Stupid Albus and his stupid ideas, Severus cursed inside his head. He vowed to himself that he would get back at the old man for this. Spiking his lemon drops with chili powder would be fun. Or, cutting off his beard sounded like a sound revenge. Or, turning all Albus' robes black might do. Or, if Severus-

WHACK!

Damn it! Another freaky snowball hit him! Severus was sure it was Potter this time. Next Potions class he was going to give the brat so many detentions that Potter wouldn't get out of the castle until spring!

Severus tried not to scowl which turned out to be much harder than he would anticipated. But of course, nobody could see Neville Longbottom scowling, could they? Severus hoped that Longbottom didn't usually indulge in snow wars, because Severus absolutely refused to touch the snow more than strictly necessary.

Being in Longbottom's body was really very infuriating. As infuriating as the boy himself. Severus hated being so much smaller and chubby. And the teeth were all wrong. How did the boy prevent himself from biting his tongue and insides of his cheeks?

And most of all he hated Longbottom's stupid friends, Potter, Weasley, Thomas, and Finnigan, who didn't have anything better to do than throwing snowballs at each other. What the hell was wrong with simply walking to Hogsmeade?

"What's wrong, Nev?" Potter asked, stopping his incessant running around for a minute.

"Er... nothing, H- Harry." Severus answered – good thing he was impersonating an idiot – thinking furiously, "I... I just like warm weather better. Plants growing and all that."

"You and your plants, Nev," Potter laughed, and squeezed Severus' shoulder. "Okay, I'll tell the boys to lay off."

Unbelievable, Severus thought, fighting the urge to brush off his shoulder to get rid of Potter's germs, was Potter acting considerate? Has hell frozen over?

Then he shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Severus had to concentrate on the task Albus had assigned him to – from within, ensuring safety of the students visiting Hogsmeade.

Severus hated admitting it even to himself, but he had that soft spot in him when it came to the clumsy idiot's parents. He knew Minerva took Longbottom to the St. Mungos. In fact, it was part of Severus' plan. His mind ran back a few days to the private meeting in Albus' office.

“Minerva,” Albus turned to the witch, the only person present apart from Severus and the Headmaster. “I had asked Severus to come up with a plan to keep Harry safe- “

“- or as safe as possible,” Severus muttered loud enough for both the Headmaster and his deputy to hear.

“- and Severus came back with a rather unique idea-“ Albus continued smoothly only to be interrupted again with Severus' rude mutter.

“- nothing unique about it.” Severus knew he was insolent but sometimes he couldn't help himself. His old teachers made him feel like an unruly student.

Minerva shot him a disapproving glance, Albus once again ignored him.

“Severus will impersonate Neville and to keep a close eye on Harry on the Saturday outing.”

“Why not keeping Harry at Hogwarts?” Minerva countered. “Even Severus admits that Harry won't be safe enough in Hogsmeade.”

“We all know that went so well in his third year,” Severus reminded her.

“Well, I can keep an eye on him this time. God knows his behavior leaves something to be desired this year. I can give him a detention without any regret.” Minerva offered.

“Nice to hear you say that Potter is a rude obnoxious brat.” Severus smirked.

“Severus, please,” Dumbledore interjected before Minerva could respond. “Minerva, I think Harry's behavior – yes, I also have noticed it has grown worse since last school year – would only continue to worsen if we confine him to the castle.”

“What about Neville, though,” Minerva objected. “He can be confined? And without reason, I might add?”

“Severus thinks Neville would willingly trade Hogsmeade for St. Mungos.”

Minerva's face softened. “I sometimes need to remind myself that there beats a warm heart behind the cold exterior of yours, Severus.”

There was a cold heart behind his cold exterior, whatever Minerva thought. He had a heart as cold as ice with a few traitorous warm weak spots. One of the spots was the Longbottoms. Severus even didn't really know why.

He remembered Frank from school. He had been a good enough guy. Once he – a Gryffindor prefect – had saved Severus' hide. Back then, Severus had been just a miserable third year, picked on even by his own house. That unexpected act of mercy was remembered and appreciated, but it wasn't the reason for his weakness.

Maybe Severus felt guilty for being a part of the group that debilitated Alice and Frank, even if he hadn't been present at their attack. Or maybe he felt sorry for them – trapped in a non-living, not-dying state. Severus knew for sure that he would prefer death, merciful in her definiteness. They, though, were left hanging. And their pathetic whimpy boy had been raised by Frank's mother. Also, according to Minerva, Augusta Longbottom had taken ill. It was feared that her vulture on hat and her might not see the end of the school year.

“What's wrong, Nev?” Harry asked tentatively. He didn't want to be nosy, but he could tell that something was bothering his shy friend.

Neville opened his mouth, but instead of speaking the boy just licked his lips. Finally, Neville looked sideways. Harry's eyes followed the other’s gaze to find that Neville was looking at his newest acquisition, a Desert Rose.

“Something wrong with the flower? It was too cold for it on the way from Hogsmeade?” Harry tried.

Neville shook his head mutely.

Harry felt like a total pushover, but tried once more. “Nev, what's that? I'll try to help you.”

“Thanks, Harry,” the other boy looked humbly grateful that someone cared. The expression made Harry to feel guilty. He had always liked Neville, but he had tendency to overlook him, just like everyone else seemed to do.
“My Grandma…. she…. she doesn't look good.”

Harry remembered the old witch on the platform 9 and 3/4 . He guessed she was as old as McGonagall. He didn't think that women old like that were supposed to look good.

“Er- what do you mean?” He asked finally.

“She looks really ill, and has bags under her eyes as if she hasn't been sleeping… She looks so weak, she even doesn't order everyone around anymore.” Neville seemed to fight tears.

Something occurred to Harry. “But Neville, when did you see her? You didn't say anything after Christmas.”

His friend leaned forward and whispered, even though they were alone in the dormitory. “Nobody's supposed to know. McGonagalll took me to the St. Mungo’s last Saturday.”

“Last Saturday you spent with us,” Harry reminded him. “We went to Hogsmeade.”

“I wasn't in Hogsmeade,” Neville insisted.

“You bought heaps of sweets and this flower,” Harry objected with a hint of uncertainty. Then he remembered his third year. “Did you have a time-turner?”

Neville shook his head. “No. Someone else was with you, looking like me. Polyjuiced, probably.”

“But who?”

“I don't know,” Neville shrugged.

He didn't seem so interested in knowing the person's identity as Harry was. It scared Harry how easily they all could have gotten killed, had the imposter been hostile. They certainly wouldn't have expected their good old Neville to attack, so they would be unprepared.

“You could have warned us,” Harry rebuked him. Then he joked, not knowing if he was trying raising Neville's spirits or shake off his own fear. “What if we did something forbidden? Buried Malfoy deep in snow, thrown Goyle into the stream, or some such?”

“I didn't know in advance. I just went to St. Mungos, and thought you would go to the village without me.” Neville explained honestly. “The flowers and sweets were waiting for me in McGonagall's office. I even didn't have to pay for them.”

It was probably right assumption, Harry guessed. They would have waited for Neville in front of the Great Hall, and maybe they would have went to check the dorms, but if they wouldn't have found him, they would have left to the village thinking Neville decided to stay in greenhouses of something like that. They certainly wouldn't have sent a search party. Again, Harry felt guilty that they didn't pay more attention to Neville. If they had, they would have noticed something odd about him in Hogsmeade.

Minerva couldn't have chosen worse time to take ill, Severus thought morosely, cursing her inflamed bile duct under his breath. Now he was forced to do the worst duty ever that a Head of a house had to carry. He stopped before the portrait of the Fat Lady and asked her to order Longbottom to get there.

Severus stood in the corridor – so lighter than the dungeons, he noticed idly – waiting impatiently for Longbottom, furiously trying to find out a kinder way how to break the news to the boy.

Finally, or all too soon, Longbottom stepped out of the portrait, Potter in his heals. Severus scowled at them. He opened his mouth to send the boy-wonder away, but then he reconsidered. He remembered the easy camaraderie during the Hogsmeade outing five weeks ago. Potter would take care of Longbottom, which meant that Severus wouldn't have to do it himself.

He fished a small vial out of his pocket, handing it to Longbottom, ordering, “Drink this.”

The dense boy stared at the vial, unmoving.

“What's that?” Potter asked and under Severus' dark stare he hastily added, “Sir?”

“It is a strong dose of Calming draught. Drink up,” he urged Longbottom, uncorking the vial for him.

The boy's face contorted in horrified realisation. Second later, the thought dawned on Potter too.

“You should probably drink it, Neville,” he urged, and laid a comforting hand on the other boy's shoulder.

Severus felt grateful that the boy was here – as much as he hated to be grateful to a Potter.

Longbottom gulped down the foul tasting liquid, and his face smoothed. Severus loved potions. Now he could bring the news and not have to worry about hysterics.

“I am sorry, Longbottom,” Severus said, not wasting time. “Your Grandmother passed away this morning.”

The boy just nodded, tears glistening in the corners of his eyes.

“You are excused from attending classes tomorrow.” Severus paused minutely and then added sourly, “You are excused too, Potter, provided you will make company to Mr. Longbottom.”

“Thanks, sir, that's really decent of you,” Potter answered, insolent as usually. From his face and his whole body posture it was clear that decency was the last thing he expected from his teacher. Who the hell did the boy think Severus was?!

He let it slide, and continued his speech. “As Professor McGonagall has taken ill, I will have to step in her duties. The day after tomorrow I will accompany you to your castle, to meet barrister, organise the funeral and generally help to settle matters that need to be settled.”

Longbottom half shrugged, half nodded. Severus wondered if he had heard him at all.

“Potter, I will hold you responsible if Longbottom's not at the front door at 9 am sharp the day after tomorrow.” Severus said. Then he fished another six vials, and handed them to Potter. “These four are doses of the Calming draught, not to be taken sooner than five hours after the first one. These two contain Dreamless Sleep.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you,” Potter took the potions, and carefully slipped them in his pockets. “We will take care of Neville.”

Severus nodded at him, and parted with another condolence, “Sorry for your loss, Mr. Longbottom.”

It was Saturday and Harry had spent all afternoon sitting in the alcove near the castle entrance, waiting for his friend to come back. He was determined not to be lousy mate this time when Neville needed his help the most. It helped that Ron and Hermione spent their time by 'private studying'. It was cold and warming charms were no longer working, but at least Harry had got a lot of his own real studying done. He managed to complete all his reading for this and next week, which brought surprisingly satisfactory feeling of preparedness.

Now, just after five p.m., Neville finally returned, his face wearing that unfocused neutrality that Harry knew linked to the Calming draught.

“Hello, professor. How did it go, Neville?”

“Okay,” Neville answered uninterestedly. “Snape's my guardian now.”

Harry's shocked face turned to the disagreeable Potions master who nodded, his face revealing something that Harry thought was resigned disgust.

“But- but why?” He stuttered.

Visibly, Snape was deciding whether to response to Harry or to bit his head off. Finally, he said, “Someone had to be appointed today, and between me and his Uncle, Longbottom chose me.” Surprise and suspicion battled over leadership in his voice.

Harry could relate to the sentiment. Neville hated Snape. Which meant, he hated his Uncle more. Neville had never talked about his Uncle, and as far as Harry knew, it was Neville's only close relative apart from his Grandmother. Suddenly he remembered that some Uncle Algie had thrown Neville out of a window. His eyes narrowed. There was something seriously wrong with Algie. Harry's own feeling about uncles was rather uncharitable, anyway. He exchanged look with Snape.

“What's wrong with your Uncle?” he asked tentatively, not sure if he really wanted to know.

“He's after money,” Neville shrugged. “He spends any amount of money in no time. Grandma said he has to be kept on allowance, or he would drink and gamble our castle away.”

Just money, Harry relaxed. Then to his chagrin he noticed, that Snape hadn't missed his reaction and was watching him closely now.

“Alright,” he said quickly. “Shall we go to dinner, or do you want to go to the dorms, Neville?”

“Dinner,” Snape ordered, “Mr. Longbottom needs food at least three times a day if he continues using calming and sleeping potions.”

“All right,” Harry agreed. “How long he's going to take them?”

“I would advise at least until the funeral on Monday. Later, we shall lower the doses.” The wizard answered. “Ensure that Longbottom is at the entrance hall on Monday at 9 a.m. in appropriate dress.”

Or else, Harry heard, even thought Snape hadn't voiced that sentiment. Then, to his surprise, Snape reluctantly added. “Contact me if you need something sooner, Longbottom.”

Harry stared after Snape who left in his usual black mass of twirling robes. “That was pretty decent,” he commented to Neville.

The artificially calm boy shrugged. “He's honour bound. He'll get to normal when he switches the guardianship to McGonagall.”

Harry supposed it was a pureblood thing. Leave it to Snape to switch his behaviour when honour bound and switch it back when he wasn't anymore. “She's gonna be a good guardian, Nev.” Harry told him, “She won't let Snape to take his crap on you. Come on, let's eat.”

"It seems that Snape has really been on our side," Neville remarked. Three Slytherins, You-Know-Who's followers, attacked Snape, trying to kill him. They were being expelled, and sent to Azkaban.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "He's been rather reasonable about being your guardian, too."

"He's been ignoring me since the funeral," Neville pointed out.

"That's decent Snape to you," Harry grinned, and Neville grinned back. The two of them had been inseparable there days. Harry wondered what would happen if it had been Neville, not Ron, who he had shared his first Hogwarts' Express ride with. What would have happened differently and what would have played the same? Neville's voice brought him out of his musings.

"So, I should send him flowers?" Neville joked. It was two months since his Grandma death, and he had finally started recovering from the loss.

"If they are chop-able as potions ingredients..."

"You are going with me, though," Neville conditioned. Upon seeing Harry's face, he threatened, "or I'll tell him it was your idea."

"Hey! That's sneaky!" Harry complained, but followed his friend to the Professor Sprout's realm, greenhouses.

She was 'touched by their thoughtfulness' – her words – and let them harvest a few roses. Then they headed to the Infirmary. It was early afternoon and Harry fervently hoped that Snape was napping after lunch. They would leave the flowers and sneak out without waking him.

His plan worked, kind of. They were showed into the private part of the hospital wing by Pomfrey. From the doorway they could see Snape laying motionlessly, his eyes closed. Harry thanked all gods he knew for this piece of luck. They tiptoed towards Snape, left the roses, and tiptoed out again.

Only, from close-up Harry had clearly seen that the man was only pretending to be asleep.

It was a freshly adult, thin, dirty, and tired Harry Potter who reached Longbottom Manor. Neville greeted him with a handshake, and led him in.

Snape was waiting for them in the entrance hall. The older wizard surprised him when he offered him hand as man to man. Then Snape looked him over critically. "You've spent the month with your relatives, Potter?"

"Yes," Harry answered, wondering where this was leading.

"I see that Petunia is still the same cow as she used to be, then," Snape commented calmly. Harry stared and Neville choked on his breath.

"You have something to eat, then. I'll go and floo to Albus to inform him about your whereabouts," Snape told him and vaguely motioned toward a door.

"Er... yes." Harry stammered, and Snape rolled his eyes.

"If you waited two more days, till your birthday, Albus' people would have retrieved you," Snape informed him. His voice, surprisingly, held no malice.

"You-Know-Who's followers tried to sabotage it, though," Neville stepped in.

"I felt like a sitting duck," Harry admitted. "So, I decided to move earlier."

Snape just nodded – in understanding? Harry wondered – and left.

Neville led him through the dinning hall to the smaller room by the kitchen.

"I'll show you around later, Harry." he promised. He clapped his hands twice, and when a pop sounded, he added, "please, don't tell Hermione I have House-Elves."

"Where is your Gryffindor courage?" Harry teased him. He gratefully tucked in the full English breakfast that the House-Elf put on the table. "What's Snape doing here, anyway?"

"He lives here," Neville said softly. "His home was destroyed, so I invited him."

Upon seeing Harry's expression, he added, "It's okay. I'm mostly in my greenhouses, and Severus' occupying the old potion lab. We practically see each other only by meals. He's been okay, really."

"Okay," Harry repeated unsurely. Talk about surprises.

After a pause, he asked, "It's still okay if I live here too?"

"I invited you, and the invitation stands," Neville answered rather formally. After taking a pause, he added in his normal warmer tone, "I'm glad you're here. It's been lonely." His open face saddened. "It has always been lonely here."

Harry smiled at him gratefully. "You, me, and Snape." He said in wonder. "Wow."

"You, me, and Snape," Neville repeated, grinning. "They stand no chance."

"It shouldn't be too risky," Harry said dismissively. He honestly failed to see the point of this two-hours meeting about a simple trip.

Severus closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his big nose, and took a deep breath. It was an all too familiar gesture to the two Gryffindors. Neville and Harry exchanged glance and rolled their eyes.

"Potter, have you been listening for at least one minute?" Severus' voice betrayed the fight for calm. Then he repeated the main points as if he were talking to an imbecile. "The place is known to Death-Eaters. I am wanted by Death-Eaters. You are wanted by Death-Eaters. There can be triggers. There can be an ambush. Understand?"

"I got it the first time, thanks," Harry informed him with dignity. "I understand the facts. But talking in circles about it doesn't help anything. We just have to gather the plants as fast as possible and get lost. I memorized the plants and how to pick them by heart, so let's go."

Severus sighed. He could see the truth in Potter's words. If only he didn't feel responsible for the two boys! If only Longbottom hadn't sprained his ankle. Potter was too valuable an asset to be risked for mere potion ingredients. Only, they needed the plants. They were crucial for their plan to finish the Dark Lord for once and all.

"Longbottom's ankle should be healed the day after tomorrow. We should wait." Severus sighed.

"We've been over this," Harry said, exasperated, "If there's ground frost tonight, the plants will be destroyed and we will have to wait till spring!"

"We lost enough time trying to contact Ron and Hermione," Neville joined in, "and we all know how it went." They were unsuccessful in reaching to their friends - they only managed to confirm they were alive and presumably hiding together – and in the process they nearly got captured by the Dark Lord's henchmen. It had been a close call.

Harry got up. "I'm going," he announced to Snape, "with or without you."

"You... Gryffindor!"

"Proud of it!" Harry shot back.

And so they went. Neville clapped their backs and wished them luck for about the hundredth and one times.

Snape managed to find the needed herbs in nearly no time, and they busied themselves gathering. Without knowing what prompted him, Harry looked up. Two Death-Eaters! Behind Snape! With their wands out! Without a word Harry waved his wand casting a silent blinding charm. Snape, no novice to the game, felt to the ground, his wand casting a Sectumsempra before his back hit the ground. Harry hit the second Death-Eater with a stunner. The man deflected it. In the same moment he was struck with Snape's second Sectumsempra and followed his fallen comrade to death.

Harry could feel his heart beating like mad. Snape cast a revealing course, checking that there were no more Death-Eaters. Finding none, Snape got up, and got back to picking up herbs. Harry stared at him in horrified admiration.

"Back to work, Potter," Snape urged.

Soon, they had enough ingredients and Apparated back to Longbottom manor. Only there, in safety, Snape looked at him, "You held up better than I would have thought, Potter."

"Harry," Harry told him. "We fought together, so you could use my name."

"Harry," Snape acknowledged. Then he hesitated. "I suppose I'm not your Professor anymore, so you may call me by my name."

"Severus." Harry smiled.

"Hi, Hermione," Harry smiled broadly. He had heard someone flooing in, and he had hoped that it would be Ron and Hermione. She stood before the fireplace alone, though. Harry's smile faded away, as he noticed her red eyes. Had she been crying?

"What's happened?" He asked gently, and went to give her a hug. She always hugged him when she wanted him to feel better. Harry figured out it should work both ways. And besides, he liked hugging Hermione, even if he always felt like he was betraying Ron a bit while doing it.

"Did something happen to Ron?" he inquired, worried.

It was only four months after the final battle, during which the Dark Lord and majority of his servants died. A few of Death-Eaters hadn't been caught and imprisoned yet, though, and so the wizarding world wasn't as safe as everyone would like it to be. It was one of the reasons why Harry and Snape had still been living in Longbottom Manor. That, and also there was the bond of friendship which time and working together created between them. Oh, and Harry didn't feel like living alone, to be honest.

Hermione snorted derisively.

"Ron did something?" Now, that wouldn't be surprising either. If that stupid article in the Daily Prophet was truthful...

"He's such a jerk!" She exclaimed. Harry's eyebrows shot up. Hermione cursing?

"What did he do?" Harry asked and led Hermione to the library. If anything lifted her spirit, it was bound to be a collection of books. He knew the room would be deserted, as Neville was in his room and Snape had practically barricaded himself in his lab lately. Every time Harry saw him, the man mumbled something about too much time lost on a pathetic Dark Lord with a childhood complex.

Hermione was visibly struggling to keep her composure. She shook her head. "He's a stupid, immature and crude dimwit."

"You've sounded like Severus just now," Harry grinned, and he was heartened when she grinned back through her tears.

"I'll tell you later, I promise," Hermione smiled at him sadly. "Now tell me how you are?"

"I'm getting better. I was a mess, but I'm getting better," Harry repeated.

She seemed pensive, and nodded. Then she gazed at him expectantly. Harry thought she just wanted to get her mind away from Ron - and possibly his romance with a few fangirls if the press was to be believed. He obliged.

"We were planning the attack for months, as you already know, inventing and preparing The Potion - well, it was just Severus - gathering ingredients, strategies, contacting people, checking their loyalities, and so on," he shrugged and she nodded. "After the battle it felt like I had already done everything I was supposed to in my life. I felt lost. Left without purpose." he admitted.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione started crying anew, "I suspected you weren't okay, of course, but I let it slide when you assured us you feel fine. I should have-"

"I'm okay, really." Harry placated her. Why did girls have to cry so much? "I feel differently now. Free. Free of the Prophecy. Free of the expectations. Free of the task. Free of the past. Now I am just Harry. I'm browsing books and try to imagine what I would like to do for living."

That earned him Hermione's full attention. "At the moment," he informed her, "I think it would be fun to be a curse-breaker. Or maybe I'll ask Mr. Ollivander to teach me how to make wands. Or maybe I'll become a Wardsmith."

"Not an Auror, then?"

"Nah, I've had enough of that," Harry scoffed. "I don't think I would have ever wanted to be an Auror if everyone weren't expecting me to."

"They were pushing you to it," Hermione agreed. "It's good that you realised in time that it wasn't your path. I'm glad you recovered so fast, too."

"Neville and Severus helped me a lot," Harry smiled at her. "Neville explained to me that his Grandmother had always been persuading him to become an Auror as his father. He'd always known, though, that he could become a bad Auror or a good Herbologist. He told me that it was easier to live with others being disappointed in you than you being disappointed with you."

"We never gave Neville enough credit, did we," she said guiltily. She looked around as if trying to imagine a small Neville growing up inside these walls. Then she asked curiously. "What about Professor Snape? How did he help you?"

Harry shrugged. "He'd spent much more years fighting against Voldemort. After the final battle, though, he only packed all notes about The Potion, put books back to bookshelves, and announced he was years behind in his research of Medicinal potions."

Harry laughed. "Just like that, do you understand? No wallowing in the past and thinking his life ended with this mission. He just waltzed back into his lab, satisfied that now he had time for 'important'things."

"He's not coming back to Hogwarts?"

"Teaching was apparently a waste of his time too," Harry smirked at her, sure that it must irk her. To his surprise, his friend only nodded.

Then she sighed deeply. "My turn, I guess. Ron's been behaving like a spoiled brat. First he raved all the time that you left us behind so that you didn't have to share your fame."

Harry stood up, shocked. "I- ... "

"I know, Harry. I know you don't care about fame and if you left us behind it was for our safety."

"I didn't leave you behind on purpose. I was trying to find you," Harry found again his voice. Ron was so... Ron!

"I know. It's just Ron's stupid jealousy all over again. And then he started playing Quidditch, and... Well, we split up." Hermione shrugged. "Well, I guess I always knew we don't really suit each other."

Harry understood that for once the Prophet was right, and he decided he had heard enough. "Will you stay here? For a few days at least? I'm sure Neville won't mind."

"What about- "

"Severus won't even notice, probably," Harry laughed. He hoped Hermione would stay. He didn't think he would ever love any girl more than he loved Hermione.

And she stayed.

Neville never felt lonely in the castle anymore.

Severus and Harry never moved out. Not even after the war ended. Not even after all remaining Death Eaters were captured and sentenced to prison. Not even after Neville got married to a witch he had met on a Herbology conference. Not even after Harry got married to Hermione.

Currently, there were two little Longbottoms running around the halls, screaming their lungs out, making faces at old portraits, and teasing magical plants in the greenhouses. There was a little Potter-Granger always toddling around after them, as quickly as his short fat legs allowed him. Usually, the whole group was followed by one proud parent or honorary 'Grandpa'.

Life was good.