***Chapter Seven***
December 2004

She never would have imagined it would be a department holiday party that would give her an in to trying to perform legilimency on Noah Davies. Because of course the opportunity came up when she actually dressed up and put more than just the bare minimum effort into her appearance as she did any other day. She'd been scared to try and the moment never seemed right. She managed to avoid spending an actual night with him. Harry thought she was crazy not to, but she couldn't do it. Even something that most would probably say was innocent.

Well, Harry was the only man she'd ever slept with. There was nothing romantic about it with him, but she found it … very personal and rather intimate. Exposing. She trusted him. He was witness to her nightmares. She felt it would be different if she spent the night with Noah.

She didn't think Noah would find it innocent either. If he knew she'd slept with him, sex or not, knowing the truth, she didn't think he'd like that. She wouldn't like it. She didn't claim their minds worked the same or anything, but she thought there were some things they thought similarly about. Letting people in was one of them. He'd mentioned dating, but she didn't get the impression he'd done a lot of it. Or with any seriousness.

She wondered now if that was because of her. Most people his age had some sort of serious relationship to mention. He didn't. Was it because they, Fate or whoever (whatever) Dumbledore made a deal with, didn't want him to have such experience because of her? Knowing that she had little when it got down to it. She wouldn't have thought about that until now.

She wasn't going to give the man any more reason to hate her.

There was a good chance he already would, just by her finding that potion's vial Albus Dumbledore spoke of and uncorking it. She'd be the face he'd forever associate with … remembering. Of living as Noah Davies with no clue he was anyone else for over six years.

She'd gone over it in her own mind and with Harry several times already. She always came back to the fact he deserved to know the truth. And the potential danger if a wizard as powerful as Severus Snape were to accidentally do magic.

They were at the head of the department's house. She had never seen Noah drink more than a glass or two of wine or maybe a beer or two with dinner since they'd started spending time together almost three months ago.

He was … well, pleasantly tipsy and the living room they were in was rather loud. So, she drew him into the dining room, cast a wandless charm so the door would stick, and slid her arms around his neck.

"I'd begun to think you didn't wish to be alone with me," he murmured. Was that why he was drinking?

"I'm here with you tonight, Noah," she said.

And she had come with him. As his date. Not just as graduate student Hermione Granger. At least she thought she was here as his date. Did he not think that? 

She took a deep breath, felt a bit as if she was taking advantage of him. She had to do it, though. If she let this go on much longer, he'd likely hate her for that !

"Noah," she whispered against his lips.

"Yes?"

"I want you to know that I really do like you. I enjoy your company, your mind, your laugh, your dimple," she said, kissing that very thing. "I love our conversations. My not spending the night has nothing to do with you or not wanting you. The timing was wrong."

"I do, too, and I understand. If I gave the impression I was trying to force you, or move too quickly," he said, frowning a bit. As if he was confused by her saying all this. She had to. She had no idea if he'd speak to her again after tonight, and well, she didn't want him to think she didn't like him. That it was all just an act to find out if he was really Severus Snape or something. That she'd declined spending the night with him because of an aversion to him, which wasn't the case at all.

She tilted her head a bit, just enough and whispered "legilimens," as her eyes met his.

She'd gotten proficient at legilimency and occlumency because she couldn't have someone traipsing through her mind. It was abhorrent to her. At first, until she found out her parents were deceased, she wanted to cover up, hide from anyone, what she'd done. She was no expert, as this man was reputed to be (him being alive pointed to the reputation being earned), but she had an advantage. He wasn't Severus Snape right now, and he wasn't expecting it. She was confident the only way she'd get away with this, and get this far, was because she had the element of surprise on her side.

It was odd stepping through his mind. His memories. She could see the difference, as she was able to view a recent memory and one prior to 1998. The earlier memory was there. It seemed real, but it looked and felt different. She could still remember the first time her mum had taken her riding on a horse. She'd been so scared to be on the back of such a huge animal. She could smell the stables even today. That seemed to be missing from his. Like they were two dimensional versus three. There, but not. She wondered if he knew, if he recognized something was not right. She hadn't had a reason to ask, not without sounding crazy. She did know that he mentioned having strange dreams and being prone to night terrors. (She was surprised he admitted that, because night terrors were something most attributed to children, not forty plus year old people.)

His mum did not dislike her but was suspicious of someone her age being interested in him. As Toby had thought, gold digging harpy wasn't too far from the truth. He, and his parents, had connections . She wanted her son happy, though, and believed he wasn't frivolous so trusted he was thinking clearly with his brain.

She paced through his mind, frustrated that this vial the headmaster said she'd know when she saw it wasn't showing itself. She supposed it wasn't meant to be easy.

Oh. Well, that was interesting.

There was a stairwell going down, but her mind - her gut - told her that wasn't where she wanted to go. Going downstairs. Going to the dungeons, or the basement, would be too obvious for someone trying to hide Severus Snape's memories.

Or a place someone might think he'd store such a thing.

Instead, she looked up for some reason and saw what she could only liken to a live theater's fly space area. She walked under the scaffolding, looking for a stairway, a platform, or something that would get her up there.

Nothing.

"I need to get up there," she mused. She just knew she had to go there.

A rope appeared, looking very much as if it was attached to nothing. This was his mind after all, so she had to trust she wasn't going to fall to her death. Mentally, she tugged on the rope that appeared and began her ascent to the scaffolding above her.

She swung on the rope, catching the scaffolding with one of her feet and the railing with her hand. It faded in and out, as if it wasn't sure it should allow her to be there. She held onto the rope with her left hand as she put one foot in front of the other, carefully walking along the scaffolding toward an outline of something that looked like a door.

She set her right hand over where the handle to open it should be. Nothing. She pushed on it, thinking maybe it would pop open.

"Alohomora," she whispered, resting her left hand against the edge of the door where she thought an opening should be.

She felt a prick against the palm of her hand, as if something poked or stabbed her. She fought the urge to draw her hand away and look. If this was some sort of test, she wasn't going to fail.

She hissed, as it was clear something had happened to the palm of her hand, but then the door opened, letting her pass through.

She clutched her palm with her other hand as she took in the room she'd just been granted access to. And she had no doubt that was what had happened.

It looked like a Gringotts vault. She'd only been in a few, but that was the only thing she could compare it to. Dark. Heavy. Secure. As if allowing the door to shut behind her would be a mistake. She turned her head quickly, to ensure the door was still open.

Dank. Musty. As if it had been sealed up, unbreached, for a long time.

There were what looked like old boxes. Tons of them. All neat, lids in place and stacked nicely on shelves. Nothing that looked like a vial. She walked through the aisles, running the tip of her finger along the front of each box as she passed it. She felt nothing. They were just boxes.

Was she supposed to look in each and every box? Glancing down the aisle she was currently standing in. Well, that would take forever!

She walked to a corner, opposite from the door she'd come in through. This was stupid. There was nothing here! She should have known better than to trust the headmaster was actually being honest with her.

Except.

There, in the corner, behind the door she'd come in through, she caught a glimmer that when she walked closer looked like a pewter cauldron. It wasn't, though. Was it? It shimmered, going between a muggle beaker to the magical cauldron, much as the scaffolding had. As if it was deciding whether or not to be seen.

Whether or not she was … worthy.

This was different from the rows of boxes. This was a shelf-like unit that contained all sorts of chemistry equipment. Where the boxes were dusty and looked untouched. These things … they shined brighter.

She started sorting through the various shelves. Her left hand, the one that had been pricked, grew warm as she touched this and that. She took that as a good sign.

She cried out when mixed in with the muggle chemistry equipment, she spotted a vial.

Not a beaker, test tube, or a flask.

A vial.

She reached for it and it was like reaching through sludge. It was resisting, staying out of her reach. Until she got an idea and switched to the left hand, the one that had been against the door. The one she felt something done to. The one reacting as she searched the shelves.

And then she was able to retrieve the vial. She peered at it. It looked like a vial. There didn't appear to be anything special about it.

Except.

She recognized the S etched on the vial. She grazed the thumb of her left hand over it and knew she'd seen it somewhere before. How or where? She had no idea.

She turned, regarding the room she was in. Other than the chemistry/potions equipment it was dusty. Boxes. Junk. No sign this was his mind. No memories here, unless they were inside the boxes. She wasn't going to go poking around in them. He would surely hate her for that.

She clutched the vial a little tighter, knowing she was just putting off the inevitable. Uncertainty. Fear. Both were there.

Did she want to do this?

Her hand throbbed against the vial and she took a deep breath, pulling the stopper out.

If he hated her. Well. Wasn't it better that he know the truth anyway? She kept coming back to that the past few weeks since her talk with the former headmaster's portrait.

Didn't he deserve to know he was a wizard? That he was an incredible wizard?

That was what it came down to for her. It wasn't about her. Or Fate. Or whatever else. It came down to him having the right to know who he truly was. He hadn't made the decision to alter his memories.

She'd had ghosts pass through her before at Hogwarts. This felt sort of like that. In this case, though, she was the interloper. The one who didn't belong here.

In Severus Snape's mind. A man who she knew guarded his privacy rather preciously.

The boxes she'd observed shook and rattled. No longer looking dusty, old, or forgotten.

It didn't take long for him to eject her from his mind. She gave a squeal in surprise just the same, because she hadn't been expecting him to be so … violent about it. He hadn't physically harmed her or anything. She couldn't blame him for pushing her out, she supposed. She didn't like anyone in her mind either. Still, she obviously wasn't there to harm him.

The last thing she heard before she was back in the dining room? The door slamming shut and the scaffolding crashing down. It sounded like a tornado. And then she was on her arse, hands burning from coming into contact with the hardwood floor beneath her.

Dark eyes eventually focused on her. It was like he was in a daze, almost like a fever induced spell or ailment where he wasn't really seeing what was in front of him until now.

Her.

She had no idea what to say or do.

So she said and did nothing.

Chicken.

Where was that Gryffindor bravery now?

She stared.

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out. Nothing she thought of saying seemed appropriate.

He turned away from her then, waved his hand to undo her sticking charm without any hesitation or difficulty. She was almost insulted at the ease with which he undid it.

After six years, shouldn't it have been a little difficult?! Couldn't he have made her think he had a little difficulty?

And then he left with a huff. There were no billowy robes to emphasize his departure, but there may as well have been.

Toby came in about ten minutes later. She'd collected herself somewhat by then, but she was still sitting on the floor with her back against the wall and her head in her hands. She was crying, and wasn't entirely sure when she'd started.

Or what she was crying for.

"Hey," he said, kneeling in front of her. "You okay?"

She nodded, but clearly she wasn't.

"I'm not sure I've ever seen anyone look so scary in my life," he said.

She laughed softly. Yes, Severus Snape could be very scary, and Toby had no idea the reality of it.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No," she said quickly, adamantly. "Not at all."

He took her left hand in his and held it.

"You're bleeding, Hermione," he said.

"He didn't hurt me, Toby! I cut my hand. It happens."

"That looks like a burn, Hermione."

"I am fine, Toby."

He sat then, setting a hand beside her on the floor.

"Do you need a ride home?"

No, she didn't, but she couldn't tell him that. It would look suspicious if she didn't accept his offer of a ride since her ride apparently left without her.

She nodded then.

"Okay," he said. He offered her his hand then, which she took to get up from the floor. "I, uh, don't have a kleenex or anything. I have a sleeve, though," he said, offering her his shirtsleeve, which made her laugh. She imagined that was his point.

"Oh," he said, noticing some napkins on the table. He grabbed one, offering it to her. "It looks clean." She took it, wiping her eyes.

"Thank you, Toby."

"It's okay. I probably don't want to know what you two fought about."

"It wasn't really a fight. It's hard to explain. I think he was just having a bad night."

He scoffed.

She glanced at him then, feeling as if she looked remotely presentable. "Do I look okay?"

"You'll do to grab your coat and go."

"Thank you, Toby," she said again. He was, as it turned out, a good friend.

"Hey, don't mention it."

He got her home without asking questions. She barely comprehended they'd made it from the party to her house.

She reached in to hug him. "Thank you, Toby."

"No problem. That's what friends are for. If you need anything…"

"My roommate's home, so I'll be fine."

If Harry wasn't home she sure was going to send their owl to ask him to come home. (It was really Harry's owl, but he left it with her because he could get an owl at any time.) She didn't think he was on a date.

"Okay. If I need to talk to him."

She laughed softly. The very idea of Toby having a talking to with Severus Snape was humorous. "It'll be fine. Thanks. You're a good friend." They hadn't gotten along at first. He was pretty smart, and he'd been a bit put out that he wasn't going to be the teacher's pet automatically. She'd learned her lesson from Professor Snape, actually, and let others do their work. She answered questions when they were directed at her, choosing to let her test results and papers talk for her.

Eventually, the summer in between their first and second years, they'd run into one another at Stonehenge of all places. They'd laughed at the irony of them being there at the same time. Alone,. A friendship had blossomed from there.

And here they were.

He didn't walk her to her door, but did wait to pull away from in front of her house until she was inside. It was one of the things she liked about Toby. He seemed to be raised similarly to the way she had been. She was pretty sure Brandon wouldn't have offered her a ride, or wouldn't have waited to be sure she got inside her flat safely if he had.

Harry was not home. Crookshanks did his best to soothe her, but he wasn't Harry. She sent their owl, asking him to come home when he could.

Morgana. How would she continue at school if he never spoke to her again? Their department wasn't that large! Granted, she only had about six months left, but still. People would wonder what happened, would likely gossip. She didn't care about herself. Not really. She did care that people might talk about him. He didn't deserve it.

*****

"Where in the fucking hell is it?" he cursed from his garage.

His garage.

He had a garage with a fucking muggle car in it. A nice muggle car. Not off the charts expensive to suggest he was trying to compensate for anything, but it was certainly not the piece of crap he'd inherited from his father that had seen better days.

Six years he'd been piling stuff in here. His garage looked very much like a single man's garage would look.

Chaos. Organized chaos to some degree. Chaos nonetheless.

His house was not. That he kept neat. Tidy. The garage, though. It was as if he wasn't supposed to sort through the stuff in here.

He knew why now.

He would have found … things that he wasn't supposed to.

He found the muggle military bag he'd inherited from his dad's dad. Stole it from his old man before he could ruin it was more like it. He'd thought it was cool. At least his grandfather had done something respectable with his life. He reached inside the bag with a deep sigh.

"Accio, Dumbledore's portrait."

A small painting landed in his hand.

"Morocco," he murmured.

And just like that, the apparently blank picture frame held a seascape background.

"Dumbledore," he gritted out between his clenched teeth.

Nothing.

Of course the man wouldn't answer him.

He closed the duffel bag, leaving it in the garage, returning into his house with only the portrait. As far as he knew, Severus was the only one who knew this third portrait existed. Without the password, it would look like the blank portrait it had moments ago.

"You can't avoid me forever! If you sent Miss Granger…"

He stopped himself from continuing that train of thought.

His former boss hadn't sent Miss Granger anywhere.

Severus had gone right to her.

He'd almost slept with a student!

Okay, a former student, but still.

She was the reason they hadn't.

Thank Merlin for small favors, he supposed.

She'd been in his mind!

He couldn't remember the last time someone had accomplished that!

What an idiot she must think he was!

Fluxweed trotted up to him, offering him a meow. He'd come home from the party, changed, and gone straight to the garage without even giving Flux the time of day. He regarded the cat. He'd never had a pet until now. No memories of the Davies' having pets either. He stooped, scooping up the feline and bringing him to Severus' shoulder as he knew the cat liked to be when he was held.

The cat resting against Severus' shoulder, he took a moment to take in his home.

It was a more than suitable home. Not pretentious, as if he was trying to make up for still being single, or competing against others in his age and socioeconomic bracket. Dare he think that if he had had the opportunity to make a home, this wouldn't be too far from what he would have chosen. Muggle or wizarding home, actually.

He took a seat on the sofa, setting the portrait on the coffee table there. Fluxweed shifted from his shoulder to his lap as Severus let his head fall back against the back of the sofa.

*****

Days went by with no response from Dumbledore. Thank Merlin it was Christmas holidays so he wasn't missed on campus. Hermione hadn't come by either. Severus … sensed movement in the portrait, but Dumbledore never made an actual appearance. He couldn't make the man appear, Severus knew that. He also knew that he would eventually. He wouldn't be able to help himself.

It was winter break, so he didn't have any reason to go to campus. So, he used his spare time to clean. Organize. And if doing that enabled him to avoid thinking of Miss Granger, because he certainly shouldn't think of her as Hermione.

Merlin, if she knew various things about him, she'd run anyway.

Of wondering why she was still Miss Granger to begin with.

Of thinking of kissing Miss Granger.

Of how the scent of her felt like home. Only no home he knew of.

And one he never thought he'd have.

All the better.

Tonight, another bout of being ignored by Dumbledore. Nothing on television held appeal.

He stood then, moving to the bar he had in the dining room, pouring himself a glass of bourbon with a splash of Coke and some bitters. He was honestly surprised no one had shown up yet: Minerva, Rita Skeeter, or any number of people who would be interested in knowing he was alive and well.

He leaned against the bar, sipping his drink with a nod before returning to his sitting room and the sofa there. He took hold of the portrait and regarded it, taking another sip of his drink. Flux let out a meow, upset that his spot on Severus' lap was currently occupied by the picture.

"All right, Dumbledore, you're not talking to me. I have a few things to say to you."

Nothing

"Just what game do you think you were playing? Altering my memories. Not even that. My identity. You gave me a life. Parents who gave a shit about me. What was the point of that? I know her unleashing my memories was your doing. She's intelligent, but she wouldn't have known what to look for without your input. And Miss Granger. If your goal was to thoroughly humiliate and embarrass me, you have succeeded. I have to return to school and see her, knowing she was likely laughing at me the entire time!"

He could quit, but he found he rather … enjoyed teaching post-secondary level students. The fact that the subject he taught now couldn't result in injury, or worse, might be the reason he preferred it.

"I was supposed to die! You knew it as well as I did! What in the hell am I supposed to do now? I'm not Noah Davies." He snorted at that. "At least you could have given me a more exciting life while you were at it."

He realized that wasn't right, though. She would not want a man with a wealth of experiences. He wasn't sure how he knew that, but he did. Probably because he would feel the same. It was 2004, so she was twenty-five. He wasn't naive enough to believe she had none. Judging by her academic record, he doubted she had much.

And that wasn't just intimate experience either. He meant life experiences, things like travel and discovering things. Things she'd likely enjoy doing and discovering with her partner.

And honestly, he wasn't the type. No matter his personality. His academic interests while at Hogwarts were a good excuse. He learned early on, though, he just wasn't built like other wizards who wanted to snog as many witches as they could before they settled down.

He set his tumbler down, followed by the portrait which was still devoid of any activity or indication Dumbledore had heard anything he'd said.

"I'll return Flux," he said.

He apparated away, arriving at a small wizarding neighborhood near Liverpool. He cast a glamour quickly and entered the store he'd been in a few times over the years when he wanted to stay under the radar. He didn't know anyone in the area, so there was little chance of being recognized. He'd only ever been to the area as a customer.

He was curious.

Why wasn't anyone camped out on his doorstep? He expected aurors at the very least, possibly a trip to Azkaban, until things got sorted out.

He purchased a copy of the Daily Prophet as well as the most recent Quibbler , surprised for some reason that particular paper was still in distribution.

He stepped outside, perusing the Prophet and saw nothing.

No mention of him. His name. His whereabouts. His being alive. Nothing.

Nothing in The Quibbler either.

He returned to the store.

"Do you happen to have any recent past issues left over of the Prophet ?"

"Let me look," the clerk said.

He left the counter area and returned a few minutes later.

"No previous days' issues."

"I've been gone for a few weeks, and was hoping to catch up. Did anything newsworthy happen?"

"Oh," the young wizard said. Young. He was probably twenty or so, certainly done with Hogwarts. "No. Other than the Yule Ball at Hogwarts."

"Really? That was the only news?"

He shrugged. "Pretty much."

"Thank you. Good to know I didn't miss much."

If this wizard was twenty or so, he'd certainly remember the war. Reading Severus Snape was alive would be news. At least he thought so.

He took his two newspapers with him and left the store, apparating back to his house.

He spread first the Prophet out on the tabletop and perused it.

Nothing.

The Quibbler . Well, its issue date was prior to the Christmas party, so it wouldn't have anything.

"What does that mean, Flux?" he asked.

The cat, obviously, did not respond. He could change into his animagus form and talk to Flux, but that was just too much trouble tonight. And Severus wasn't truly searching for an answer. He'd done that a few times already, transform, and his Flux seemed to like knowing his owner was a fellow cat.

She had affirmation that she was correct. That he was who she obviously thought he was. And she said nothing? Certainly, Potter knew. It had to be why he showed up at the university when he had.

To see him. Merlin, he'd asked Harry Potter if Hermione Granger had an affair with … himself!

He refolded both papers, regarding the portrait again. Still silent.

"You're not going to tell me anything, are you, old man? You're just going to leave me to figure this out! I didn't do this to myself. And I have no doubt that despite being dead, you are behind it."

Albus Dumbledore hadn't made him apply for the university position, though.

No doubt, there was something akin to magic involved in his being drawn to the advertisement as he was.

Albus called it Fate.

Severus wasn't so sure he bought that, and that Albus wasn't just playing off of what Severus had told him years ago about visiting a fortune teller. Albus was a romantic fool. He still couldn't believe he'd been … weak enough to tell Albus about that. Too much Ogden's, and believing the man was his friend.

And yet, of all the university positions he thought of applying for, he'd only applied for this one.

So, she'd known for days, a few months really, that he was at least potentially alive and well, living as a muggle History professor. And said nothing?

Why?

And why hadn't Harry Potter?

Surely he was a wanted man.

So one of the two of them should have turned him in, aware of who he truly was or not.

His thoughts went to the night at her flat when she'd fallen asleep against him. The pictures on her refrigerator.

He knew now who was missing: Ronald and Ginevra Weasley. Why? She (they) was still friends with Longbottom and a few others. There was even a picture of his godson on her refrigerator.

No Weasleys, though.

Well, there was one. It was of Granger, Potter, Longbottom, and Lovegood with Charles. They must have visited him in Romania and gotten to see some dragons. Judging by the picture of the five smiling people with a dragon in the picture at any rate.

Peculiar.

Merlin, he was going to have to see her again. He had no idea how to act under such circumstances. He wasn't sixteen any longer, and she was not Lily.

One thing the fortune teller Severus visited on a whim on a day off shortly after his apprenticeship taught him, was that Lily was definitely not his future. If Miss Granger had not been thirteen when he first realized she was the witch the fortune teller meant. If she hadn't driven him crazy with her endless questions.

If a lot of things.

Well, he probably wouldn't have reacted so violently to the idea that she was the future that the fortune teller had spoken of his being tied to. Oh, her mishap with polyjuice potion could have been dismissed away, but then she'd shown up the following year with a cat!

Albus had bet him one hundred knuts that her animagus form would be a puma, as his was. He hadn't been willing to take that bet. His patronus had changed, too, after her arrival at Hogwarts. He didn't cast it often, he couldn't, but Albus was not surprised when he'd asked him to cast it after the polyjuice potion incident and it was a puma as his animagus form was. Dumbledore hypothesized hers would be the same once she realized who Severus was. He'd had to work rather hard to manipulate it into the doe again that Christmas night he'd needed it to deliver the sword.

Had she completed her animagus training? Was she a puma as he was? He could admit, the idea of having someone to run with was not unappealing.

Had her patronus changed from the otter he knew it to be when she was a student to a puma since meeting him again? Did she recognize what that spark had been between them when he first touched her in his office?

He hadn't at the time, but he knew now.

She was his.

It was their physical bodies telling them that was so.

His doorbell rang and he huffed. It couldn't be anyone he wished to see.

He took another sip of his bourbon and stood from the sofa. Flux seemed curious by this unexpected turn in Severus' behavior and accompanied him to the door.

He was surprised to see Harry Potter standing at his door. He'd been … prepared to give her a tongue lashing for showing up uninvited.

Potter scowled. Severus was sure he looked a sight. He hadn't shaved or done more than take a quick shower in days. "I think I liked it better when you looked at me as if you might like me," he said.

"What do you want," he gritted out.

"Hermione thought you might not eat properly and sent me with food."

"I do not need…" his stomach growling betrayed his lie. The wizard, or the witch, was correct. He hadn't eaten anything since returning home. Days ago.

"Well, I'll tell you what," he said, moving a bag he was holding. Wandlessly, the bag increased in size. "I'll leave this here. If you don't want it, that's fine, but I can at least say I did what I was asked to. You just have to reheat it."

Severus said nothing as Potter set the bag down on the doorstep in front of his feet and turned to leave. Severus glanced at the bag. It wasn't sealed at the top so he could see into it. There were several containers as well as a second bag, he assumed contained bread based on the size and shape of it. There was a smaller bag attached but hanging off the handles. He stooped to look in it and saw vials of both hangover and pepper-up potions. He scoffed softly, shaking his head. Those potions were indicative of her having thought of him. (Not that the bag of food didn't suggest that, too.)

"Potter," he said when he was just about to the driveway.

This wizard wouldn't have thought of the potions.

The wizard turned to face him with a frown. "Yeah?"

"She is all right?"

"Well, you know, she thinks you hate her and will never speak to her again, but otherwise. Sure, she's great."

"Answer my question."

Potter walked toward him a bit then. "She's fine. She's hurt. She's afraid that you hate her. She tried to do the right thing. I told her the weekend of Halloween when you asked her to entertain the idea of spending the weekend together to go ahead and sleep with you, just by the way, but she couldn't do it."

"Why not?"

"You'll have to ask her, but I presume because she thought it would be wrong to do that. Taking advantage."

He snorted softly at that.

"If anyone's to blame, it's me, really."

Severus narrowed his eyes a bit at that. "Why?"

"That day I came to campus to meet you. I told her to do whatever she had to do to find out if you were really, well, you. I'm sure she would have anyway, but I sent her down the path immediately."

"Mm," Severus said. Doubtful he pushed too hard. "She is upset?"

"Well, she's not happy. I mean, she's not mad, but she thought you liked her. It was the first time since she and Ron ended I've seen her willing to try."

"Why did she do it?"

"Again, you should really be talking to her, but she thought you had the right to know and choose if you wanted to continue living as a muggle or not. That to secret away your magic was wrong, and she also thought it could be dangerous."

Not entirely wrong. If he'd had accidental magic at forty-five, with his latent capabilities. It could have been dangerous. His dreams. Well, they would have been enough to drive some people insane. Or make them believe that they were. He hadn't begun to remember them, but things were … seeping in. He knew he didn't sleep well most nights.

He remembered them now. Well, not the dreams he'd specifically had over the past six years. He was aware of what they likely contained, though. What images he'd seen, knowingly or not.

And yet, she'd still sent this wizard, knowing he was not likely someone he'd want to see either, with a care package.

"Better get that stuff inside," Potter said, nodding at the bag.

"Right." He bent over to pick the bag up. "Thank her for her thoughtfulness."

"I will."

"Potter."

"You know. I'm here because she asked me to come. She didn't want you to slam the door in her face. But anything more you need or want to say, you should really say to her. You know, your soul mate. Not to me."

She would have asked him to come, yes. He wondered if, knowing or not, she sensed he wasn't truly dead all along. It would be interesting to know.

"Fair enough, but I was merely going to say that it is nice to see you're all right."

"Oh," he said, and Severus noted the redness on the man's face. "You, too, Sir. Really."

"I believe I gave you permission to call me Noah previously, Harry."

"You did," Harry said with a nod. "Is that still what I should call you?"

"For now, yes."

Harry nodded then. "All right then, Noah. Good night, and Happy Christmas."

"You, too."

*****

Severus closed and bolted the door behind him, bringing the bag into the kitchen. He unfastened the smaller bag with the potions in it and set it on the counter. The larger bag he set on the kitchen table and began to unpack it.

He spotted his wand immediately and sucked in a breath at the sight of it.

"Accio, my wand," he murmured softly.

Almost too softly, as if he was scared that such a basic spell wouldn't work. He was quite confident his emotions allowed him to undo Hermione's sticking charm the night of the party, not necessarily his abilities.

He felt tears in his eyes when the wand was where it belonged, pressed against the palm of his hand, once again. Merlin. Where did she get it? How did she get it would probably be the more appropriate question. Surely whoever had it wouldn't give it up without questions.

He set the wand carefully down on the tabletop to continue unpacking the bag.

He chuckled at her choice: pot roast with vegetables and noodles as well as bread and some mixed fruit. And, oh, what looked like Hogwarts' bread pudding for dessert. The chuckle wasn't necessarily from amusement. It was, well, the exact same thing his mother (Mrs. Davies anyway) or Molly Weasley would make for someone they cared about. She'd also know that he liked it from him making stew for them the first day she'd come here.

Tucked underneath all of that was a box, which he pulled out and with a wave of his wand, it was returned to its original size. There was a note taped to the cover of the box.

Dear Noah:

I thought you might like to catch up on what has been missed the past six years, most notably the fact that Severus Snape is a recognized war hero with an Order of Merlin, First Class, who is free to return to the wizarding world, if he chooses to.

If he chooses not to, Harry nor I will tell anyone the truth. I cannot say the same for former headmasters, so just be prepared.

Eat. Read. Rest.

Your wand is in the bag, too, if you haven't already found it. The Minister for Magic, Kingsley, apparently found it and asked the late headmaster what to do with it.

You know where to find me if you want to talk.

Or if you don't want to talk, but just don't want to be alone.

Happy Christmas,

Hermione

Inside the box her note was affixed to, were copies of what appeared to be many years' worth of Daily Prophet issues. The top one was dated May 3, 1998. He choked back a sound that could have been a whimper, but would have most likely been called a sob.

Merlin.

Did he want to read these things?

Free man and Order of Merlin, First Class recipient, did not mean that the articles published about him were positive. He had to imagine a good many, at least in 1998, were far from positive.

He pushed the box toward the opposite edge of the table, choosing instead to heat up a plate of the offered food. He had food, but he didn't like TV dinners, so it was either the food Harry Potter brought or a sandwich. Considering he only just now realized it had been days since he'd last eaten and he was starving. Well, it wasn't a difficult decision to make.

He stared at the box as if expecting it to do something while the food was reheating. Of course, it didn't. It was just a box with old newspapers in it. Fluxweed chose that moment to explore the new box on the kitchen table.

"Is that a hint then," he said, letting his fingers walk along Flux's back. He returned to the sitting room, grabbing his tumbler and dumped out the remaining bourbon once he returned to the kitchen.

"Meow."

"Yeah, if I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it sober," he said. He got himself a glass of milk, bringing it and his plate of food to the table. There, with Fluxweed's apparent approval, he retrieved the top copy of the Daily Prophet from the box. "If I hate this, I'm blaming you," he said as he unfolded the paper and set it on the table so he could read it while he ate.

Story ©Susan Falk/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com