..O..

~ Chapter Three ~

Return for a Reason

...oOo...

The transition from his drifting state in his own personal... something to consciousness happened, it seemed, in the blink of an eye; his vehement internal scream of enough! had brought it about, and the return of his sight along with it.

The first thing he saw was a black boot.

His own boot, glistening slightly with a polished shine in the pale light that filtered into the boat house through the tall glass windows behind him. The boot – and his foot, inside – appeared to still remain attached to the his leg, and then to the rest of his body as it should.

That was promising.

Then he noted the presence of the vast amount of blood pooled around said boot, and around his body in general, which had darkened at the edges as it dried over the hours that he had obviously been left there for.

And that was not so promising.

He experimentally moved his foot, but couldn't even manage a twitch. He couldn't feel it at all... or anything for that matter – he felt incredibly light and pain-free, in fact. Wouldn't it be just his luck – or thanks to the terrible overseer of his fate – if he managed to live against all odds, only to be come a bloody full-body paralytic and from then on be barely able to do more than sit strapped-upright in a chair at St. Mungo's and drool.

Not at all a pleasant prospect.

… No, on second thought, that didn't make any sense. Even paralytics maintained some feeling in their bodies... and he had already accessed that he couldn't feel anything anywhere- he wasn't even breathing for goodness' sake! He felt nothing- actually, he felt cold, but that was about it. Perhaps he'd become a ghost and-

Then it hit him.

Oh...

Severus was a ghost.

Well... that was just bloody brilliant, wasn't it? A slave to two perfectly mental masters in life and now a slave to death itself. Had he really been such a bastard in life that he was never to be allowed peace in death? He was going to be doomed to haunt Hogwarts along with the Baron and Nick for all eternity... was there, perhaps, a snake-bitten league of ghosts, maybe like Nick's headless hunt, that he could join and compare battle-scars with to pass the time?

An endless amount of time.

His mind reeled at the thought... if he could still say he possessed a mind.

He didn't want time; he'd had far too much of it already – sixteen years more of it than he'd wanted, in fact. He had been ready to jump from a high altitude after Lily's death, before Dumbledore had pulled him back and given him a reason to keep on living, to repent for his mistakes, which had lead to sixteen years of unwanted time to torment himself through, to dwell on the past and the oh-so-many what-ifs. Time in which to save the lives of others, while he had no desire to save himself.

He wasn't aware that wishes could be granted in halves, but it appeared he had gotten what he wished for – to die – except fate had really missed the point of it, hadn't she? To him, the point of dying was to stop living, to no longer be a part of the living world. And that seemed to be exactly what he would be forced to do; watch life continue around him.

Well, he thought he'd rather be alive if that was the case. At least in life he would not be denied life's simple pleasures, as he would be now as a ghost – smell, touch, and taste...

If he was to be dead, he'd rather be properly dead and be gone, not continue on as a ghost.

And he couldn't help but notice that there was no small amount of irony in his predicament.

Severus was stuck in the middle once again.

It seemed that fate was, apparently, a bit of a sadist.

… perfect.

Severus was not sure how long he waited, though he was not sure what he was waiting for... but he gathered that it must be early in the morning, as the pale sunlight that reflected off the toe of his boots had become brighter. He could almost imagine the warmth of its rays... then an interesting thought occurred to him: If he was a ghost – and all signs pointed to that being fact – then, why was he still seemingly inside his physical body? Should he not be able to move about as the other ghosts of Hogwarts did? Wasn't this the moment when some kind of spirit-guide was supposed to appear before him and hand down the facts and laws of his existence, or something similar, as they did in muggle fairy-tales...?

What am I supposed to do?

He barely had a moment to ponder that last thought before a person walked- no- tip-toed into the boathouse.

Potter.

… he survived?

Did that mean the Dark Lord was still-

"I'm sorry, sir..." said Potter, a positively guilty expression on his face as the boy looked down at him, without directly focusing on him.

"I would have come sooner, but..." he trailed off, frowning, then shook his head, "Just- sorry."

Potter knelt down beside his body, removing his wand from his pants pocket and turning it over slowly in his hands.

"He's dead. Volde- er, sorry- the Dark Lord, I mean... I killed him- er, well, actually the wand did – it back-fired, you see, when he tried to kill me again... because the wand- the Elder Wand was mine, because I disarmed Malfoy, and Malfoy disarmed Dumbledore... it didn't matter that... that you killed him..."

The boy paused in his rambling wave of information for a moment.

"There was no reason for him to kill you, either. It was pointless. The wand wasn't yours to claim it from..."

What was Severus supposed to say to that? Thanks for informing me that my death was meaningless? Oh, right, he could say nothing, because he was- wait...

A ghost.

Shouldn't Potter be able to see him somehow?

He needed to figure out how to detach himself from his body, perhaps that was the issue... could he talk while he remained attached?

"I'm probably mad." Potter continued, unaware of Severus' internal disarray, "Talking to a dead guy... ha!" he shook his head again and looked away with a self-depreciating chuckle, which dissolved into something that sounded very much like a sniffle.

Severus didn't think he could handle it if Potter started sobbing over his corpse. And why was he talking to him anyway? Sure, Severus could hear him, but the boy certainly didn't know that!

It's stress, he decided. Post-traumatic.

Oh, well, here it goes... something simple- Ah!

"Potter." he said, that was simple enough. His own voice reached his non-corporeal ears, though he did not feel his lips move, dead or ghostly. Maybe he could only imagine speaking...

But the boy froze, and turned back to him, slowly, his brows drawn together.

Well then, not imaginary. Perhaps his could project his voice?

Potter looked baffled, "I think I really am going mad, I swear I just heard- no, no I didn't..." he stood abruptly and shrugged off his cloak, then pointed his wand down at Severus. And before he could utter another word, Potter muttered "Wingardium Leviosa.". Severus levitated off the ground.

"Sorry about this, sir." he said, then threw his cloak over his limp, floating body. It covered his face.

Great. With one word Severus had managed to make Harry-bloody-Potter doubt his own sanity. No more talking for him for now, then. He needed to get out of his body first – it wasn't as if he could use it any more anyway... though the thought of abandoning it made him uneasy.

But, how do I do it?

He meditated on it as Potter took him where ever it was he had to be taken; it wasn't as if he couldn't see where they were going with Potter's cloak over his head.

Scenarios formed in his thoughts; maybe he could pull himself out physically- or as physically as a metaphysical being could manage, at least. Maybe he had to visualise it; make a certain, conscious choice to be freed from himself and it would simply be in reality.

He attempted his theories as he floated along to his unknown destination.

None worked.

No matter how hard he tried to move, or visualise moving, he could not wrench his being from his body; not even a single finger.

A morbid thought occurred to him then, one that suggested that he could not remove himself from his body because of his body – Did it have to be destroyed? Cremated? Or laid to rest in some way or another... – but the thought was waved away quickly enough. Hadn't dear, old Binns appeared before anyone had even found his body? He'd merely woken up one morning and continued on his usual day without even realising he was dead.

Well, didn't that slaughter his theories on visualising his release? Binns obviously hadn't had to do any of that, or else he would have realised his ghostly predicament before turning up for his morning class and terrifying his students.

Binns' classes had been his 'unfinished business' so-to-speak...

Ah!

That was it! His unfinished business. Perhaps that would be his catalyst – his reason to leave his body. Now that he thought about it, it really made sense: Binns had his classes... Moaning Myrtle- her reason would have been... her need to moan? She would have wanted to tell people she died, the little gossip. And Nick... he'd wanted revenge for being killed- oh, and having his head nearly hacked off with a blunt axe...

Severus just needed to figure out what his reason was...

… but nothing in particular sprang into mind.

This was going to take a while.

...oOo...

Harry was feeling particularly ill by the time he reached the entry hall once more, with Snape floating eerily in-toe. Not so much for reasons that would have been thought of first by anyone else with a dead man hovering nearby, but because Harry had managed to frighten himself for a moment...

He had been talking to Snape, which, considering the man's condition, was not really a trait held by someone who was completely stable.

Then he had been so, so sure that he had heard Snape's voice... and for just that one second he'd thought that Snape was- no, he hadn't thought anything of the sort; the man was dead. Simple as that. Dead men didn't speak, and they certainlydid not come back to life.

But, when the realisation had reaffirmed itself that it was not possible for him to hear Snape's voice, his mind had strayed, for one tiny moment, flitting through his memories – memories of the Resurrection Stone. And the thought that anything was possible...

But it wasn't possible!

What was wrong with him?

Harry stood there silently, in the entry hall, his tumultuous thoughts consuming him far more than he would have thought they were able to. Full of whys and ifs and maybes, all coloured darkly by his own confusion and pain.

And in the midst of the all rest, a question prodded him insistently; why was Snape's death affecting him so much more profoundly than anyone else's? It was as if he had some kind of tangible connection to the man that had both tormented him endlessly, and yet had bravely protected him so selflessly, for so very long.

He could feel that familiar pressure building in his chest again, to the point that he felt he might well crack straight down the centre of his chest.

"Harry?"

Harry's head whipped around to see Hermione, standing in the doorway of the Great Hall. Her teary gaze lingered on the prone figure of Snape beside him before looking Harry in the eyes with a silent question of: 'Are you okay?'

He honestly didn't know if he was alright or not.

"I'm fine." said Harry, giving himself an internal shake; he could question himself further later, in private, and break down too if he felt the need, as he felt he might do soon. No reason to offload his dark mood onto Hermione...

"Are you sure, Harry?" said Hermione, taking a step towards him, "You really don't look-"

"I'm fine, Hermione, really." Harry tried to mollify her, "I think I just need to sleep a little more... after I go to the hospital wing with-" he gestured to Snape.

Hermione bit her lip, worrying at it, "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No! I mean- no. It's alright. I'm fine." Why did he have to sound so much like he was trying to convince himself of that?

He made to walk to the marble staircase, when Hermione's voice pulled him back.

"Harry-" he looked back to her, and she swallowed noticeably, "You know you- that you're allowed to- I mean, it's- It's alright to feel what you're feeling, Harry... you know that, don't you? It's okay. Just please- please- don't shut me- us- out... not like last time... with Sirius..."

Harry's heart clenched at the mention of that name, but he forced a smile, "Thanks, but I really am-"

"You're a terrible liar, Harry Potter."

Harry smiled in spite of himself and turned away quickly, so she didn't see it break a moment later.

"Thank you, Hermione." he mumbled, surprising himself by how suddenly hoarse his voice had become, and walked away hurriedly.

It didn't feel right to burden her with his inner-turmoil over everything – he didn't want to burden anyone, when they already had their own demons to deal with for the moment.

Maybe that was one of the reasons he had talked to Snape in the boathouse earlier – it was a means for him to offload just a little without making a nuisance of himself to anyone, and to Snape in particular, because, if the man was alive – after being considerably affronted by Harry blubbing to him – he would doubtlessly have told Harry something along the lines of: "Suck it up, Potter, and get on with it, because it's going to get worse before it gets better."

… he could almost hear Snape's voice again.

...oOo...

Granger had done it.

At least Potter was not sobbing on his chest, he was thankful for that. And he still couldn't see him either, thank Merlin. It was awkward enough listening to the boy's faint sniffles and haphazard gait as he walked along – headed to the hospital wing, he'd heard. Severus assumed that was where his body was to be placed for the time being – it was almost painful to listen to; Potter was obviously quite distressed. It couldn't be only because of Severus' death, surely?

No, there had to be more to it than that.

A door creaked.

"Madam Pomfrey?" Potter's strained voice reached his ears again, calling out softly.

There was no reply.

Potter muttered a low oath and small click signalled the closing of the door once more.

Slow footsteps seemed to echo loudly in the absolute silence of the room.

"You can stay here, Professor." Potter whispered, and Severus heard the rustling of fabric near to him.

A moment later, his sight returned when Potter removed his cloak from his face, and Severus found himself staring at the arched, white ceiling of the hospital wing... and Potter's haggard face.

Potter made a sound- Severus wasn't sure how to describe it- and the boy whispered a string of spells, most of which sounded very much like cleaning charms.

"That's better..."

Ah, Severus must've looked a fright considering the way he had died. Potter had cleaned him up.

He didn't know how to feel about that.

Then, in a movement that surprised him even more, the boy lifted his hand to touch Severus' face, and closed his eyes with his thumb and index finger.

He swore he could feel the boy's touch.

But now he couldn't see again. Why couldn't he see anyway? It wasn't like he was using the eyes in his body!

His complaints were instantly silenced when he felt – and he was sure he really felt it this time – both of his hands being grasped.

Warmth. That was it, not the touch itself as such, but the warmth of it, and the heat spread from the point of contact like hot liquid through his non-existent veins. It shot up his arms until he was fully aware that he did indeed still possess the limbs, while before they had felt like the they weren't there; a mere memory of their existence.

Potter arranged Severus' arms so his hands were clasped over his chest, but the boy remained still for a long moment after with one of his own hands placed over Severus' two clasped ones.

"I was wrong." said Potter, softly, tightening his grip for a moment then removing it all together.

The warmth remained without the touch, still spreading like warm treacle through him, though it began to fade slowly as the moments ticked by.

What could that be?

The sound of Potter's retreating footsteps told Severus the boy was leaving, the creak of the door was heard once more...

Then Severus was suddenly being dragged across the hospital wing, leaving his body behind.

…oOo...

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