A/N: I changed my mind—of course Hermione is not qualified to be an education minister if she's never taught formally, so I switched her over to the Welfare of Magical Creatures.

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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN — Returning

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Hermione and Neville led the troop of wizards returning from the Apparition point into the Great Hall. The Defence Party Caucus was a great success in Hermione's opinion. Though she still thought Harry was a bit young to be Minister of Magic.

"Harry really wants you in the magical creature department," Ginny said, bounding to Hermione's side.

"'Mione's probably tired of Harry asking," Ron said. "She might accept—"

"If he keeps pestering!" Lavender giggled.

Everyone was dressed in their finest for the February affair. Minerva was still a little flushed after all the Prophet questions, but, brave Gryffindor she was, "couldn't miss Harry Potter's political debut."

"I'm thinking it over," Hermione said, for the umpteenth time, as she unwound her scarf.

"Coming?" Neville asked from the Grand Staircase. The others sidestepped him to get to the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor towers.

"I'll be up in a minute."

Harry had invited Severus but the Potions Master hadn't even acknowledged it. Minerva admitted that somebody needed to stay behind so why not him?

Perhaps it was for the best after all—the Prophet hounded Pomona and tried to bully some information from Neville. Tonight was not only about Harry; the Prophet had been bribing schoolchildren for weeks trying to get a solid lead on the mysterious de-aging of the Hogwarts staff.

It was wonderful to see all the other Order members again, though it did remind Hermione of all the others that couldn't be there. Kingsley was dragged off every few minutes but invariably returned to Hermione's side after shaking the requisite hands. He wanted her as minister as much as Harry, but was willing to work around her schooling "as long as the opposing party plays nice, of course."

Politics would be dizzying, but Hermione really wanted to make a difference in the wizarding world. Magical creatures were abused every day. Or, if they were werewolves, were ostracized from the rest of the community. Hermione could give them a voice.

Hermione let her daydreams carry her to Severus' office door. She knocked like an automaton, hardly realizing her knuckles were meeting wood. Only when she heard no answer for a few minutes did she regain her sense.

"Severus?" she asked. She tried the door and found it unlocked. The lamp burned low on his desk.

A pool of black robes and black hair lay halfway between the desk and his chamber door.

Hermione loped to his side, checking for a pulse and any sign of blood.

He didn't respond—his jaw was clenched tight.

He was remembering.

Severus floated in the dark above Privet Drive with the other Death Eaters, waiting for Harry Potter. Only Severus knew there would be more than one Potter bursting from the Dursley household.

He clenched his broom, borrowed from the Hogwarts storage, wondering if Petunia was huddled inside.

A massive engine roared—a Thestral winged past—the Death Eaters whirled in confusion.

A few of them honed in on Lupin and Potter, aiming to kill. Severus slashed a Sectumsempra, slicing one black robe in half and cutting off Potter's ear completely.

He had not meant to maim anyone so permanently.

The stars shifted. He could breathe properly without the mask but his head throbbed. Potter, Granger and Weasley—all three of them hexed him at once. Oh how they would pay when he got ahold on them. Severus leapt out of the Whomping Willow, blinking furiously in an attempt to straighten his vision. He grabbed that rotten Potter by the collar.

Weasley was mumbling and pointing; something wasn't right. Potter and Granger were scared rigid.

The werewolf cracked his back, bared his teeth when Severus turned; his sharp, poisonous teeth.

Sirius Black lunged from the side, pinning the wolf down for a moment.

He knew letting Lupin teach was a terrible idea. But was he any better? Not even two years later he let Potter run off to the Ministry, leading to Black's death and a mass of scars on his little brigade, Miss Granger and Weasley bearing the worst of them.

Severus looked at the fainted lot as Poppy catalogued their injuries. For days the professor brewed, calculated dosages, performed time-consuming counter-jinxes.

Weasley lay flayed on the bed, pale except for the bright red welts on his arms. Beside him lay Granger, a deep scar across her chest. Madam Pomfrey explained the extent of the bruising on the girl's torso.

Severus paced around the headmaster's office, now his office. Those whelps had fled the wedding, fortunately. Severus threw a teacup at his bedroom wall when they broke into the Ministry. Every night for months he paced in front of the windows of his chambers, waiting for something, anything to happen outside while turning a helplessly blind eye to the Carrows inside.

Severus stared at the Pensive atop the ancient desk. Would he descend to an even harsher ring of Hell after he died? Or had he atoned? Had Lily forgiven him? Dumbledore's portrait levelled a pitying grimace at his back.

The dual pain in his neck crippled his vocal chords. The weight of Nagini pushed him into the wall and wrestled him to the floor. The snake kept her fangs deep in his throat, her venom and Severus' relief weeping through every vein and artery of his body.

He doubted Lily would be waiting for him on the other side, wherever that may be. He hoped he could get a glimpse of her every now and then, preferably without either of the Potters nearby.

His fingers felt cold before they lost feeling completely. His feet wouldn't move; his knees creaked like dried branches. His memories poured out of his tear ducts. Lily's green eyes hovered in his blurring vision. He was finally dying, finally done.

The professor let his head fall back.

Then he opened his eyes. The afterlife looked—disappointingly—like the ceiling of the hospital wing. His keen nose confirmed he was indeed in Hogwarts instead of dead.

Madam Pomfrey walked by, glanced at him, then did a double-take.

"Headmaster…" She hesitated. "Severus." She gave him the formerly-customary smile used after his return from Death Eater meetings. Clearly she knew of his allegiance to Dumbledore—clearly the Potter brat had laughed it from the rooftops.

"You're my last patient—it's about time you woke up." She flicked her wand towards the door. A silver moth fluttered away. "How do you feel?"

How do I feel? A speck of anger sparked in his stomach.

"Ah, well, best not to rush it, eh?" she asked when he didn't respond. She poured him a glass of water. "Your vocal chords should work now, but it's possible you'll sound different for a bit." She set the glass down next to a neat stack of Get Well cards and a pile of rolled parchments. "I just sent for Miss Granger. She was worried she may have caused a Dittany overdose," Poppy laughed. "It was her quick-thinking that saved you, young man. Or else you wouldn't still be here."

She patted his knee, skittering to her office as the doors swung open for Granger.

The spark in his gut ballooned into stone-melting rage.

The girl was skeletal, he could see that from here. He could also see his black wand in her scuffed hands.

"Professor," she began when she was near. She plowed through his silence. "I—I kept your wand in case…someone should take it while you were healing. But I think that mess is almost cleared up now." She carefully set it on the card stack.

Look at her, gaping at you, so stupid, so arrogant—

"I hope you recover quickly," she said, backing away.

"How dare you," he whispered, his voice a hiss of smoke. She froze.

"How dare you presume—I wanted nothing more than to finally die!" He clutched the bedside table to haul himself into screaming position. "I wanted peace! Can I never have peace?" he demanded. "Or what I want?" he bellowed.

She put up her hands to shield her face. In the background, Madam Pomfrey gaped.

"If you had any decency you would have let me die! You insufferable, pretentious—get out!" he screamed.

She kept a straight spine as she walked away.

"Get away from me!"

By the time she reached the hall, she was sprinting.

Poppy furiously stirred a Calming Draught, hoping to wrestle it into his mouth. She gripped his jaw, the brim of the vial at his lips.

Severus jerked from his dream.

Hermione was the one touching his cheek, staring down at him with frightened brown eyes.

He clutched her shoulder. "'Mione," he garbled.

"Shh—"

"I'm sorry—"

"You're okay, calm down—"

"Forgive me—"

"You're alright, Severus."

"What I said—I'm sorry."

She was confused. Severus relaxed his grip enough that she wouldn't bruise, but not enough that she could pull away.

"I'm sorry," he repeated over and over. He couldn't look at her anymore, after remembering. He pressed his cheek into her collarbone. "I'm sorry."