A/N: Thank you for the lovely reviews – Fifiotoole: here's even more :)

To Snape's relief, walking up and down the stairs several times a day, sometimes only for the practice, brought positive results. His bouts of dizziness became fewer and farther between, and he was elated to find that after returning from the bathroom on the third day of his exercise routine he no longer needed to catch his breath. Even the pain in his throat seemed to be receding: he could now speak without the urge to wince after every word, and his voice was starting to sound more and more like its old self.

On the fourth day he was already feeling strong enough to actually venture outside, and so he had Luna take him to the garden pond and show him the wondrous Moon Frogs that had saved his life. He found it fascinating that, apart from the fact that they glowed, they were no different from common frogs, which was a small miracle considering they were native to the Moon. He could not help but wonder what sort of magic had transported them into the Lovegoods' garden. After both his trials were over, he would ask Luna, if she was still willing to speak to him, to let him take a few specimens home to his private laboratory.

Yes, the trials. Pleased as he was to be making a speedy recovery, it also meant that he could not put off informing the wizarding world of his existence for much longer, as much as he would have liked to. Although he was still feeling a little guilty about stealing Luna's bed and making her sleep, as he had learned, on a camper bed in her father's bedroom, he had quickly grown used to living in the bubble of happiness that was the Lovegoods' home, which was why he was understandably not too eager to leave it.

Sadly, though, leave he had to, and so once he had gone for two days without any dizziness at all, he knew the time for procrastination was over. It was therefore with a heavy heart that he once again thanked both father and daughter for their care and hospitality, said his goodbyes and Apparated straight to the visitors' entrance to the Ministry. After all, why postpone the inevitable? The sooner he got this business over and done with, the sooner he would know what his future held.

Thus, without further delay, he determinedly stepped into the telephone box that would take him down to the Ministry, and dialled the correct number, and it was then that the anxiety he had been trying so hard to suppress while staying with the Lovegoods finally caught up with him, hitting him like a truck. As the family did not subscribe to the Daily Prophet, he was kept virtually in the dark regarding the happenings in the outside world, relying only on the snippets of information that Mr. Lovegood (or Xeno, as he had been asked to call him) brought home from his hunts for sensations. That Kingsley Shacklebolt had been unanimously elected the new Minister of Magic. That Antonin Dolohov had been given a life sentence in Azkaban. That Pius Thicknesse, having been under the Imperius Curse, had been cleared of all charges. Regrettably, no news had reached him about his own standing in the society, just as he had no idea what had become of Lucius. It was this ignorance that frightened him. The fact that he could just as easily be pardoned as sent to Azkaban. And though he prided himself on his fearlessness, the prospect of being at the mercy of the Dementors did terrify him, just like everyone else. Due to his training he might last longer than the average man, but he had no illusions that eventually even he would be driven to insanity.

However, there was no turning back now. After stating his business (wondering if the mechanism would even let him in, considering he was, in theory, a dead man), he was given a badge, and a moment later the telephone box was already moving down, giving him the feeling of being trapped. He took a few deep breaths to calm down, but did not have time for much else, for all too soon the ride was over: the lift had arrived in the Atrium. Blinding light assaulted his eyes as the door opened, and he had to allow himself a moment to adjust before he stepped out. Not glancing left or right, he made directly for the security desk, hoping he would not attract too much attention before he reached it. The Atrium was exceptionally crowded, which was only natural given the recent events, so there was a good chance he would be able to blend in with the throng without being noticed.

Fortunately, those waiting in line to be checked at the security desk either did not know his face or were too preoccupied with their own business, so it was only when his turn came and the security guard raised his eyes to look at him that he got his first – predictable, under the circumstances – reaction.

"P- Professor Snape!" the guard, whom Snape recognised as one of his former students, Matthews, stammered, looking as though he had seen a ghost. Which, to be fair to him, was actually not that far from the truth.

"Indeed," confirmed Snape. "I am here to see the Minister."

"But ... but you are-"

"Alive, as you can see," Snape provided helpfully. "Do you wish to see my wand?"

To emphasise his words, he immediately pulled it out and offered it to him.

As if in a daze, Matthews accepted it and dropped it on a brass instrument with a slit in the base. A narrow strip of parchment came sliding out, which Matthews took with a shaking hand.

"Perhaps you would also like to scan me, to ensure I am not carrying any dangerous items?" Snape hinted further, considering Matthews had obviously temporarily forgotten what his duties were. He also reached over to take back his wand, but it was at this moment that Matthews seemed to finally overcome his shock, for he suddenly turned around and yelled, "Guards! Over here! We have an impostor!"

Two wizards in uniforms with a dark red strip of fabric around their left arms immediately came running towards them, seizing him roughly by the shoulders and wrestling his wand out of his grasp. Resigned, he did not protest, knowing he would only make it more difficult for himself if he did. He would get to see the Minister in the end, one way or another. Therefore, he obediently allowed himself to be shoved towards the lifts, hoping that once he was safely detained, he would manage to convince the guards to let him see someone who would be able to confirm his true identity.

Then again, maybe he would not even have to wait that long, as at that moment the golden grilles of the nearest lift slid open, and he found himself staring into the stunned face of Harry Potter. Reflexively, Snape tensed as well; after all, the last time he had seen those green eyes was just before he thought he was about to die, and for a split second it really felt as if he was reliving the moment all over again, but he quickly willed it to stop before it got out of hand. Whatever emotions the boy stirred in him (and there were many), there was no doubt that meeting him here was a godsend. Not only was he the perfect person to help him in his current situation, but if he could subtly find out how the boy felt about him after seeing his memories (how he felt about it was another matter entirely; if it was at all possible, he would avoid the Gryffindor for the rest of his life out of sheer shame), he would also know whether or not he could count on his support during his potential trial.

Staring at him as if in a trance, it was a few seconds before Potter finally managed to find his voice.

"P- Professor?" he choked out, much in the same way Matthews had.

"Yes, Potter, hard as it is to believe, it is, indeed, me," said Snape patiently, already resigned to the fact that this was probably not the last time he would have to deal with this kind of reaction. "I have come to see the Minister. However, as these gentlemen seem to think me an impostor, I would appreciate your help proving them wrong. Ask me something only I would know."

Potter, however, did not appear to hear him.

"It ... it can't be you," he shook his head, bewildered. "I was there. I saw you die."

"You thought you saw me die," Snape corrected him. "Did you even check my pulse?"

"N- no, but-"

"Well, Miss Lovegood did. She found me, took me to her house, nursed me back to health. Thus, here I am. I can show you the puncture marks which the snake's fangs left on my skin if you do not believe me."

And, without waiting for confirmation, he pulled back his collar, revealing the still red scars on his throat. Potter made a sound as if he was choking, but the desired effect had been achieved: his stupor seemed to have gone.

"It ... it is you," he whispered. "You're alive!"

"You have always had a flair for stating the obvious, Potter," smirked Snape. "However, I would still advise you to ask me something nobody else can know. If I were an impostor, under the effects of Polyjuice Potion, the scars would prove nothing."

"Right," nodded Potter, and Snape could almost feel the effort it cost him to get his stupefied brain to think of something suitable. "So, um, what did you call my Mum out there by the lake in your fifth year?"

Snape pursed his lips. Of all the questions the idiot could have asked...

"Mudblood," he said stiffly.

Potter nodded again, still looking as if he was having trouble believing his eyes, but at least he seemed to have enough wits about him to turn to the guards and say, "Leave him. He's with me."

The word of The-Boy-Who-Did-In-The-Dark-Lord-For-Good, or whatever they called him these days, obviously carried some weight at the Ministry now, for the two men, who had until then been silently observing their exchange, not daring to interfere, merely muttered "All right, Mr. Potter", handed Snape back his wand, and then left without as much as a hint of protest.

"We can go and see the Minister now," said Potter, motioning for Snape to enter the lift. "I was just on my way down from his office, so I know he's free at the moment."

Snape inclined his head in way of a thank you and stepped in, followed by Potter and three other wizards, who had crowded up in front of the lift while they were speaking. As the lift started moving, Snape noticed the boy still staring at him, open-mouthed, as if he was seeing him for the first time.

"Kindly cease gaping, Potter," he admonished him. "You look like a fish out of water."

With a start, the boy promptly closed his mouth.

"Sorry. It's just that ... it's kind of hard to believe, you know?"

Suppressing the urge to keep humiliating the Gryffindor to feel less awkward about the encounter himself, Snape decided to take pity on him; if the boy was willing to speak to him, which, thus far, it appeared he was, it would not do to rekindle the old flame of hate with insults.

"That is understandable," he said. "I, too, had trouble believing it at first."

"I'm sorry we didn't check if you were really dead. We should've. To think that we just left you there..."

He rubbed his eyes as if he was about to cry.

"You had more important things to do. Taking care of me would have only held you up."

"Yes, the memories-"

But at that moment Snape held up his hand.

"Perhaps it would be wiser to continue this conversation in a more private setting," he suggested, meaningfully glancing at the other wizards in the lift who had, meanwhile, taken to gazing at the pair of them with unfeigned curiosity.

"You're right," agreed Potter. "We're nearly there, anyway."

They spent the rest of the way in silence, only speaking again once they were out in the corridor leading towards the Minister's office. Unlike the crowded Atrium, it was deserted, and Snape immediately jumped at the opportunity of being given a rare moment of privacy.

"Tell me, Potter, what has become of the other Death Eaters?" he asked. "The ones who did not perish in the battle, obviously. Have they all been tried yet?"

"Some of them. Others are still awaiting trial. And a few managed to disappear when they saw Voldemort die, but the Aurors are hunting them down. Why?"

"I am merely gathering information," Snape replied evasively. "I have been somewhat cut off from the outside world for the past several days."

This effectively distracted Potter.

"You were at the Lovegoods' this whole time?" he inquired incredulously. "Mr. Lovegood never mentioned you when he interviewed me."

"The Lovegoods were kind enough to let me recover first before I made my existence known. If I was to be tried like the other Death Eaters, I wanted to regain my strength to ensure I would not collapse in the middle of the court room."

There. By making it sound like an offhand comment, he would get to hear Potter's thoughts on the matter without actually asking (and thus sounding as if he cared).

Thankfully, Potter did not disappoint.

"But ... you're not a real Death Eater!" he exclaimed. "Why should you be tried?"

"You are right; in theory, I should not. However, not everyone may see it the way you do. The question is, does the Minister feel the same?"

Potter frowned. "Is that why you're going to see him? To find out?"

"Indeed. I have concluded it might help my case if I came of my own free will."

"I'm sure Kingsley will be reasonable. We haven't actually spoken about you much, what with everything else going on, but I did tell him I knew for a fact that you were on our side all along, and that the information you gave me just before you died ... well, you know what I mean ... was what ultimately helped me to defeat Voldemort."

"So you did not show him the memories?"

"There was no need to. Even Ron and Hermione only know bits of them. I didn't think you'd like me sharing them with anyone else. I know I wouldn't, if they were mine."

Despite his dislike for the boy, Snape could not help but feel just a little touched by his consideration. He would be damned if he let it show, however.

"You thought me dead, Potter," he said patronisingly. "Even if you had shared the memories with the whole wizarding world, I would not have been in a state to care."

They had reached the door to the Minister's office by then, but Potter made no attempt to enter. Instead, he turned to face him, obviously eager to finish sharing what was on his mind undisturbed.

"I know, but still," he said with a shrug. "It felt disrespectful to your memory. And I ... I do respect you. What you've done was brave. Nobody else could've fooled Voldemort for as long as you have. We got tons of information thanks to you. Even when you were dying and in pain, you only cared about helping me defeat him. I feel stupid now for always thinking the worst of you when you were only ever trying to protect me."

Although he had always been starving for appreciation, which nobody, besides Luna, had ever given him, when it now came he found he simply did not know how to deal with it. He had learned to accept compliments from Luna, that was true, but to suddenly hear recognition from Potter, of all people, felt as surreal as if Longbottom told him he had got an 'Outstanding' in his Potions N.E.W.T.S. That was why he eventually reacted in the only way he knew how: with a biting remark.

"As you very well know, Potter," he growled, "I did it for your mother, not for you."

Potter, however, seemed adamant about getting his point across and stood his ground.

"Maybe, but you protected all of us, not just me. You didn't have to do that."

"Are you quite done with the flattery?" sneered Snape, who was starting to feel distinctly uncomfortable with where the conversation was heading. "Loathe as I am to say it, I am rather starting to miss the old Potter, the one who questioned everything I ever said or did. At least I was never in any doubt what to expect from him."

Potter gave an exasperated sigh. "If it makes you feel any better, I still can't say I like you. But ... I'm glad you're not dead. You spent most of your life protecting everyone around you, but now, with Voldemort gone, you can finally go and do whatever you like. I know I will. It sure is a relief not to have Voldemort breathing down my back all the time."

"Whether I have the opportunity to do what you say largely depends on the Minister," said Snape, glad to be given a chance to end the conversation without making it look like an escape. "Shall we, then?" He motioned towards the Minister's door.

"All right, sure," nodded Potter, turning towards said door and giving it a knock. "Stay here a moment, OK?"

With a hint of his earlier apprehension, Snape watched him disappear into the Minister's office, his words still ringing in his head. He still could not quite believe what the boy had told him. Reluctant as he was to admit it, it made him realise something he had been refusing to see in all the years he had taught him, despite both Dumbledore and Luna frequently pointing it out: that Potter was certainly not like his father.