Snape swallowed.

"Kingsley," he began, but had to stop when his tongue seized up. There was silence as he willed himself to speak.

"Yes?" prompted the auror gently. There was more silence. Eventually, Severus cleared his throat.

"Kingsley," he said again.

"Yes?"

More silence. The tiny drip of wax from a guttering candle on the other side of the hall seemed loud as an explosion to the two men standing together in the shadows. Snape summoned every ounce of his Slytherin courage and made a last attempt at communication.

"Kingsley?"

"Yes?" he repeated, with infinite patience.

"I'm so sorry. I can't do this."

…….

"Do what?" asked Kingsley.

"This," Severus vaguely waved his hand in the air, still struggling to articulate.

"The party? It's almost over now! Or did you mean being Deputy Headmaster?"

"No," he shook his head. "Us."

Kingsley blinked.

"What?" He sounded confused.

"I…you are a uniquely fine person, possessed of qualities admired by all. And no one admires you more than I," Snape's collar was becoming tighter by the second. "Nevertheless, I find myself unable to continue with our present arrangement."

Finally understanding, Kingsley gave a small snort of disbelief.

"You're dumping me?"

"Not you!" Severus ran his hands over his face helplessly. "It's…I can find no fault with you…"

"Then what's the problem?" he interrupted.

"The situation…I cannot…it is not…" the professor became so flustered that Kingsley was concerned.

"It's OK, take your time," he took Snape's elbow to try and calm him. "Look, we shouldn't be discussing this out here. Let's go to your rooms, sit down and talk properly."

"Perhaps that is advisable," he agreed slowly.

Kingsley did a double take as he noticed a door in the opposite wall which he swore had not been there a moment earlier. With a wry smirk, Snape recovered himself and strode through it, gesturing for the auror to follow him. A few dim staircases and damp corridors later, they arrived directly outside the Head of Slytherin's chambers.

They sat in silence for a long time, Snape twisting his hands in his lap with such force that his joints kept cracking as he searched for the right words. Kingsley sat patiently wondering why everything had suddenly gone wrong, all the while trying not to look at the coffee table in the centre of the room. The sight of it transported him instantly to the day Tristan Snape had been found dead, when Severus had begged for fierce and desperate distraction-sex on the floor of this room, ripping clothes, kicking over the furniture and messing up the whole area. The glimmer of arousal in his lower abdomen was curdling unpleasantly when combined with the leaden feeling of dread that the whole affair would be over in a matter of minutes. Unable to stand it any longer, he decided that he had given his lover enough time to collect his thoughts.

"Please will you tell me what's going on?" he asked.

Snape looked up with a jolt, as though he had forgotten there was someone else in the room.

"I…seem to be having trouble formulating sentences," the teacher looked completely miserable now. "There are matters which require explanation…careful phrasing…"

"Look, Severus," Kingsley leaned forwards and rested his elbows on his knees, moving slightly closer. "I work with Mad-eye Moody on a daily basis. He doesn't mince his words, as I'm sure you know. Neither did my sister while we were growing up. I am remarkably difficult to offend. Just say whatever is upsetting you and we'll fathom it out." He smiled sadly as Snape, who was sitting stiffly across from him like a condemned prisoner. "I won't be marking you on your grammar."

The small joke caused a twitch of top lip which may have been a smile trying to break through the troubled countenance. Severus heaved a tremendous sigh and rubbed his eyes.

"Very well," he began, fixing his eyes on a corner of the rug, which unfortunately also reminded the other man of the erstwhile wild romp held upon it. The explanation began slowly and clearly, but sped up as the words began tumbling out of his mouth, getting higher in pitch and intensity. "You are a good man and an excellent lover, I have greatly enjoyed our times together. We found each other at a time when we were in need of solace and escape, but we have both changed a lot since the end of the war. I… am ashamed to admit that I have no wish to think about co-habitation or marriage, or fidelity, or having to appear in public as couple to be analysed and gossiped about, to talk about private matters with strangers and…be winked at by nosy interfering bastards who have no idea how I think or what is really going on…and have to justify the fact at I'm in a homosexual relationship to students' parents or have anyone else tell me that I'm lucky to have you because you are so fine and handsome and I'm a freak whom everybody hates."

Gasping for breath as he finished, Severus flung himself up out of the chair and faced the wall.

"I'm sorry, Kingsley," his voice trembled and he made no move to turn around. "It is so…frustrating that I cannot be rational about this. It all sounds so pathetic. I don't think…if I had a whole day to prepare, it probably would not come out any better."

Kingsley stood and stretched out an arm to try and pull Severus into a loose hug, but withdrew it as the other wizard flinched and stepped away. No wonder he had looked so fraught if all that anxiety had been building up inside him. He strolled to the other side of the room; leaning casually against wall in a non-threatening attitude, at what he hoped was a sufficiently safe distance from Severus. With some difficulty, he suppressed the relieved laugh which had tried to escape him on hearing the ranted causes of distress, as he realised that though the complaints were many, none of them were as serious as Snape seemed to think they were. In Kingsley's opinion, at least.

"One thing at a time," he began calmly. "Most importantly, I don't think you're pathetic. You have been talking about your emotions, which are never easy to discuss, except for those types of people who announce that they are 'in a sad place right now' then proceed to sit cross-legged on the rug and hum until they reach their 'happy place'." As Kingsley hoped, Snape sneered in spite of himself, showing that he was paying attention and not simply wallowing. "Emotional is the opposite of rational, I think you'll find, so just do your best at letting me know what's up." A sniff and a brisk nod encouraged Kingsley to proceed.

"Point one: the war is over and everything has changed. You're absolutely right. When we first slept together I was deep in a kind of personal crisis from having worked flat-out for two years without making any difference to the conflict situation. With the benefit of hindsight, I can see that I was beginning to fall apart until our affair gave me something positive to hold onto. I grew attached to you almost immediately - partly because you are a fine person and my ideal kind of lover, but also, I am ashamed to confess, because you were there with physical and sexual comfort when I needed it most. I apologise if that makes me sound callous, but I won't lie to you."

Another stiff nod punctuated the confession, with a look of what the auror chose to interpret as one of cautious respect.

"You have changed too. I don't know if you've noticed the difference. You walk taller, your temper is less explosive, you're less clingy when we're in bed. You were always an elegant, commanding presence, but you've lost the nervy demeanour which used to remind me of a wildcat constantly prepared to scratch or bolt. In short, you no longer act like a man hunted by his shameful past. You act like one who cast himself into hell, spent most of his life fighting to climb out then finally succeeded. You've a great deal to be proud of, Severus."

Snape had turned to face the wall again, shoulders hunched protectively and head bent, either deliberately or unconsciously belying all he had just heard about visible self-esteem. It was hard to tell which.

"We both have a lot of adjusting to do and it might get difficult, but I like you, I like being with you and I think we've got nothing to lose by trying to stay together."

"What if we fail?" He snapped in response. "What if we discover hidden incompatibilities in three months' time!"

"Well, we will have tried our best, won't we?" reasoned Kingsley, wondering to himself whether Severus hated uncertainty because of his scientific nature, or because he was almost forty and had known little else. "Point two: marriage. Where the bloody hell did that come from?" An auror's dress robes were rather loose and flowing, leaving plenty of room for movement, yet Kingsley found he was tugging at his collar as though to give himself more air.

"Granger," Snape shrank even more, his voice dropping to a whisper. "She implied that now the law has changed to allow same-sex bonding that we ought…"

"You take orders from teenage schoolgirls now?" A sudden attack of the jitters brought Kingsley's well-buried sarcastic streak to the surface.

"No,…I…"

"Because I am not ready for making lifelong commitments yet, Severus," his voice grew fractionally louder. "You're great and my life is better with you in it, but I don't discuss that kind of thing with a man I've been seeing for a few weeks. OK?"

As he turned around, Severus looked so sheepish that Kingsley's flush of alarm evaporated immediately. With some chagrin, he remembered conversations with straight mates who had turned into unpredictable dragons when their girlfriends had mentioned the same dread word. Blinking away the reaction, alien to him but clearly instinctive to the male population at large, he wondered whether the changes in the law meant that gays everywhere were experiencing a newfound pressure which heterosexual men had suffered for centuries.

"OK," agreed Snape quietly, his eyes on the floor.

"Cohabitation," Kingsley cleared his throat and continued, trying to maintain a professional detachment this time. "You are Deputy Headmaster and Head of a House at a boarding school. I imagine you are required to stay in the castle during term-time?" Another short nod. "I don't believe either of us would be happy if I were to move into the dungeons. They are your personal domain and I prefer a light, airy environment like my penthouse by the river. Not to mention that I doubt even Molly Weasley would be able to persuade the parents that homosexual, unmarriedactivity officially happening on school premises was a good idea - my reputation would suffer along with yours. There is a difference between what is accepted by society and what should be held up as an example from the law-enforcement or teaching professions." A decidedly vehement nod.

"We have to leave something for the brats to rebel against," smirked Snape. Kingsley laughed and sat back down again, more than pleased when the potions master relaxed enough to do the same.

"Precisely. Oh, and don't forget, we have wildly differing tastes in interior decoration," he added mischievously, recalling the insults to which his favourite contemporary painting had been subjected.

"Next point: fidelity," Kingsley took a deep breath. "Are you seeing someone else?"

"No," the Deputy Head stiffened again.

"Neither am I, so let's not worry about that one. Which brings us on to…"

"I was not referring to two-timing," Snape interrupted very quietly, going slightly red. "My concerns lie in the area of more casual encounters."

"Don't tell me you go to the Kneazle's Whiskers?" Kingsley's attempts to keep the incredulity out of his voice failed completely. The clientele of the gay wizard's pub was split into two categories – the out-and-proud-of-it queens who called each other Honey and wore nail varnish, and the nervy polyjuiced closeters who bolted en masse for the back exit whenever an auror stepped over the threshold. He simply could not imagine Severus willingly spending time in such a dive.

"No. New York," Snape was avoiding his eyes again. "The muggle places, you know, where I met Anthony."

"Oh, yes," Kingsley wondered how he had forgotten that. "You like to escape the wizarding world."
Snape stared at him defensively. "I always return to my responsibilities."

"I didn't mean…"

"I know," the interruption was soft and rather apologetic, delivered with a sigh.

"I don't want to rule your life," Kingsley tried to be reassuring. "I've never felt the need to completely possess anyone, nor to spend every waking moment hovering over them. I suppose I was envisioning a relationship where we see each other once a week or so, as is convenient with my shifts and your duties – perhaps a meal or a nice walk and then sleeping together. If a bit of tarting around keeps you happy, then I won't stop you."

Kingsley wondered if he had said the wrong thing when Severus let his head fall forward and buried his face in his hands. During the uncomfortable silence, he realised that he had been laying down the law rather ardently in his efforts to dispel his lover's ranted grievances. It was important to make sure they were both reading from the same potions recipe, but perhaps he should have been more circumspect. Had he really just indirectly called Professor Severus Snape, spy, ex-Death Eater and now Deputy Headmaster, a tart? He was about to begin back-tracking when the sharp and sallow face reappeared. Smiling.

"I am such a fool," said Snape, self-consciously. Relieved beyond belief, Kingsley covered the distance between them and pulled him up out of the chair for a hug.

"No," he said, after a moment's reassuring squeeze. "Life is moving very quickly. Not everyone has caught up yet."

Severus stared at him speculatively for a second, as though scanning for potential insults to his mental capabilities, or merely reminding himself of every contour between the square black jaw and the shining bald head. The very slowly, he leaned in and pressed their lips together.

"You ground me," Snape whispered.

"I did what?" Contentment disconnected the auror's brain temporarily. A musical chuckle against his cheek felt tickly and rather arousing, in the wake of the crisis.

"Your cool-headedness consistently brings my hysterical streak under control."

"You're not hysterical," he reached up and ran his hand through the soft, short hair, making Snape move closer. "Everyone at that blasted party was determined to give me their three knutsworth about our relationship, it was very trying. It's no wonder you were annoyed."

Heaving a huge sigh, he pulled away again.

"I am accustomed to my privacy, I should not have taken it out on you," he confessed.

"Understandable, under the circumstances. Now, the future all depends, Professor Snape, on which you consider to be more important," Kingsley pulled him back into his arms again. "What we think about our relationship, or what everyone else thinks?"

Snape smiled a proper, crinkly-eyed, beaming smile.

"I imagine you can make your own deductions on that dark mystery, Auror Shacklebolt," he said.

"Oh, and just for the record," Kingsley added. "I don't date freaks."

They both chuckled and Snape looked abashed. "But I am lucky to have you because you are so fine and handsome," he said, matter-of-factly. "I stand by that."

…….

The memory of the intensive making-up session was all that kept the two wizards sane throughout the chaos of Dumbledore's informal retirement party. The pie-throwing contest quickly got out of hand and only some thorough shielding spells and well timed diving under tables spared them from the showers of custard. Albus, wearing a shiny rainbow party hat with a working helicopter blade on top (a gift from the Twins, naturally), whizzed around above everyone's heads, encouraging the misbehaviour and occasionally offering tips on how best to splatter someone. Minerva had thoughtfully conjured some suitably colourful underwear for him after the first parent had looked up and complained.

By the time he cranked up the decks and started MC-ing his disco set at such a loud volume the gargoyles began shuffling off the roof and scraping dejectedly towards the quiet of the dungeons, it was obvious to all that the old man was simply having the time of his life.

"I have to go," said Snape, extricating Kingsley from a highly competitive game of treacle bobbing with his nephew Joseph and Tonks, having tolerated the jollity for a few hours.

"Had enough, eh?" the auror smiled, scourgifying the thick gloop from his face.

"I've decided there is somewhere I need to be," he murmured, with a hint of grimness, or perhaps determination in his pursed, pale lips.

Kingsley wondered where he was going. Probably to the muggle cemetery where the amazing Anthony was buried, as he did whenever he needed to think. The habit of visiting a dead ex-lover's grave would have seemed rather morbid in anyone else, but it made sense that a man like Severus, with his closed nature and carefully measured distance from other living beings, should feel at home surrounded by the dead. Kingsley felt slightly guilty for thinking such things, but there was no denying the rightness of his mental image of the dark-haired, dark-clad wizard, haunting a cemetery in preference to a castle thrumming with life and vivacious people on a warm summer evening.

As Snape turned to leave, the auror reached out a hand to hold him back.

"Wait," he said, voicing a thought as soon as it struck him. "I think I ought to go and pay my respects to Shastri. I'll ask Hagrid if he minds me taking some flowers. Will you get some too?" The noise and cheer of the revellers was suddenly too much for Kingsley, as well as for the Deputy Head. In the upheaval of the last week, he had almost forgotten the young woman who had died while under his care, while working towards making the world a better place. Fudge had blathered on about honouring the sacrifice of the fallen and much as it troubled him to agree with the short-sighted bureaucrat, this time he had a valid point.

"Yes," Snape had hesitated a moment before answering, making Kingsley wonder if Anthony had not been a 'flowers' type of guy.

Hagrid was delighted to help, walking them round to the South side of the castle where a cacophony of colour blazed all around one of the small walled gardens. Dahlias of red, orange, yellow, pink, purple and a hundred other shades, shaped in either perfectly-sculpted spheres or ragged blooms with messy spidery petals, bobbed erratically in the breeze like the ill-coordinated dancing at the garden party. No system seemed to have been applied to group them by variety, size or colour, leaving each stunning plant clamouring for attention with its equally garish neighbours. There was only one possible word for it.

"Wow," said Kingsley. Hagrid beamed.

"They're pretty, ain't they?" he made no attempt to hide the pride shining from his face. "It was my idea. So many people have been askin' fer flowers to put on graves or to put next to sickbeds I thought I'd plant plenty fer 'em to choose from, and if we were lucky and they weren't needed, they could still brighten up the castle!"

"Most…breathtaking," Snape managed, his sparse tastes clearly alarmed by the concentrated vividness of little garden.

"Thanks, Perfessor," the groundskeeper smiled even wider at what he took to be a compliment.

Kingsley surveyed the amazing display and wondered where to begin.

"Pink," he decided at last, remembering his colleague's desk, always strewn with pink-rimmed photo frames, chewed pink quills and her enormous pink leather handbag. "Shastri used to love pink."

Hagrid silently watched him choosing a selection of pinkish flowers before bending down to grab a few odd weeds infiltrating the edges of the beds.

"To go on a grave, then?" he asked quietly. Kingsley nodded, glancing over to where Snape was extracting the few pure white blooms scattered in amongst the colour with scientific precision. The sight made him chuckle for a second.

"Yes," he answered, mockingly. "The esteemed Minister advised us not to forget the dead. I am doing as I am told!"

"Very good, very good," Hagrid snorted, some sadness in the humour flashing from his enormous eyes. "They replayed his great long speech on the wireless for those of us not important enough to attend the dinner. Not that I'd've wanted to go, judging by what Harry told me. I'm not an intelligent person, as yeh know, but it seemed to me that he waffled on a lot about lookin' after the dead, but not a great deal about lookin' after the living."

Arms full with his fresh bouquet, Kingsley was taken aback once more by the casual way in which Hagrid always hit the nail on the head with his direct pronouncements. On the opposite side of the garden, he noticed Severus standing up to his waist in flowers like some demonic fairy princess, scowling as he also digested this new pearl of wisdom.

"I think that's enough, now," he thought aloud, conjuring a paper wrapper as a finishing touch. Turning around to thank Hagrid and wish Snape good-evening, he noticed a spark of something flicker in his eye. The Deputy Head beckoned him over and, in full view of the least discreet wizard to ever set foot on Hogwarts' grounds, grabbed Kingsley's shirt front and pulled him into a bruising kiss.

When the world stopped spinning, Kingsley blinked until his vision cleared and tried to wipe the sappy expression off his face.

"See you later," announced Snape, not entirely chastely.

"Bye," Kingsley beamed. He stole a glance at Hagrid, who looked as though he had just discovered a new species of lethally irritable dragon breeding in his shed.

"So… 's'true then, is it? About you two?" he asked, looking teary with delight.

"Yes," answered Snape, smiling openly and sounding very pleased with himself. "'S'true."

Hagrid took out a large, hairy handkerchief and blew his nose with a honk.

Kingsley walked to the gates without his feet touching the floor. His normally shy lover had not only acknowledged their relationship in public, but had given him a full-on snog in front of a witness. Fighting the urge to punch the air, he contented himself with whistling one of those songs about how great life is and grinning to himself, reliving the thrill of seeing Severus so proud to be his. After the shock of the previous day's conversation, it was a very welcome development.

Turning his attention to the task ahead, he straightened his face and took a deep breath. There would be no cause for jubilation in the place where he was headed. Focussing his mind, body and magic on a street he had visited once before in Bradford, he apparated South.

-Crack-.

Five minutes to his left was the West Riding Wizarding cemetery, where Shastri lay at peace since the start of the summer, as oblivious to the bad developments as the good. Directly in front of him was an immaculately painted brown front door.

The dead and the living.

It had been in this place that Kingsley had come closest to nervous breakdown – first when the bereaved mother had calmly offered him tea as though nothing serious had happened, then at the post-funeral gathering, when the only emotion Shastri's aged grandfather had shown had been pride in her fatal choice of career. Knowing that both had merely been covering their complete devastation in the best way they knew had done nothing to lessen his own horror. He felt a sliver of it rise in his throat now, but, tempered with the knowledge that her murderers had been vanquished, many at his own hands, and that the future was looking promising for those young people who had managed to survive, the grasping constriction of panic and guilt no longer threatened to suffocate him.

That summer he had suffered a mental wound, he realised, still able to twinge occasionally, but no longer life-threatening.

The dead and the living. Which needed him most?

He knocked on the door and a tiny Asian woman with Severus and Shastri's striking dark eyes answered, smiling slightly when she recognised him.

"Mrs Khalili, I hope I'm not intruding," he said, offering the flowers. "I though I would just pop round and see how you are doing."

"Yes, yes. Come in," she pulled him over the threshold, asking automatically: "Cup of tea?"

Kingsley knew that his recovery was complete when he was able to answer without emotion.

"That would be lovely. Thank you."

…….

Making his way off the school grounds for his own visit, Severus noticed Lupin sitting alone in his wheelchair in a quiet part of the gardens, probably enjoying the silence. For once, Potter was not in attendance in his new capacity as babysitter, so he took the opportunity to stalk over.

As Snape approached, Lupin rolled his head erratically and gargled a greeting.

"You can knock off the theatricals," he snapped, his glare boring into the werewolf. "I know you're faking all this palsy nonsense. I cannot even begin to comprehend why."

Spasm turned to shock, which turned to sheepishness as Remus realised he had been caught out. He chewed his lower lip and Snape, enjoying his discomfort, pressed his advantage. "This war has certainly had a profound effect on society if it has managed to turn the shyest Gryffindor alumnus into a deceitful attention-seeker."

"How did you guess?" asked Lupin, glancing around to make sure no one else could see him holding a normal conversation.

"Your earlier spasm when Miss Granger was torturing me was a little too well-timed," he curled his upper lip as he spoke, but there was a hint of admiration in his voice. "I am grateful for that deliverance, by the way."

"Ignore her. She's just happy it's all over."

"As are we all, though I fail to understand the sudden need for interference in the private lives of others," Snape replied icily. "But I do not believe you have answered my question. To what do we owe these most entertaining daily displays of thespianism? Is it not enough to have scores of people running around every month accommodating your genuine sickness?"

"It's for Harry," Lupin sighed deeply, ignoring the barb. "I was badly injured in Little Hangleton and I couldn't control my body and speech. It was awful at first, with everyone treating me like a fool just because it took me a long time to express myself and I couldn't stop dribbling over everything. Harry volunteered to take care of me, and we would talk for hours – or rather, he would talk and I would slur the right kind of noises periodically. Then the war ended and I realised that he was confiding secrets in me, probably because the conversations were so one-sided and it felt safer speaking to me because I couldn't lecture him on how brave he had been, or how all his suffering didn't matter anymore because You-know-who was dead."

Snape snorted violently.

"How typical of his so-called friends to expect him to experience kidnap, violence and murder, then be cheerful afterwards," he spat.

"Well, yes, that's exactly the problem," Lupin appeared startled at the perceptive exclamation, and continued his narrative with a more respectful air towards his former classmate. "But my main concern is the pressure he is under to make decisions about his future. He's seriously considering leaving school, perhaps taking a break before returning to complete his NEWT year later, and he's been inundated with offers. Fudge wants him at the Ministry, the Unspeakables have been making overtures, at least three Quidditch teams have invited him to try out as Seeker, a couple of trashy authors have asked for permission to ghost-write his autobiography – though I suppose if he refuses they'll do it anyway – and Hermione seems to be trying to start a relationship. There's too much going on! Everyone is expecting him to just field all of this confusion and come out smiling! I can see in people's faces that they are expecting him to spend the rest of his life doing amazing things, even those who really love him and have supported him since the beginning.

"He needs stability right now, and some time to recuperate after everything, not to be treated like a freak show. I know he disliked his muggle relatives intensely, but he still spent ten formative years living with them. Their deaths must have had an effect on him at some level, even if it's only guilt that he shouldn't think ill of the dead.

"I woke up four days ago completely cured and in control again, thanks to some excellent potions, but then I had a thought. If Harry no longer had the excuse of taking care of me, he might be tempted to give in to the pressure and do something crazy which he might regret later, just to please others. He's a teenage boy for Merlin's sake, not a source of popular entertainment!"

Never in a million years had Snape expected to hear that sentiment from the lifetime president of the Potter Fan Club. With some effort he restrained himself from jumping up and down on the spot and screaming that he had been aware of what the brat was and was not from the moment he stepped into the Great Hall to be sorted, had anyone else ever bothered to listen. Instead, he hurried the werewolf on with his rambling story.

"Then why not sit down and offer advice? Why resort to such underhand tactics to manipulate a wizard about whom you profess to care so much?"

"There are already enough people telling him what to do," Remus huffed. "And most of them shout louder than me. If I can only buy him a few more weeks of quiet and routine with me here at Hogwarts then he might stand a chance of recovering his wits before dashing off to do something stupid. And," he gave a self-conscious little smirk at his own daring, "It's really rather fun, fooling everyone while being waited on hand and foot."

It was a preposterous plan. Devious, cunning, resourceful and utterly, utterly brilliant.

"Good grief, Lupin," Snape frowned with grudging admiration for the only survivor of the four Marauders. "We may make a Slytherin of you yet."

Anticipating consternation or outright offence, the darker man was stunned when Remus looked up at him with an expression of intense smugness.

"Thanks," he said.

It was going to be a very interesting new term.

…….

Apparating to his destination, Snape was astounded to find himself in the strangest centre of human habitation he had ever beheld.

All around him, identical, square red-brick houses stretched as far as the eye could see, each with an identical, immaculately-manicured lawn and a shiny car on the small patch of tarmac next to it.

Why on earth would muggles choose to live like this? he wondered, gazing at the beds of insipid and geometrically sculpted hedges jealously guarding the boundaries of each tiny kingdom. Perhaps there was no choice. Perhaps houses there was a reason they all had to cram together in these unimaginative little boxes. Snape had never owned a house so had no idea. He had grown up in his father's ancestral castle, then at Hogwarts, and then had visited Malfoy Manor, the most sinister and filthy house of Black, Rosier Court and a handful of wizarding dwellings, all of which were the size of this whole street. Merlin, even the Weasleys' Burrow was palatial in comparison.

He ought not to criticise, he chided himself. Muggles may well feel safest crowded together like this, having scant means of protection against the more dangerous aspects of life. Subconsciously fingering the wand in his pocket, as though afraid it might vanish at any moment in the oddness of this alien country, he clung grimly to his bouquet of white dahlias and walked up the road.

Before he reached his destination, he noticed a break in the string of uniform homes and stopped dead when he realised what it was. Separating number two and number six was an eight foot high security fence, shielding the devastated property in between from casual view. Around the perimeter a piece of blue and white plastic tape bobbed in the breeze, proclaiming "Police: Do Not Cross".

So this was where Potter had grown up, where his relatives had died.

A few bunches of flowers had been laid on the pavement next to the hoarding, with cryptic message cards attached to their wrapping, reading "Dearest Petunia, we will miss you, from all at the LW Ladies' Bridge Club" or "Big-D, Nothing's the same anymore. Polk."

He was so absorbed in pondering the fate of this family, whose only crime had been to be related to Potter, that he failed to notice he was not alone until he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"They didn't treat Harry very well," it said. "But they never deserved this."

"You are correct. So many casualties of war are simply in the wrong place at the wrong time," he replied, without moving.

"At least it's all finished now. You played a big part in ending it."

"Thank you," he finally turned around to look at Mrs Figg. With her carpet slippers and string bag, her whole frame looked saggy and lived-in, as though she had been an old lady all her life. Yet again he tried to imagine her as the sly young temptress of his mother's diatribes, romping around the Moors with his father, but yet again the image refused to come.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, looking slightly troubled by his unexpected presence in her quiet muggle street.

"I came to see you," his voice almost held up, only croaking slightly at the end.

She looked startled, then faintly curious.

"So, the flowers…?" she glanced down.

"…are for you," he held them out, wishing his clumsy attempt to heal the past didn't feel so ridiculous. "I should quite like to talk with you, if you don't mind. About my…about Tristan."

The dead and the living. Here he was, caught between the two in the place where three people died, using his late father's memory to try and comprehend his living mistress, the bogeywoman of his childhood. Laying the ghosts of the past was a good way to start founding a future. Or so he hoped.

He refused to resort to occlumency to try and decipher the slightly pained, slightly hopeful expression on her face as she accepted the peace offering from the person whose birth had brought an end to her happiness with the man she loved. They both swallowed in unison, awkward and embarrassed at being faced with each other after such a history.

"Well. They're very nice. Um. You'd better come in," She waved a hand towards one of the identikit houses on the other side of the road, staring searchingly at him, probably trying to find echoes of his father. Then she added, with the vaguest hint of affection: "I hope you don't mind cats?"

…….

…….

1st September. 7pm.

The new first years chattered and gasped their way through the entrance hall, sniggering at their new uniforms and trying to keep track of each other's names. Most were tired from the long train journey but had rallied on reaching the castle, excited by the lake, the giant squid and the disconcerting but kindly bulk of Hagrid. Their eyes were almost popping out at the magical splendour of Hogwarts. The ghosts nodded, the pictures bowed, a suit of armour saluted with a clang, making half of them jump. The jolly throng reached the foot of the stairs up to the Great Hall and looked up.

A girl screamed.

Thirty-one little faces took in the sight before them. A solitary figure, clad in a billowing black cloak which pooled dramatically around its feet, stood with folded arms at the top of the steps. Flinty black eyes glared maliciously out from behind the greasy strands of a jet black fringe, a long, hooked nose ended just above the most frightening thin-lipped smirk they had ever beheld.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," sneered Snape in a voice which could have frozen Hades.

He almost purred with satisfaction two of the boys simultaneously burst into tears.

It was getting on for two o'clock by the time the last homesick brat had finally fallen asleep in their unfamiliar new dorm, clutching one of the stuffed toys which had been treated with a special mixture of calming fragrances. Snape had only just resisted the temptation to add half a shot of firewhisky to the evening cocoa, though he had taken two points – from his own house! – when the new little Bulstrode asked how one went about getting Potter's autograph.

He shrugged off his outer robe and began working his way through his buttons when he noticed the package standing on his night-table, with a small note attached to the front. It was heavy. He opened the letter first.

Thought you might need some of this after the first night back.

See you on Sunday.

K x

The box contained a rather excellent bottle of claret.

THE END.

…….

AN: I finished it! Yay! I can't believe I actually finished it, after 17 months! (Does the dance of the extremely smug author).

Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed this fic and been so supportive, especially during the dodgy parts in the middle where HBP blew so much of this story out of the water. It was really hard to keep writing once I knew I had much of Severus' background badly wrong. Your comments kept me going. I also appreciate those who have stayed interested despite the long gaps between updates – it's really kind of you to keep the faith.

With love, Snape's Nightie, at her desk at work, 22nd August 2006. x