A Weasley was standing at the gate of the prison as he approached the exit. He hadn't seen one for ten years, but he wasn't in any doubt. Ron Weasley, he thought, although it could have been Charlie. Not that it mattered; the auror robes made it clear that this was his escort to the mainland.

He shifted the thin cotton bag containing his possessions restlessly to the other hand, feeling uncomfortable in the ill-fitting civilian clothes which had been issued to him. The Weasley nodded politely to him and fell in step as they took the rocky path down to the dock. The salty wind lacked its usual bite; summer had even come to Azkaban, it seemed.

He was dismayed to find that some of the salt on his cheeks was tears as he watched the island fade behind him. The Weasley didn't appear to notice, whether out of courtesy or indifference, and Snape defiantly wiped the tears upon his sleeve before turning to face the approaching mainland.

At last he stood upon the wooden pier, a free man. As the boat cast off to return to Azkaban he watched it mindlessly, wondering what to do next. He had almost forgotten the auror until the man spoke.

"I have your wand, Professor."

The man was holding out a wand, and he took it carefully, amazed to find that it was indeed his old wand. He hadn't seen it since Nagini had attacked him, leaving him for dead in the final battle. He had woken in St Mungos afterwards, then been whisked off to trial and Azkaban, and he had never thought to see it again, not even knowing if it had been lost or merely confiscated. It felt strange in his hand. Thoughtfully he swished it, doing a quick 'Lumos'.

"Thank you," he said, his voice startling himself slightly. He sounded husky. Unsurprising, considering how rarely he had used the voice in solitary confinement. He looked up at the young man and added, "I am no longer your professor, Mr Weasley. You may call me Mr Snape."

The auror frowned. "Surely... Master Snape?"

"No. I was stripped of my Potions Mastership."

The man's lips tightened, but he made no exclamation. Perhaps it wasn't the Weasley he had thought it was. That boy was rash and impetuous.

"Can you earn it back?"

He shook his head, seeing the brief flare of pity in the other man's eyes.

"I have messages for you," the redhead said. "If you walk into town with me we can have a coffee and talk."

Messages? He frowned. "Who...?"

"Minerva, among others. Draco."

He wasn't used to the bombardment of new sensations and information. Every day in Azkaban had been the same: solitary, routine, silent. But the Weasley seemed to be content to wait on the dock as he thought about it.

"Yes."

They were halfway up the hill when he stopped. "Money."

Weasley stopped too, gazing patiently at him. "I'll pay for coffee, but you do have money. That is part of what I want to talk about. Minerva sent some for your immediate needs, and there is a bank account."

As they crested the hill he could see a little town below them. Weasley tapped his own head, then Snape's with his wand, creating the illusion that they were wearing Muggle clothes. Snape spoke again.

"I remember... they told me they confiscated my bank account."

"You kept your teacher's pay in a separate account which could be clearly shown to have never received income from any other - more dubious - source. Very sensible, as it turns out, because there was no excuse to confiscate it." Weasley grinned at him, and he was surprised to find that he had smiled reflexively back. How odd.

"That never stopped the Ministry before."

"The Order lawyer did his best for you. He couldn't save much else, but that account was unassailable." The track was dusty, but sheltered by overhanging trees, pleasant in the summer heat. The smells of the fresh green hillside were almost overwhelming after ten years confinement.

Another thought crossed Snape's mind. "The sentence was twenty years."

Weasley nodded. "They kept working on it. Not my area, but I know there was always some appeal or other going. Hermione and Minerva and the lawyer were meeting weekly at one point."

He gestured to Snape to enter the cafe they were now passing. Unmistakeably Muggle, it smelled of coffee and flowers, with a faint hint of dust. Weasley ordered two coffees, asking him if he would like anything else.

"A sandwich?"

"Ham and cheese? Salad?"

"Salad."

When it came he ate quickly and neatly. There were never enough fresh vegetables in Azkaban - everything was boiled to mush.

"You said there were messages?"

- o - o -

Ron stared at Snape. Merlin - he looked so small and lost. Minerva had asked him to swap shifts with Boynton so that he could be there for Snape's release , and he had done it willingly enough, but... he hadn't expected his childhood nemesis to be so small. In his memory Snape was larger-than-life and twice as terrifying. Even at the last battle when he had lined up with the Death Eaters he had been a compelling figure. Voldemort's Right Hand Man had scorned to wear a mask, and when he had unexpectedly turned and taken out Lucius and Bellatrix in two swift motions, he had passed into legend.

All hell had broken loose then, and the only people Ron had been aware of until the Dark Lord fell were Harry and Hermione. As Hermione hovered between life and death in the following weeks, Ron was only peripherally aware that Snape had been taken and tried as a Death Eater. He had been more aware of the funerals and memorial services that punctuated that month like a scattering of black clouds. He and Harry had gone to them all, of course, alternately numb and agonised as each loss registered. Then they had gone back to St Mungos and their bedside vigil. By the time Hermione was out of danger, Snape was gone, and - to be honest - little regretted.

Ten years later and here he was again. Ron counted in his head, finally estimating that Snape must be in his late 40s. Hell, he was still young for a wizard. Ron had thought of him as old, but when he was 11, Snape could only have been 31 or 32. The man had had a hell of a life for someone so young.

Looking into the dazed eyes of the 'greasy old git', Ron spoke gently. "Minerva has arranged a flat for you for a couple of weeks in London, in the same building where her sister lives. We didn't know what you wanted, so this is just a place for you to stay until you can get organised. She will be there to meet us when we arrive."

After a pause, Snape nodded, and Ron continued, "Minerva has your Gringotts key and some other items that were left at Hogwarts which belong to you. Draco will drop by later."

Stop. Pause. Wait for him to absorb it. He knew the routine. They had had to do the same for Draco when he got out, and for Percy and Dung, although their sentences had been much lighter and not served entirely in solitary. Snape was the last of the Order to be released, the last for whom this should be necessary.

Ron had carried on like a two bob watch about Percy, when he got out, thin and pale and striped with permanent scars. His Dad had had to take him aside and tell him firmly that life was frequently unfair, and having a tantrum about it was only upsetting Percy and Mum. 'Save your energy for making a difference,' his Dad had said. As a child he had seen his father as a pale figure against the vibrancy of his mother's loud personality, but the older he got the more he appreciated his Dad's quiet strength. His parents were actually a good pair, he thought, with complementary personalities and the shared courage and ideals that had led them to become Order members.

"Finished your coffee? Side-along apparation would be best if that's OK with you?" he said to the man before him.

Snape nodded submissively. And that was just plain wrong. Ron squelched the outrage he was feeling and quietly led his former professor into a narrow back lane, then apparated them both to Snape's temporary accommodation.

- o - o -

Minerva was in the kitchen when they arrived. Like Ron, she knew to move gently and allow long pauses between bites of information. Ron leaned against the cupboards and watched as she laid out the details of what she had organised for Snape. Snape accepted it all passively. It wasn't until Draco showed up that Ron saw a flash of ... something ... appear in those blank eyes. He couldn't figure out what exactly it was, but when Draco leaned over and gently hugged his former Head of House, Snape actually leaned into the embrace. He said something inaudible into the blond's ear and Draco's grip tightened.

"Ron, Minerva, would you mind?" he said with quiet firmness, "Severus needs some peace and quiet now."

Ron exchanged a look with Minerva and without arguing they stood up and left. As Ron closed the door behind them, he could see Draco kneeling in front of the older man, holding him close. Snape was shaking uncontrollably and Draco was murmuring reassurances, totally focussed on the man in his arms. Ron felt a little sick to have witnessed something so intimate.

- o - o -

A month later, Ron was back to help Snape move into his new cottage. Harry, Remus, George and Luna, Kingsley and Neville were there, among others, and Hermione was meeting them in Devon. Ron was relieved to see that Snape was looking much more ...Snapish than the last time he had seen him. His back was straight, the dazed look had gone from his eyes and the creakiness of disuse no longer marred his voice. He looked somewhat startled at the invasion of his home by so many faces from the past, however. As each new person appeared the crease between his brows deepened from puzzlement to outright suspicion.

Ron thought he had better take steps to dispel the gathering storm.

"We do this for all the Order members, you know," he remarked, in a brief moment when the only other person in the kitchen was his host.

Snape cast a dismissive look in his direction, "They came to gawk."

"No, really." He took a swig of Neville's butterbeer. "We don't see much of each other in normal life any more - it was a long time ago, after all - but when anyone moves house, has a baby, a wedding, a funeral... well... we all come. You'll see when Draco and Helene's baby is born next month. It's a way of saying we haven't forgotten, and checking in on each other.

"We all have bad dreams; we all have trouble with certain things - bangs or smoke or small spaces - and we check in on each other when our lives change, because that's when it tends to go pear-shaped, you know?"

Snape's frown eased a little, and he gave a reflective nod, the frown looking less suspicious but paradoxically more puzzled.

"We'll be around for a couple of weeks until you're settled in," Ron continued, "and then you won't see us for months until... well, until the next time. Probably Draco and Helene's baby, as I said."

He nodded to Snape and moved towards the door, yelling, "Coming!" to whoever was calling him from the bathroom.

- o - o -

One of the Muggleborns must have gone out for pizza while Harry and Ron made the final trip to Hogwarts for a few last items in storage from Snape's tenure there. The aroma made them both groan as they apparated into the living room. Dropping their boxes, they made straight for the bright haven of the kitchen, washing filthy hands before seizing pizza slices greedily from the ravaged boxes on the table. Ron sank into the nearest chair, ignoring a shout from the dispossessed occupant, who happened to be George. Luna patted her lap and George settled into it with a grin.

Ron never could have imagined at school that a decade later he would be eating pizza in Professor Snape's kitchen. He snorted pineapple out his nose as the thought came to him, and immediately shared it with the rest of the table, happy to see that Remus almost choked on an olive at the idea of what teenage Ron would have said if he had known. Snape shot him a grim look with an echo of times past in it as he helped the werewolf breathe.

Gradually everyone looked at their watches and slipped away. Harry and Hermione went with Neville and Ginny to collect their children from Molly, who was babysitting. George and Luna left with Remus, reminding him that he had left his jacket at their house and needed to collect it. Kingsley yawned and said he had an early start the next day, and finally only Ron was left, eyeing off the last few pieces of pizza and trying to decide whether he should leave something for Snape's breakfast or not. Moving slowly, he placed the remains in a dish and put a 'stayfresh' charm on them, then went to hunt up Snape and say good night.

He found him sitting motionless on the bench on his verandah, staring out into the night. Ron handed him a beer and sat next to him.

"Don't you have anywhere to be, Weasley?" Snape asked, but his tone wasn't sharp.

"Nope," Ron admitted, "You've still got beer and pizza. Why would I go home?"

Snape snorted, and returned the beer. "I prefer fire-whiskey," he stated, picking up a glass from under the bench and taking a gulp.

"I left you some pizza for breakfast." Snape gave him a look which said clearly that he had wasted his energy. The little noises of the night closed in; the hum of insects, rustling of leaves in the wind and the far off hum of an expressway. Neither of them spoke, enjoying the peace, until finally Ron realised that he was getting sleepy.

"Goodnight, sir," he said, rising to his feet.

Snape stared at him in the moonlight.

"Goodnight, Mr Weasley."