Mist and Vapors

Two days later, Hannah sat on the sofa in her sitting room, trying to read a book, but finding that she could pay absolutely no attention.

Yesterday had been dismal. She should have known, of course, that there would be some sort of backlash for what she was sure Severus considered his 'deplorable loss of emotional containment', or something along those lines.

She snorted. Good heavens, between the murder, the torture, the trial, the funeral arrangements, the newspaper article, and the needs of his mother most other people would have been reduced to quivering puddles of misery. She certainly had fallen apart quite nicely the first evening after the trial. Yet somehow he seemed to think that he should just buck up and bear it.

All day he had been impeccably polite, which she was learning to interpret as a bad sign. He had come to see her in the evening, but kept a carefully observed distance. Every cautious advance she had made had been coolly and courteously rebuffed. By the end of the evening he had unbent enough to kiss her - a chaste peck on the lips as he left.

Hannah sighed. She should consider it a step forward, really. Any kiss was better than no kiss. It was just that once you had been kissed, well... that way, the little peck, which would have left her ecstatic even a week ago, wasn't nearly so satisfying any more.

Oh well. She was sure this would blow over soon enough.

He was on hall duty this evening, so she knew he would not be able to stop by for long. Quite possibly a good thing, since his mood earlier that day had not been the best.

It had been the day of the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff Quidditch game, and Ginny Weasley and her team had completely and utterly trounced the poor badgers - with the result that Slytherin and Gryffindor were now virtually tied for points, even though Severus' house had pulled out a narrow victory over Ravenclaw a few weeks earlier. Really, she thought, the whole scoring system was incredibly unfair, the way that even a team that had won all its matches could still lose the Quidditch Cup on points. Now everything would depend on the last two games at the end of the year.

When he knocked, she opened quickly, and was greeted with, "I won't be able to stay for long." Her lips twitched.

"Come on in. Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you." He sat down on the couch.

"Sorry about the game..." Hannah offered cautiously.

He snorted. "Well, yes, that. It doesn't matter. We will, after all, play Hufflepuff next, while Gryffindor will have to contend with the Ravenclaws. It should be no contest. I am not in the least concerned." Hannah was about to ask him what the seven-days-of-rainy-weather look after the game had been about, then, but wisely changed her mind.

"Everything quiet out there?"

"The usual. I chased a couple of fifth years off the Astronomy Tower and sent a group of raucous Gryffindors to their common room. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Good..."

For a while, it was quiet. Then Hannah cleared her throat. "I have been meaning to ask you - did your mother ever say anything about what happened to our things? Your wand, and my... things?"

Severus shook his head. "She can't remember much from that day. I assume it's possible Pettigrew still has the wands, even though I think it is more likely that he destroyed them. He would not really want to carry around evidence against himself. I certainly do not entertain any hope that we will ever see them again."

"I suppose so," Hannah said in a small voice, looking down.

"That wand...it had value to you, I believe?" His voice was much softer now.

She nodded. "It was my mother's. Filius was one of the first to arrive after she died, and he picked it up. There was no evidence to be gained from it, and so he kept it. He knew how much it would mean to me, and I suppose he had a pretty shrewd idea of how little my father really thought about me. Father never knew I had it; I kept it hidden well away when he was around. It was presumed lost in battle. I told you I only had one thing of hers. That wand was it."

At the strained note in her voice, Severus lifted up his arm, and she took it as the invitation that it was, and snuggled against his shoulder with a sigh.

"I am sorry," he murmured against her hair.

"It is all right, really. It's not like I will forget her without it," she said, her cheek rubbing against the wool of his robe. "I would have liked to have it back, but..." Her voice trailed off. "Really, it's all right."

He held her for a moment longer, and then lightly squeezed her shoulders with his arm and got up. "Time to get back to rounds, I fear."

Hannah walked to the door with him. "One more thing I wanted to ask you. I would like to come to the funeral tomorrow, if you don't mind."

He turned around abruptly, the frown line back in place. "I don't see why you would. Surely there must be more pleasant ways to spend a Sunday afternoon? It is not like you even knew him."

"I know you," she offered quietly.

"I will have duties to attend to."

"I know that, Severus. I'm not expecting to be entertained. You'll want to be with your family, of course. I would just like to come to the ceremony, and then I'll go back with Flitwick."

Severus had informed her the evening before (with considerable chagrin) that Dumbledore had insisted on a certain number of Order members attending the funeral. According to the headmaster, the funeral would be a perfect opportunity for an ambush, and the Order members would patrol the area beforehand and then stay to make sure nothing disturbed the ceremony. In the end, Severus had been forced to agree.

"...But if you don't want me to come, that is fine. Really," she said.

He thought for a moment before he finally nodded. "If you wish, you may come."

She reached over and gave his hand a quick squeeze. "Thank you."

When he left, the kiss goodbye wasn't quite as chaste as the one from the evening before. Progress, Hannah thought as she closed the door behind him with a smile. We are definitely making progress.

.-.-.-.

The small group of mourners huddled miserably under their umbrellas next to the open grave. Severus alone stood unprotected from the elements, the rain running in small rivulets down his face, dripping from his nose and hair as he stood with his head slightly bent forward.

He was glad to not have to perform master-of-ceremonies duties - since Dumbledore had made it clear that he would be there no matter what, he had hesitantly asked the old wizard if he would consent to lead the ceremony for the interment, and the Headmaster had unhesitatingly agreed.

The funeral was far from well-attended. There was his mother, hanging onto his arm on one side and that of her sister Anwyn, who was holding the umbrella, on the other. Severus looked grimly at his aunt - he supposed she had come to support her sister. For as long as he could remember, the nosy witch with the strident voice had made her disapproval of his father crystal clear. Later, when Severus had wandered further and further down the path of Darkness, she had transferred that disapproval to him, and in spite of his mother's best efforts over the years, their relationship had never recovered. She still considered him far more his father's son than his mother's. Not that it had in practicality mattered much; his father had made sure that any visits by the few surviving relatives were extremely sporadic. There was no other member of the family attending.

On one side, he saw Remus Lupin, Minerva McGonagall, and Emmeline Vance standing shoulder to shoulder, quiet and somber. There had been too many funerals over the last few years: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody, the two oldest Weasley brothers, even harmless, silly Dedalus Diggle - the surviving Order members had stood around graves and crypts too many times. Severus, at first still under cover, and then too ill after the last battle, had not attended any of them. Just one more reason, he thought, why he had never fully become part of that group.

Hannah stood next to Flitwick, unobtrusively in the back.

Casting a short look at her from the corner of his eye, he decided that he was glad that he had let her come. It felt a bit like having your back to a rock during a battle, he thought. The rock didn't have to do anything; just the fact that it was there made you feel like your situation was more defensible.

Other than that, there were two representatives from Whitechapel & Sons, and less than a handful of assorted other witches and wizards he didn't recognize - business associates of his father's, he supposed. None of them looked particularly saddened by the loss.

Looking around the group of mourners, he couldn't suppress a smirk. He could only imagine what his father would have said had he known that the 'mourners' at his funeral would include a Squib, a werewolf, and the man who had organized the Dark Lord's downfall.

At that, his eyes were drawn back to the front, where Dumbledore had just finished a short address, keeping to a basic biography and very general themes of the sanctity and beauty of all life. It was more than obvious to Severus that the headmaster had failed miserably at finding anything positive to say about the deceased. Not that he could blame him for that failure - Severus had actually been more than glad to be able to hand off that task to someone else.

At a nod from Dumbledore, the four designated bearers - Lupin, Flitwick, Severus, and the headmaster himself - stepped out and took up position on the four corners of the gleaming oak casket, heads bowed. A word, and they each took a step back, presenting their wands, wand arm stretched out straight in front of them. Another short word, and the wands lowered, and then raised slowly, in unison, the casket rising along with them. Slowly, solemnly, the four wizards moved in step until they stood at the four corners of the grave, the casket hovering in perfect alignment between them. For a moment they held position. Then they slowly brought their wands back down, and the casket settled gently, without the slightest jar, into the bottom of the grave.

Dumbledore turned and pulled Augustus Snape's wand - returned two days ago with the rest of his belongings the Ministry had confiscated in anticipation of the trial - from his pocket and formally, with both hands, presented it to Severus.

He accepted it gravely, with a bow of the head. For a moment he stood, bowed, holding his father's wand. He took a deep breath, and then the slender rod, controlled by his own wand, floated high up into the air above the grave, turning gracefully in the gently falling rain.

At an almost imperceptible nod from him, the others again raised their wands. Saeran turned and hid her face against her sister's shoulder. Beams of white shot out from the tips, and Augustus Snape's wand erupted in a bright, blinding light, vanishing with a loud thunderclap, leaving only a shower of glittering white sparks that continued to rain down on the group of mourners for more than a minute afterwards.

As Albus stepped back, Severus walked over to the pile of earth next to the grave, and picked up a clod of soggy clay. He dropped it into the grave, where it hit the lid of the casket with a resounding thud.

"Earth to Earth, dust to dust," he murmured and then stepped back, watching as each of the mourners did the same.

Then all that was left was for him and his mother to stand together and receive handshakes and condolences. A farce, of course, but a custom that needed to be observed.

"Thank you for coming," he murmured mechanically as each person came up to him. When he looked over and saw Hannah next in line, he had a sudden surge of panic. He simply could not abide public displays of affection, and for a moment he had visions of her throwing herself around his neck or otherwise reacting emotionally and impetuously. He needn't have worried. She just stretched out her hand, and he shook it, and she said, "I am so sorry," and he said, "Thank you for coming," and it surprised him to no end how he could read her face and see her eyes ask, "Are you all right?" and answer with a lowering of his eyelids that yes, he was, and how he could see that she had understood him by the small smile that flitted across her face. It was almost as if he could suddenly speak a secret language. He quickly dropped her hand as he realized he was holding on to it just a fraction too long.

With an effort, Hannah turned away and stepped over to his mother. "I am so sorry, Mrs. Snape," she said, offering her hand. Saeran took it, but didn't let go.

"You are Hannah, are you not? Frank Hannigan's daughter? I saw you in court?"

Hannah blushed. "I'm afraid that's so."

"I thought I recognized you. I wanted to thank you for what you did for me and my son. We owe you a debt."

Hannah shook her head. "No such debt exists. He would have done the same."

At that, Saeran gave her a weak smile. "Would you care to join us for supper? We have reservation at the Dancing Dragon after the ceremony, but I am sure it would be no problem to fit another person...?"

With a quick sideways glance, Hannah checked Severus' face, and at the tell-tale frown line between his eyebrows regretfully shook her head. "I'm afraid I will be unable to take you up on that kind offer, as I have previous commitments."

Saeran finally let go of her hand. "We will have to meet some other time, under more pleasant circumstances, then."

"That would be nice." With a smile, Hannah inclined her head and stepped away. Severus saw her leave with Flitwick shortly thereafter.

.-.-.-.

Seated at a table in a small, private back room at the Dancing Dragon, Severus was wishing he could just make himself scarce and go back to Hogwarts. Anwyn was doing her usual bit, digging and prying into what was none of her business.

"So tell me, Severus, why did you take her to the house in the first place?"

"She is a friend," he answered tersely.

"Is that so? Why does that sound so unlikely?" Anwyn looked a Severus with the corners of her mouth turned down. "A Squib. How does that fit into your former associates' philosophy, I wonder? A Squib - that is barely better than a Muggle, as far as they are concerned, isn't it? Possibly even worse?"

"Anwyn, really, I don't think..." Saeran said, with a worried look at Severus, whose features had grown stiff and cold.

"Oh, come on, Saeran. So he brings home this woman who is the daughter of one of his worst enemies, not particularly pretty, and a Squib. Pardon me if I am wondering what exactly his interest in her is."

Severus had gotten up, his hands balled into fists within the folds of his robe.

"She is also one of the kindest, most loyal people that I know. I consider myself fortunate to have made her acquaintance. And now, if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to..."

He made to leave before Anwyn could wag her sharp tongue yet again. To his surprise, he saw a grim grin spread over her face instead.

"Oh, sit back down, you big sod. I didn't mean anything by it. I'll shut my gob now. Mind you, I never thought I would see the day when I'd hear you champion the virtues of a Squib. - Maybe the leopard can change his spots after all, hm?"

He shook his head in bewilderment as he took a seat again. His mother had tried for years and years, telling her about his stellar record at Hogwarts, about being trusted by Dumbledore, about how unhappy his father had been with him, even about his medical research...nothing had convinced her.

And now this.

Witches. He would never understand them.