Mist and Vapors

"May I come in?" Dumbledore asked.

"I am rather busy at the moment..."

"We have quite a bit to discuss."

With a sigh, Snape opened the door to admit the elderly wizard to his quarters. If Dumbledore was surprised at the remaining evidence of a breakfast for two or the presence of his rather pink-cheeked Composition mistress, he did not let on. He just nodded to her politely.

"Good morning. I trust you are feeling better today?"

"Quite, thank you, Headmaster," Hannah answered, keeping her eyes down.

The old wizard pointed to the newspaper Severus held rolled up in one hand. "I suggest you take a look at that."

Hannah stepped up next to Severus as he unrolled the paper and unfolded the front page.

It was immediately evident that whatever Hannigan had lost by yesterday's revelation, he had not lost his influence with the editors of the Prophet.

SEVERUS SNAPE ACCUSED OF MURDER, the headline blared across the front page. There was a photo of Severus stiffly walking into the courtroom, snapped just after the door had opened.

"Not again," she said hoarsely, looking up at him with a stricken face. "I really thought that he would not want this trial publicized."

"Obviously, you thought wrong," he replied in a clipped voice as his nostrils and eyes narrowed. Stony-faced, he read through the article.

Severus S. Snape, 40, was brought before the Wizengamot to answer to charges relating to the murder of Augustus S. Snape, 73, his father. The victim was found dead of a stab wound at his home near Much Wenlock in the early morning hours. Snape, currently employed as the Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was arrested a short time thereafter on the testimony of his mother, Saeran Snape, 68. Her heart-wrenching retelling of her son's final, deadly encounter with his father left the jury and audience in tears.

The article then went on to detail Saeran's testimony for several more paragraphs. Near the end, they found this:

The Accused was represented by Filius Flitwick, a fellow professor at Hogwarts, who by clever questioning of the witness was able to cast doubt on a few points of Saeran Snape's testimony. The jury did not reach a unanimous decision, and the case was dismissed.

In the sidebar, a photo of Frank nodded at them sanctimoniously. There was a short quote underneath:

Frank Hannigan, Head of Magical Law Enforcement:

"This case is proof that our legal system works. The vote of the jury was very close, ten to two, but it is the established legal tradition to require unanimity for conviction. It is tragic to see the guilty walk free, but the jury had no choice but to vote their conscience. I, as Head of Magical Law Enforcement, support the current jury system and assure you that I would much rather see a guilty wizard escape without punishment than see an innocent man sent to prison. It is those jurors who voted to acquit who will have to live with themselves should the wizard they released back into the streets attack yet again.

"This is just awful," Hannah said quietly.

Severus shrugged cynically. "I expected nothing else."

"There is something else I need to tell you." Dumbledore's voice broke in. "I have already this morning received several owls, some of them carrying Howlers, all asking for you to be relieved of duty. The general consensus, I fear, is that where there is smoke, there is fire, and that there has been too much smoke."

"You aren't going to listen to them, are you?" Hannah asked, a frown line forming between her eyebrows.

The Headmaster shook his head reassuringly. "I have no intention to. I just want Severus to be aware that public sentiment seems to be quite ugly at the moment, and I would suggest that he not go anywhere he doesn't absolutely have to be. - Which reminds me."

Dumbledore pulled something long and thin out of the deep pocket of his robe. "I have taken the liberty of procuring a wand identical to the configuration of your own. Filius would appreciate his back before classes start, I am certain. Mister Ollivander was most helpful. Quite an amazing memory, that fellow. I only owled him last night, and he already sent over the replacement first thing this morning. It should work much better than Flitwick's for you, and you may, if you wish, exchange it later when a trip to Diagon Alley is not quite so ill advised."

Severus took the wand from Dumbledore's bony, blue-veined hands and gave it a test flick. A shower of green sparks erupted from the tip and sank to the ground in a loose spiral. He nodded his acceptance. "It will do. I will, of course, expect the bill on my desk directly."

"Yes, yes, of course. - But as I said, there are more urgent concerns right now. I talked to the staff at St. Mungo's, and they seem quite confident that your mother is making enough progress to be sent home later today. I have also arranged for the Ministry to release the body of your father to Whitechapel & Sons Mortuary; one of the owners is a personal friend of mine. I have informed him of the situation. Ask for his daughter, Miss Whitechapel. I told them to expect you sometime today to make the necessary arrangements."

Dumbledore ran a hand over his beard as he turned to Hannah. "I also had a little chat with your father yesterday after trial. You will be glad to hear that he is not pressing charges against Severus' mother. I hope you will forgive me, but I'm afraid I was quite adamant on insisting that you would be called as an eyewitness, both to the murder and to the lies told as a result of the Imperius Curse, should Saeran ever get tried. For unfathomable reasons, he did not seem at all fond of that idea. A bit of good news there, at last, wouldn't you say?" He peered back in Severus' direction.

The Potions master inclined his head. "Indeed."

"Oh, and I don't want the two of you to give teaching a second thought today; I have already arranged for your classes to be covered. I would not have disturbed you yet, but I will be teaching your first two classes. Remus has kindly agreed to fill in on the last one." Severus snorted at that. Dumbledore regarded him over the top of his glasses with a twinkle in his eye. "I realize Potions isn't his forte, but he ought to be able to manage a first year class, don't you agree?" He turned to Hannah. "We will simply cancel your classes for the day, and let the students take a review period."

"I don't think that will be necessary." Hannah looked up at him with a determined expression. "I'm much better, and I'd honestly rather have something to keep me busy today. I will teach my normal schedule. "

"Very well, as you wish." He smoothed out his robes as he stepped to the door. "I shall see you both later."

Severus closed the door behind him and turned to Hannah with furrowed eyebrows. "Are you sure you are up to teaching?"

"The less time I have to think today, the better," she said distractedly. She looked up at him, her eyes dark with worry. "Isn't there something you can do? There is the Quibbler, isn't there? Could you talk to them?"

"You do realize that would have to include your testimony, don't you?"

She shrugged. "The news that Frank Hannigan's Squib daughter showed up as a witness will get around quickly enough. I would be surprised if the entire school doesn't know in a day or two. Someone's uncle or second-cousin-once-removed is sure to have attended the trial. But passing on gossip doesn't mean that they will include the information that you were exonerated. Not to mention that nowhere near as many people witnessed that part of the proceedings, since Father conveniently sent the audience out before that happened. - It couldn't hurt to try, could it?"

"Most people's opinions concerning me are quite set. I haven't the time to waste at the moment. As the Headmaster says, there are more pressing concerns."

Not to mention that the idea of trying to justify himself to a reporter and spending more time being gossiped about in public held no appeal whatsoever. He pursed his lips in distaste. Any article in the Quibbler would just produce more counterpoint articles in the Prophet that would not at all be favorable. And the plain fact was that he hadn't been exonerated - the case had been dismissed. Not at all the same thing. No, better to let this go. It wasn't as if he had much of a reputation to lose in the first place, he thought with a bitter smirk.

He folded up the paper and tossed it on the armchair. "I should probably visit the mortuary first and get that out of the way. Then, there is the matter of my mother - if she is supposed to be released today, there are arrangements to be made. Returning to the house is out of the question; there is no way to assure her safety there. I suppose I had better call on my aunt, she might be willing to take her in for a while. It would probably be prudent to send her an owl, let her know to expect me..."

Hannah looked up at him, suddenly shy, not knowing what to do or say. What had happened only a quarter of an hour ago all of a sudden seemed far off in the distance as his mind was preoccupied with other things. "Well, I'd better go," she said awkwardly.

He nodded distractedly. "I suppose so. You will have things to prepare." Turning around, he walked over to the desk and opened the roll-top to retrieve quill, ink, and parchment. When he looked up a moment later she was still standing there, looking over at him expectantly. He raised his eyebrows. "Is there anything else?"

She shrugged. "Not really, I suppose." She actually had hoped for another kiss, but the look on his face didn't make that seem all that likely. Hannah sighed inwardly. Oh well. Maybe later. Impulsively, she took a few steps back over to him and put a hand on his arm. "Please watch out, Severus. It scares me to think of you out there with that lunatic still on the loose. I'll breathe easier once you are safely back."

For a moment, a hint of irritation flitted across his face, but then the lines around his eyes and mouth softened. "I will let you know when I return."

She smiled a lopsided half-smile and nodded. "Thank you. Until later, then?"

"Yes. Now, if you will excuse me?"

She nodded resignedly, stepped over to the fireplace, threw down a handful of Floo powder, and a moment later was gone in a flicker of green flame.

.-.-.-.

When Severus stepped out on the hearth at Whitechapel & Sons, the witch at the desk across the room stood up. Short grey hair, drooping eye-lids and pronounced under-eye bags, the corners of her mouth permanently pulled down - she looked like nothing so much as a sad bull-dog.

"Can I help you?" she asked in a solicitous voice.

"Am I speaking to Miss Whitechapel?"

"Gunila Whitechapel - yes, that would be me?"

"Severus Snape. I was told to come to you regarding arrangements for the burial of my father."

"Ah, yes." She opened a drawer and pulled out a file. "My father told me to expect you. - Augustus Snape, that would be, correct? So sorry for your loss. Quite tragic. Please have a seat."

Snape's lips tightened into a straight line as he sat down in the straight-backed chair in front of her. "I wish for a very simple burial. Nothing extravagant."

The solicitous attitude of the witch slipped marginally as she saw the Galleons evaporate before her eyes. She fought on gamely, though, and whipped out a color brochure and plopped it down in front of him.

"Our most popular package is the Tempus Terminus. It includes embalming services, an oak casket with a velvet lining in your choice of color, use of our chapel for a memorial service, a granite headstone charmed to..."

"None of that will be required. A simple graveside ceremony will suffice, as will the simplest casket in your inventory."

She opened her mouth as if to argue, but then changed her mind as she saw the forbidding expression on his face. With a huff, she bent down and opened the bottom drawer of her desk to retrieve a form. "One pine-box special coming up," he thought he heard her mutter as she straightened back up. His lip curled as he regarded her through lowered eyelids. His father deserved no better. And it wasn't as if he would know the difference anyways.

Fifteen minutes later he had filled out the necessary authorizations and forms.

"One more thing," the witch asked him as she stacked the papers neatly in front of her on the desk. "We are required to publish a short death notice in the Prophet, but if you would like a longer obituary we can write a simple one for you from the information you have given us, or you are of course free to write one of your own?" She looked at him questioningly.

Snape shook his head. "No." The less in the paper, the better.

The witch sighed and stood up. "Very well. Now, I can take you back if you wish to see the deceased?"

Severus got up as well, a corner of his mouth turned down. He could not even stand to be around the man when he was alive; why would he want to visit his carcass? Yet he stood there for a moment, wavering, inexplicably undecided. Something stirred in the recesses of his being, disconcerting, if unrecognizable, and he found himself inclining his head in a curt nod.

"Follow me, then," she said.

He walked behind her down a flight of stairs into a short passageway that ended in a heavy mahogany door. The witch opened it with a flick of her wand; another flick, and the torches along the wall sprang to life.

"There you are, then. I will leave you alone; just come back up when you are finished. Again, I am so sorry for your loss," she said automatically as she closed the door behind her on the way out.

Cautiously, he advanced towards the dais in the middle of the room. His father's body was laid out on a white marble slab supported by two columns, preserved by a cooling charm, hands folded across his chest, looking solemn and pious in death.

Severus stepped over next to the table, and looked down on the face of the man he had hated for most of his life. Nothing, he thought, gave as much credence to the idea of a soul as the utter emptiness of a corpse. The face before him was waxen, still, and absolutely devoid of any semblance of life.

His father. It was strange to stand here. There was a cold feeling in his chest, but he couldn't decide why. His father had ceased to matter much in his life a long time ago. He certainly would not miss the man.

What had his father ever given him? Life, he supposed. A certain amount of shared genes. He only had to look into the mirror to remember that. His nose and his temper - those where an inheritance from his father. He snorted at that - now there was something to be thankful for, most certainly.

Virtually all the memories of his father were tucked in among the multitude of other memories he would rather forget. There was very little about the man he would actually want to remember.

He fished around in the murky pond of memory for a moment, trying to dredge up something that was good, something he had shared with his father that didn't have a sting to it...

He had been seven. His father had asked him into his study, and he had gone, wary, not knowing what to expect. When he got there, his father had told him to sit down at one side of the small table. "I am going to teach you," he had said, "how to play wizard chess. Go ahead, you may touch them."

In front of him, the board was set up - an elaborate pewter set, the beautifully detailed pieces mounted on bases of black and white onyx. He had run a small finger over the lines of the queen, a stately witch with a proud and haughty face, so exquisitely molded that he could make out the stars on the fabric of her pointed hat.

"This is how you play..." his father had said, and explained the rules. "You will use the white pieces. White starts the game."

He remembered how he had just about jumped out of his seat when one of his father's pawns - small gargoyles crouching on their bases, ready to spring - suddenly came to life and attacked his own, sweeping him off the board in a mighty swiping stroke of his taloned paw.

His father had laughed at his open-mouthed gasp of surprise, and he had laughed, too, at the sheer magic of it, and it had been the first time he could remember that they had laughed together. After that, no matter how bad things had been that day, they could go to the study and play the game and forget. The game became neutral ground.

That had lasted until he had been eight and had beaten his father for the first time. The fragile peace had been shattered as his father swept the board off the table in an angry gesture and stormed from the room. He hadn't wanted to play him any more after that.

Severus looked down at the waxen face below him. "I wonder, Father, if you knew then already that I would beat you at every game you ever played." His voice was hard. For years, his life had revolved around showing his father that he was better than he. A better student. A better duelist. A better potions brewer. A better Dark wizard. He smirked joylessly. "There were some games I would have been better off letting you win..."

Looking at the lifeless shell that had been his father, he knew it had been right to come. There were things, memories he could never forget, never forgive, but there was nothing left to hate here. There was no purpose in trying to shame these empty remains

As he looked down at the almost translucent eyelids, he remembered the way his father had died - the bulging eyes, the palpable fear; bound, voiceless, completely and utterly helpless as his wife became Pettigrew's puppet. And the pity he had felt then returned with the memory.

He slowly walked around the marble table. It had been his father's mistake to ask Pettigrew in as a houseguest...you cannot make your bed with rats and not expect to get bitten. He had known only too well what that wizard was capable of. But surely, he had never expected anything like this...

He took one last look and then turned on his heels and walked out the door and up the stairs.

He found the witch leaning back in her chair, slowly turning the pages of the magazine she was reading. She looked up as he entered the room. "Anything else I can do for you?"

Severus walked over and sat back down in the chair. "Let me talk to you about the arrangements again..."