Chapter Text
It’s been nearly two years.
It was February, or was it March? Perhaps some still cared. The kids were getting ready for their main exams, or at least some of them were. The weather is slowly getting warmer. Spring will soon bloom beyond these walls.
The war was over. The aftermath wasn't.
The trials were still active. Most of the Ministry and Wizengamot were still under strict watch. The politic and social circles were still tingly and disrupted, like a crumpled parchment. Nothing made any sense. Draco was now Lord Malfoy, with an important Wizengamot seat and all, and Blaise Zabini was an up-and-coming Healer star, specializing on wizarding babies and their needs. And Snape?
Well. That had been a bit of a fight. The minister was ready to pardon his crimes, and so were most of the surviving Order members. The general public wanted him executed, and most of them still do. His students understood he was the only reason they all survived, which calmed the immediate need for a Deatheater scum’s shining example process a bit. And then Harry Potter laughed, and said: “If there is a Kiss to be delivered, I shall take the first. Only then you may take Severus.”
They didn't speak that much, Potter and him. They shook hands, at the end, deciding that they were even, by-goners and all. Harry thanked Severus for all the times he saved his life, and Severus thanked him for killing the bastard (and for saving his sorry ass from the prison, too, but not in such words. His speech was eloquent and flowery, just like it always is. The public expected the Greasy, Ugly Git from the Dungeons to bow down and show gratitude – but after all he went through, this was hardly the worst he had to do to please the cheering crowd.)
The first few weeks after the war were chaotic to say the least. He retired to Spinner’s End, took care of his wounds and himself, and didn't see basically anyone. Draco came first. (He was freed at the trial, and he signed the Alliance, that was basically some kind of constitution based off modern democracy and equality. A load of bullshit, if you ask Snape. There’s always going to be Wizards who think they are better than the rest of them. There is always going to be great power too terrifying to bound. But, the kids are young and naïve, and they just won a war. Time for the newest generation to make their own mistakes, one way or another.
And, after all, it wasn't like it was Severus’ place to judge. He was fine where he was. Back in the Dungeons in the silence of his solitude, where he blatantly tried to rezone the same person he used to be, once.)
Then Potter himself. They had tea, and talked about trials and Severus’ return to Hogwarts as a Potion’s Tutor, and about the subtle changes in the political system. After him, he received Zabini who didn't partake in the war at all, and Nott, who was forced to run after he refused to take the Mark.
Minerva was happy to accept Severus back as a Potions Teacher mainly because it was impossible to find a better and a more skilled professor, but a new world with new politics meant also new rules. Snape’s name was cleaned and all, but to most of the general public, he was a confirmed Deatheater.
Draco visited the most. He mostly talked about his home-life, about his fiancé, Astoria Greengrass, about the state of the gardens, about potions and ingredients. Sometimes they spoke about what happened during the war without ever mentioning the war. Zabini paid him a visit once in three months, less now that he was having his first patients. Nott came to introduce his Portuguese fiancé, but didn't invite him to the wedding. Neither had Draco, who married four months after him. Marcus Flint, who visited him seven months after the war, was a surprise, and an even bigger one was that he married Oliver Wood a year prior the war. Parkinson, who was wearing a ring but didn't mention her husband or wife, once tagged along with Zabini - she didn't speak much.
Once a month, he was invited for a glass of brandy to Minerva’s office – the headmistress and him always had a strange relationship, since the days Severus himself was a student here. The brandy was mandatory not because either of them enjoyed the other’s company, but because it looked good. Severus, the “respected war hero”, a person who must have taken the position of a headmaster to save the 567 students within the castle’s walls, and Minerva McGonagall, the Board elected Headmistress. (Minerva didn't want the position. She felt remorseful that she doubted Severus, doubted him to ever turn against Albus, her, Harry, the Order, the Light – she insisted he should keep the position. He has done more for the school and the residents than any other Headmaster ever did.)
(Snape couldn't give a fuck.)
Sometimes, someone spoke to him during the dinner he was required to attend. Sometimes, one of his students had a question – mostly the first years, who never knew him during the times between the war and during it. Sometimes, he got a letter from the board.
Not much, for a human interaction. (Not that he was ever the centre of attention. He just hoped that after all the shit he had to go through, after all he suffered, all he pretended, the public would at least… what, talk to him? Or give him a simple greeting in the morning? He was being stupid again. He couldn't manage a single friend when he was an unmarked, somewhat innocent child. Was he really idiotic enough to think anyone would pay him genuine attention – to him , the Greasy, Ugly, Slimy Snivellus? Apparently yes, if he’s still feeling sorry for himself.)
The further the war was, the fewer people had the nerve to speak to a snide, depressive, grumpy, evil, ugly Potions professor. He hasn't spoken a word out loud for five days. (Five days ago, he said a general “good morning” to the teacher’s table when he arrived for breakfast and received nothing but obvious, tense silence. He hasn't bothered to embarrass himself since.)
He was sitting in the dungeon class, overseeing the potions of fourth year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. There was no need to speak and no need to respect the Tutor. Severus was silent, the kids were doing fuck-knows-what with their ingredients and cauldrons. The room was gloomy, just like the dungeons are. Noone paid him any mind. The kids didn't know if to fear him or admire him, so they completely ignored him. Each month after the war, each week further from the truth being revealed, his solitude was worse. Draco’s visits are irregular since he got married, and without that, the world for Snape consists of newspapers, alcohol, and silence.
He wished he didn't care. Basking in the freedom from all masters, maintaining a personality he was forced to shed by the age of barely seventeen, he should be recovering to the normal society as a war hero, a Potions Master, and possibly a Bachelor. But the lack of social skills, money, good name and pleasant personality traits (result of an early childhood trauma followed by bullying in primary school and Hogwarts as well) prevented him from the happily ever after. There used to be times when he despised the thought of starting a family, but now after all this time, being free and given an Order of Merlin, he wouldn't mind having someone to come home to. Someone to speak to, maybe touch their shoulder, hair, back. Have a partner to sleep next to, and perhaps, after the use of Polyjuice, even sleep with . (Snape wasn't stupid, he was well aware of his looks. His personality can be subdued by blindfold, cuffs and a gag, but his looks were not something Severus could get rid of for his partner. However, he was willing to do anything they might want in order to have the honour to have sex with them – at least once, just once, just to know what it is like.)
(That’s not something he’s ever saying aloud, though, even if he ever found himself in such a social situation.)
He wished he didn't care for his pathetic life. He wished he’d be content with his free time, lack of Masters, lack of orders. Who to be, what to say, how to behave. Do this and do that. No, you don't deserve praise, or a simple thank-you. You don't deserve a single touch. No, you aren't allowed to like this, to do that, to desire this, or to own that. You aren't enough . You made mistakes. You are a bad person. You don't deserve -
Severus looked up when the clock announced the end of his class. The kids cleaned their spaces, left samples of their potions at his desk. Left the room. No reason to say anything to him, ask him anything, speak in his general direction. Severus remained seated long after his last class for today left.
He missed the War.
He missed the times when kids argued with him. When they were eager to answer his questions for points, or to avoid detention. He missed detentions. He missed taking points, and giving them, too. He missed the dreadfully sweet tea in Albus’ office a few times a month. He missed the decent dinnertimes, when he wasn't the favourite, but everyone asked him, ‘good evening, Severus, how was your day?’, and then when he was leaving, most of them said ‘good night, Severus,’ or ‘sweet dreams, Severus’. He missed the talks with his Slytherins, back then, when he used to be the Head of House. He missed – he missed…
He was hated, back then. Feared, too. But he was treated like a human, maybe even respected, in a twisted way. He was talked to, and he was expected to talk back at them .
Now?
Severus felt the chill entering his body. Oh no, no, fuck, no. Not now, not now, I don't want to-
The chill stole his central nervous system, throwing him off the chair to the cold, hard floor, making him shiver and shake. He bit through his tongue and lips, but it didn't help. He vomited on the floor. He was hysterically crying, trying to calm his breath, so he won't swallow his own vomit. The chill-like seizure curled him into fetal position, while Severus tried to breathe though this hell. Curling his long legs close to his chest and wrapping his hands around his knees, Severus shook in the terrible pain caused by over-exposure to the Cruciatus, to Nagini’s venom, to murdering his last master, to terrible stress, fear, and pain.
A tax for surviving, one would say.
‘You will survive this as well, Severus,’ the potions master insisted in his mind. ‘It is but a simple physical pain. You endure this. You stand back up. You continue carrying on. You are a Slytherin. That is what we do .’
It must have been hours before Severus was ready to reach for his wand and clean the mess he’s made, send a refreshing charm onto himself and the room, and go back to his private quarters. He was tired, trembling, dizzy, still in terrible pain, but he got back to his private chambers. Drawing himself a bath, he decided to indulge a bit. He deserves it. He’s had a horrible week – he knows it’s pathetic, sad, terrible; but contrary to popular belief, he was only human.
Snape had at least the decency to blush when he remembered the second drawer in his desk – the drawer with letters. He was only allowing himself to indulge when absolutely necessary, when no one else would remind him to keep alive, when he needed safety and comfort. When his will was wavering, and the realization that noone was wanting him, not here within those who are alive, not among those who are dead, crashes hard on his mind.
Severus enters the tub and summons the letters. There are a few he exchanged with Kingsley, prior to his trial. Kingsley is polite and respectful in his writing, always remembering to wish the potions master best health and quick recovery. Then there are letters exchanged between his students and ex-students. He replied to all of them of course, but none of his Slytherins ever replied after, safe for Draco and Zabini. Those two kept coming, and there are more letters from them then all others combined. Draco, informing him about his well-being and being concerned for his former head of house. Telling him he will come around. And how is the wizarding community of Britain and France. Zabini's letters are similar, concerned for Severus' health and recovery, keeping him updated on his own career progress and asking about his, informing him about his whereabouts and when he will be able to come visit.
At the absolute bottom were letters he exchanged with the Chosen One, however he hates the title. He only reads the letters when he's at his rock bottom, when all the other letters aren't helping.
The first letter, informing him about the trial and that Potter will see to it, asking for a full pardon. The next letter, asking about his health, the care he receives, asked if he should bring him something from his quarters or his home. Another letter, only a few days later, informing him he will come by again later that day, asking if he can eat already and what his favourite dish is. Another letter about having some issues with personal agenda, but he will stop by the next week. Another letter, informing him that the full pardon was granted, and that there are rumours about the Order of Merlin, first class. Another letter asking about where is Severus staying after he's let out of St. Mungo's, about his personal goals after war. Another apology that he's going out of the country due to some personal issues. A letter a few weeks later, congratulating him on the potions position.
Then there is a few months of silence in letters because they have been seeing each other personally once a few days, as Potter was often in Hogwarts, using its library for some personal issues, apparently the same ones he was travelling quite a lot for. Then another letter, wishing him merry Christmas, followed by another one, wishing a happy new year, and another one, wishing happy birthday. After that, there is a pause again, a letter with a happy Easter wish and explanation that Harry is out of Europe for the same personal agenda as before, and he is back in Britain only a few days a month. Another letter in June, informing Severus he's welcome to join him for a tea when he's back in Hogwarts using the library again. Severus thanked him in his reply, he remembers, but pretended he's out of Hogwarts for that time – he wasn't sure if seeing the boy was a good idea, considering his feelings for him. Another letter at the beginning of the year, informing him he will be out of Britain for quite some time, apologizing that he won't be able to write that often. Another three letters a week or so apart, wishing him merry Christmas, Happy New years, and happy birthday. After that, there is silence.
By his last letter, he's still out of Britain. Where and what for, he never really writes. If he's on the Continent or in America, or maybe in Asia or Africa, he never writes, and Severus tried not to get sad about the fact that the boy doesn't confide in him.
He hates Albus. For making him kill him, for keeping him in the dark, for manipulation and puppet mastery the late Headmaster perfected, although he missed his friend, the person who confided in him, the person to have a tea with. Someone who didn't pity him and who understood him.
After Severus woke up in pain and confused but very much alive in St. Mungo's after the war, he eventually hoped for a while that Potter or Malfoy would end up confiding in him, wanting someone older who would guide their steps, and perhaps someone who would tutor their eventual offspring, but as it seems, no one is interested in an old soldier without a war, a broken man – not even the boys he spent his life protecting, and eventually, even when he survived, sacrificed his soul for. Snape also hoped he could gain his position in the community through either of them – not that he wanted the fame or protection, his aim was much more embarrassing, and much more personally important for Severus, than that.
Severus was perfectly aware of his shortcomings, as well as the fact that two wars left him broken beyond repair. He hoped that at least one of the boys would provide him with… communication, attention, keeping him up with human contact. He wouldn't take much. A tea, time to time, maybe a conversation. He would provide knowledge for them, supply them with potions, take care of their health and comfort this way, and they would talk to him, invite him over, keep in contact.
Allow Severus humanity, finally. (Because no matter being a Slytherin, or because exactly because of it, Severus wanted nothing more than to experience being treated as human. Given attention when speaking. Given a simple, short, faint physical contact. He doesn't want much. A handshake. Possibly a short, friendly hug. He only ever got a hug once – from Lily, when she received her Hogwarts letter.) Allow Severus being nothing less than a human. Not an ally, not someone to have power. He just wanted – he just hoped…
Perhaps it was too much to ask. Perhaps someone as evil, unimportant, as ugly and as antisocial as Severus, simply didn't deserve to be human. Not after all the mistakes he’s made. Not after the things he was forced to do, one way or another.
And after all, the boys were busy dealing with the New Wizarding World.
Draco had the contacts he needed as he kept close with Zabini, and few others. Gaining his seat in Wizengamot of course is another level of independence: from the stain on his name, as well as all those who kept calling Draco weak.
Potter, that is a whole another problem, albeit the younger boy was obviously having personal issues he has to deal with, whatever it is, he never forgot about Snape’s birthday, or to wish him happy holidays. Draco didn't even invite him to his wedding, let alone to allow his old teacher and protector the right to social calls. If Potter was in Britain, Snape still hoped he would stop by, at least once or twice a year. He would -
Snape throws the letters away, far into the dark green wall of his bathroom; there are tears prickling at the corner of his eyes that have no place here. He won't cry over his past. He’s not lonely, he’s not lost, he doesn't suffer. He’s a Slytherin.
(I should not have been born.)
He was a Headmaster, once.
(I should not have survived.)
He isn't weak, he’s not going to break down.
(I am hurting. I am lonely. I do not have a purpose. I do not have anyone at all.)
He is the best potions master in Britain, the grand duelist, the feared professor, the Greasy Git from the Dungeons.
(I am in pain. I am crying. I am desperate.)
He will endure this.
(I need help. I need attention. I need someone .)
Alone, just like always before.
(I wish to die, I wish to die, I wish to die, I wish to die.)
