CHAPTER 2: Occisor

The next morning, as Snape paced in front of his fireplace as he had done all night, he reflected that the castle was quiet enough for one to forget the events of the last night.

Severus had not slept, choosing instead to busy himself with his mind. He wasn't sure whether anyone even knew that he was here. Not that that wasn't what he had intended. Either way, the respite from the agony and restlessness of the last few days was breathtakingly welcome to him. Though he knew he would have to come out of his apartments at one point or another that day - if only to check on the remaining students, and primarily on Potter - for now he was enjoying the silence.

What future did Hogwarts have now? Students had died yesterday; teachers, too. He'd gotten word in the midst of the fire that Horace Slughorn had succumbed to Fenrir Greyback's attacks, and Madam Hooch was apparently on a hospital bed in St. Mungos in a deep coma. Though he'd never liked Slughorn and his more than ridiculous Slug Club, Madam Hooch's incapacitation pained him. She had been a good friend of his, a skilled dueler and an avid listener. Besides having been a Slytherin, she was a strong person, both morally and physically - one of the few Professors besides Dumbledore, in fact, that had not outright hated him. He would definitely miss their conversations and sweat-breaking duels. But, he reasoned, a coma was not a definite stop. There was always the possibility that she might come out of it. He hoped she would.

So Hogwarts was left with, at the least, two-less teachers. And Merlin only knew whether he would even be allowed to teach here again after what he had done. A single good action did not excuse a lifetime of servitude and evil, his mother would have said. Though they did all know now that he had been Dumbledore's spy in Voldemort's ranks, it did not change the fact that most of them had been living with the utter conviction that he was a traitor for years – and that, besides that, he had killed and tortured more innocents than he cared to remember. Most students - like Potter, Granger and Weasley - had been convinced ever since they had known him that he was a Death Eater and wouldn't hesitate to poison them first chance he got.

But now...now he wasn't sure what the future would be like for him.

The war was far from over. And now that he'd revealed where his loyalties lay, he knew he would have to hide - as much as he hated that idea. Voldemort would hunt him, would track him down like a prey. The man would have taken it as a personal affront for Snape to reveal that he was a spy. And, at least to him, killing the culprit was the only way his honor could be restored. If honor there had ever been.

Well, that definitely put teaching out of the way as an option for the near future. With a Dark Lord out to kill you, you couldn't possibly teach in a school as important and mediatized as Hogwarts and expect to get through the whole school year alive. And if that wasn't enough, he wouldn't only be endangering himself if he resumed his post as Potions Professor - for he was convinced that he would never again be entrusted with the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher - he would also be endangering the students and staff working with him.

Snape collapsed into the sofa nearest to him and hung his head. Hiding was his only option. But where could he possibly go? Who, on this planet, would be willing to welcome a man into their house, a man whom half of the Wizarding World's mercenaries would be after, a man with as dark and bloody a past as those who were after him, a man whose face was renown among the world for murdering Albus Dumbledore? Nobody, he resolved darkly. There was nobody in this world who would willingly let him into their house and protect him from the Dark Lord's spies and troops of murderers, and at the cost of their own lives. And either way, he couldn't leave Potter. Who knew when Voldemort would claim the boy for himself? Snape could not leave - not with the risk of losing Lily's son so close in tow. He wanted to be there when Harry Potter's body rose under the Dark Lord's impetus. If only to try and find a way to stop him.

It was with that resolution that Snape strode out of his living quarters, and headed straight in the direction of the Great Hall. Tomorrow might be the day that he would be forced into hiding, but today was the moment that told him where the rest of his focus was going - and right now it was going to all those who had died against the Dark Lord's minions.

The corridors he went through as he walked were far from the grandeur that they had previously held. The paintings and frames had been, for the most part, ripped off or damaged by stray spells or claws. Some of the walls had collapsed altogether, leaving wide openings that gave into deserted classrooms or even some on the outside. Drafts of cold wind blew in at intervals. Hogwarts was a halting ruin.

In the Great Hall, or rather what was left of it, he was surprised to see that there were very few people still present. Part of the Hall's magical ceiling had been taken down during the attack. The east wall had been partly blasted in, the house tables broken and ruined, the floor littered with debris and blood. The wooden remains had been moved out and burnt after the attack, and replaced with a single, square, heavy oak table, wide enough for about twenty people and surrounded by two benches and three unmatched chairs. The ceiling had been repaired, but the magic that had previously impregnated it was gone, and the Hall looked and felt strangely barren without the customary candles floating in the air.

Though he knew that most students had left during the night, he would have expected members of the press or of the Order to still be here. Instead, Snape found himself facing only four people; Hermione Granger and the three youngest Weasleys. The girl was asleep, her head in Granger's lap and half laying on one of the benches while the other girl sat in a chair. The tallest of the two other redheads was shaking with barely concealed sobs, his head buried in his arms and slumped forward on the second bench, his brother's hand rested on his back in an effort to comfort him. Very obviously, it wasn't working.

Snape had a brief floating moment as he remembered who the boy was and why he was crying. It struck him then that this was one of the twins who had made a dramatic escape from Hogwarts during Dolores Umbridge's period here. And that, the night before, on entering the castle after he had supposedly been 'killed' by Nagini, he had seen the exact replica of the boy – man – in front of him, pale and cold, lying with the rest of the Battle's dead.

Unexpectedly, Severus was hit with a spike of rage. Twins, separated. What kind of a world did he live in? Then he shook his head. That was no question to ask himself. He knew the world he lived in very well. It was a world where an infant could have his parents murdered before his eyes, a world where good men and women were tortured to insanity, a world where children were killed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, a world where teenagers just out of childhood – if at all – were required to take up arms to fight for what they believed in. A world where murder went unpunished when a killer was wealthy enough to insure his own safety. A world of pain and injustice - and one he had taken part in himself more times than he liked. For all he knew, it was he who had killed the boy's twin.

It was with this in mind that Severus walked forward, surprising the four friends out of their frozen, despairing stupor by his presence. It suddenly dawned on him that he had never approached any of them in one of their more private moments - and surely this was one of them. How bizarre must he look to them right now, striding forward to meet them, clad in his perpetual black robes, with the Great Hall completely empty apart from the five of them? And, whatsmore, when not twenty four hours before they had believed he was dead, up until the very moment when he had appeared out of thin air amidst them and saved their hero's life. If what he had done could be called 'saving'.

But then he was in front of the four young wizards, two pairs of eyes looking up at him, one of them amber and expectant and the other blue and wrathful. He didn't know what to say; comforting war victims was not the kind of criteria that Voldemort had asked of his Death Eaters.

But he had to say something. Anything. It didn't really matter. He just had to cut through the silence.

"My...condolences." After a second, he added, "Mr. Weasley."

What?! What was that even about? 'My condolences Mr. Weasley'? The boy - man, he admonished himself - had just lost his twin, his other half, and all he could find to say was 'My condolences'?!

Well, this definitely ranked high in the most pathetic moments of his life.

"Sir?" It was the girl, the one with the redhead girl's head still in her lap. She was clearly wondering what he was doing here, but when he looked into her face he was surprised with what he saw there. She was...hesitating. And though that in itself was not an uncommon expression to see when it came to her, she looked conflicted enough for him to know that she wanted to tell him something - something that she wasn't quite comfortable in saying.

"I - I wanted to thank you," she began, stuttering slightly, and his eyebrows shot up as she spoke. She was...thanking him? For what? This was one thing that had certainly never happened before!

"What for, Miss Granger?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"For what you did yesterday," she answered him, and her voice was more confident now, stronger. "For saving Harry."

Snape's eyes darkened at that. "I'm afraid your thanks are for nought."

Granger sat up in her seat, though she was careful not to rouse the sleeping girl, and the youngest of the two boys, the one looking at him with such anger, turned to look at the Potions Master.

"What do you mean, Sir?" the girl said, curiosity and confusion in her voice.

"Mr. Potter was hit by an Imperius." Ignoring the gasps this drew from the boy, he went on. "The only reason he has not already left to join the Dark Lord is that I have personally placed wards on his hospital bed, wards strong enough to rescind the Dark Lord's control over his body. But Harry Potter's will is broken. I did not save him yesterday, Miss Granger," Severus concluded in a tone that was close to a confession, "I only confined him to a life of servitude."

"You're lying." It was the youngest Weasley boy. At some point while Snape was talking, he'd stood, and now he was glaring daggers at the man, all thoughts of comforting his brother forgotten. "Harry would never let anyone do that to him."

Severus looked at the boy - for this was definitely a boy, and not a man - down his nose, fighting to contain the raging disbelief rising inside him at this stubborn refusal to see sense.

"This is not the first time I've heard you say this, Mr. Weasley. But do keep in mind that Mr. Potter, despite the prophecies and childish names that the public has dressed him up with, is nothing if not human. The Dark Lord is a powerful wizard – Harry Potter has only been learning magic for seven short years. He could not resist the-"

"But you don't understand!" the redhead exploded, throwing his hands up in the air as the girl watched him with a look that begged him to stop talking. "He wouldn't let that be done to him. Harry wouldn't give up. He'd never do that." Weasley challenged him with his eyes, his gaze daring him to contradict him.

Snape didn't disappoint.

"I believe you are the one who does not understand, Mr. Weasley. You cannot resist an Imperius curse. Whether you like it or not, you fall under the other wizard's control. There is no choice, no giving up. The moment the curse touches you, you have already been broken down." He didn't mention how he'd joined up with the boy to attempt to push Voldemort back. He'd failed, either way; mentioning it would not only have come to no end, but he would also not have been believed. And either way, Potter should never have been able to fight back, not even for a moment. Severus couldn't understand any of it, and was not about to tell them that.

"Ronald," the Granger girl interrupted what her friend was about to say, gently rousing the redheaded girl on her lap in order for her to be able to stand. The two girls got up shakily, and Granger closed in on the boy as his sister rubbed the sleep and weariness out of her eyes. "Ron," she said as she put a soothing hand on his shoulder, "Harry's under an Imperius. There's simply no way he could have resisted it. Sn- Professor Snape is saying the truth."

Again, the idiot looked about to start arguing when suddenly there was another hand on his other shoulder. "Ron, shut up. Don't let him think you're more of an idiot than what you actually are."

Weasley looked up, shocked, as his older brother, his face wiped of any evidence of tears, stared down at him and spoke the harsh words. Then the man looked up and met Snape's surprised gaze.

"I appreciate your concern, Sir. I will be sure to pass it on to my family."

And then he was gone, the echoes of his calm footsteps lingering after him and a shadow falling on his brother's shocked expression.

"George!"

And then he was alone with the Granger girl, as the two youngest Weasleys followed their brother out of the Great Hall and left her behind. Snape wasn't quite sure why she hadn't followed them; what good could she take from remaining alone with the dreaded Potions Master?

"Miss Granger," he said, "is there anything I can help you with?"

The girl took a step forward hesitantly, her eyes finding a sudden and tremendous interest in the tip of her black shoes. Her hands were clasped behind her back, attesting for her nervousness. "Professor Snape," she began shakily before he cut her off gently.

"Sir or Severus will suffice, Miss Granger. I am not your Professor anymore."

She nodded and looked up more confidently. "Sir," she tried again, because calling him by his first name felt too foreign to her tongue, "I meant what I said. Thank you." She paused, searching his eyes expectantly. "Really."

The corners of the other man's lips pulled up briefly in a sad smile as his eyebrows came together. "I can only repeat what I have already told you."

"And I can only do the same. You saved Harry. You saved all of us." She paused, and bit her lip, seeming to be stopping herself from saying something.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Yes? Is there something you wish to ask me?"

"In fact, Sir, there is," Hermione confirmed hesitantly. "Yesterday, when you were to – to Voldemort – you mentioned that a ghost's touch is one of the few things more powerful than a Phoenix's tears. Were you touched by a ghost? Is that what saved you? You were touched by James Potter's ghost where Harry summoned his parents, weren't you?"

The fact that she had figured this out so quickly went to show for her intelligence, and Snape was more than mildly surprised.

He really considered telling her everything at that moment. Confirming what she'd already figured out and putting her at peace as to where his loyalties lay. He really did. But a life spent keeping secrets and avoiding human contact got the best of him, and he did what he was used to doing. He attacked.

"Miss Granger, I'm pained to inform you that that is none of your business," he bit out sharply, "though I suppose with your never-ending curiosity you must be used by now to hearing such an answer." He ignored her pained and slightly offended look at that, – though he did feel a little guilty about telling her off when her enquiring had been rightful and justified – and continued, "I would thank you not to ask me – or anyone, for that matter – about things that don't concern you."

"But Sir-"

"No, Miss Granger, no 'but'. Please take your leave now, unless you find yourself in need to pose me yet another of your impertinent questions."

Snape raised his eyebrows at her expectantly, and the girl surprised him by wiping the hurt off her face and replacing it with disdain and fury. "Fine, Sir. If you truly wish for the world to remember you as the ever-loyal Death Eater which you have pretended to be all those years, then keep doing what you've always done. Now if you'll excuse me, I have better things to do than to attempt to forgive one who rejects any attempt at companionship and trust."

And then she was gone, angry footsteps echoing back to him and leaving him to waver on the spot, his eyes wide and his mind reeling.

He went back to his quarters after Granger left him alone. He didn't know what else to do. He didn't want to have to face Voldemort's snide comments at the moment, and wandering aimlessly around the castle was unproductive enough to get him convinced that he was better off returning to his rooms. No matter how unproductive that also was, it was more characteristic of him. And that way, he was less likely to meet with unwanted questions. Questions which he most likely would not be able to answer.

In no time at all he was back in the dungeons, his original goal to speak with Minerva regarding his near future forgotten as Hermione Granger's words swirled around in his head. She was probably right. Perhaps his loyalties were now public, but he hadn't changed his attitude to those around him. Those that now knew his true situation. It had been less than a day, and he'd already gotten on two people's bad sides, possibly more.

For the first time in many, many years, his quarters felt cold.

Severus had been pacing in front of his unlit chimney when he'd heard the knocking. It had started perhaps minutes before, getting gradually louder until finally he'd snapped out of his contemplative daze. He'd walked right towards the door facing the chimney. Perhaps it was because he was too shaken up, distracted by yesterday's and today's turn of events. Or perhaps he was still mulling over Miss Granger's words, or wondering whether or not it was him that had killed Fred Weasley. Either way, he did not think to cast a spell on the door to reveal who was on the other side. He did not think to even ask who was on the other side of the wooden panel. Had he asked, he would certainly have recognised the voice.

Yes, Severus Snape, for once, forgot to be careful. He forgot that his life was in danger. He was too busy thinking about someone else's safety. Too busy thinking about a certain green eyed girl with red hair. He forgot to be on his guard.

He opened the door.