The Fallout

0o0o0o

The Legilimency had to stop.

Severus decided this at his desk as he tried and failed, for the fifth time, to read the opening paragraph of a seventh years' Potions essay – but the words wouldn't sink in. He pushed the essay away, and let his head fall into his hands.

The fatigue was returning – it had been for weeks – and it was getting worse, but for now he put it to the back of his mind.

"Siobhán, leave it! The English soldiers–!" BANG!

Casey's words from her memory still rang in Severus's ears – he couldn't shake it – it made him feel sick. Obviously a stunning spell hadn't been what had killed Siobhán, so it must have been a Muggle weapon, and Severus could only think of one that would've made that noise: a gun.

His Muggle father Tobias had fought in the Second World War, and when Severus was growing up they still had his father's uniform and medals and his rifle in the house. He'd never seen Tobias use the rifle but he'd described the war so many times – the trenches, the crossfire, the bullets, the dead soldiers – that it couldn't be any other weapon.

Severus knew next to nothing about the conflict in Northern Ireland – when it had started in earnest he was already in Hogwarts, trying to push away any thought of the Muggle world. But he remembered the Troubles getting worse and worse on the news during the seventies. All he knew about it was that, like any war or conflict, it was the civilians who suffered the most. Clearly, Casey was among them. He could not begin to imagine the trauma she must have suffered her entire life.

He pushed Tobias out of his mind and stood up from the desk – which was a mistake, because he immediately felt dizzy and feared his legs might give out. He clutched the side of the table, stabilising himself until the dizziness had left him, and then he walked over to the lit fireplace and stood in front of it.

As he warmed his hands from the flames, that same realisation hit him again: the Legilimency had to stop, or he would lose Casey completely.

0o0o0o

Neasa had lots of photos of Siobhán, but only brought one to Hogwarts. It was a still one, coloured, and it showed them at the Giant's Causeway in Antrim – Neasa was nine, and Siobhán was fourteen. The older was on summer holiday from Bríd, the Irish wizarding school.

Now, as she held it delicately between her fingers, a tear fell from her eye onto the photo and she hastily wiped it away, hoping Dumbledore hadn't noticed.

Too late. He had – he pushed a box of tissues across his desk, and she took one.

"Neasa… I know how you must be feeling about Severus," he said.

Neasa dabbed her eyes – her mascara smudged.

Dumbledore leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, and said, "What he did was unacceptable – but understandable."

Neasa started shaking her head, but Dumbledore continued:

"He only wanted to know why you were protecting Draco. He wanted to know what you were afraid of. It wasn't his intention to see Siobhán's death. I know Severus, and I know that he isn't like that – he wouldn't use Legilimency against you unless he thought it absolutely necessary. Unless he thought you were hiding something."

"That doesn't make it okay!" Neasa said, her voice cracking. "I've thought enough about Siobhan's death! I didn't want to be reminded of it – not by the man I–…"

"The man you…?"

"I consider my friend. I thought I could trust him," she whispered.

A smile crossed Dumbledore's face, one which looked almost proud, and he said, "I see certain people's remarks about Severus have not tainted your image of him. He's a naturally suspicious man – and I think you know, in your heart, that if you were in his position you would've done the same."

Neasa sniffled.

"If you've been able to forgive Siobhán's death, then I think it should be easy for you to forgive Severus for what he did."

Now Dumbledore's tone changed serious, and he added, "I'm afraid I must ask this – and I hope you understand when I do… Did Severus see Róisín?"

"No," Neasa said, shaking her head. "I was able to hide that before he did."

0o0o0o

Even though Neasa wasn't talking to Professor Snape – and had avoided him all Saturday – it didn't escape her attention that he wasn't at the staff breakfast table on Sunday morning, and neither was Madam Pomfrey. So after breakfast she went to the hospital wing and found Madam Pomfrey in her office; the nurse told her Snape was very ill and was confined to his bed for rest. Neasa deliberated with herself for a good hour about whether to visit him or not – and in the end she found herself drifting in the direction of his room, her Sunday Prophet under her arm.

She knocked on the black door; after a few moments a faraway voice called, "Come in."

Neasa stepped into a small lounge with a stone floor and a large, dark green rug. By the window was a small dining table and chairs, and to the right some armchairs, a small sofa and an unlit fireplace. Through a door to the left she saw a small kitchen, next to two other doors leading to a bedroom and bathroom.

The most noticeable thing was the sheer amount of books in the lounge – one entire wall was filled with volumes of various thickness and sizes, like a small library. It was clear that an academic inhabited these rooms. A newspaper and some Potions essays lay on the empty coffee table. The stonework was grey, like her room, and the curtains were white – most of the furniture was either brown or dark green. It was pleasant, but not really homely.

She stepped through to the adjoining bedroom, where Snape lay on a large bed directly to her right – he wore a grey dressing gown and the cream duvet was pulled up to his chest. His hair was a little tousled, and he was very pale.

"Miss Casey," he said, surprise in his voice. "The rumours of my illness have spread, then?"

"I only noticed your absence from breakfast," Neasa replied.

"Did you?" he drawled to himself, and reached for his wand. "I'll just draw you a chair–"

"Allow me, Professor – you're ill–"

"Which does not inhibit me from performing magic," Snape said pointedly, and moved a chair closer to the bed.

"May I ask what happened?" Nasa asked as she sat down, with a steelier tone than she'd intended.

Snape was still lying on his side, facing her – he was glaring at the bedside cabinet.

"Severe fatigue," he said, enunciating every syllable with disgust. "Poppy won't allow me to leave this bed until I can stand without feeling dizzy. She wanted me in the hospital wing – but I would lose my mind, cooped up in there for days with sick students."

"When did it start?" Neasa asked.

"Early this morning. I was in the staff room and I fainted when I stood up – Poppy looked after me."

Had Neasa been the bedside cabinet she would've run a mile from Snape's glare.

"Why did you come?" he sighed.

"I only wanted to know you were alright. If you want to be alone to rest, I'll go."

Snape finally dragged his eyes away from the cabinet and looked at Neasa for a long moment.

Then he said, rather humbly, "I owe you an apology for what happened on Friday."

Neasa crossed her arms.

"It was wrong of me to use Legilimency on you – I'm sorry."

She saw genuine remorse in his eyes – it was unmistakable. She quietly replied, "Everything is forgiven."

"The issue with Draco is… forgotten about. I promise." Snape hesitated. "I... I have trouble trusting people. I... have been hurt – a lot – in my lifetime, and... I should not have cornered you in the way that I did. I should have respected your privacy and believed you when you said you had nothing to hide. When things don't make sense... I need to find the answer. I need to keep digging. Sometimes, people get hurt, and I'm sorry that you were one of them."

Neasa slowly nodded her head in understanding. "I know how that feels, Professor. I can't say that I have not done the same before."

"I hope that what happened has not tainted our friendship and I want you to know that... if you ever want to talk about what I saw – in your own time – I'm here for you, Miss Casey."

Neasa replied softly, "It was the most traumatic thing that has ever happened to me. It... in a very fundamental way shaped who I would become as a person. I will tell you about it when I'm ready, Professor."

Snape was about to speak again when the sun peeked around the corner of the window, sending a bright stream of light right into his eyes – he flinched and turned away, using his hand as a shield.

Neasa pointed her wand at the curtains and they shut, and Snape relaxed.

"Just don't let on to any students why I'm sick – I don't want to be a laughing stock," he muttered.

Neasa took a moment to take a look around the room. It was warmer than the lounge because the fire was lit, and there were fewer books in here – they all sat on a shelf next to the window. Opposite the window were a wardrobe and a study, with another small bookshelf.

Snape said, "You brought your paper."

Neasa fiddled with the edge of the sheet and it tore a little.

"We usually do the Sunday crossword together – I just thought…"

"Today isn't a good day," Snape said, "I'm not allowed to read until it stops giving me a headache."

"I could speak the clues aloud?"

He made no sign of protest, so Neasa unfolded the paper and began:

"One across – 'American Ravenclaw' – eleven letters."

"Must be the Ilvermorny house of Thunderbird."

Neasa wrote it in, and then read again: "This is easy – 'Irish Hufflepuff' – seven letters."

"Munster?"

"You remembered," Neasa said, smiling. Snape returned it.

Together they completed the crossword by midday, when Madam Pomfrey came to check on Snape. She bustled around him, reminding him not to do anything that involved effort and call if he needed, and offered to bring him lunch, which he declined. Then she made him sit up, pushed a glass of water into his hand, relit the fire and left.

"She's a good nurse, isn't she?" Neasa asked lightly.

"I had the misfortune of interrupting her when she was treating a student – I nearly ended up a patient myself," Snape muttered, putting down the glass, and Neasa laughed.

"You're exaggerating."

"I am," he smiled, "she's a very good nurse."

After a moment of silence Neasa cast her eyes at the bookshelf again, squinting to read the titles but they were too far away.

"You keep looking at the shelf," Snape said.

"Sorry, I'm just curious–"

"It's quite alright," he flicked his hand dismissively, "have a look, if you like."

Neasa stood up and circled the bed to stand in front of the shelf, taking in the volumes.

She could see quite a few by Bahilda Bagshot, including Hogwarts: A History, and a number on the history of magic in Britain and Europe and North America. As well as that there were a large number of books about potions and a few on the Dark Arts too – all academic texts. On the middle shelf was a collection of the only Muggle-written books on the entire shelf – the original Sherlock Holmes stories.

Another spine next to The Hound of the Baskervilles caught her eye – a faded blue one with black, handwritten lettering which said: Essays on Potions and Potion-Making — Severus Snape.

"You're writing a book?" Neasa asked.

"Ah, the essay bank – I've been writing in it for a few years – I'll publish it one day," Snape said. "Bring it over, I'll show you."

Neasa carefully picked up the large notebook and carried it over, and Snape shuffled left and wordlessly patted the empty spot on the bed with his hand.

Neasa took it as an invitation to sit next to him, which she did, as he started skimming through the book.

"I realised about four years ago I've made quite a few insights and discoveries that are worth making a record of, academically – so I wrote up my notes to make them understandable, at least to me."

There were a number of essays already written, each with their own title and supporting references. His cursive handwriting was incredibly neat, and he even included some photographs of the potions clipped to the pages.

"My last essay–" he skipped to the end "–is about that healing cream I used on your cut on Friday – I invented it."

"You invented it?" Neasa asked.

"Well – Poppy helped. The Slytherin Quidditch team wanted something that acted faster on scars than what Poppy had in her stores – so I set about creating one. I've also written another essay comparing the affectability of the one I invented with the ones available to us beforehand."

"Well, a man with your talent…" Neasa trailed off, and added, "You never fail to impress me, Professor."

Snape might have tried to hide his flattered smile behind his hand, but the corners of his eyes were creased.

0o0o0o

That evening Neasa visited Professor Snape again, and found him sitting up in bed with a plate of dinner on the duvet.

"I brought you hot chocolate," she said, holding up the cup. Snape motioned for her to take a seat next to the bed again.

She gave him the chocolate and he took a sip, and said, "This is excellent – did you–?"

"Oh – no – it's from the kitchen elves," she said.

"Sure? I could swear this was made by you – it's that sweet."

"Are you calling me sweet, Professor?" Neasa asked, smiling.

"You are – you didn't have to bring me chocolate – you didn't even have to visit me this morning," said Snape.

"I care about–…" Neasa had been about to say 'you' but thought that was too forward, so she said instead, "About not letting what happened Friday… get in the way of our friendship."

A smile flicked across Snape's lips.

"How are you feeling?" Neasa asked.

"Not well enough for work tomorrow – some of the others have agreed to cover my classes."

"How did it start?"

"I told you – I fainted–"

"I mean – what made you feel so fatigued? Overworking?"

Snape chewed his lip, took another sip of chocolate and replied, "Something like that. Nothing to concern you, Miss Casey."