Poison and Wine

Mid-May, 1998

Severus woke to the sound of an incessant tapping. At first, he was certain that it was the sound of the branch outside his room. Every time he returned to Spinner’s End, he was reminded of the great oak tree in his backyard. Its branches were ragged, but they grew quickly–always in the direction of his window. He cursed silently for not trimming it back. 

Suddenly, the tapping grew louder as if it were drawing closer. Severus realized he was not at Spinner’s End like he assumed. As the tapping approached, he was met with an onslaught of memories. The Shrieking Shack. Voldemort. Nagini. He felt his heartbeat begin to quicken as he remembered the sensation of the snake biting into his neck.

Voldemort had left him to bleed out alone in the shack. It would have been a suitable death, Severus figured. He would have been perfectly fine to die a villain in the eyes of Potter and his friends. However, it seemed that his fate was still entwined tightly with Lily’s boy.

Severus thought of the fear on Potter’s face. Despite everything, he had gazed into his eyes--Lily’s eyes--hoping that the boy would live through whatever was about to happen.

The tapping slowly became so loud that Severus could no longer lie back with his eyes shut. Slowly, he opened them, to assess what kind of terrible situation he had found himself in. Much to his surprise, he was neither at the Malfoy Manor, nor in the Shrieking Shack. Voldemort and his cronies were nowhere in sight.

He glanced around himself, realizing (with some delay) that he was at St. Mungo’s. He remembered waking there a few days prior, disorientated and in pain. The healers had given him something that made his body feel warm and his mind feel useless. 

How long have I been here? He wondered to himself. Ever since his almost-death, his memory was hazy. He wasn’t sure how many times he had woken up at St. Mungo’s or how many times they had given him a potion to relieve his pain.

Reaching up, Severus felt the thick constraints of a gauze bandage around his neck. The opening of his door pulled his attention away from his pain.

A healer stood in the door. She stepped in and greeted him in a formal way, but he was hardly paying attention to her. Instead, his eyes were focused solely on the boy–the man who lingered awkwardly in the hallway.

“So,” the healer continued onward with whatever pointless, one-sided conversation she was having. “If it’s alright, Mr. Potter would really like to see you. Like I said, he’s been waiting to-”

“Fine,” his voice was rough–far rougher than it had ever been before. He waved off the healer, already annoyed with her frantic chatter.

The healer stepped away and motioned to Potter. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate in the hallway. Severus wished he would finally lose a bit of his Gryffindor courage (or stupidity) and turn tail. He didn’t, of course. Potter walked into his room as the healer stepped into the hallway.

“You…you probably don’t want to see me, Professor,” Potter began. “But I…I needed to come here to tell you that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for thinking you were a Death Eater, and you were trying to kill me. I had no idea everything…you did.”

“I wouldn’t be much of a spy if you knew those details,” Severus remarked. His throat already ached from the words he spoke.

Potter gave an uncomfortable nod. “I guess,” he said slowly. “Also, I told the Ministry about…what you did. I explained that if it wasn’t for the information, you gave me, I never would have known how to defeat Voldemort.”

Severus starred at Potter. After days of pain and potion fueled deliria, he was finally coming to. Voldemort was dead. Harry Potter had somehow survived.

The war was over.

“You were right,” Potter said as he dug his hands into his pockets and looked at the ground. “There was a piece of him…in me.” The words seemed to bother him.

Severus already knew as much. However, he couldn’t understand how Potter had survived if Voldemort was dead.

“I died for…a bit,” he said as if reading Severus’ mind.

“But you defeated him,” his voice was barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” Potter’s eyes met his. “Because of you.”

Severus had nothing to say to that. He wasn’t particularly excited to know that Potter had seen into his memories. At the time, he had assumed he’d be dead. Now, he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable.

“And the sword of Gryffindor,” Potter continued on. “You left it for us in that pool in the forest. You knew it could destroy the locket. I told the Ministry about that, too, Professor.”

Once again, Severus had nothing to say. He stayed quiet as Potter shifted uncomfortably. 

“I just…I want you to know that I won’t forget what you did for us. I…if there’s anything you need-”

“Save your breath, Potter. This wasn’t all for you,” he replied as coldly as he could.

“I know.”

“You can stop feeling guilty. You saved the world, now go live your life.”

“Sir?”

“Leave,” he narrowed his eyes. It was hard for him to believe that someone as daft as Potter could defeat the Dark Lord.

Late May, 1998

Severus had very little belongings that he actually cared about. So much of what he had bought over the years had been to uphold an image. His books, his Potion Master's Robes, and his caldron were among the only things he planned to bring with him. Everything else could have been burned to the ground for all he cared. 

As he stood in the center of his living room, Severus considered the prospect of burning everything to the ground. The cramped little house on Spinner’s End was nothing more than an empty box, tainted with cigarette smoke and painful memories. Something inside him reveled in the idea of setting the place afire. 

However, as much as it might satisfy his ‘inner child’ to set his home ablaze, Severus had already sold the house to an unsuspecting muggle couple. He had only returned to pack his belongings, clean the home, and remove any old wards on the house. Then, he would be free of his old life once and for all.

De-warding the house was easier said than done. Severus had been a paranoid wizard and with good reason. Additionally, he had never considered the possibility of surviving the war. No matter what tale he spun in his mind, he had always ended up dead in one way or another.

I should have planned better, he thought to himself as he undid the last ward. 

Severus had always prided himself on his brains. Yet even with his vast knowledge, he hadn’t considered the possibility of surviving. After years of dealing with the grueling stress of being a spy for Dumbledore as well as a professor in a school full of idiots, he found himself at an odd point. 

He was free.

Freedom, it seemed, was not as pleasant as he would have hoped. Severus had lasted a week back at Spinner’s End before he realized he needed to get out. The walls had begun to close in on him and sometimes he swore he heard the ghosts of his parents shouting. No, what was left of his life would no longer involve Spinner’s End. It had been an easy decision. 

As Severus latched his trunk shut, a knock came to his door. He stood up straight. A familiar rush of fear shot through his body. He had to remind himself that Voldemort was dead. Dumbledore was dead. 

After glancing out his window, Severus let out a long sigh. He walked to the door and opened it, doing his best to pull his face into a cold expression.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Severus said to the young, blonde wizard who stood on his steps.

“I’m not your student anymore,” he replied with a neutral expression. “I think ‘Draco’ would be fine.”

“I hope you don’t envision being able to call me by my first name.”

A slight smile danced across Draco’s lips. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Good. Who sent you here?”

“Sent me?” He scoffed. “I heard you were leaving.”

“And who said that?”

“I have my sources.”

“Your mother told you, didn’t she?”

"Possibly," Draco scowled. He had never been as good of a liar as he thought he was.

“I already sold the house. There is nothing you or Narcissa can do to stop me.”

“I didn’t come here to stop you,” he seemed confused by the notion.

“Then why are you here?”

“I wanted to say ‘goodbye’.”

Severus froze. He wasn’t sure what to say to that.

“Goodbye?” He raised a dark brow.

“Yes,” Draco said boredly. “You’ve…done a lot for my family. I hope you…find what you’re looking for.”

Severus was surprised by the genuine kindness in Draco’s face. The Malfoys were not known for their kindness.

“What makes you think I’m looking for something?”

He gave a half-hearted shrug. “I think everyone is.” 

“That’s not the only reason you’re here, is it?” Severus could tell that there was something else.

He could see a question lingering in his eyes. Draco shifted uncomfortably on the front steps.

“Yes, well,” he paused. “I came here to ask if you’d ever consider…taking someone as your apprentice.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I want to continue my education.”

“Good for you.”

“I was one of your top students.”

“Yes.”

“And I wish to pursue the study of potions.”

Severus let out a long breath. “Mr. Malfoy-”

“Draco.”

“Draco, I have no use for an apprentice.”

“Would you…at least consider it?”

“Fine.” He had absolutely no intention of considering it.

“Thank you.”

“There are other Potion Masters,” Severus suggested.

“Yes, but none of them have your background. And many would understandably not want…” he trailed off. 

“In a few months, you'll be completely free to do as you wish.” He spotted the Auror standing in the street a few houses down, unaware that Severus could see him.

Draco scoffed. A look crossed his face, making him look older than any eighteen-year-old ought to look. “Do as I wish? Already three wizards have attempted to kill me. What exactly do you think would happen if I approach the first Potion Master I meet and ask them to become my mentor?”

Severus couldn't argue with that. Since the war ended, he had not been overcome with kindness by those around him. However, he hadn't expected to be. Draco, on the other had was still young. He had a life ahead of him and already it was warped by the perception of others.

“I’ll consider it,” Severus said.

“Thank you.”

"And Draco," he said just as the younger wizard was turning to leave.

"Yeah?"

"When the Ministry releases you from house-arrest go someplace safe. Don't go looking for trouble, you'll find it too easily."

Two days later, Severus found himself as far from civilization as he could get (at least without leaving the UK). It was unsurprisingly easy to trade the musty little house on Spinner’s End for a rustic island cottage. The smell of wet cement and stale smoke was replaced with wild air and sea-spray. 

Severus’ new home was located on a tiny island that was technically a part of the Orkney Islands. However, it had been warded against muggles to look like nothing more but a rocky stretch of ocean. Most would see nothing where the island stood. 

At last, Severus made peace with his solitude.

He had always been a bit of a recluse, now he would become a full-fledged hermit. The idea made a smile crawl across his face as he placed his trunk in the middle of his new living room. 

Severus began to unpack. It was an easy task, seeing as though he owned very little at all. The cottage was small, hardly larger than Hagrid’s Hut. It was an old building made from stones and plaster. The floor was uneven, and the windows were drafty. However, it was the first real home Severus had ever had. He couldn’t help but be happy with it.

The bookshelves were the most important. Severus unloaded his vast collection of books onto a large row of shelves that took over nearly an entire wall. Along with the books, Severus set up one of the two small bedrooms to be his potions’ lab. It took a bit of finesse to get his set up perfect, but after a few hours of organizing and reorganizing, he finally had it set up the way he liked.

The rest of the house fell into place within the next week or so. While Severus took on the role of hermit easily, there were still some things that he needed to interact with others for. 

One of which was going to the store for goods. For that, he found a muggle village on one of the other islands that suited his needs. The other was his job. Potions had, and always would be, the love of his life. So, it had been easy to agree to provide the Ministry of Magic with potions to help heal those affected by the war. 

Once every couple of weeks, Severus agreed to apparate to the Ministry with whatever potions they requested. In return, they paid him and ‘kept his name clear of allegations’. He was fairly certain the latter part was a lie. However, he hardly cared. If the world still saw him as a villain, he was fine with that.

Most of Severus’ days were spent in a small cottage, on a remote island, in the middle of the North Sea. He stayed up late, brewing all manner of potions and reading books he had been putting off for years. He used the vast, open skies to calculate potion formulas based on the stars. At last, he began to do the things he had always hoped to do.

At last, his life felt like his.