SsSsSsSsSs

Wreckage. Destruction. Snape opened his eyes to find himself lying on a cot surrounded by charred, jagged rubble. Up above hung ratty beams of wood, with cobwebs and dark, tattered drapes dangling among them. The stone walls were tarnished, the elegant windows, shattered. 

So Hogwarts had been destroyed. He had failed. 

But then he noticed that he was no longer in pain. Snape smirked. He must be dead, then, and this must be hell.

Then a face swam into his line of sight. “Goodness, Severus, you’re awake!” 

Poppy. A few more faces emerged — Minerva, Pamona, the wolf. All looking at him with anxious, hopeful eyes. To see them against the backdrop of destruction was unsettling, but he was reluctant to ask what happened, not ready for devastating news.

He looked over the side of the bed and was struck with wave of dizziness at the sight. It looked like the ground would crumble any minute, sending him plummeting into a dark abyss. The bed he lay in was precariously balanced on rotting wooden beams that looked like they’d barely survived a fire. As his eyes adjusted, he could see through the cracks between the beams and realized it wasn’t actually a dark abyss below, but even more layers of rubble and debris.

He could certainly imagine his own soul being sent to such a place, should he indeed be dead—Merlin knows he deserves it—but the others? Were they all dead, too? Was this some sort of abeyance where they were to wait for judgement?

And then he remembered his plan. Could it be that he succeeded after all? There was only one way to know.

“Pott-er…”

HpHpHpHpHpHp

“It’s over, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said as they strode down the hall.

“It’s—over?” Harry swallowed. “What d’you mean?” He watched at her face, looking for a clue, and noticed she was smiling. Was she cheerful because Snape was dead? Did they decide he was evil after all?

“That blasted curse that kept us from treating Professor Snape with magic—it finally wore off, and Madam Pomfrey was able to bring him back from the brink of death. He’s awake now, resting in the hospital wing.”

“Oh, so…he’s going to be okay?”

“He looks a bit—out of sorts, but, yes, Harry, it appears Professor Snape will make a nice recovery.”

Harry felt a weight had been lifted and again he wondered at why the news affected him so. It’s not like they’d ever got on. But then a churning began in his stomach as he recalled his confrontation with Snape before he was driven out of the castle. Snape was awake now, and who knew why he wanted to see him!

Harry hovered at the door of the hospital wing as Professer McGonagall strode in. He watched her back, hesitant to look elsewhere in the room lest his eyes fall on Snape. (As if he could turn back at this point.)

McGonagall paused and looked back. “Come along, Harry,” she said with a gentle smile. “It’s okay now.”

Harry stepped into the room, noticing how the atmosphere was lighter than before. Madam Pomfrey’s face was no longer scrunched in worry. Remus had taken a seat on an empty bed, and seemed relaxed. And Professor Sprout had her hands clasped to her chest and looked upon him with a spirited glint in her eyes. What was she expecting, a fairy tale ending where bitter rivals become friends at last?

Then there was Snape, whose face looked neither more nor less dour than usual as he sat up in the cot. Harry didn’t know why, but he felt relieved to see the professor was dressed in his usual black, minus the black boots, which were neatly placed by the bed. The man was swinging a leg over the bed as if to get up, but Madam Pomfrey rushed to hold him back. 

Snape ignored her, swinging the second leg over the side, although he remained seated. He looked awkward sitting down, younger, somehow.

“You’re alive,” Snape said, eyes transfixed on Harry as if he were a potion reacting anomalously. Harry couldn’t tell if Snape was surprised, disappointed or relieved.

“It’s over, Severus,” Remus declared. “Voldemort is vanquished!”

Snape took in a deep breath and closed his eyes—hopefully in relief and not sadness at the dark wizard’s downfall. Harry looked to the others, but none of them held expressions of doubt. While Snape had his eyes closed, Harry stole a glance at the professor’s arm. (As if he’d dare study it when Snape was watching him!) Someone must have repaired the sleeve, for it was tied neatly at the base of his elbow. Harry shook his head as the memory of Voldemort’s blazing sword crept up in his mind.

Suddenly, Harry realized Snape’s eyes were back on him; they were glistening like a lake under moonlight as he fixed Harry with his gaze. 

“Well,” Snape said, “now I don’t have to see your face anymore.”

Harry found himself unable to respond, but that was no matter, as Snape was already grabbing one of his boots and slipping it on his foot. Snape’s hand hovered by the laces for a moment before departing from that boot and seizing the second one. No one dared offer to help, though Harry didn’t know if it was because they didn’t want to risk his wrath or if they assumed Snape would fix the laces with magic. He saw the professor’s black wand lying on the bedside table. So Professor McGonagall had given it back then. She must somehow be thoroughly convinced of the man's loyalties.

Apparently noticing all eyes were on him, Snape looked up sharply at the lot. He gripped the side of the cot, muttering something that sounded like “no more bloody Gryffindors” and “finally, peace”.

“Severus, what are you on about?” Professor Sprout said with a chuckle. Harry could’ve sworn she sounded nervous.

Rather than answer right away, Snape glared intently at the floor like it were a miscreant potion ingredient.

“I’m sure you can’t wait to get rid of me.” he said, rising to his feet. “Thus I’ll do you the favor and—”

“You can’t mean that you’re leaving?”

“Yes, I can. Right now, in fact. My work is done here and thus, I shall leave you all in peace—DON’T pretend that isn’t what you want.”

“Severus! It isn’t true, not now that we know—well, we’re willing to listen, if you would just talk with us.” Professor McGonagall sounded worried, like she feared she might not get to make amends for having driven him out of the castle. 

 “We want to understand, Severus.” Remus stood up, but didn’t approach the Potions Master.

Snape gazed around the room, although he seemed to be looking through them, not at them. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Remus repeated, mouth agape. Sprout smiled.

Harry raised his eyebrows and looked at the others. Since when did Snape agree like that?

“Three days,” Snape offered. “I’ll stay three days, just to ensure a proper transition.” He looked at Professor McGonagall.

“You don’t mean to say you don’t intend to continue as headmaster?” Professor McGonagall seemed genuinely disappointed.

A husky bark came out of Snape’s throat, making Harry jump. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“Severus, I’m serious—”

“I’m not having this conversation now. I just need,” Snape looked toward the door, “a moment of quietude.”

“We don’t need to rush to any decisions now.” Remus raised his hands in an appeasing gesture.

Professor Sprout nodded. “Why don’t we take the next few days to recuperate, gather the remaining students that haven’t yet fled the school, and enjoy each other’s company as we celebrate this victory.”

Snape grunted and Remus chuckled. Saying no more, Snape took only what Harry could describe as a very determined step toward the door.

“Your wand, Severus.” Professor McGonagall eyed the bedside table. 

Snape stopped. “Of course,” he said, reaching back toward the table. It was an awkward reach; he didn’t move his feet, as if they were glued to the floor. His hand hovered over the table but a moment before grasping the wand. Of course, he couldn’t tuck it up his left sleeve as usual, and so he just stood there with it, poised as if unsure of what to do.

Breaking the uncomfortable silence, Snape drawled, “You know, you can go back to waiving your silly wands around me,” he said with a swirl of his wand. “The curse has worn off.”

“Even so, Severus, don’t you think you should stay here a while longer to ensure a full recovery?”

Snape fixed Madam Pomfrey with a glare. 

“You certainly were under vigorous attack,” Remus added, looking him over with softened eyes.

Snape made an awkward gesture with his right arm, as if he wanted to fold his arms across his chest but suddenly remembered he couldn’t. 

“If you hadn’t noticed, most of the D—most of…“ Snape swallowed, “Voldemort’s attacks failed.”

As Snape spoke those words, Harry felt like he was witnessing the second victory over a long battle that day. The professors, too, seemed to have noticed, for they remained silent for a moment. 

Professor McGonagall stepped forward, putting a hand on Snape’s upper arm. Snape surprisingly didn’t step away.

“Are you sure you’re fine?” she asked. “It would be incredibly fortunate for you to walk away after being discovered a traitor without…”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Not without a scratch.” 

Of course, Harry realized. He hadn’t thought of how losing an arm would be a particularly cruel punishment for a Potions Master. Would the professor still be able to brew? The question started to leave his mouth before he could think better of it. “Will you, sir—” 

Remus interrupted Harry, which was surely for the better. “You know, Severus, it’s not one’s extremities that make one a wizard.”

Snape glowered at Remus with such intensity, Harry was afraid the wizard might cast a non-verbal curse. “I know,” Snape quipped. With that, he stalked out of the hospital wing, boot laces flipping and flapping as he walked.

HpHpHpHpHp

“So?” Ron and Hermione chorused. Harry had found his friends back in the Gryffindor Common Room, Hermione reading and Ron munching on a fresh plate of biscuits.

“Did you get answers?” 

“How is he?”

Harry chuckled at his two very different mates.

“He looks fine, well, minus the arm…” Harry grimaced. “And no, I didn’t get a chance to ask any questions,” Harry said, turing to Ron.

“Fine?” Hermione pondered.

“Yeah, I mean, he walked out of the hospital wing.”

“And they just let him leave?” Ron and Hermione asked in unison.

“I can’t believe Madame Pomfrey would discharge him so soon!” Hermione mused.

Ron raised his eyebrows at her. “I was thinking more along the lines of whether or not they can trust him mucking about.”

Hermione let out a puff of air. “Honestly, hasn’t the professor proven himself by now?”

“It’s just odd that he’s suddenly this good guy after everything that’s happened,” Ron raised his hands in defense.

Not knowing who to agree with, Harry looked down at the plate of biscuits. There was one left. Hadn’t the plate been full, like, a moment ago?

“If anything is odd,” Hermione said, “it’s that I’d have expected him to be much worse off, having been discovered a traitor.”

“That’s what McGonagall said,” Harry remarked while glancing at Ron, noticing Ron was eyeing the last biscuit as well. Harry’s Seeker reflexes paid off this time as his hand darted forward, snatching the biscuit. Ron groaned.

“He was pretty much his usual self,” Harry said, but as he munched on the tasty treat, he reflected on his encounter with the professor in the hospital wing. “Well, maybe he was acting a bit odd.”

“More than normal, you mean?” Ron smirked.

“How so, Harry?”

“I dunno, he was acting a bit spooked. Like he’d seen...a ghost or something.”

“Maybe he had an otherworldly experience, as well. Kind of like you did?”

“Maybe…” Harry took another bite. That was an interesting thought. Could Dumbledore—or someone else—have appeared to Snape as well? Did he learn something important from beyond?

“So what did he say when you returned the photo?”  

Harry nearly choked on the crumbs at Hermione’s question. “Erm…”

“Harry!”  

“Does he know it’s missing?”

“I dunno. I’m not sure if he—how got dressed, you know.”

Ron made a face and Hermione rolled her eyes. 

“Wait ‘till he finds out it’s missing.” Hermione shook her head.

“Right.” Harry said.

The trio sat in companionable silence as they enjoyed their first moments of peace and freedom in a long time. They had overcome so much, they could certainly face whatever lie ahead.