I hold it to be the inalienable right of anybody to go to hell in his own way.
Robert Frost
Severus Snape sat before his hearth enjoying his life's keenest pleasure. A bottle of Odgen's sat to his right and perched upon his knee was this month's copy of 'A Posse Ad Esse.' The Latin might be commonplace but it was renowned for the absolute best articles on new experimental potions, with a few breakthrough charms occasionally gracing the pages.
He wasn't sure what it said about his life, that this was the highlight of his month. But he didn't really care either. It was, well, nice to know he wouldn't be summoned in the middle of an article. He was free of both the megalomaniac and the chess master.
His life was small now, but he was content. He had never expected to survive the final battle, let alone to walk away from it with a full pardon for the atrocities he had committed, and an Order of Merlin to boot. Severus Snape still didn't understand what brought Kingsley to do it. It had cost the once revered wizard his position as Interim Minister. It seems the Ministry was all for having a War Hero calm the populace, so long as said Hero had absolutely nothing between his ears.
Naturally, Dawlish had become just the man for the job. Who could deny the long serving Auror who had faithfully served in not one but two Wizarding Wars? No one seemed to mention the time he'd run afoul of Augusta Longbottom. Still, the Ministry's stupidity was simply a constant of the Universe and failed to surprise him in the least.
After he was released from the Hogwarts infirmary, his first action was to burn down Spinner's end. It hadn't been as cathartic as he'd imagined, but it was a fitting ending for the hovel. He knew he could have sold it, for a pittance at least, but he couldn't bear the thought of a wizard buying it simply for the novelty attached; 'Home of the Traitor' - or spy, depending on the sympathies of the buyer. No. He was determined to see the squalid house go up in smoke.
The insurance company had been very generous. It was, after all, a Muggle property, and the stodgy company assessor didn't need much convincing as to the priceless medieval books contained inside the wreckage: A fairly simple Confundus Charm did the trick.
The cottage he'd acquired in its place was more than modest. Indeed Minerva, who insisted on periodically checking up on him, was shocked at the Spartan appearance of his new home. With only two rooms, it did strike one as a mark of poverty. Until, of course, they entered the basement. It put the dungeons of Hogwarts to shame. The extension charms had taken him a full two weeks, and now the lab was at least twice the size of his actual house. He'd sectioned it off, with half dedicated to his mail-order potions business, and half used entirely for his own research.
His research, he had to admit, was stagnating slightly. He'd had several research projects in the back of his mind ever since the Dark Lord's 'miraculous' return. He had tried to set them in motion again, but he simply couldn't muster the motivation. It was as much as he could do most days to get out of bed and fetch a bottle of Odgen's. He ignored all correspondence and his mail order business had a total of three independent customers. Narcissa, Minerva and Poppy. All of whom simply harassed him from the Floo Network when they needed a potion brewing.
But he was content. Everyone else left him alone. It was how he liked it. Sighing deeply he flicked open the journal and took a sip of the whisky.
A sip he promptly splattered all over the magazine. Growling, he perused the now-sodden article. A smiling picture of Hermione Sodding Granger waved up at him, unruly hair somewhat damp from his outburst. He read the article a full three times before he took any of it in.
How dare she.
The irony was almost cruel. The Article: The refinement of Dittany through magical decantation, would earn her an instant reputation in the Potion community. The breakthrough was seemingly unheralded. Never before had such an idea been published.
There was a reason for that though; Severus Snape had been too busy saving the fucking Wizarding World to get around to it. He'd come across the idea the Christmas of 1994. Searching to see what items had been stolen from the potions storeroom; he had come across a bottle of dittany that some foolish dunderhead had left the lid off.
Oh but he had written the idea down, saving it for eventual research. He'd scribbled it in his old potions textbook. It was the nearest bit of paper. And he knew for a fact that the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Stick-His-Fucking-Nose-In had gotten his hands on that book in his sixth year. Meaning know-it-all Granger had probably gotten her claws into it. Heaven forbid there was a book she hadn't read.
Severus clenched his fist around the tumbler of whiskey, slowly counting to ten to placate his rage.
Sipping his drink, he poured over the article critically.
Hermione Granger, lauded as the brightest witch of her age and member of the famous Golden Trio, is currently employed as an intern in St Mungo's Experimental Magicks Department. Her mentor, Healer Erik Sullivan has declined to comment on his assistant's breakthrough, but we understand from St Mungo's administration that the research is entirely Miss Granger's personal work.
Entirely her personal work, indeed! Severus's scowl deepened as he read on. At the bottom of the article, Granger herself was quoted.
I myself have had first-hand insight as to the limitations of Dittany, and I felt the world needed a better alternative. I'd like to thank the Weasley family for supporting me throughout my research, and Professor Severus Snape who, as the Potions' Professor at Hogwarts, taught me so much.
Severus felt his fingers turn numb, so tight was his grip upon the glass. His brow furrowed and he desperately struggled to maintain his composure. All attempts at clearing his mind eluded him as dark outbursts shot to the forefront. She had taken his personal research! Then dedicated it to him! And how long had she known of this improved formula? Since her sixth year? While they were on the run? Well before she saw fit to drag him, kicking and screaming, to the world of the living and mar him irreparably?! First hand insight as to the limitations of Dittany? Oh first hand all right. The impudent wench!
Setting the glass of amber liquid to the side, Severus drummed his long slender things along the arm of the chair. He would weather this. He was Severus Tobias Snape.
Stop this now you foolish old man. You know why you're angry. You'd had this idea for years and were too useless to do anything.
You just hate Granger for saving you.
Severus scowled at the fire's dying embers.
Coward, you wanted to die.
That slip of a Gryffindor has accomplished more than you ever could.
You don't even care about the scars.
Severus stance remained stiff as he held back the seething wave of rage. It would not do. He would show the arrogant know-it-all.
After all, she had no right.
Just as she had no right to save his life and no right to remind him of how he had wasted it.
Damn her.
