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All Beneath the Full Moon [COMPLETE]	By : Onkoona Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 9163 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Chapter 4

Friday, January 16th, 1998, about 3:30 pm.

It had been an hour or more before Wizard's Councillor Augustus
Erskine, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Felicity
Dunsmore and Headmistress Minerva McGonagall finally made it out of
the Ministry of Magic on their way to find Severus Snape - Potions
Master and currently the accused in a Death Eater trial - after he
had been taken following the man's dramatic collapse in the
Wizengamot's Court Room.

The trio directly set off for St. Mungo's while Erskine and
Felicity went back to their office to request and await news through
official channels and McGonagall decided to personally take the
Headmaster's portrait home to Hogwarts for safekeeping.

As Harry, Hermione and Ron made their way through the crowded
lobby of St. Mungo's to the reception desk, Ron drew Harry's
attention by calling out, "Hey, Neville, Luna, what are you
doing here?"

Harry turned around to look at where Ron was looking and saw a
chipper looking Luna, in a green woolen dress, with yellow ribbons in
her yellow hair, and a subdued looking Neville, wearing dark trousers
and a blue sweater with a red and green line around the collar and
cuffs, walking their way towards them, arm in arm. Harry was
momentarily startled by how odd they looked in clothing other than
their Hogwarts uniforms, until he remembered that not wearing
a uniform is the norm for most grown-up people. And yes, Luna with
her top three buttons on her dress opened, showing considerable
cleavage, and Neville with a fresh hair cut, sporting not altogether
fashionable sideburns, really did look grown up.

When the two reached them, Luna said in her usual sing-song voice,
"Neville here has just visited his parents and this morning I
had a feeling I ought to be here. Maybe there is a Nargle in distress
in one of the wards." She nodded to herself and added, "Yes,
I'm pretty sure that's it."

Well, Luna even grown-up doesn't change much, Harry
thought. He refrained from commenting out loud and instead asked,
"Neville, how was your visit?" Neville looked up from
looking at the floor, said, "Fine," and lowered his gaze
again.

Harry remembered his visit to St. Mungo's at Christmas in 5th
year. He had been there with Hermione and the Weasleys to visit Mr.
Weasley after the man had been attacked by Nagini. He remembered how
they had stumbled on the Permanent Spell Damage Ward and had met
Neville and his gran, visiting Neville's parents. At the time he
hadn't been able to pay much attention to the event, but in
retrospect it had been heart-rending seeing Neville's mum like that.
And Harry could understand how Neville would feel a little down right
after visiting today, so he quickly changed the subject.

"We're looking for Snape," he said. As a change of
subject it wasn't great, but at least Snape was not a person Neville
was very attached to, in a positive way anyway, so it was safe
enough.

"Oh?" Neville asked, visibly perking up already. "Wasn't
he due in court today?"

As the group queued to get to the reception desk, Harry and
Hermione gave the two newcomers the ultra-short version of events.

"So when he fell off his chair, I caught him as well as I
could," Harry almost smiled as he saw the look of revulsion on
Neville's face at the thought of touching Snape, "And he was
just burning up with fever. So I called for help and the Chief
Warlock called for a Healer and the next thing I knew, they had him
on a stretcher leaving by a side door I hadn't even known was there,
and Dean took off right behind them."

Before Harry could draw a much-needed breath, Hermione picked up
the story seamlessly, "And then we tried to follow but the door
had closed behind Dean and it disappeared. We were told that it was a
special emergency door that leads directly to St. Mungo's and that
only Healers and Healer's apprentices can go through it. That's why
Dean got through. We came right here after that. Took us nearly an
hour to get out of the Ministry, there were that many reporters
there!"

By the time Hermione needed to breathe, the group had reached the
head of the queue and a witch in a pink robe with a pointy hat to
match, asked, "And what can I do for you, my luv?"
directing her watery blue gaze at Harry.

"Severus Snape, please," Hermione said economically. The
witch twirled her wand and answered, "Ward 7, follow the Orb,"
just as economically, and a small pink Orb appeared from beneath the
counter with the number 7 blinking inside of it. It floated off to
the left and Harry said, "Thank you," as the group made to
follow it. "You're welcome, luv," came from behind his
back, as he had already turned away.

The pink Orb was apparently in a hurry, because the group had to
work hard to keep up with it without breaking into a real run. Their
Hogwarts education had taught them that running in the hallways was
not even an option to be contemplated. And every one of them
remembered the detentions served with Filch for forgetting that basic
rule.

"Ward 7?" Harry heard Neville say beside him. "That's
the Squib Ward, isn't it?"

Harry stopped moving so suddenly, causing Ron to run straight into
his back.

"Oi, mate!" the redhead said.

"Sorry," Harry automatically apologized as the rest of
the group caught up. Then he turned to Neville and asked "Are
you sure?"

From the corner of his eye Harry could see the Orb had stopped
moving some ten feet ahead of them, while Neville rubbed his chin and
said, "Pretty much, yeah. That's what I've heard it being called
for all the years I've been coming here."

What the H was Snape doing in the Squib Ward? An uneasy
feeling crawled up Harry's spine; something was very, very wrong. He
exchanged a look with Hermione and saw the same unease in her light
brown eyes, a frown marring her face.

"Well, come on, let's go find out," he said and started
walking in the direction the orb was moving.

oqpodboqpo

The Pink Orb took them down several flights of stone stairs, down
a very long, low-lit underground corridor - even though they were
straight and were painted white, the walls were moist to the touch -
before bringing them to a surprisingly Muggle-looking stairwell with
a steel staircase spiraling up. Up they went, spinning 'round more
times than Harry remembered having to spin going down the stone
staircase to Severus' office down in Hogwarts' dungeons, making it
the tallest winding stairs Harry had ever climbed.

Once they reached the top they were deposited on a clean concrete
landing - walls still painted white, the floor painted grey - and
looking at a heavy door that was painted in a bright Muggle-toy-type
blue and which had a thickly varnished wooden plaque on it, that
said:

'St. Mungo's Ward 7

Beware of Muggles

Remember the Magic Secrecy Act

Keep wands out of sight in the hallways at all times

By order of the MoM.'

The text of each line had been individually sized so
that the entire text looked like a rectangular block, without
indentation on either side: very official looking.

Harry looked over at Hermione just beside him, giving
her an annoyed look, 'pompous asses'.

She shrugged, 'they're idiots, what 'r you gonna
do?' back at him.

He moved his wand theatrically from his outer robe
pocket to his inner and observed the others rearranging their wands
so they were out of sight, but not out of reach.

Once everybody was ready he nodded and put his hand on
the door handle's cold steel and pulled open the heavy door. He had
to step back to give the door room to swing open and reveal another
white hallway with grey floors and many doors on either side, this
time brightly lit.

He stepped through the door and walked a few paces into
the hallway, hearing the others join behind him. He was just taking
another step forwards when the first door on the right opened and a
young woman in Muggle clothing - lavender blouse and brown skirt -
hidden under a typically Muggle doctor's white coat came out. She
even had a stethoscope draped around her neck. Harry stopped in his
tracks, suddenly acutely aware his own - and everyone in the group's
- attire was far from typically Muggle.

"Good afternoon," the doctor greeted them.

"Uh," Harry stuttered. "Hi," he
tried, feeling as lame as the phrase sounded.

The lady doctor seemed to be totally unaffected by
either the group's looks or Harry's lack of conversation skills as
she said, "Welcome to Bethlem Royal Hospital."

"'Bedlam'?" Ron said, sounding shocked.
'Bedlam'? The notorious insane asylum, that Harry used to read
about in one of Dudley's discarded books? They'd been led to a Muggle
madhouse? Why?

The lady smiled and corrected him, "'Bethlem'. But
this hospital was indeed called 'Bedlam' in the past, so the
confusion is understandable."

Her smile, as reassuring as it was probably meant to
be, did not reassure Harry in the least. He knew for a fact that if
Snape even was here - and Harry very much hoped he was not - the
doctors had better keep the man doped up, because the eruption of
sheer malice that Snape would spew at them if he found he had been
brought to a Muggle loony bin would easily melt these nice clean
white walls!

Maybe she saw Harry's thoughts reflected on his face,
because the Muggle doctor added, "Don't worry; this is also the
location of St. Mungo's Ward 7." She indicated with an elegant
hand for them to start walking down the hallway. As Harry started
moving automatically, the others' footfalls following, she continued
talking in an informative tone that very much reminded him of
Professor McGonagall leading the first years to the Hogwarts' Great
Hall for the Sorting Ceremony.

"Bethlem's and St Mungo's have had this shared
Ward for nigh on two hundred years now. Ward 7 to us Muggles is a
place where patients can be helped by Wizarding techniques like
potions and some spells. In exchange we treat those members of the
Wizarding society that for some reason can't be helped by Wizarding
medicine," she explained.

"Squibs," Neville said behind Harry, the word
almost sounding like a question.

"Yes 'Squibs' as they call them, but also wizards
that have lost the protection of their magic," she informed
them.

'Lost their magic'? Was that what had happened to
Snape? The thought was chilling; being a wizard without magic,
could there be anything worse?

The doctor abruptly stopped at one of the doors on the
right hand side of the corridor. "Since we have only one wizard
patient at the moment, I do assume you've come to see Mr. Snape,"
she said and stepped aside so the group could gather at the door.
Harry gave his friends another look before opening it, fully
expecting to be met with a very angry Snape, once they got inside.

oqpodboqpo

As it turned out he was wrong; it wasn't a pissed-off
Potions Master he found himself dealing with but an absolutely irate
School Nurse.

No sooner had Harry entered the sick room - white walls
with dividing curtains drawn aside to show a large Muggle steel bed
frame with Muggle bedding and Snape lying absolutely still in the
middle, his face as white as the sheets and his black hair spread
like an ink stain on the pillow, mouth covered with a plastic mask
with a hose that led to a grey machine that went BEEP-BEEP-BEEP in a
high-pitched rhythm, with Dean sitting on a steel chair at the far
side of the bed looking miserable and Madame Pomfrey sitting at the
near side with her back to the door, just in the process of turning
round - when the Nurse spotted him and shot up from her seat and
shocked Harry by positively stalking towards him. In his life he'd
never thought he'd see someone as dignified and professional as the
Nurse usually was stalk at him and most especially not with that
look on her face.

"Mr. Potter!" she said in a volume that
bordered on yelling. Harry started to back up as she drew her wand at
him. "Do you have any idea what you have done?!" She
continued her advance on him and all he could do was back away some
more and mutely shake his head; he honestly had no idea.

Just as Harry was about to back out of the room and
into the hallway, he heard a firm female voice behind him saying,
"Healer Pomfrey, remember the rules!"

Harry stood stock still as he watched Madam Pomfrey do
the same, looking at him quite grimly. Getting Pomfrey really
angry might just be just as bad as pissing off Snape, Harry
couldn't help but think the almost random thought.

The stalemate continued for a while longer but then,
just as Harry's legs were starting to cramp with his strained pose,
the School Nurse stepped back and made her wand disappear into her
white robes. She gave him a classic 'You're in deep trouble, young
man,' look - must have learned that from McGonagall, Harry
mused - and said, "Come with me, Mr. Potter."

Harry shrugged his shoulders as he decided that he did
not believe she would really hurt him, well, not permanently anyway,
and that following her might get him some answers. Merlin knew, the
day so far had yielded none at all.

oqpodboqpo

In absolute silence Madam Pomfrey had taken him across
the hallway and a little way onwards through a door marked '15B,
Consulting Room'. She let him step into the small room first before
following and closing the door after herself. Harry felt a whoosh of
magic: silence and locking spells.

The room was as white as any of the rooms in this
hospital seemed to be. It had a window with thin white drapes closed
across it and a brown padded table with a long strip of white paper
that came off a roll laid over it, pushed up against the left wall.
To the right was a desk with a chair behind it and one in front.
Harry knew at least so much that he, not being a doctor or healer or
simply 'in charge', took the one in front while Madam Pomfrey took
the one behind the desk.

This of course left Harry with his back to the door,
but with his friends no doubt waiting in the hallway, he wasn't too
worried about that. No, he was more worried - and curious - as to
what he could have done to make the otherwise unflappable School
Nurse so angry she'd lost her cool. But first he needed some answers
of his own.

"Ma'am, how is Professor Snape?" he asked,
remembering just in time to use the man's title, even if it was no
longer correct.

Harry could see the question had startled the Matron
but his heart sank when, after the surprised look, she gave him one
of suspicion.

"Please, Ma'am, how is he?" Harry pleaded.

He could hear her sigh, her face softening and take a
breath to answer with, "He's dying."

'Dying'?

"He's suffering from a severe inflammation of the
lungs, what Muggles call pneumonia. The Muggle drugs don't seem to
work and with his magic all but gone, he's unable to rid himself of
the disease magically," she continued, sounding defeated.

'His magic all but gone.'

"But that's impossible!" Harry yelled. "How
can he have lost his magic? When..." But then he realized when
it might have happened. When he had felt that splurge of warm magic
flooding him, just before he had fired that Spell Ball at Voldemort.
Harry felt ice run down his spine; had he used Snape's magic to cast
that spell instead of his own? And worse: had Snape known that that
was going to happen?

"You didn't know, did you?" came from across
the desk. Harry pulled his thoughts together and shook his head.

"Tell me how this could happen?" he asked
breathlessly.

"You'd better tell me what you did to make it
happen," Pomfrey said giving him an accusing look.

"I can't, I promised not to tell," Harry
whinged.

Pomfrey pursed her lips and said, "Yes, that's
exactly what Mr. Thomas said." Harry could only give her a shrug
as a response.

"Mr. Potter, can you at least tell me if you are
the one who Marked Professor Snape? You have my oath I will not tell
anyone," she asked after a long pause. Harry gave a single nod.

"I see. Then I think I can tell you what
happened," she said, shocking Harry.

"You used the professor in some Dark power ritual,
to kill the Dark Lord, most probably. Am I right?" she said
sharply. Harry again nodded; that was it exactly.

"How did you know?" Harry asked.

After her sharp words and even sharper look, she
suddenly deflated. "Severus will most probably never talk to me
again, but as he's dying I don't suppose it'll make much difference
if I tell you," she said in a sigh. She sat forward in her chair
and continued, "I know because I've seen this before. The loss
of Severus' magic I mean, not the pneumonia," she added.

'Six times', Harry remembered. Six times.

"What?" Pomfrey sounded shocked. "How do
you know that?"

Harry was startled and then realized he'd voiced his
thought out loud. Well, in for a penny... "Professor
Snape told me," Harry confessed.

"I see," Pomfrey said, leaving a long silence
in the wake of her comment.

Snape had lost his magic because they'd done the
ritual. Snape had done such rituals six times before and had had his
magic after that, hadn't he? But Harry remembered hearing - in class
or from Hermione - that once a wizard lost his magic it couldn't come
back.

"So, if Professor Snape," - nice save,
thought of his title just in time - "has lost his magic
before and it came back, it should come back now, shouldn't it?"
Harry asked, needing that to be true, needing Snape not to die
without his magic in a sterile white Muggle hospital; the man didn't
deserve such an insult, for all his nasty attitude.

Madam Pomfrey sighed again and said in a defeated tone,
"For even a person who has the ability to grow back his magic,
it takes time, time Severus simply doesn't have. At the moment his
body is fighting to stay alive and it has no energy left to recharge
his magic."

Time? Magic growing? Dying! Disease? Time! All
of a sudden Harry's head started spinning with questions and magical
theories and death and Snape and...

He stood up so fast the metal chair legs screeched
across the floor behind him. "Look," he started, leaning on
both arms on the edge of the desk. "I'm no good at this sort of
thing. I want you to tell all this again to Hermione; she's got the
smarts to understand this and she stands a much better chance
of thinking of something." He stood up and lifted his chin.
"Because I'm not going to let Snape die without a fight. And
that's a promise."

oqpodboqpo

Getting Hermione in was the best thing he'd ever done,
Harry realized very quickly. Because she had been at the ritual and
she had the right savvy and background knowledge - from having
researched the ritual and from just being Hermione - she could ask
better questions and better interpret the answers.

After she and Pomfrey had been speaking
incomprehensibly for over half an hour - some terms Harry recognized
from Arithmancy class, some from Potions and some from Charms -
Hermione finally deigned to clue him in.

It seemed that a normal wizard had his magic all the
time. When he used magic, he wasn't actually using his magic, but
more the energy of his body. His magic would stay the same but he
would be tired. And if he used a lot of magic, he'd be very tired. It
was even possible to use so much magic that the wizard simply died of
exhaustion. That was the usual situation.

There were ways to take away a wizard's magic, leaving
him permanently weaker in magical ability. These ways were all Dark
and pretty much all forbidden. They were also incredibly difficult
and took a lot of energy, as the magic itself was very tightly bound
to the wizard. And, apart from weakening the wizard a little, it
wasn't very profitable for the one taking the magic, since it would
just evaporate when leaving its owner. So these kinds of spells were
seldom used; certainly Hermione had not come across a case in the
last 300 years in her research into the origins of magic.

Hermione then proceeded to tell him of the much more
rare cases of wizards whose magic was fundamentally different. These
wizards could (be made to) donate their magical ability and then grow
it back inside themselves. She did add that the existence of such
wizards was mentioned as merely a legend in her books and so she had
not continued reading in that direction. She now suspected that Snape
was one of those wizards.

At this point Harry started to become exasperated that
they were doing nothing to help the man; they really didn't have time
for research.

oqpodboqpo

Harry was standing by the side of Snape's bed, looking
down at the mask-covered pale face, Snape still dead to the world. He
was standing there with his hand out as if frozen in mid-action of
reaching to take Snape's hand. At the same time he felt the desire to
take the hand, he also felt it wasn't his right. The indecision froze
his pose as if in a deadlock.

Hermione had left some hours ago in a huff - Harry's
fault for losing his patience; he had never been good at long
explications - but about half an hour after she'd gone, Dean had
passed him a note from her that said she was researching the problem.
Harry found himself immensely grateful to his oldest female friend.

He was startled out of his thoughts as he heard Snape's
breathing become irregular and the man's body started to spasm, as a
coughing fit hit and was hindered by the mask over the Potions
Master's face. Behind him, Harry heard the door open and he stepped
aside as Madam Pomfrey rushed in and took his place. He kept quiet as
he saw her perform the same Lung Clearing Spell, "Videlicet
Pulmo Obduco," he had witnessed a dozen times now. After the
Spell ended, Snape - still insensate - settled down and the Muggle
machine that had started beeping like mad throughout Snape's ordeal
settled back to its steady beeping.

Harry checked his watch as he saw Pomfrey move over to
the foot of the bed, unhook the patient chart from it and scribble on
the Muggle paper, using a Muggle ballpoint pen, after unclipping the
pen from the metal chart base. Again Harry noted that the interval
between coughing bouts had grown shorter by another minute and a
half. He looked over at Pomfrey, who caught his gaze. Not good.

oqpodboqpo

When Hermione came back some hours later - at nearly 10
pm - and laid out to them what she saw as the only option, they had
another row with Madam Pomfrey. But in the end both Harry and
Hermione insisted that this was a choice to be made by those who
would be taking part and by them alone. Madam Pomfrey had then
pointed out that Snape would be participating too and what about his
right to choose?

To this Harry could think of nothing to say, save
perhaps that he was not willing to let Snape go, but as he couldn't
even explain to himself why he felt like that, he could hardly use it
as an argument.

Hermione said that since they could not ask the
professor, they should assume he'd want to live and that the
suggested ritual would only take a small percentage of each
participant's magic, nothing more.

Harry furthermore said - and meant it - that if no-one
showed up for this - which he doubted - he would do it himself, even
if it meant the loss of most of his own magical ability. They owed
the man. He owed the man.

oqpodboqpo

And so Hermione sent out numerous owls that night and
pretty much the entire DA showed up at 9 am the next day, ready at
least to listen to the plan. Only three people left after Hermione's
explanation. Harry couldn't really blame them; the plan did call for
each and every participant to lose up to five percent of their
magical ability permanently. Setting the limit of five percent was
the compromise they'd had to make with Madam Pomfrey; she absolutely
refused access to Snape if they planned to go higher, and from
Hermione's calculations, up to five percent loss was not really
significant in people of their age, as their magic would be growing
for another decade and it would be enough to make the
difference for Snape. Hermione could even produce some statistics
that such low losses did 'grow back' in adolescents, which seemed to
give Pomfrey some peace of mind, at least.

Anyway, most of the DA agreed to take part and the
ritual itself was no more difficult than learning another chant and
standing hand-in-hand chanting for an hour every day for as long as
it took.

So every day, starting from that day, the DA gathered
at 10 am, linked their hands forming a large circle of people that
looped around the room and into the hallway - Harry and Pomfrey set
up an authorized invisibility curtain to prevent them from being seen
by Muggles; a standard protocol at Bethlem it seemed - with Harry
standing on one side of Snape's bed and Hermione on the other, both
with their wand points touching the only parts of the man that were
exposed to the air except his face: his hands.

That first day, the chant and the power that was
generated made Harry feel oddly drunk as it passed through him into
Snape. It was halfway through that he suddenly got the irresistible
urge to move the wand up and he did so, gliding the point up the
potions-stained hand, up the wrist, catching the edge of the white
hospital pyjama sleeve, sweeping it up with the movement and
uncovering the very edge of the Mark. Just as the wand touched the
Mark, Harry could feel an obstruction to the flow of magic - an
obstruction he hadn't even realized had been there - give way and
suddenly the magic flowed a lot faster. Madam Pomfrey, who was
carefully monitoring the loss of magic on the group with some very
complicated sounding monitoring Spells that kept updating a piece of
parchment that she consulted, called a halt to the ritual quite soon
after that.

That first day had proved to be a success; after the
others left, Harry and Hermione stayed to look over the results with
the School Nurse. Harry elected to stand by the bed and look at
Snape, who looked just a little bit better to Harry's untrained eyes,
while he let the ladies figure out the hard stuff so he could hear
the short version later.

This time Harry did feel he had a right to take the
unconscious man's hand and he did so after pulling up a chair. Snape
lay so still and was so pale, Harry couldn't help but feel, well, he
wasn't quite sure what he felt. Sympathy? Regret? Pity? No,
the Snape Harry knew would never accept anyone's pity, so it wouldn't
wise even to think that.

But 'regret', yes, Harry felt that keenly. Regret that
the man had had to go through the ritual that had stripped him of his
magic. Regret that Snape, as thanks for his invaluable help, had then
had to go through a grueling trial. It was then that Harry realized
the man would have been without his magic at the trial; the thought
horrified him. As did the knowledge that the loss of magic had
happened to the Potions Master seven times now. A sudden surge of
protectiveness crashed over Harry and he reaffirmed again that it
would never happen again. He swore it on his deepest magic.

oqpodboqpo

It took ten days. Ten days of daily magic transfusions,
as Hermione called them, to get Snape out of danger. And all it cost
them was about three percent of their magic, some of which grew back
in Harry and Hermione in the next five days. Later Harry heard that
pretty much all of it had grown back in the others by the time Madam
Pomfrey examined them when they all came back to school.

Harry was the only one who spent the rest of each day
at his former teacher's bedside. He couldn't explain why, but he just
felt comfortable there, even felt needed in an inexplicable way.
Madam Pomfrey was around for the first few days, but once the Lung
Clearing Spell was no longer necessary she left to go back to
Hogwarts; after all, school was still in session.

The trio had been staying at #12 Grimmauld Place, but
after the ten days were over Hermione decided she wanted to go back
to school properly and not hop back and forth as he had been doing,
so she could try and catch up on the year's lessons. Ron openly - and
Harry in his thoughts only - called her a fool and they had an
emotional parting, leaving the two boys alone in the Dark house. And
as Harry spent his days at the hospital - surprisingly really
enjoying the quiet - Ron seemed to have fun enough exploring Muggle
London on his own, telling Harry all about it in the evenings. And
Harry was not short on news from Hermione because she wrote every
day, pages of happiness that she was finally back in school, doing
her favourite thing: learning.

All in all Harry felt like this was the best time he
had ever had. The only thing that marred it was that Snape still
hadn't come out of his stupor, making Harry realize he was actually
looking forward to a proper old-style tongue-lashing from the
cantankerous old Dungeon Bat.

Harry lowered his book and looked over at the peaceful
sallow face with its beak-nose framed by the now not so greasy jet
black hair. Well okay, maybe not 'old'.

oqpodboqpo

In all the time that Harry spent sitting by his former
teacher's bedside, only two visitors came to see the Potions Master.
The first was Miss Dunsmore on the Tuesday after the trial.

It was just after Harry had finished watching Madam
Pomfrey feed a still insensate Snape a bowl of bland looking porridge
she'd spiked earlier with at least three different potions and Harry
had finished his own brought-in lunch of sandwiches, and the place
had once again gone quiet, that Miss Dunsmore quietly opened the door
to the sick room.

Harry automatically put the bookmark in the spot he'd
been reading, closed the book, put it to one side and got up from his
chair. Obviously distracted by his movement, the witch moved her gaze
from the bed to Harry and after a moment of surprise, she smiled at
him.

"Hallo Harry, fancy meeting you here!" she
stage-whispered smilingly and walked over to join him on that side of
the room. She took the other chair that, after having been placed out
of the way had ended up next to 'his' chair. Harry sat down as well,
his mind still busy trying to decide if he was feeling that his space
had been invaded. In the end he decided to wait to see what she did
next before judging the situation.

After a few minutes of silence - during which Harry was
first relieved to see Miss Dunsmore had her eyes on Snape's pale face
the whole time and not his own, but then he started to realize she
might really be interested in Snape and that thought made Harry oddly
uncomfortable - she suddenly sat forward in her chair, placing her
elbows on her knees and her chin on her hands in thought. Then, just
as suddenly, she turned her head around, making her pose twist but
not lose shape, as she said, "Did you ever serve detentions with
Snape?"

Harry was so startled by the unexpected question he
ended up giving a brutally honest answer: "Yes, all the time."

She nodded sagely, "Yes, he always was really good
at dishing it out, wasn't he? Tell me, which kind did you get most,
the cauldron cleaning or the cutting of Stink Snails?" she
asked, but before he could answer she continued, musing, "He
always gave me Stink Snails. Disgusting things." She turned back
to him and asked, "Tell me, did he ever talk to you when you had
detention?" And again she continued speaking before Harry could
answer 'no', this time keeping her head turned in his direction, "He
did to me. Or at me, I should say, because I never responded. And for
the longest time I didn't understand a word he told me, but by my
third year I started to get a glimmer."

She shifted in her chair so the strain of the odd pose
was let up and she could look at Harry with more ease. And from that
moment on she kept her eyes firmly on him, as though trying to
impress him with something. At that moment all it did was make him
nervous, but as she spoke, that feeling went away.

"You see, I was a Ravenclaw and I had had a sister
who had been a Ravenclaw. She was a good five years older than me and
we didn't have all that much in common, and by the time I went to
Hogwarts the first year, she had already dropped out to marry a
wealthy pure-blood. After she'd obviously married for money, I wanted
nothing more to do with her, but my parents were delighted.

"It wasn't until my sister got ill and died while
I was in third year, combined with the stories that Snape kept
telling, that I figured out what had happened. My sister was sold to
this pure-blood creep by my parents, also pure-bloods, and when she
wouldn't do as he wanted he had her killed. And Snape's stories
insinuated that my parents were getting ready to marry me off to
another wealthy pure-blood.

"Once I understood that Snape meant to warn me,
but couldn't do so openly because of the fact that I wasn't a
Slytherin, I took his warning to heart. Using some more of his veiled
information, I left Hogwarts and found some counsel and had myself
declared a grown up, independent of my family and therefore not
subject to any marriage arrangements they were making.

"In short, I got out. And it was Snape who helped
me do it." She paused take a breath. "And that is why I
urged my boss to take his case, because guilty or innocent, I owed
him and I'll always be thankful he saved my life." With that she
looked over at the still figure on the bed, taking a long look.

She turned back to Harry, who had opened his mouth a
couple of times during her speech but who could not think of anything
worthwhile to say. Snape actually helped a student that wasn't a
Slytherin? Who'd have thought it? Certainly not Harry, as late as
last week. But today he believed it. Today he knew to what lengths
Snape had been willing to go to rid the world of Voldemort.

"I'm telling you this," Miss Dunsmore
continued, her eyes again boring into his, "because I wanted
someone to know, so it would not be forgotten. I know Snape is not a
nice man, but he's a good man, and that is much more important in the
end."

With a sigh she stood up, rearranged her outer cloak to
hang down properly and said, "The office will forward any
paperwork here, if that's okay. The official verdict will most
probably arrive in a day or two, but I can tell you now at least it
looks like he gets off completely."

Harry nodded at her. Snape's cleared. Is about time!

She nodded, turned around and left, leaving Harry alone
with his thoughts.

oqpodboqpo

The other visitor was the Headmistress, the Sunday
after that.

It was well into the afternoon that Harry was startled
out of his reading by the unexpected sound of the door opening. For
some days now the only people - apart from the morning invasion for
the transfusion - had either come in because it was time for feeding
or bathing, which had a very strict time schedule which Harry knew by
heart by now, or when a magical or Muggle alarm went off with a
beeping or a bell ringing inside the room, calling for assistance.
Which, incidentally, hadn't happened for some days now.

For the door to open without scheduling or forewarning
of any kind had Harry instantly on the alert. He slipped his hand
into his pocket and gripped his wand tightly only to let it go again
once he saw it was the stern face of his even sterner former Head of
House and current Headmistress of Hogwarts: Minerva McGonagall.

"Ooch, Harry, are you still here? I'd heard the
students were only here in the mornings. There's nothing wrong, I
hope?" the tall Scotswoman said, worry crinkling her forehead
under the brim of her pointed hat.

Harry laid aside his book and stepped forward, joining
the Headmistress at the foot of Snape's bed.

"Not at all. I was just," he quickly searched
for a plausible excuse and then settled on a partial truth, leaving
out his unexplainable need to be there, "enjoying the quiet of
the place. The doctors and nurses don't seem to mind my being here,
and Professor Snape hasn't complained yet either," he added with
a hopefully disarming grin.

"Humph, I do suppose that if they don't mind, it's
fine. But mind you, stay out of their way at all times. One must not
become a pest," McGonagall said primly.

"Yes, Headmistress," Harry said dutifully.

The Head of Hogwarts, after giving Harry another stern
look, turned her face to the sleeping man on the bed next.

"Albus told me everything," she said and
Harry swallowed, hoping that that was not entirely true; he hoped she
didn't know about the ritual at all. "He should have told me
about the plan to end his life. And like that, of all ways to do it.
But more, I would've liked to help, to lighten the burden. But I
know, I do, that that most probably wouldna have worked." Her
speech picked up more Scottish brogue with every word she said. And
Harry breathed a little easier in light of the subject.

After having seen those memories in Court, he was in no
doubt that Snape had not wanted to participate in Dumbledore's death,
but as with the ritual, he had done it anyway, because it was
necessary. God, how Harry was starting to hate that word: necessary.
How many horrible things had Snape had to do in the name of that
concept? Harry had only had to whip and rape someone and kill
another, and it was weighing on his conscience like a ton of bricks.

Maybe that was why he stayed at the hospital all day
and by Snape's side: to ease his conscience. Maybe.

"Will, uh, will Professor Snape be coming back to
Hogwarts?" Harry asked, partly to change the subject and partly
because he really wanted to know. The very thought of Hogwarts
without Snape seemed wrong to him somehow. Much like Hogwarts without
Dumbledore, but there was nothing to be done about that, was there?

"You want him to be your teacher again?"
McGonagall's tone was downright incredulous and Harry found himself
blushing just a bit.

"He was actually a very good DADA teacher. I
learned more from him in 6th year than I did in all the other years
put together. And that includes Remus' year. Though I did learn a lot
there as well," Harry admitted.

"Professor Lupin," the Headmistress corrected
him. He merely nodded.

"Yes, I've heard the same said by others. And I
must admit that while Severus was Potions Master, no serious accident
ever occurred. Horace is a very good teacher and a great socializer,
but not nearly as careful in the classroom. We've had five serious
injuries this year and seven last year. And there's structural damage
to classroom 4. Severus would never have let that happen, for all his
disagreeable personality," she said, sounding like a true school
administrator.

Harry was surprised for a moment; plenty of incidents
had happened in Potions Class, mostly because of Neville. But come to
think of it, Snape would react and stop whatever it was even before
any of the students involved noticed something was going wrong. The
man had eagle eyes in the back of his head and x-ray vision out the
front or something and also the reflexes of a cat (or a snake). And
Harry, for the life of him, could not remember a single student, in
his year or any other, who had sustained a permanent injury in
Potions, when Snape taught it. He did remember a 2nd year who had
been permanently blinded in one eye, when Harry was in 6th year and
Slughorn taught instead of Snape.

"So offer him his job back," Harry suggested.
"If he makes the place safer, it's worth it, isn't it?"

The Headmistress gave him a sad look and said, "I
dinna think he'll want to come back, Harry. The school-board and
Headmaster haven't been kind to him in his employment terms and I'm
afraid I said some things after Albus' death I canna take back, I
fear."

Harry sighed in exasperation. Grown-ups. Don't know
when to buckle and just apologize. He quirked his eyebrow at her,
the one under the lightning-bolt scar and said, "Then fix it.
You are the only one who can."

oqpodboqpo

Friday, February 1st, 1998, 7:40 am, Sunrise.

Severus blinked. And then he blinked again when his
eyelids were pulled down as if by extreme gravity. This time his
eyelids stayed up and he tried to focus. His eyelids threatened to
slide down again as the heavy languidness of his whole body suddenly
registered. Funny, a moment before he hadn't even known he had a
body, now it felt as if he were buried under a pile of thick
mattresses and someone else slept on top. His eyes slid closed.

oqpodboqpo

8:10 am

He opened his eyes and it was as if a shock went
through him - a magical shock. And with it came memory.

In shocking detail he remembered Albus commanding him
to Hogwarts in the dead of night. He remembered being captured and
the panic of seeing what those dunderheads had planned for him. Then
he remembered agreeing to the ridiculous plan, even rewriting the
ritual to give it even half a chance of succeeding.

Then the ritual itself - but he shied his mind away
from that quickly - and the horror of finding himself Marked the next
day. He had known then that it was all over; he'd never be free now.
So when the Aurors came for him the second time, he let himself be
taken, hoping it'd be all over quickly. But it wasn't over; he was
still here, still breathing.

For a long while he lay there doing just that:
breathing, almost wheezing, and trying to come to terms with the fact
that he was still alive. Once he'd managed to subdue the almost
debilitating feeling of doom, he started to look around.

He quickly concluded he was not at Hogwarts infirmary -
wrong smells, wrong ceiling - but he couldn't be at St. Mungo's
either - right ceiling, utterly wrong smells - so where was he?

He slowly turned his head left, finding the movement
achy if not downright painful, and spied a nightstand piled high with
books with their spines turned away from him as if the reader had
been sitting on the other side of the nightstand and not on his. The
fact that the top one had a paper bookmark stuck about two thirds in
underlined the impression that someone had been sitting reading at
Severus' bed side for some time.

Severus tried lifting his right arm, aiming to reach
over and pick up the book. The movement was a strain on stiff muscles
and painful, too, but finally he managed to grab the book and bring
it to his face so he could read the title, Dickens: A Tale of Two
Cities. It was a nicely bound old Muggle version of the tale, the
only fact marring it was that its hard cover was laminated with a
waxed green cloth instead of a nice supple leather, but still it was
rather nice apart fr...

Severus stifled a yelp as the book fell, corner first,
hard from his weak fingers onto his chest, flapping its pages as it
went. The fall dislodged the bookmark, not losing its place
altogether but protruding more than half way from the book. As he
moved his head to see where the book had ended up, he saw there was
writing on the bookmark-card. Carefully he used his aching arms and
hands to gather up the book, slipping a finger in to mark the place
and get the bookmark out so he could read it.

It said in Granger's very recognisable, utterly
uninspiring but school-girl tidy script:

H,

This one's more of a romance.
But it's got lots of other elements too: it's historic and there's
travel and politics and even some fighting. I'm recommending it
because of its strong plot and great characters.

You'll enjoy this one!

H.

'H,'? Potter then. The idea that the Brat had
spent enough time by his bedside to have accumulated five - no six,
Severus counted - books, disturbed Severus more than he was willing
to admit.

He carefully put the card back in the book and the book
back on the table. And by the time he was finished and his head was
once more lying still on the soft pillow, his eyes drooped and he was
asleep before he even knew it.

oqpodboqpo

10:23 am

His eyes popped open and he came awake with a shock. He
lay still for a moment, trying to discern what could have startled
him awake, but heard nothing. He moved his head to the left again,
this time seeing a vial of potion standing there - Pneum Animus
Potion, a very old Wizarding remedy against stuffed airways - and
nothing else; the books were gone. There was a sudden crashing sound
from his right.

Sharply he turned his head left, regretting the action
immediately as it made his neck ache, his head spin and his stomach
churn. But those settled down as soon as his move came to an end,
when he saw Potter sitting on a Muggle style metal chair - wearing
Wizarding robes over jeans and woollen sweater, hair a mess, glasses
just a little crooked on the young face, as always - just looking up
from reading the green cloth-covered Dickens book.

Severus followed the boy with his gaze as Potter put
the bookmark in the book and the book in his robe's outer pocket
while getting up and walking over to the bed. Severus was just about
to halt Potter verbally when the Brat stopped advancing and jovially
said, "Good morning, Professor."

'Good morning', indeed. Severus harrumphed at
that. He then found he needed to swallow before he could make his
throat comply and ask, "When?" He had to draw a deeper
breath before he could continue, "When will they come for me?"
He let out the rest of the breath and tried to keep calm in the face
of the answer.

"They, uh? Who, Sir?" the Brat asked, sending
a stab of pure anger through Severus. Can the boy still not talk
properly?!

"The Aurors," Severus wheezed out, upset now
at Potter's deliberate obfuscating and his own appalling lack of
breath.

A myriad of emotions washed over the child's face
before settling on sudden understanding. "No, Sir! There are no
Aurors coming; you were acquitted. You are a free man!" Potter
exclaimed.

'A free man'. Severus remembered the Red Mark on
his arm, the Mark that signified that he wasn't free, would never be
free. He gave Potter a long look and was for a short moment
maliciously satisfied that he could still wipe happiness off faces
with a single look. But then he remembered that the owner of this
particular face had a hold over him and he dropped his gaze.

Keeping his gaze down, he could see Potter's legs move
away and then come back, his Muggle style shoes squeaking on the
Muggle style floor. He looked up at the appearance of an item of
furniture on small caster wheels that came with Potter's return: an
oddly shaped table that was apparently designed to overhang a bed and
be of use to the person in it. A Muggle invention, executed in a
standard Muggle style of chrome steel tubing and stark white
plastic-coated timber.

Severus struggled to shift higher in the bed so he
could sit up as Potter pushed the table in place. When it looked like
the Brat was going to attempt to help him sit up, Severus gave him a
withering look and the boy mercifully backed off.

It took almost more energy than he had, but Severus
managed to sit up enough that he could see what was on the top of the
table: a mahogany wooden box, some papers - parchments mostly - and a
Muggle bottle with an odd spout - to facilitate drinking while lying
down no doubt - made of some ghastly orange plastic. Potter grabbed
the bottle and said, "Some water, Professor?"

Severus felt he could kill for some water. "Not
from that," he said. Potter gave him an infuriatingly indulgent
look before putting the bottle back down and going to the other table
in the room and pouring some water from a pitcher into a real glass.
He came right back and Severus found his arms shaking as he raised
them to take the glass. Anger and shame went through him as the Brat
had to help him hold the glass and slowly tip it so he could drink.

The water was as soothing as the choicest balm on his
throat and insides: cool and refreshing. And it wasn't until every
last drop was gone that he realized he'd closed his eyes in pleasure
while being helped by an enemy. His eyes shot open and the glass
nearly fell as he shied away from the boy.

Severus started to calm as Potter retreated with the
glass, an unreadable look on the young face. Yes, stay away from
me, it's safer. For us both, he thought.

Potter set the glass down on the other table and then
returned, stopping, to Severus' relief, several feet away from the
bed. The boy spoke in a steady and possibly overly polite voice,
"I've kept your wand safe for you. It's in the box along with
the other items that we found in your clothing."

Severus bristled at hearing they'd searched his
clothing, but kept silent.

The boy stepped forward and continued, "If I may,
I can open the box and hand you the contents."

Severus saw Potter recoil at the look he must have
given the boy at the thought of letting the impudent Brat touch his
things.

Potter stepped a step backwards and said, "Or not,
of course," while wringing his own hands together in some sort
of nervous gesture that Severus had no patience with.

He looked over what was the table. The papers he'd read
without Potter there, for they looked official and were likely to
contain nothing but bad news. The box he wanted to open as soon as
possible; he could feel that his magic was only just strong enough to
stand his holding his own wand once more, even if actual spell
casting was still out of the question. He reached out a shaking hand
and tried to grasp the edge of the box-lid. It slipped right from
under his powerless fingers.

"I can open the box, if you'd like," Potter's
voice ventured forth. Ever the Gryffindor, blithely go where
Angels fear to tread, Severus thought and gave the boy a look
that deliberately had multiple interpretations. The dunderhead
apparently interpreted it as consent and stepped closer to the bed -
and Severus - and deftly flipped the lid open, revealing the contents
to Severus.

With a wave of his hand he dismissed the boy - both
from his sight and from his mind - and concentrated on retrieving his
wand. As he ran his index finger along the ebony length, it gave off
an almost infinitesimal vibration of friendly magic, as if it
recognized him as an old friend. And that indeed it was to him.

Letting his middle finger join in the reunion, enjoying
the ever stronger growing vibration, he stroked the wand while it lay
in the box, closing his eyes to deepen the pleasure.

"Ahem, Sir."

The words startled Severus so much he'd grasped the
wand and nearly knocked over the box in getting it out, rocking the
table violently, as he pointed the wand at the source of the sound,
the wand point quivering with tension.

"Hold on! Don't shoot! I didn't mean to startle
you!" Potter yelped, holding an empty hand out, palm forward,
while he used the other to help him feel where he went as he backed
away from Severus, whose hand and body were shacking like a leaf.

As Severus realized the boy's hands were empty, he
slowly lowered his wand and slumped back into the pillow that kept
him sitting up. Potter came out of his defensive pose and had the
audacity to come forward again, but mercifully stopped when Severus
gave him a halting look. Severus lay quite still, trying to get his
breathing and heart rate under control while clinging to his wand so
hard, his entire arm hurt.

"I just wanted to say, Sir," Potter said,
"that I'm glad you were cleared. And to thank you again for
helping us kill the Dark Whatsit. And also to give you some
information," he continued, then gestured at the room broadly.
"You are in an annex of St. Mungo's, known as Ward 7 and it's
February first today and," he consulted a pocket watch that sat
in a small pocket at waist height in the boy's robes, "it's
nearly 12:30.

"Madam Pomfrey said to tell you," the boy
continued on, "that she's had to return to school, but that she
would expect you to 'further convalesce in Hogwarts' infirmary as
soon as you are able to travel'." Potter gave Severus a grave
look - which looked ludicrous on one so young - and added, "Her
words, not mine."

Severus nodded; he had learnt long ago not to quibble
with Pomfrey about details; it was a waste of energy. Then Severus
waited for whatever else the boy had on his mind and the desire to
say it, that so clearly shone in the ridiculous green eyes, to come
out. And the damnable Brat was taking his good time about it too.

"Sir, one last thing," Potter said. Well,
finally! Severus thought impatiently.

"I still want that peaceful coexistence. If it is
at all possible. Sir," the boy finished, sounding unsure.

'Peaceful coexistence'. The Mark suddenly itched
on his arm. Would that even be possible with this thing between
them? Severus was more than just unsure; he was highly doubting
it. But. But if it were possible, however remotely, would it not
be better than animosity?

The Mark on his arm would never go away and Potter was
certainly not the Dark Lord. But he was not Albus Dumbledore either.
Albus, who knew better than to Mark anyone. Albus, who had had his
prejudices and had overcome them. Could this boy do that? Would
Potter not make use of the Mark? Would Severus be able to stop him if
he did? Did Severus even have a choice here?

No, he really didn't, he realized.

"Peaceful coexistence it is," Severus
declared. He exhaled and found himself sinking a little deeper into
the bedding.

"Thank you," Potter said, turned around and
took the few steps to the door. After opening it and taking a step
through the doorway he turned around and said, "Get well soon,
Sir. I'll see you in school next year." With that he went,
closing the door behind him with a click.

oqpodboqpo

Severus lay still for quite some time, just holding his
wand to his chest, before he felt anywhere near up to tackling the
contents of the box and the letters. He struggled to sit up again as
his 'rest' had made him slip flatter into the bed.

He carefully laid the wand on the edge of the table,
within easy reach at all times, letting it rest against the upturned
sides of the table that were clearly designed to prevent things from
rolling or sliding off the hard plastic surface. For once Severus was
glad of a Muggle invention.

With a shaking hand he first retrieved the letter with
the crest of the Ministry of Magic on the front. He broke the seal on
the back and unfolded the missive. He quickly scanned the letter and
picked out the words exonerated and charges dismissed
from the over-officious Ministry language. Then he read the text
properly and found he'd been exonerated of blame in the Headmaster's
death - which in turn had been declared a suicide - and that the
charge of being a Death Eater had been dropped as proof had been
delivered to the court that he did not bear the Dark Mark and
therefore there was insufficient evidence to support the charge. The
text made no mention of the Mark Severus currently bore; it was
possible that MoM was not aware of it. If so, that would be the
better situation, for Potter at least.

But even if the charge of being a Death Eater was not
truly eliminated - it could always be refiled once other proof came
to light - Severus started to feel he was not in immediate danger of
public condemnation at the present moment, and he cautiously let out
a sigh of relief.

The next letter he opened bore the Hogwarts Crest and
was quite thick. When he broke the seal, out came three pieces of
parchment. The first was marked with Minerva's own family crest and
started 'Dear Severus.' He decided to read that one first.

'Dear Severus,

My joy at finding Albus'
trust in you was not misplaced is more than I can ever express. So
also is the sadness in knowing he believed he couldn't trust me
enough to reveal to me this knowledge until very recently. This lack
of knowing made me say some things to you and about you that were
very wrong indeed and for which I now ask sincerely for forgiveness.
I do hope you can forgive me.

There is more that requires
forgiving but that I, at least, am not guilty of. But while I cannot
undo my former injustice towards you, I can undo some of the damage
done by my predecessor. It is the matter of terms of your employment.

I do realize that you may not
wish to return to Hogwarts ever again, but should you want to, and I
sincerely hope you do, I can guarantee your continued employment in
either the function of Potions Master or Defence Against the Dark
Arts teacher, or any combination of those you'd prefer.

Also I can promise a salary
that more befits your training, qualifications and expertise.
Furthermore I can guarantee that a suitable remuneration will be
awarded for any of the extracurricular services you're asked to do
for the infirmary and others. And I personally guarantee that your
work is strictly your own.

I must be honest and admit
that I need you to come back to Hogwarts as Potions teacher for at
least the rest of this school year. I know I have no right to expect
favours, but Professor Slughorh has left us quite suddenly and I have
thirteen 7th years who will not get the help they need to pass their
NEWTs. I may have misjudged your intentions in the past but I can
never misjudge your loyalty to the NEWT level Potions class; in the
past fourteen years I've seen you work hard to have every person who
entered NEWT level pass it, and I hope and pray you are willing to do
it once more for this year's class.

If you deign to come, I will
take any terms you'd care to name. Hogwarts and I owe you at least
that much.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva

Not quite knowing what to think about the Headmistress'
emotional letter, Severus quickly looked at the next sheet. It bore
the Hogwarts crest with the full titles of the Headmistress printed
right under the colourful emblem. It was officially signed and a
large red wax seal was set over two red ribbon ends; a true sign of
officialdom.

It read,

Hogwarts, January 28, 1998.

This document officiates the
employment of Severus Tobias Snape, Potions Master and Master of the
Dark Arts, at Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft, located in
Scotland, UK.

The salary shall be no less
than G5,000 per annum. The particulars of the employment shall be
established at a later date. No untoward restriction shall apply.

Signed:

Minerva McGonagall,

Headmistress

Severus' mind boggled. The old cat was keeping to
her word; that was three times what he had earned before!

He had to put the papers down before they'd slip out of
his quickly numbing fingers. He was to have a choice of teaching
subject: Potions or DADA or even both! It was utterly unbelievable!

Just to distract himself from the dream these letters
were weaving, he took a look at the last piece of parchment and found
it to be a list of potions that needed restocking, written in
Pomfrey's clipped script. It said 'URGENT! (but not until AFTER
your convalescence is complete)!' at the top.

Well, some people never change, he thought and
then started laughing at the mundane nature of the request list that
followed. And then he just couldn't stop.

oqpodboqpo

After Severus had suffered the indignities of lunch and
he was again left alone, he continued perusing the contents of the
table. There were three envelopes left, only one of which was marked
with the telltale signs of having been brought in by owl post -
little pit marks that sharp claws and beaks had caused while securely
gripping the soft parchment - the two others were in pristine
condition. All three bore his name as addressee and Severus
recognized the Know-it-all's handwriting on one of them. That one
last, then, Severus thought, it's bound to bore me enough to
be able to sleep.

He opened the owl-posted letter first and read,

to: Professor Snape, PM,

23 January 1998

Mr. Snape,

After noticing your
magnificent debut in the world of Potion-making at the presentation
of the results of your Mastery some years back, and after attempting
numerous times to open a line of communication with you, we had all
but given up on ever getting to speak with a man of your talent in
Potions. All the more as it seemed soon after gaining your Mastery,
your productivity had come to a complete stand still, leading us to
believe your interest in the subject had all but disappeared.

It wasn't until very recently
that we found that we were in error; young Miss Granger assured us
you were indeed still interest in Potion-making and we have, at her
urging, checked the validity of Miss Granger's claim to this with the
current Head of Hogwarts, who assured us you are indeed free to
pursue Potion-making.

For many years we have hoped
that a man with your capabilities and qualifications might consider
joining our humble Apothecary Supplies and Potions firm. Indeed, to
that end we've sent many a missive to Hogwarts in the past. The fact
that we've been rebuffed every year so far will not stop us from
trying.

Our talk with Miss Granger
and our subsequent contact with Headmistress McGonagall has left us
feeling hopeful again. And we would, wholeheartedly, offer you our
facilities and supplies in the hopes of gaining licences to any
Potions you'd care to invent, all according to the rules and
regulations set out by the Potions Board.

We will consider taking on
any and all propositions on Potions research you are interested in.
Please let us know,

Yours sincerely,

Jarvis Lemongrass &
Geoffrey Tooksbury,

Directors, Artemisia,

Apothecary Supplies and Ready
Made Potions

Severus sat down the missive. That Albus had rebuffed
these gentlemen's letters for years did not surprise him. What did
was their persistence and foolish generosity - they were giving him
carte blanche in his choice of using their supplies, for Merlin's
sake - and the parts both Granger and McGonagall had apparently
played in the proceedings.

These thoughts prompted him to open Granger's letter
next; maybe it would shed some light.

01-23-98

Dear Professor,

This is just a quick note to
let you know that I'm afraid I've overstepped some boundary of
privacy and to give you a heads-up on some mail you might receive.

I'm sorry to say that, at one
of the parties held to celebrate our victory over the Dark Forces, I
underestimated the potency of the punch that was being served. You
see, it was quite a sedate affair, as parties go, and it appeared as
though no alcohol was served at all, just a selection of delicious
punches.

Anyway, I had a little more
than intended and I talked a little more than intended. I remember
talking to quite a few people about the Spectatis Auras, because I
had just researched it a little more earlier that day and was quite
impressed with the no-frills recipe that you gave me to make it from,
back then. And, of course, I realized you simplified it to such a
level that it was possible for a 7th year student to brew it, without
it diminishing the effect in any way. I was, and still am, impressed.

I didn't realize my error in
praising the potion so thoroughly until Mr. Lemongrass (from
Artimisia Supplies) started grilling me about you personally. I hope
I managed to refer him to the Headmistress as soon as I realized his
interest had gone beyond the potion itself, but I may have made some
personal comments.

I hope I've not caused you
any trouble, I apologize if I did.

I also hope to see you
healthy and back in school again soon,

Hermione Granger

Severus dropped the note on the table. Foolish
Gryffindors, he thought. 'Get well soon, Sir. I'll see you in
school next year.' The words came drifting back, along with the
memory of those emerald green eyes.

Severus cast the thought away and opened the last
envelope. It contained a hand-drawn greeting card with 'thank you'
in artfully drawn cursive lettering with intricate Celtic knotwork
around the rim, featuring stars and planets, an unusual subject for
Celtic knotwork.

Severus opened the card and found the inside strewn
with signatures, but no other message than the one on the front.
'Thank you,' from what looked like all the children that had
been present at the ritual. Severus felt his hands grow cold and he
quickly put the card back into the envelope and the envelope into the
box.

Would they keep their promise and keep it all
inside? Or would one, or more, or all come to him one day to exact
payment for continued silence? For a moment he deeply regretted
not letting them take that Unforgivable vow, but then he remembered
why he hadn't; the Vows he himself had taken had torn him apart, were
still tearing at him; no youngster should be put in that position.

With the card they had said 'thank you', hopefully they
meant it. With that thought he retrieved the envelope again, his
sensitive fingertips brushing a familiar object in the box. He
reached in and grabbed it: the talisman. He laid the envelope on his
chest - its slight weight preventing it from sliding down - and
retrieved his wand.

He carefully tapped the thick bronze amulet around its
rim until he'd come full circle and the thing split open like a
locket. He opened it wider and looked at the single picture inside.
It was a miniature painting of an ancient wizard with a white flowing
beard and wire-rimmed reading specs sitting at the end of his nose.
The man's head, with eyes closed and mouth open, lay back against the
head back of his comfy chair and his arms were crossed on his chest
as a near silent snoring came from the tiny figure.

Severus carefully closed the talisman, gathered it, the
envelope with the thank you card and the wand close to his chest and
lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes.

oqpodboqpo

====================

TBC

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All Beneath the Full Moon [COMPLETE]