Wrong Kind of Hero
Chapter 17: Bones Floating in the Sound
In hindsight, perhaps a wise man could have seen all the events converging as they did and played them out differently. Perhaps. It would have taken a far wiser man than he. The events of the summer fell into Severus's lap not piecemeal but all at once, and he had to decide what action to take immediately. There was talk, suspicious talk on James's part, that Peter was a traitor. He was their secret-keeper, and he somehow linked Peter to Lily's unfortunate pregnancy. No one was sure what exactly he suspected Peter of having to do with the stillbirth, but he muttered things about betrayals to the Dark Lord and dark blood magic to kill the baby in the womb. Severus of course knew that no such thing had ever taken place; Pettigrew was innocent of ever having attended a DeathEater meeting. But James was consumed with some dark emotion and beyond reason, and the sight of baby Neville enraged him even further, though Snape appeared to be the only one to notice James's growing obsession. The rest of the Order were too busy fretting about the prophecy and keeping Neville safe. Moody was preparing for battle with all the gusto of an epic good-against-evil knockdown dragout free-for-all in the works, and there were whole wings of Grimmauld Place devoted to offensive spell practice. The world appeared to have gone mad; every day the Dark Lord's raids grew more and more fevered and urgent. He was targeting areas of families with young children, and it was only a matter of time before he stumbled upon the Longbottoms. He was growing careless, too, taking out Muggles and anyone who got in his way, and even the Muggle Prime Minister was growing alarmed and had to be informed of the situation.
Tangentially and simultaneously, Severus was expected to take part in a raid on the Longbottom's house. Voldemort tortured and then Imperioed their Secret-Keeper to no avail; he then resorted to sucking out the man's memories as he died. Convinced that the prophecy could mean no one but Neville, Voldemort was prepared to strike and eliminate the threat once and for all. In the ensuing alert to the Order of the Phoenix and confusion that followed, James's plan to revenge himself on Peter took nebulous shape. James suspected Peter Pettigrew of treachery and was hunting him down; Snape knew for a fact that Peter was innocent. Peter sought stronger men to hide behind; alone, he was weak and cowardly, but he had not betrayed his friends. As a double agent, Snape knew all this, and only Albus could hold him fully accountable for what he knew. He could not be two places at once when Voldemort attacked the Longbottoms; fortunately, he did not have to be. Both his masters required him to be in attendance.
Snape could hear the screams wrung out of Frank Longbottom, but there was nothing at present that he could do. He saw the flashes of multi-colored light, red and green; he saw James take a mad flying leap toward Peter (who in his turn was helping prevent Deatheaters from entering the Longbottom house) and blocked his shot as best he could.
"I did tell you at your wedding that if you were so unfortunate as not to take my advice, you would not be so lucky if I had to make a second visit to you. Did you think I jested?" He shouted, hoping to distract James from his mission long enough for Peter to escape and run for help. They (the Order of the Phoenix) were clearly outnumbered here, as he'd tried to warn Albus they would be. The old man had a twinkle in his eye when he'd said 'things have a way of working out despite our plans… Neville is loved. We'll accomplish what needs doing with the numbers we have." Damn the man, Severus thought furiously now, his colleagues were being slaughtered all around him and Dumbledore could have prevented it!
"Get out of my way," James snarled. "Pettigrew's mine." A woman's screams were adding to the cacophony inside the house and somewhere, a baby cried. He was needed inside, he was sure of it; he could not stay here and baby-sit Peter Pettigrew. Snape devoutly hoped that the woman screaming was not Lily. He'd lost sight of her in the chaos, but she was somewhere in there fighting, he was sure.
"You are a fool, and soon to be a dead one," Snape muttered, attempting to pass James.
"Are you threatening me, Snivellus? You traitor! You lapdog of evil, just like Pettigrew!" Snape rolled his eyes. Potter could be so childish sometimes, and the loss of his child had clearly driven him half-mad. The battle was evenly matched on both sides, Order of the Phoenix members and Deatheaters and curses flying in the melee. James had Peter cornered, wand raised high. Snape hardly knew what he did; he threw a curse at James, not deadly but enough to send him flying. Time seemed to slow down, and Severus heard the "No!" wrenched from his own lips as if in a dream as Potter fell backward into the stray flash of green light that hadn't been meant for him at all. His body crumpled slowly to the floor. Suddenly, the noise and motion stopped all around him as a shock wave of strong magic rocketed through the house. There was a howl of agony that chilled the blood to hear it, then silence, except for the wailing of a baby. Deatheaters scattered, sensing a turn of the tides not in their favor. Severus pushed through the crowds of wounded and dying to see for himself. Neville Longbottom was still in his cradle, his parents having given up their lives to protect him. He had a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead. Voldemort was nowhere to be seen. It appeared that this small baby had defeated the most evil wizard in Britain. Snape scooped the baby up in his arms and spirited him away to see what should be done about his care.
"Severus, you don't have to hold the child as if it will break." Snape looked doubtful. The boy seemed fragile enough to him.
"Does he have other relations? Grandparents, perhaps?"
"Ah, yes. Indeed he does. A grandmother. Lovely woman, tough as steel. She'll take good care of him." Severus passed the baby off to Minerva McGonagall with relief. He had no idea how to take care of the child; she was a woman, she had nurturing instincts. Neville would be fine with his grandmother. Snape's Dark Mark had not flared once since the battle. He suspected Voldemort was severely weakened, but not dead. He would lie low and recuperate, waiting for a more opportune time to strike. Clearly he was so weakened that he could not call his Deatheaters to his side, a fact for which Snape felt immense gratitude to the young boy. Whatever Neville had done, it was of benefit to them all.
"Perhaps someone should retrieve the bodies," he hazarded discreetly to Albus, who inclined his head. Snape was not one of those sent to identify the dead. He had far too much explaining to do about young Neville. He could not help but feel that Albus was manipulating the poor child, just as he manipulated everyone around him. His plan had worked, and though the Order were important pawns in the game of chess he played against Tom Riddle, they were pawns all the same. Severus felt a pang of sympathy for the child. Neville Longbottom had a hard life ahead of him. But he was alive. He, a defenseless baby, had defeated the Dark Lord. They were already touting him in all the newspapers as the "Boy Who Lived".
It was an accident, only an accident, Snape repeated to himself. He had not killed James Potter. The man had brought it upon himself; the scent of another woman was upon him, and not the tracks of Lily's tears as there should have been while they both grieved for their son. A life for a life. That of an innocent man for that of a guilty one. It was the fairest assessment he could make, or James would have hunted Peter down like the rat he turned into, and Peter was, after all, faithful to his fiancée and his friends, as weak as he was. Peter simpered and thanked him and said he was forever in Severus's debt, and his sweet witch fiancée bombarded him with confectionary as a demonstration of her thanks. Snape shouldered them angrily aside, though he did admit to eating the cookies she baked for him. It was an accident that James fell into a Killing Curse, nothing more. Peter was adamant that Snape had saved his life.
"I didn't do it for you," he'd said coldly, wondering how Lily could ever forgive him if she knew what he'd done.
There was a mass funeral for all the Order members who'd laid down their lives to protect Neville Longbottom, and James Potter got a hero's funeral, which was more than he deserved. Severus kept his opinions to himself, however. It would not do to disrespect the dead. Lily wore widow's clothes. Her back was ramrod straight. She accepted condolences graciously and returned them, and she did not cry. It was raining outside, but after several hours of dwelling on death, the rain was preferable to the atmosphere inside. She stepped outside and saw Snape already soaked to the skin, hair clinging to his face, trying (and failing) to light a cigarette by cupping the flame around his palm.
"Severus?" She said quietly, moving to stand beside him.
"Yes?" He dropped the useless cigarette.
"Hold me, and whatever I do, don't let go." He obliged, since he could deny her nothing, and she sobbed into his shoulder for a long time, tears hidden by the falling rain. Eventually she quieted down and said, shivering into his shoulder, "I'm sorry."
"What for? Grieving? You've lost both a husband and a son." Never mind that Snape had been instrumental in the death of her husband. She would never ask, and he would never tell her. There were things that happened in wars; Lily knew that. For her own peace of mind, she would never ask.
"If Harry had survived, I would have lost them both anyway," she said cynically. "Look at that poor boy Neville."
"Poor boy? He's the only wizard we know of to have survived the Killing Curse. He ended the war, Lily."
"Yes, but he has no parents."
"His grandmother has volunteered to raise him. In a safe and undisclosed location. Until he turns eleven."
"He's not dead, is he?"
"What, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? I doubt it. But we have years before he'll strike again," he said as gently as he could. "Time to recoup our losses. Time to start living again."
"Yes," she said, and held his hand tightly. "I suppose so."
"Come on, let's get you out of this rain."
"Fine, but you're not taking me back in there. I am fleeing this funeral as fast as I possibly can. That body in the coffin isn't James anymore, and to put it quite plainly, it's freaking me out."
"Fair enough. Where would you like to go?" Lily brushed his sopping wet hair back from his face with infinite gentleness. She tilted her head thoughtfully.
"Wherever you're going sounds perfect."