stunned look on Snape's face.


Much to Snape's satisfaction, Hermione did not return that day, and therefore he found himself politely dumped on the street outside of St. Mungo's, following his release. He was not unaccustomed to such treatment, so with only a small amount of resentment, he began his journey home.

Despite Hermione's concerns, he had no difficulty Apparating to Spinner's End, though he found himself exceedingly exhausted afterwards. He was mildly surprised to find the residence untouched by either the Ministry of rogue Death Eaters, but he did not let down his guard as he began checking the premises and the rooms for any malevolent traps or spells.

Having found no magical residues unfamiliar to him, he relaxed into one of his threadbare armchairs with a dusty potions text and a freshly brewed cup of coffee. He was unable to concentrate on the book in hand, and instead found himself wondering how in the name of Merlin he should proceed in the next phase of his life.

It gave him no pleasure to reach the realization that due to spending the majority of his adult life either directed by or torn between two masters, he was not prepared for his newfound independence. He was perfectly capable of reacting to orders given by others; Determining his own directives from scratch, however, found him at a loss that was very humbling to address. The limitations of health, age, and reputation restricted many potential avenues, and he had no friends, either false or hidden, to connect him one way or another. Despite the "respect" Miss Granger insisted he deserved, he had little doubt that she was among a very small, if not indeed singular, population that felt this particular way.

Pulling out the journal given to him by the very same Hermione he dreaded contacting, he sighed and set it on his lap. As he began mentally composing a suitable request that would not completely disgust him, he was interrupted by a tapping on his window.

Disgruntled, and fairly suspicious, Severus stood to find a familiar eagle owl waiting at his window. He quickly opened the window, untied the parchment from the owl's outstretched leg, and with a piercing glare, sent the bird on its way with no reward for its journey. Unrolling the parchment, he read the enclosed words:

Severus,

My dearest and oldest friend, I do hope this letter finds you well. I had considered sending an olive branch along with this parchment, but decided that the gesture would undoubtedly provide you little amusement at the current time.

No doubt your current situation has demanded far too much of your own attention for you to have realized that my family as well have been exonerated from all ridiculous charges initially presented to the Wizengamot. Regardless of our own exoneration, I have wisely chosen to toe the line, so to speak, and we remain, for lack of a better word, fairly quiet at present time. Therefore I do hope you will excuse my noted absence from your recent stay at St. Mungo's, but rest assured that I have been kept abreast of your situation.

Due to the nature of Wizarding society at the present moment, I find myself feeling rather nostalgic. The deaths of many of our mutual friends and enemies leaves me with a sense of ennui that I cannot seem to shake. Indeed, with no enemies such as the Dark Lord and his followers to surreptitiously undermine, and no friends to foster companionship and aid, I cannot help but wonder if my dear old friend suffers, much like myself, from a feeling of aimlessness. I humble myself by noting that I, at least, have a son and wife to guide my sense of purpose hereafter in life.

My dear friend, so much has passed between us in recent years, and I feel it is time for us to let bygones be bygones, and perhaps attempt to start afresh. You remain Draco's godfather, and the dearest hopes of myself and Narcissa are that you will not forever abandon your godson due merely to political differences that have been only recently exposed, and certainly exaggerated. Our ties and debts to one another are much deeper than mere politics.

I hope you will not let past prejudices taint your acceptance of my renewed offer of friendship. We were both undoubtedly suspicious of one another during our time working fervently, if discreetly, to bring the Dark Lord to his fateful end. Much like myself, there is much contention amongst popular opinion regarding your behavior over the past decade. I have no doubt that, much as I have done, all your efforts were directed towards aiding the fall of the Dark Lord. Though times are hard for those of us who sacrificed and risked the most to aid the cause, please allow me to extend a hand to you and offer you the use of any of my paltry resources in your future endeavors. I therefore hope that you will, at any time that might give you pleasure, visit our humble Manor and attempt to aid me in a mutual partnership.

Your faithful friend, as always,

Lucius Malfoy

Snape made no attempt to suppress his amusement at Malfoy's communication. Despite all his misgivings against the former Death Eater, he had to applaud the art of a fellow Slytherin. Setting aside the Hermione-journal, Snape smiled to himself, satisfied that at least for the moment, he had options for how to proceed. A visit to the Malfoy Manor did indeed seem long overdue, and in preparation, he decided it was time to focus his efforts on repairing his voice. Communication with Lucius was much more entertaining and amusing when it was two-way.

Opening his potions text with new determination, he began considering several concoctions that would improve upon the paltry efforts on behalf of the St. Mungo's staff.


*Extra Special A/N For clarification (after all, not everyone can translate Slytherin-speak, eh?), a translation for the non-Slytherin among you:*

Severus,

Hello there, you old bastard. Have you recovered enough from your stay at St. Mungo's to be of any use to me? I won't apologize for anything I've done in the past, nor do I expect you would accept an apology anyway.

Since you probably haven't been paying much attention to circumstances outside of your own, Narcissa and I managed to get out of any official punishments for war crimes. Whatever. We didn't really do anything wrong, and Potter knows that if it hadn't been for Narcissa's actions that happened to work out in his favour as well, he never could have defeated the Dark Lord. Even in light of that fact, there are too many squeaky clean folks amongst the Ministry these days, so I have no say and no power. Our reputation, for the present time, remains highly tainted, and so we are justifiably laying low, waiting for a chance to rise again. For all intents and purposes, we are under an unofficial house arrest. I do still have some "friends" at St. Mungo's who let me know you were released today, however.

Now that the most powerful and useful of my former connections have been killed, it is time for me to start afresh and make new ones. In court, Narcissa and I insisted we had been fighting the Dark Lord the whole time, so if anyone asks, stick to that story. It seems you're pretty much in the same boat, though I guess your intentions were a bit more deeply set than our own. In the end we did what others deem to be "the right thing" anyway, so it all comes to the same thing regardless. You can sit around on your ass until you die (again) without any employment or connections if you like, but I have a family to take care of, and I need to do what I can to secure a future for Draco at least.

Remember Draco? Your godson? You can hate me if you like, but I know you are just concerned about his future as I am. Therefore, no matter how much you and I may resent each other at the moment, I have a duty as a father to set that aside and do what I can to improve his life. As his godfather, it's your duty as well, sucker. Even if you were a traitor to the Dark Lord's cause, you still made a commitment to aid Draco's parents and take care of him. It's not like you have any offspring of your own to worry about, so you now get to share in my own concerns as a father.

Your reputation isn't quite as rotten as my own at this moment, or at the very least it is subject to more debate. However, I have more money than you. Therefore, we can probably be of mutual use to one another. Come over whenever, we have nothing else to do these days.

You owe me,

Lucius