Oblation: (n.) the act of offering a sacrifice.

This ceiling was not the Hogwarts Infirmary. Severus stared up at the institution green and frowned as he tried to find the name he was searching for. Everything felt hazy and distant.

St. Mungo’s. He was in St. Mungo’s.

His hand twitched upon the bedding and he let out a breathy noise that could hardly be considered the scream that he had been trying for.

“Ah, Healer Sparkes, his eyes are open again,” A familiar, and dreaded, voice called out and Severus heard footsteps approaching.

“Probably a reaction again just like last week, but let’s run a diagnostic,” The healer’s magic tingled and Severus groaned, louder this time, and shuddered at the feeling. “Ah! Mister Potter, please get healer Dungenesse from the hall, it appears Mister Snape has finally woken up.” A woman’s face loomed over his, her dark hair streaked with grey and curled about her face charmingly. “Hello, Mister Snape, I’m Healer Sparkes, we’re just going to get you released from all of your stasis spells.”

Severus groaned, trying to form words.

“You won’t be able to speak for now, you’ve been placed under a spell that keeps your airway open, you sustained some very heavy damage in the Battle of Hogwarts.”

LeFay’s Tits, they named it already. Or he had been under for much longer than he thought. Severus didn’t have time to muse on that for long, Potter was returning with a woman who must have been Healer Dungenesse.

“Ah, Mister Snape, ready to rejoin the living?” The woman asked, drawing her wand and murmuring a few releasing spells. “Deep breath for me.”

Severus inhaled deeply, nearly choking on his own tongue before he started coughing and rolled onto his side, retching and heaving as his stomach rebelled at the feeling of being released from stasis. Thankfully he didn’t have any food in his system so all that came up was the burn of bile in the back of his throat and nose. He swallowed, sniffed, and gave a couple more clearing coughs before he spoke.

“Percy.”

The healers that had been fussing over him hesitated, and Potter gave Severus a pained look. “I don’t think that’s-”

“Potter, you will show me Percy right now or so help me I will make whatever remains of your life a living hell.” Severus snarled, straightening as best as he could. His legs nearly gave out when he swung them over the edge of the bed, his slick compression socks scrambling gracelessly on the floor. “Where are my clothes!” He demanded, glaring at the healers. “My belongings?”

Potter took mercy on him, transfiguring the hospital robes into a simple black shirt and trousers, a skill he must have picked up during his year on the run. Severus stumbled and when Potter reached out he smacked the younger man’s hand away. “Professor, you’re not well en-”

“I am quite well and I am not your professor anymore,” Severus growled. “Now where is Percival Weasley?”

He expected to be led to another room, to be taken through the halls to a less serious ward of St. Mungo’s. Instead he was led to the bowels of the hospital, deeper and deeper until he felt dread clench his throat so tightly he couldn’t breathe.

They stood outside a door marked with only Morgue in harsh block letters above it.

“He’s in there,” Potter whispered. “I’ve gotten permission for you to view the body, but I don’t know how long before the Healers get the Aurors here for you.”

Severus didn’t care, and did not listen, as he stepped through the door and searched for a familiar red head. The bodies held in glass stasis chambers were listed alphabetically, a morbid filing system. Some of the names were familiar (Brown, Lavender), there were others that were not (Tarsinius, Greg), and when Severus came to Weasley, Fred and Weasley, Percival he froze. Fred’s nameplate remained, but his body had already been claimed, while Percy’s remained behind. A generous little voice in his head, that sounded suspiciously like Lily, told him it was because Potter wanted him to see Percy one last time before he was buried, a less generous voice that he recognized as his own said that the Weasleys had forsaken one dead son in favor of the other.

Percy had always been beautiful. His skin was paler than before, his freckles faded from so long without time in the sunlight, trapped in Voldemort’s shadows. His ginger curls were cleaned and had dried in a way that Severus knew he hated, the unruliness that made him look windswept and so very charming when he laughed and smiled at Severus. His glasses were missing and when Severus glanced down at the tray beside the body he saw a box labeled “Personal Effects”. They were probably in there. He’d collect them before the body was released. Severus reached out, resting his hand upon the glass and staring at Percy’s still face. His eyes were closed, his lips curved into a soft, barely-there smile, as if he was having a particularly good dream. His hair and skin had been cleaned of blood and dirt and while there were scratches on his face and body, the wound that had killed him was not visible.

He looked like something from a muggle fairy tale he had read in primary school. Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, some unfortunately cursed creature that could only be woken by True Love’s Kiss.

But Percy was dead, and despite his proclamations of his misspent youth, Severus was not a Prince.

“You are Severus Tobias Snape, of 14 Spinner’s End, Cokeworth, correct?”

“It would appear so,” Severus had never liked Kingsley Shacklebolt and his self-righteousness and fawning adoration of Albus Dumbledore. However, he was glad that Shacklebolt, with his rigid moral compass, stood trial over him rather than Pius Thicknesse, who would order his death out of spite for his betrayal. Severus flinched as a flashbulb went off right beside his face, glaring at the photographer that was raising the camera for another quick snapshot. The entire event was a spectacle, with reporters, witnesses, and the entirety of the Order of the Phoenix standing to observe his trial

Or what was left of the Order. He could see Molly and Arthur at the front row, and scowled at them, his fists clenching tightly against his thighs as he forced his eyes away from the Weasleys, short two ginger heads. St. Mungo’s couldn’t hold Percy’s body indefinitely, no matter what Harry Potter himself had asked as a favor, and today it was to be buried. Potter had shared with him the details in the days leading up to it, but Severus had only made one request of the young man: Don’t order lilies.

“You stand before the Wizengamot today accused of the willful and premeditated murders of Albus Dumbledore, Charity Burbage, and countless others, as well as the practice of Dark Arts in the service of Lord Voldemort.” Shacklebolt looked down at Severus with a frown. “How do you plead?”

Severus merely said, “I plead guilty.” He stared up at the man, his voice rising to be heard over the ripple of murmurs and shouts of the gathered crowd. He could hear nothing more distinct than the beating of his own heart. Surprising, that. He had thought he no longer had a heart after Lily’s death, and now he wondered how it could keep beating on after Percy’s death.

“Order in the court!” Shacklebolt barked, pounding his gavel.

“Witness for the Defense!” A familiar voice called and Severus closed his eyes to keep from rolling them so hard he strained something. “Harry James Potter.”

“Mister Potter, what do you bring before the court?”

“I bring this,” Potter held up a vial of memories, Severus’ memories if the way they called out to him was any indication. “These memories were gathered from Severus Snape and Percival Weasley as they both lay dying in the Shrieking Shack.” Potter explained as he placed the vial before Shacklebolt. “I believe these to be the absolute truth of the matter of Severus Snape’s innocence and how his actions were not only sanctioned by Albus Dumbledore, but integral for the end of the war.” Potter gestured towards Severus. “Might I show these to the Wizengamot?”

“You may, Mister Potter, but may Master Snape please be advised that as you are not true legal representation that he is not required to answer any of your subsequent questions,” Shacklebolt looked at Severus and frowned.

“If I must be subjected to this, may I state for the record that those memories are private and not meant to be paraded about in Court like some muggle soap opera,” Severus hissed, glaring at Potter.

“These memories are evidence, properly entered within the court, I think you will find,” Potter gestured and Shacklebolt flicked through Severus’ file, glaring down at a note that must have stated that this was the truth.

“Very well.”

A pensieve was produced and Severus watched as it was charmed to show the memories to the whole court.

Lily. Lily speaking to him. Friendship, warmth. Lily asking Severus to be Harry’s godfather, even after their fight, even after his poor decisions, after he had begged for her forgiveness. Lily dead in his arms before he gathered little Harry into his arms, shushing the screaming little monster. A duel with Sirius Black, shouting, and then Severus handing Harry to Hagrid, ordering him to take the baby to Dumbledore while he dealt with Black’s betrayal.

Albus. Albus giving him a job, giving him purpose, giving him orders. He followed all of them, always, always because of Lily, because of Harry. Albus with that damn cursed ring, the Resurrection Stone that had tempted even the wise and powerful Dumbledore to folly. The ring tucked into the snitch, the Elder Wand buried with Dumbledore and Voldemort’s vicious demands to know where it was. Dumbledore’s hunt for the horcruxes, his willingness to sacrifice Harry Potter like a pig for slaughter.

Harry. Harry coming to Hogwarts and he was every bit James’ son but those eyes were all Lily. Foolish and brave and so much like Lily in his kindness and loyalty and Severus couldn’t like him, couldn’t be close to the boy, he had to push him away, he had to, or else they were both dead.

Percy.

“No!” Severus choked as he saw Percy’s face smiling up at him, laughing, crying, sobbing, sprawled on Severus’ bed in Spinner’s End like a vision. “No, stop it!”

Percy and Severus after Dumbledore’s death, Dumbledore’s orders to kill him. Percy, pale and scared and asking what to do. The two of them drawing the sword of Godric Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat then delivering it to Potter.

A mongoose and a bat chasing one another through darkness.

“I said stop!” Severus’ voice cut through the air and the charm was ended as Percy threw himself in front of Severus, taking Nagini’s vicious bite into his back, his green green eyes, like Lily’s eyes but different, stared up at Severus.

A horrible shrieking sob sounded through the courtroom, and Severus wondered what wretched creature was making that noise before he realized that it was him.

The sound wracked his body as he mourned the loss of his second love for the first time, falling to pieces in the courtroom as everything fell silent around him. There would be pictures, articles, but he didn’t care, not when his chest ached so painfully.

“Please, stop, stop, no more, I don’t want to do this anymore,” He choked out, his head splitting with pain as he leaned against the bars of his cage. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Albus, I don’t want to do this anymore.”

The Wizengamot deliberated Severus’ case for a week.

On the seventh day he was summoned to the courtroom. He was still bound by the hanging ropes, still held in his cage, standing before the court wane and so very tired. He didn’t even care about Rita Skeeter sitting so close he could see the flicker of her acid green Quick Quotes Quill.

“Severus Tobias Snape, you have stood trial for a multitude of crimes, each one horrific in their effects and devastation that they have wrought than the last.” Shacklebolt stared down at Severus. “But these crimes were proven to be sanctioned by Albus Dumbledore in a time of great turmoil and uncertainty within our nation. As such, you are hereby exonerated in the eyes of the Wizengamot.”

Silence and then a riot. Some people demanding a sentence to Azkaban, some that he be stripped of his magic, and still others shouting for the Dementor’s Kiss, only to be silenced by Shacklebolt’s gavel pounding on the podium for order.

“We have reviewed the evidence, as well as your own memories, which we believe to be the whole truth of the matter. We the Wizengamot find you innocent of all crimes committed while in service of Albus Dumbledore.” Shacklebolt waved his hand and Percy hung his head as he sobbed softly. “The case of Wizarding Britain v. Severus Tobias Snape is hereby closed and matter of record.”

The woman who handed Severus both his personal effects and Percy’s was a twitchy, jumpy woman who wore purple robes and had introduced herself as Mafalda Hopkirk. She had offered her condolences on his loss and Severus had frowned.

“Percy was a friend of mine,” Mafalda whispered, staring at him with a meek smile. “He was a good man. I sent flowers to his funeral.”

“Not lilies, I hope,” Severus murmured and the woman shook her head.

“He liked moly. He always chewed little sprigs of it when he couldn’t get a smoke in.” It was beyond pathetic to break at that, but he did, his face twitching, drawing tightly, tears leaking from his eyes before he could wipe them away. “O-oh, Master Snape, oh dear, I’m so sorry, oh…” She gently led Severus to sit on a very plush, comfortable purple sofa and tried to take Percy’s bag from him, only for Severus to clutch it tightly, burying his nose in the leather that smelled like Percy’s laundry soap, ink, and his skin. “Here, here, have a cuppa, there we go.” Mafalda gently placed the teacup and saucer into Severus’ shaking hand. “Drink up, Master Snape, there we go, there.”

The tea was peppermint and it was unsweetened and he appreciated it as he let the saucer fall and held the delicate teacup emblazoned with the emblem of the Ministry of Magic on it. “Thank you, Miss Hopkirk.”

“Mafalda is fine, Master Snape,” The woman smiled gently. “And if… If you ever wish to have tea again, to talk about Percy, my floo redirects to my home if I’m not in.”

“Thank you, Mafalda,” Severus whispered weakly. “I’m sorry, I’ll not impose on your hospitality any longer.”

“Should I have someone floo you to Spinner’s End?”

“No,” Severus stood, still holding Percy’s bag tightly to his chest. “I would much rather go alone.”

Mafalda looked a bit worried, but she merely nodded and let Severus be on his way with his wand in its sheath and a couple of biscuits pressed into his hands. He felt a bit undignified, wandering through the Ministry, holding Percy’s bag clutched to his chest, his free hand holding two biscuits, but his thunderous scowl managed to convince most others away from him as he made his way to the main floos.

“14 Spinner’s End.” He barked, and in moments he was in his own sitting room, dusting ash off of himself and Percy’s bag, the two biscuits eaten up in the flames of the floo.

Everything was just as he had left it at the end of the summer and Severus felt his heart pounding as he climbed the stairs to his parents’ old bedroom, now his own, quickly. His knees ached as he climbed the stairs two at a time and when he threw the door open he didn’t spare a thought for the dry wall that no doubt was damaged by the door knob. He carefully placed Percy’s bag on the bed and turned towards the dresser.

Severus’ own robes were hung in the closet, undisturbed and perfectly laundered, but Percy’s clothing was made mostly of knit jumpers and starched shirts. There, folded neatly in the dresser, Severus saw Percy’s burgundy sweater with the golden “P” knitted into it. The cuff of the sleeve was ruined from Percy picking at it nervously, but Severus merely lifted the thick wool to his face, burying his nose in it and breathing deeply as he sank to his knees on the floor.

Tears leaked from his eyes as Severus breathed in the scent of Percy, familiar and clean and fresh. He could even smell a hint of the clove cigarettes that Percy smoked, a nasty habit he had picked up from Lucius Malfoy that Severus would never admit he found alluring when Percy’s lips parted to release a thin stream of smoke. Severus hugged the bulky sweater close, his breaths ragged and uneven as he rocked back and forth on the floor, choking back any sounds that threatened to bubble forth from his lips.

He didn’t sleep in the bedroom that night. Instead he sat in his chair in the sitting room, bottle of whiskey in hand as he stared at the wall and listened to the muggle radio playing a selection of “golden oldies”.

When the opening strains of Yesterday Once More began to play and Karen Carpenter’s voice sounded he clenched his jaw so tightly he worried his crooked teeth might shatter.

When I was young I'd listen to the radio… Waitin' for my favorite songs… When they played I'd sing along… It made me smi-

Severus flicked his wand and turned off the radio, bathing his sitting room in silence as he took another deep swig from the bottle of firewhiskey, running his free hand over the warm knit sweater in his lap.

He should go through Percy’s things. There were so few of them he might as well. Before Minerva hunted him down and demanded his return to Hogwarts.

Climbing the stairs once more Severus sat on the edge of the master bed, breathing deeply as he looked down at the bag beside him. He placed the bottle of firewhiskey on the nightstand and traced one finger carefully over the embossed leather. P.I.W. Percy Ignatius Weasley.

Inside was a purple tasseomancy teaset and when Severus opened the sugar bowl there was an inscription inked in black on the inside of the lid.

Batty, always look ahead, never back. Prof. Veil

Severus placed the set on the bed carefully. He remembered Percy’s sobs over Bathilda Bagshot and what he had been ordered to do by the Dark Lord. He also remembered how Percy obsessively tended to this teaset, the least he could do to care for the last bit of Bathilda Bagshot.

Lucius Malfoy’s silver cigarette case, engraved with the Malfoy crest and still bearing several clove cigarettes. Severus opened the case and breathed in the scent, taking one of the cigarettes and lighting it. The drag was smooth and warm and unfamiliar, but it smelled of Percy and Severus held the breath as long as he could before breathing out. He had asked Percy several times what the boy felt for Lucius, jealousy poisoning his veins as he thought of the handsome blonde man touching Percy, dragging his greedy hands over the younger man’s thin, pale flanks. Percy had always denied any emotion towards the man, other than disgust and the barest ounces of tolerance.

Rufus Scrimgeour’s cut crystal ash tray, with the seal of the Ministry of Magic carved into the bottom. Yaxley had wanted to torture the man, had wanted to Imperius him, make the man beg for death. Percy hadn’t been ordered to kill the man, but he had asked Severus for a poison that was painless and fast and Severus had provided, worried quietly that Percy would try something foolish, on either himself or on the Dark Lord.

The other items were more innocuous. Textbooks that were scrawled in with notes, diaries that Percy had filled in his time within Voldemort’s shadow. A muggle fountain pen charmed to never run dry, his glasses and a stack of loose parchment.

And a Lover’s Eye.

Severus stared at the image of his own eye, watching the way the brow turned up in agony as he realized that Percy had worn this charm to keep tabs on him, a small, secret way to see Severus’ own emotions when they were apart.

Severus clutched the Lover’s Eye and was tempted to throw it into the fire down in the sitting room, but instead drew his wand and aimed it at the Lover’s Eye. Slowly the image changed, Severus’ own dark, sharp and critical eye changed to Percy’s soft green gaze, like the grassy moors that the Hogwarts Express traveled through.

There would never be any magic within this locket. It would never show Percy’s emotions, but Severus could look upon it, let the locket rest close to his heart beneath his robes.

The last item that was within Percy’s bag was his tarot deck. Severus had rarely seen him reading the tarot, but he knew that the younger man took tea with Professor Trelawney during his time locked away at Hogwarts under Severus’ tenure. Shuffling the purple cards, Severus took a deep breath and asked the deck a question.

“Will I be able to bring Percy back?”

He drew three cards. The Wheel of Fortune, Reversed. Six of Wands, Reversed. Two of Cups, Upright.

The portrait of Albus Dumbledore was napping and Severus was grateful for that small mercy. He didn’t think he could handle Dumbledore’s condescensions. The man had never known about Severus’ affair in life, and the portrait had disapproved of the “dalliance” when Percy had first begun to visit Severus in Hogwarts during his tenure as Headmaster.

Minerva didn’t seem to approve either, but what could she care for now? Percy was dead.

“Would I need to worry about you carrying on an affair with another student, Severus?” Minerva asked, pointedly staring at him as she sipped her tea.

“Percy Weasley was an exception,” Severus stared at his own teacup. “One that I hadn’t even considered after… Lily.”

“You were always such a solitary boy,” Minerva hummed, nibbling at a biscuit as she looked at him. “But then again, so was Percy Weasley. It shouldn’t have surprised us as much as it did, what Potter said when he brought you to the Great Hall.”

Severus had seen the photographs, splashed across an older Rita Skeeter article. She had painted quite the conspiracy about him and Percy while Severus had been comatose in St. Mungo’s, and doubtless if Severus had not survived she’d have made a very lucrative killing penning Severus’ own hatchet-job biography the same way she had Albus’.

“I think it’ll be good for you to teach again,” Minerva said simply. “You have your choice of returning to the potion’s master position-”

“No,” Severus nearly choked as his own words circled around the inside of his skull in a mobius strip of guilt. I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death. “No, if it’s all the same to you, Minerva, I would rather return to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.” He would feel like less of a failure in that class. Likely he’d explain to the children that if they are ever faced with an enormous fucking snake that a quick severing charm might save their lives. Or the ability to duck.

Minerva stared at him, her eyes observing him as if she was trying to peel back his scalp and crack open his skull to observe his thoughts. He kept his mental walls up, years of occlumency saving him from her prying eyes. “Very well. I can ask Slughorn to stay on for a few more years as potion’s master. I doubt this will be a difficult conversation, he’s become quite taken with the students now, quite involved.”

“I will stay on,” Severus whispered as he looked at Albus’ still snoozing portrait, forcing his hands not to shake as he sipped from the tea cup. “I miss teaching.”

It was one of many lies he had been telling himself of late.

“You’re sure, Severus?”

“I’m fine, Minerva.” That was another lie, but if he said it often enough perhaps it would become true. “The sooner things get back to normal the better for all of us.”

“You come here often,” It wasn’t a question and Severus hadn’t intended it to be, had merely wanted to fill the awkward silence between the two of them.

Harry Potter had made it a point to harass Severus, to constantly come down for tea, or whiskey more often than not, to ask him endless inane questions about his childhood and other such useless dreck.

The only questions that Severus treated with even a modicum of respect were ones about Lily.

“This was the last place I saw them,” Harry sighed as he looked around. “With the Resurrection Stone.”

Severus stiffened, but forced the tension to leave his shoulders as he made note of the place. “Who did you see?”

“My mum… My dad… Sirius and Lupin,” Harry looked around the clearing. “I knew you were still alive, but I didn’t see you here so I… I figured that you had to still be alive, that you’d survive the end.”

“A foolish hope, I was on the brink of death for weeks afterwards.”

There was nothing to differentiate this stretch of forest from the others, simply that Harry had walked the path nigh endlessly.

“My mum made you my godfather… Why?”

Severus huffed and turned his attention to Harry, looking down at the younger man with a contemplative look. “Because I loved her and she knew I was devoted to her. She was my only true friend, even after I made… Regrettable decisions. She forgave me.”

“You were there when I was born,” Harry was curious, it was natural to be curious, but Severus hoped the boy didn’t get any strange thoughts into his head.

“Your mother and I were having tea when her water broke,” Severus’ face twitched as he remembered pouring over baby and childbirthing books, becoming a veritable encyclopedia for Lily, plying her with endless potions for the health of her and the baby, and then the frantic pounding of his heart when she went into labor. “I had never gotten my driver’s license and I was too scared to apparate her, so I called a taxi and paid the driver an exorbitant amount of money to break every speed limit to get to the hospital.”

Harry gave a small laugh. “Bet the muggle hospital was not happy about that.”

“You caused a power outage when you were born,” Severus said dryly. “A menace, even as a newborn.”

“Why didn’t you ever take me away from the Dursleys?” Harry asked, his voice soft, accusing, and Severus knew that this question was coming, but had hoped he’d be given more time to prepare an adequate answer for it.

“Blood is very important to magic,” Severus began as he looked down at Harry, at those eyes that were Lily’s eyes. “Petunia Dursley was the only remaining family of both the Evans and the Potters line. Number 4 Privet Drive was where the last of where your mother’s blood resided, and so her love could protect you, at least until you were an adult.” Harry frowned, and Severus sighed as he shook his head. “I, as much as I loved your mother, am not your blood, Harry. I could never hope to compete with the power of Lily’s love, and so you were safer with the Dursleys, despite their shortcomings and abuse.”

“You knew about that?”

“Of course I knew,” Severus sighed, fumbling through his robe’s pockets until he drew out the silver cigarette case engraved with the Malfoy crest. He offered Harry a cigarette, the younger man eyeing the case quietly and accepting. Severus lit both of their cigarettes with the tip of his finger before he continued. “I scried upon you every day for years. Even after you were in Hogwarts, I checked on you, made sure you were safe. It’s how I knew that you were about to do something monumentally stupid that night at the Shrieking Shack your third year. How I knew to send the Order to the Department of Mysteries in your fifth year.”

Harry stared at the cigarette case, frowning before he whispered hoarsely around a breath of smoke, “And Percy? You convinced him to help?”

“Percy had his own demons to fight, his actions were all his own,” Severus sighed. “Don’t judge him too harshly for the actions he took. He didn’t trust Dumbledore, and he certainly didn’t trust anyone else in the Order. Selfishly, I didn’t want to risk Percy turning into one of Dumbledore’s pawns like so many others.”

“When did you…” Harry frowned, scuffing his shoes in the dirt. “When did you know you loved him?”

Severus exhaled a long stream of smoke, staring at the autumn leaves of the forest, a riot of warm oranges, reds, browns, and yellows. He hadn’t sharpened his nails in some time, the points were dull, and the black polish was chipped in places, but he couldn’t bring himself to care too much about that.

“His seventh year,” Severus said simply. “He was suffering hallucinations, hearing Voldemort’s voice in his head. I taught him Occlumency, but before that I saw… I saw his feelings for me.” He thought of those beautiful green eyes, staring apologetically up at him in the Shrieking Shack, and then a deep, bruising kiss shared between them. “No one, not even your mother, saw me the way that Percy Weasley did.”

Harry didn’t need to know the details, didn’t need to know that it had started with lust, with Severus’ own desires winning out over his self control. That he had first looked at Percy and seen red hair and green eyes and an academic sharpness that reminded him entirely of Lily. It had been a selfish decision at first, but Severus had lapped up the attention that Percy had given him, and when the boy had flourished under Severus’ own attention… Then he had found out about the blackouts. The horcrux. The Chamber of Secrets.

Severus crushed the cigarette beneath his foot. “What did you do with the Resurrection Stone?” He asked curiously, changing the subject. “You could see your parents more than once.”

“I dropped it,” Harry shrugged. “The Hallows had brought no one anything but grief. I broke the Elder Wand in half, lost the Resurrection Stone here… The only good Hallow was the Invisibility Cloak.”

“If I had known the mischief you’d get up to with it then I wouldn’t have given it to you,” Severus sighed as he blew out the last of his cigarette smoke that he had held in his lungs.

“And your Potions Textbook?” Harry asked with a slight smile.

“That proved to be a double-edged sword, didn’t it?” Severus raised a brow down at Harry. “I do hope you learned not to practice unknown spells on your fellow students after that.”

They stood in the clearing, wind whipping their cloaks about their bodies for a few more moments, before Harry shuddered and sighed. “I’m going to return to the dorm. Hermione got a study group set up for all the seconds years that are basically repeating their first year and I promised to help teach Defense.”

“I shall remain here for a moment,” Severus waved the younger man off. “Go on, now, best not keep Miss Granger waiting.”

Harry looked as if he wanted to say something, but he shook his head after a moment. “Goodbye, Snape.”

“Hmm,” Severus watched the young man pick his way back through the Forbidden Forest, waiting until he could no longer hear the steady footsteps on crunching leaves before he turned and waved his hand. “Accio Marvolo Gaunt’s Ring.”

The ring flew into his palm, sans the Resurrection Stone, and Severus glared at it. He tossed aside the cursed ring and fell to his knees, pawing through layers of leaves, carefully clearing a space, then another space, combing his fingers through the earth, using the points of his nails to dig up rocks and pebbles, hunting on his hands and knees. Hours passed like this, and when it became dark he cast a blanket of luminous mist over the area, searching even more carefully for the stone.

“Ah!” He hissed when his finger caught on the sharp edge of something and peered down, feeling his heart freeze as he saw the polished glint of the stone. He dug it from the earth, smoothing dirt away from the surface. It was still cracked from where Dumbledore had struck it with the sword of Godric Gryffindor, but if Harry was to be believed it still worked perfectly. Pulling a clean white handkerchief from his pocket, Severus wrapped the stone in it then slipped it into back into the pocket of his robes.

He had dinner in the Great Hall, sipped at his pumpkin juice and tried to keep his hands from shaking as he gave grunts and monosyllabic answers to Minerva’s questions and attempts at conversation. When the students started to filter back to their houses after dinner, Severus slipped away from the staff table and down through the winding passages until he was in the Dungeons once more. When he carefully locked and warded the door to his quarters he took a shaking breath and placed the handkerchief on the side table beside his high backed armchair.

He poured himself two fingers of firewhiskey and stared into the fireplace before he downed his drink and placed the glass aside, picking up the handkerchief slowly. He gently wiped the dirt clean with the handkerchief and then held it up to the light of the fire, staring at the symbol of the Deathly Hallows within the glittering stone.

He should throw it into the fire. He knew the story of the Deathly Hallows and what had happened to Cadmus Peverell.

Closing his eyes, Severus took a deep breath and turned the stone thrice in hand.

Silence, nothing, and Severus let out a sigh, opening his eyes.

Only to see Percy standing before him, the younger man smiling gently. His face was pale and clean and beautiful. He looked so much happier than he had ever been in life, even with Severus, and it made the man’s heart ache.

“Hello, Severus,” The young man spoke, smiling as he held out his hand to the man. “I’ve missed you.”

Severus reached out, only for his hand to fall through Percy’s as he grasped and reached. The shade of him looked solid, was only barely transparent, and he didn’t float like a ghost did, he stood upon the ground as if he had weight, gravity to him. “You don’t belong in this realm.” Severus murmured sadly, his fingers tracing the air around the younger man’s face.

“I don’t,” Percy agreed, his smile turning sad as he rested his hands upon Severus’ chest, letting his palms drift through the fabric, skin, and bone to wrap warm and comforting around the man’s heart. They weren’t chilled, like ghosts, they bore a faint warmth that permeated even the thick wool of Severus’ robes. Severus’ eyes drifted closed and he felt tears rolling down his cheeks as he felt the warmth, his heart pounding against the shade’s fingers. “You could come with me, Severus.” Those fingers tickled against Severus’ ribs, down to his waist, pulling back slowly. “It’s easier than falling into bed.”

Severus stared down at those beautiful green eyes, soft and warm, and tried to reach for his face, to draw Percy closer, to kiss him one last time, only for their faces to brush and never truly touch, not with Percy standing on one side of the veil and Severus on the other. “I will find a way to bring you back, I swear.” He whispered, his hands shaking as he dropped the stone, trying to cup both of his hands around Percy’s face.

The moment the stone hit the plush green carpet, the shade vanished into a fine mist that smelled of clove smoke and ink and soap.

Severus altered the Lover’s Eye locket. Instead of being merely flat on the inside he took a few days to charm it into being able to hold the Resurrection Stone in its golden confines. He wore it beneath his neck, close to his skin, and often fiddled with it.

It was a pure accident to discover that turning the locket three times on the chain summoned the shade of Percy, and that releasing the locket to leave it against his chest would allow the shade to remain. He had been pacing among the columns of students, watching them practice defensive spells and countercurses against one another, idly fiddling with the locket on its fine chain, giving criticisms when he saw them.

“Mister Abernathy, do you not remember my instructions on defending against striking spells? A broad shield to disperse the spell.”

“Oh, come now, Severus,” A voice cooed in his ear and Severus turned, staring at the shade before him. It was Percy, paler than before, less freckled, but still quite lovely and healthy in appearance, standing more solidly than a ghost, but not solid enough to embrace. “You always were such a demanding teacher.” Percy walked around the edge of the classroom, startling students and distracting others as he lurked towards Severus’ desk at the head of the classroom.

“Keep working,” Severus ordered the students, quickly striding to stand at his desk. Percy leaned against the high back of Severus’ chair, smirking as the man looked down at him. “You can’t just disturb my class, Percy.” He said sternly, flustered despite himself.

“I’m dead, Severus,” Percy tilted his head and smirked at the man. “I can do anything I want.”

“And you want to cause an accident in my classroom?” Severus glanced at the students, who were still clearly distracted by Severus’ argument with the shade.

“Absolutely not,” Percy hummed, circling around Severus before he passed clean through the man to walk down the aisle flanked by students throwing spells back and forth. “You were the one who summoned me here, now, maybe you want me to distract you, deep down.”

“Percy!” Severus hissed, turning sharply and taking a thoughtless step forward to follow the shade.

He was struck by a hurling hex that sent him flying into the air, his distraction causing him to crash into the ceiling, and then back to the ground. He was about to be thrown back into the air when he waved his hand and uttered the countercurse, dropping him back onto the floor on his back, the air whooshing from his lungs as he made impact.

“I’m so sorry, Professor Snape!” The student said as she knelt beside Severus, trying to help him up. “I’m so sorry, I had already cast it and I couldn’t think of the countercurse and you just walked into i-”

“Class dismissed,” Severus barked, rolling onto his elbows and knees, forcing himself upright with a grunt. “I want a report by this Friday on one dark charm and the adequate counters for them, this can be a jinx, hex, or curse, now go!”

The students flew out of the classroom like bats escaping a belfry.

Percy’s shade was gone, the only sign of him ever being there was the faint scent of clove cigarettes on the air.

Severus grunted and limped towards the door, his knees strained from the sudden impacts and doubtless he had several bruises. If he hurried he could get to his dungeon quarters and down a few potions, slather some bruise paste over his chest, and then be back in time for his next class. He couldn’t be angry at the student, he had been the one to walk directly into her line of fire, a foolish mistake that he knew better than to do.

He closed the door to his quarters behind him and locked the door before he started to strip his robes off in front of his bedroom mirror. He stared at his reflection, at the protective spell emblazoned on his chest in scar tissue. He had avoided looking at himself in the mirror after realizing what was etched into his chest, sigils of love, guardianship, ancient spells invoking the protection of Percy’s own blood. Percy had never been a good duelist, he had never been particularly adequate with modern spells, but the old ways he had always been exceptional in.

Severus placed his hand over his chest where the warm golden locket still rested on his pale skin, and after a moment he turned the locket three times on the chain.

Percy’s face appeared over his shoulder, his nearly-ghostly arms wrapping around Severus’ chest, permeating warmth into the man’s skin. “I always loved seeing marks on you.” Percy whispered, his palm brushing over a bruise forming on Severus’ ribs. “Especially when they were mine.” Those soft, perfect lips brushed warmth over Severus’ ear as he tilted his head and whispered. “I miss feeling you, Severus. I miss your touch, your kisses, your marks.” Severus felt his heart breaking as he thought of how close they were, how so very close he was to Percy, but the veil between the living and the dead might as well have been an ocean of distance. He’d have an easier chance reaching the moon than reaching out to truly touch Percy. “You know what you have to do, Severus. You and I could be together again.” Soft verdant eyes looked up at him and Severus wanted to sob at the sight. “Don’t you want to be with me?”

Severus reached out to the shade that was so real, so close to perfectly solid, but his hands passed through Percy, bathed in the warmth of the shade and that only made the longing worse. If he was a true ghost then he would be cold, then the pain wouldn’t be so acute, knowing that he was dead and cold in the ground. This warmth, this facsimile of Percy’s sunkissed warmth, was torture. Severus sank to his knees and sobbed, pressing his forehead to the plush carpet beneath him.

“Percy,” He choked out, his fingers clawing at the fabric of the rug. “Please, please, I want you back. I’ll give anything to have you back.”

“You know what you must do,” Percy whispered into his ear, crouching beside Severus. “It would be so easy. Dreamless Sleep would be perfect for it. And when you wake you would be with me.”

“I can’t-” Severus shook his head. “I can’t do that. I’m not strong enough.”

“Don’t you want to be with me?” The shade’s voice was hurt, thick with tears, and Severus looked up immediately, meeting those beautiful green eyes.

“Of course I do, Percy,” He breathed, reaching out, his hand shaking, tracing the shape of Percy’s face in the air right before him. “I love you.”

A knock broke the silence between them and Percy’s shade slunk into a dark corner, peering out as Severus snapped his fingers and redressed himself. He adjusted his cloak and swept to the door, opening it to reveal Poppy on the other side.

“Severus, I heard there was a little bit of an accident in class earlier, I came to check on you,” She squinted at him, looking him over in the same way she had when Severus was a student and had come to her with bruises and wounds from his interactions with the Marauders. “You walked into a student’s line of fire?”

“Believe me, it was not intentional,” Severus could still sense Percy in the corner of the room, lurking like a shadow. “Suicide by Sixth Year is not my preferred way to go.”

“Be that as it may, I’m going to run a diagnostic,” Poppy drew her wand and aimed it at Severus, twirling it in the complicated way that healers were taught to gather all of the data about those they were treating. When she was given the information she scowled at him. “You haven’t been eating.”

“I’m perfectly alright,” Severus huffed.

“You cannot live on a diet of firewhiskey and moly,” Poppy tapped the sidetable beside Severus’ chair and a silver platter from the Great Hall was summoned. In a pop of House Elf magic there was a sandwich, a steak and kidney pie slathered in gravy, bangers and mash, and a plethora of biscuits. “Eat something before your next class, Severus.”

Severus sat in his chair, scowling at the woman as he picked up the sandwich and took an enormous bite of it, chewing as slowly and petulantly as he could manage as he glared at Poppy. Percy was staring at him over her shoulder, smirking at Severus as he watched the man eat and the taste of ham and cheese and lettuce and tomato turned to ash in his mouth at the reminder of the shade.

“There, was that so difficult?” Poppy asked, her hands on her hips. “I’ll leave you to it and I’ll be checking up on you more often, is that understood?”

“Clearly,” Severus groused as he choked down another bite of the sandwich. “If that is all, Poppy?”

He expected her to see Percy when she turned, but the shade vanished into a cloud of mist and clove cigarette smoke and she scowled. “Nasty habit, you’ve picked up, Severus, the smoking.”

Severus thought of Percy’s response to Severus’ complaints of the same thing. “I should smoke two at once.”

“Don’t be morbid,” Poppy chided as she closed the door behind her.

The tray of food was thrown into the fire and Severus sighed as the scent of burning meat and starch filled the room.

The ghosts were avoiding Severus. That in and of itself was not quite a trial to deal with. Severus didn’t have to deal with Peeves’ taunting and practical jokes but the reluctance of the ghosts to report to Severus any incidents regarding students made his patrols much broader and more difficult when he didn’t specifically know where wrong-doing and mischief was taking place.

Standing at the top of the Astronomy tower, Severus took a deep breath and stared down at the spot where Albus Dumbledore’s body had landed after Severus’ cold blooded murder. He could still hear Percy’s frantic, terrified cries, Bellatrix’s screams.

Albus’ last exhausted plea. Had it really been four years since that fateful day? It had been easier to pretend that time had stood still when Potter was at Hogwarts, even if he was more subdued, if he treated Severus himself as if he was the one made of glass, teetering on a precipice

“If you jumped it is unlikely that you’d come back,” A quiet, hoarse voice called out, ghostly footsteps stopping beside Severus. “But I wouldn’t recommend it.” The Bloody Baron’s towering form hovered right at the edge of the railing and Severus glanced up at the ghost’s pale face. His fur-trimmed cloak didn’t billow in the wind that whipped Severus’ own robes about his body, and when the ghost looked down at him Severus could see the outlines of clouds through the spectral form. “I remember seeing you here with the Weasley boy.” The Baron continued, looking up at the roof of the Astronomy tower. “Making moonwater. He was quite curious. Bright. I could tell that you were fond of him, but to what extent I didn’t know.”

“Is there a point to this, Walden?” Severus sighed as he looked away from the ghost. “Percy Weasley is dead, that is the end of it.”

“Precisely,” The Baron’s voice was sharp, stern. “What is dead is dead and cannot be brought back, no matter what you wish. The Resurrection Stone is a piece of trickery you had best forget about.”

Dark eyes fixed on the Baron’s equally dark gave. “What do you know of the Resurrection Stone?” He asked softly, and the Baron held out his chained hands.

“I know that it is cursed,” The Baron gave Severus a stern look. “The thing that you summon is not Percy Weasley. It might seem to be him in all of his appearance and mannerisms and pretty words, but beware.” Severus turned away from the ghost, striding towards the spiraling stairs that led down the tower. “What the stone shows is merely an illusion, a shade of the person you most love, come to bring you into Death’s embrace.”

Severus froze, his robes draped over the edge of a guard rail, whipping about his legs and arms as he turned and stared up at the Baron. “What do you know of love? You pursued a woman who did not love you to the point of obsession! You killed her because no one else could have her! Look at you now!” Severus gestured to the chains weighing down the ghost’s wrists. “Bound, for an eternity, to this wretched place without even the warmth of love to chase away your chill!”

The Baron stared down at him and Severus felt the looming dread that he had overstepped, even as head of house he had never presumed to shout at the Bloody Baron.

“Love has made you blind, Severus Snape,” The Baron whispered. “You invite this dark shade into the castle and put your own life in danger every time you do.”

“My life has always been in danger, Walden,” Severus choked out, staring at the man. “There was never a time when it was not.”

“Throw the Stone away, Severus,” Those dark eyes were pleading and Severus stared at the bright red bloodstains on the man’s pale clothing. “Throw it into the Great Lake, forget about it, live a long and happy life, die of old age.”

Severus clutched at the locket containing the stone as it hung about his neck like a drowning weight from the witch trials. “I cannot, Walden, don’t you understand? I… This is the last I have of him.”

“But it is not him, Severus, no matter how it may look,” The Baron shook his head, his gaunt face looking so much more pitying than it ever had before and Severus knew the man must think him a blind fool. “It is not a ghost that you have summoned, it is something infinitely more sinister.”

“It could be,” Severus whispered. “It smells like him, it… It could be real.”

It tasted a lie even as he said it, desperately trying to believe it, to make it so.

Albus had told him, over a decade ago now, to not try and seek out the Mirror of Erised again. That seeing what was within could drive him to madness. Albus, however, was a sentimental old fool who kept a statue of Gellert Grindelwald in the Room of Requirement, hidden away among all the other lost items so that he could stand before it and wish and pine for an old love. He kept Aberforth in Hogsmeade, and a portrait of Ariana in his private quarters and all manner of pretty shining trinkets that had no real purpose other than sentimentality.

So why wouldn’t he keep the Mirror of Erised somewhere?

Severus hacked his way through Devil’s Snare, burning it with fiendfyre when it tried to haul it into his embrace. He picked through the keys that had once been charmed to fly about and attack any who tried to capture them. The wizarding chess set gave him some trouble, but nothing that a few blasting hexes didn’t take care of. His own test of potions was still there and he stared at the dusty line of bottles, interrupted twice, before he carefully stepped into the final protection that had failed to keep the Stone truly safe.

There, standing in darkness, covered with a decade of dust, was Dumbledore’s most prized and precious possession: the Mirror of Erised.

Severus’ fingers traced the edges of the mirror, staring at the engraving at the top of the elegant mirror. Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

He had looked upon it countless times in his youth and earlier tenure as a professor, and always the image had changed.

First it was himself and Lily, renowned and powerful wixen. Then it was himself and Lily with a son or daughter, both of whom took after her. Then it was merely Severus alone, unharmed, a powerful dark wizard, feared and revered. Slowly the mirror had turned towards ideas of revenge against Voldemort, for Lily’s death, of Severus and Harry together, living as godfather and godson as they should have, as Albus had always told him was impossible.

Then, in 1991, after making moonwater with a devastatingly clever and wretchedly beautiful young boy, the mirror had shown him something entirely new: Severus and Percy, smiling at their shared reflection, those perfect green eyes, eyes that reminded him so much of Lily, staring up at Severus adoringly.

He hadn’t deserved that then. He did not deserve that now. Yet here Severus stood, staring at his reflection and seeing Percy, his chin resting upon Severus’ shoulder as his arms wrapped tightly about Severus’ waist, holding him close, lifting his hand to the locket around Severus’ neck. Those green eyes were beautiful, perfect, his skin flawless and unblemished by time or stress or battle.

“You could still have that, you know.”

In a second the quiet was broken and Severus choked on a soft noise of anguish. His hand was wrapped around the locket, he had turned it thrice on the chain, and when he looked in the mirror there was now, instead of the fresh-faced vision of Percy as he was, the shade of him now. The shade was more skeletal now, the eyes more sunken, the skin cracked in some places, like a porcelain doll that had been dropped.

“You could still have me,” The shade brushed lips that were not really there over Severus’ cheekbone, over his jaw, leaving a burning heat in his wake. “All you have to do is follow me.”

“You are not what I want,” Severus whispered. “What I want is Percy alive.”

“You can’t always have what you want, Severus,” The shade smirked, pouting his soft lips at the man. “But you’re familiar with that, aren’t you? Familiar with what you want being dangled-” the shade took a step back and Severus gasped at the loss of the shade’s heat “just out of your reach.”

Dark eyes closed and Severus let out a ragged sigh. “You’re not him, you’re not real, an illusion dreamt up by the stone.”

“Then why do you still summon me?” Percy’s voice was behind the mirror now and Severus felt his breath catch. “I stood behind here, you know, all those years ago… Just before Christmas, before the mirror was moved down here.”

He couldn’t breathe. He had forgotten how.

“I longed for you before I even realized the depths of my feelings, the lengths I would go to for you.”

Severus sank to his knees, staring up at the mirror, at his broken reflection. “Percy… Please, stop this.”

“You are the one who can stop this, Severus,” Percy’s voice faded away slowly and Severus circled the mirror, trying to find the shade only for there to be nothing but mist. “It’s such a simple thing you have to do, like falling asleep.”

Severus was supervising Study Hall, pacing up and down the aisles between tables when his idle fiddling turned the stone thrice and summoned the shade of Percy Weasley once more. Over the years the shade had changed. Once it was merely Percy, as beautiful and fresh-faced and lovely as he had been in life, but the shade was not meant for the realm of the living.

Black cracks had formed in the face of his lost love and black smoke and ash spilled out of them, trailing through the air in open defiance of all physics and movement as the shade floated through the air, grasping at Severus’ shoulders with a touch that burned like hellfire.

“Really, Severus, we’ve been playing this game for too long,” Percy’s voice whispered, dripping poison into the man’s ear as Severus sat at the staff table, starting to grade papers as he tried to ignore the shade’s words. “Don’t you miss me, my love? Don’t you miss my kisses? My touch?” The shade’s venomous green eyes stared at Severus. “Why keep drawing me from where we both rightly belong when you could so easily follow me?”

Severus’ brows pinched and he clutched at Percy’s enchanted fountain pen, nearly spraying red ink all over some poor First Year’s report on basic shielding spells. “I cannot join you yet.” He whispered to the shade. “Harry is getting marr-”

“Harry fucking Potter means more to you than me?” Percy’s shade whispered, staring at him. “The man who died for you?” A burning hand pressed to Severus’ chest, where the scars of the blood magic still resided. “After my blood, my love, saved your life?”

“Professor Snape?” A meek voice called and both man and shade looked at the Third Year staring up at him. “I, um, I have a question about momentum spells.”

Severus placed the pen down and stood, following the Third Year to her pile of books where she had sprawled out several tomes. “Walk me through your findings, Miss Sistynne.”

The day dragged on. Study hall gave way to Sixth Year Defense Against The Dark Arts, gave way to dinner, and then to Severus’ patrol through the castle. Shadowed the entire time by the thing that sounded like, looked like, smelled like Percy Weasley. It was torture in its own right, but a torture that Severus had spent seven years living with.

“Aren’t you tired of fighting, Severus?” The shade asked as Severus sat before the roaring fire in his quarters, a bottle of firewhiskey beside him. “Isn’t it exhausting? Just living like this?” Percy’s burning hand traced Severus’ face and he wished that the touch would blister, crackle, peel the skin away, anything to show that this was real and not just a hallucination of his own broken mind. “Don’t you want to finally rest?”

Rest. Yes.

Severus stood and moved to the liquor cabinet in the corner of his quarters’ sitting room. He pulled out the bottles shaped like small animals, rats, bats, cats, toads, that had once held samples of whiskey. Now they held Dreamless Sleep and nearly every night Severus took some of the potent potion to force himself to rest. The shade watched eagerly as Severus lined up the small bottles on his side table. It’s grey, gaunt face was not the Percy that he remembered, it was something horrible, something worse, but the eyes were still him, those perfect eyes that had once looked at him with nothing but love now watched as Severus prepared his own death.

“I miss you so much, Severus,” The shade whispered, staring at the man. “My love, please, come back to me, come to my arms.” Percy’s fingers traced Severus’ face. “You belong with me.”

Severus had known the tale of Cadmus’ demise, had been told on countless occasions by the Bloody Baron of the trickery of Death, but his rational mind could not think through the pain of his heart beating in his chest without Percy. "Does it hurt?” He asked the shade. “Dying?”

"No, my love," Percy’s shade smiled as he knelt before Severus, the ghastly head resting upon the man's knee, weightless and burning hot. "It's like falling asleep."

He had brewed the Dreamless Sleep potion himself. It tasted of chamomile, mint, and lavender to help make it more palatable. It was stronger than the stuff that Slughorn provided Poppy for the infirmary.

The first bottle was shaped like a rat and he swallowed it down, breathing deeply before he opened the next, a small cat seated with tail curled elegantly about its body, and downed that as well. Six small bottles were lined up next to his towering bottle of firewhiskey, and Severus picked up his copy of The Jungle Books, and opened it to his favourite story.

He was nearly through the story when his eyes closed and sleep took him.

What price for a snake's egg? For a young cobra? For a young king-cobra? For the last - the very last of the brood? The ants are eating all the others down by the melon-bed.

“Severus?” Minerva knocked on the door, frowning as she glanced over her shoulder at Filch, Poppy, and Slughorn. Severus hadn’t been at breakfast, which wasn’t unusual, but his first class had been left to their own devices, and then his second class had reported Professor Snape absent as well. The door was heavily warded as it always had been, but Minerva was Headmistress and Hogwarts would allow her into every room within her walls. “Severus, I’m coming in.” She called, turning the handle of the door and swinging it open, wand in hand.

Severus Snape was long dead.

His eyes were closed, his head tilted against a slumped shoulder as if he had merely fallen asleep reading. The children’s book that had slipped from his fingers lay with pages crumpled carelessly on the floor, Severus’ stiff fingers dangling off the edge of his lap. He looked peaceful, smiling with his brows softened as if he was dreaming.

“Dreamless Sleep,” Slughorn said as he sniffed at the empty little bottles shaped like small animals. “All of them, and not anything that I’ve brewed, so he’s made it himself.”

“Oh, Minerva,” Poppy choked out, holding a handkerchief to her mouth. “He… I thought he was doing better. It’s been years, I thought…”

Minerva gently opened the locket that rested atop the stiff black wool of Severus’ robes. Inside was a Lover’s Eye drawing, a green eye shaded by a ginger brow, and out of the locket tumbled a small sharply carved stone with a crack cutting through the symbol of the Deathly Hallows within it.

“Oh, Severus,” Minerva sighed as she rested her hand on the back of the man’s cold palm. “The Resurrection Stone. He must have combed the Forbidden Forest for it after Potter lost it.” She sighed and tucked the stone into her own pocket before she straightened. “Mister Filch, please collect Professor Snape and move him to the Infirmary with Poppy, I will contact Mister Potter to have him claim the body.”

“There’s no note, Minerva,” Slughorn said as he peered around Severus’ quarters, greedy eyes lighting up when he found a cabinet of expensive and rare potion’s ingredients.

“I’m sure we’ll find Professor Snape’s affairs are well in order,” Minerva sighed. “He never expected to survive the war anyway.”

“Death collected what he was due,” Slughorn whispered, looking at Severus’ stiff body as Filch and Poppy began to move him to a summoned stretcher. “Poor bastard.”

Minerva silently agreed, turning to exit the man’s quarters.

“He is dead,” A hoarse voice called out and Minerva looked at the gaunt face of the Bloody Baron as the ghost loomed outside the Slytherin Head of House’s quarters. “He never listened to my advice.”

“What advice?” Minerva asked, frowning as she took in the sad expression of the notoriously morose and cruel ghost.

“Who holds possession of the Resurrection Stone?” The ghost asked instead of answering, staring at Minerva.

“I do.”

“Destroy it,” The Baron’s dark eyes stared down at Minerva. “It is a cursed item that will bring only grief.”

“I will, Baron,” Minerva nodded, sighing softly. “If you will excuse me, I need to contact Potter, he is the closest thing to kin that Severus has.”

The Bloody Baron didn’t look convinced as he searched Minerva’s face, but after a moment he strode past her in a wash of cold air, his chains clinking as ghostly footsteps retreated down the dungeon hallway.

Standing in the Headmistress’ office before the fire, staring into the flames as she retrieved the stone from her pocket, Minerva was struck by sentimentality that she had not allowed herself to dwell on for so long. She should throw it into the flames, destroy it as the Bloody Baron had suggested. Instead, she thought of Elphinstone and Dougal, the two men that she had loved and lost to fate and war.

Closing her eyes, Minerva took a deep, shuddering breath and turned the stone thrice in hand.