The Day After

"...I am here

You are here

You are me and

We are all together..."

It was raining in Trafelgar Square, pouring in fact. The scenery was faded and bleak,

the colors seemed to run together and everyone was taking notice. Fat grey drops

splattered the ground and on the people hurrying home to avoid the lightning that

threatened to come. Noone payed any attention to the man who was leaning agianst the

post of an antique shop.

Snape flicked a glance over his shoulder and grumbled, not bothering to

seek shelter. The notice-me-not charm was still in effect, and the aqua circumfluus would

keep him dry enough. Black eyes darted across the square, watching for anything suspicious.

He could hear snatches of music coming from the store. The owner was closing up shop, and,

for the first time in his life, Snape believed something in life was finally going his way.

"..Sitting on a cornflake,

Waiting for the van to come..."

The double agent shook his head disgustedly. No wonder the Dark Lord wanted

these people gone, Snape mused. If the Dark Lord (sometimes reffered to as The Old Lunatic

in Snape's private thoughts) wasn't so psychologically scarred by his childhood, he would've

went after them for thier music. Honestly, only muggle borns could call that music an art

form. Well, he corrected himself, and halfbloods. After all, wasn't Ringo a halfblood?

Granted, he'd dropped out of school, but still...

Snape shook himself out of the reverie and watching the shabbily dressed clerk scuttle to his

car. Scanning the area with a few well placed charms, he apparated inside the antique shop

with a crack.

"...I am the eggman

I am the eggman

I am the walrus..."

Having finished the job he'd apparated home. Oh, how he loathed apparating. Snape unhooked

the clasp and hung his cloak on a hook, and muttered a fast 'animadverto meton', making sure

his house was devoid of all occupents save himself. "Bloody intrusive song!" he muttered

viciously, wishing he could hex someone. He twirled his wand between nimble fingers for a moment,

then summoned a pot of darjeeling. Pouring a cup of tea, he considered the situation. Oh,

he'd gotten what he'd wanted, alright..but there was work ahead, and by Merlin, his work was

never easy. And having this blasted song stuck in his head was making it worse.

Strolling over to the the fireplace, he flicked an incendio on the logs. At least Wormtail was

good for something, even if it was just supplying firewood. Picking up an ornate silver pensieve

from the bookshelf and setting it on an end table, he let himself slump down on the nearest

piece of furniture.

He grimaced, holding his find up to the firelight for a closer inspection. Yes, yes...

*this* was what the headmaster and that foolish boy were after, and he'd be damned if he'd let

the Dark Lord get his skeletal fingers around it. He put the object back in his pocket, ever

so gently. The preperations weren't ready yet. Snape knew the Old Lunatic couldn't feel it's

presence, the fiasco with the enchanted diary proved that. But still...Better not to tempt

fate.

It's a good thing I kept an eye on the thief's habits, Snape thought with satisfaction.

Only Mundungus could have stupidly carted something so abominably dangerious around London and

yet still be alive. And the Potter brat, he amended. "Can't leave *him* out." he sneered to

himself. Potter's luck was phenominal, it reminded him of the boy's damnable father.

"...See how they fly like Lucy in the sky see how they run..."

Snape sighed. Lily should never have had to die... He steepled his fingers

and let his mind wander. Best to get these things out before sleep, he figured. It would make

the nightmares less...bloody.

"Yellow mellow custard dripping from a dead dogs eye..."

...And then there was Black, he mused. Castoff of his family and everything that they

represented. It wasn't 'his' fault the ass fell through the viel! The Potter boy probably

blamed him for Blacks death too, he thought bitterly. Unless....no, no. Snape shook his head.

The possibility of Potter blaming himself for the mutts death were slim to none. The boy would

never take responsibility for his actions, real or imagined. He'd foist them off on others.

Though it 'would' explain the boy's anger at himself and everyone else... Pinching the bridge

of his considerable nose, he gave a barely audible curse. A headache was coming on, and a

rather large one, at that.

"...Mr city p'licman sitting

Pretty little p'licemen

In a row..."

The Order had its uses, Snape knew. But it was Dumbledore's idea that Snape could glean more

information if he'd done something extraordinary. That he'd be more usefull spying in the Dark

Lord's army with a 'trophy kill,' as the headmaster had so blithly put it. Dumbledore had made

him promise with the sacramentum adiuro over tea and chocolate biscuits, that if need be, Snape

would kill him.

He shuddered violently. As many as he'd killed over the years, Snape had a feeling that that

death would haunt him the most. And that he'd never forget that meeting, no matter how much he

tried. Dumbledore'd said he had an 'inkling' he was going to die soon, what with the horcrux

that he'd destroyed poisoning him. The ring, he'd explained, could not be removed. That the

arm had died Snape knew, hell, the whole school knew.

What the whole school didn't know was that the deseased flesh was spreading. Snape remembered

scoffing at hearing the news, but that feeling of dread had come apon him when the headmaster

had given him one of 'those' looks. The ones that practically screamed "Do your duty, Severus!" And so he'd promised. How he'd manage to get information to the Order he still didn't know, he hadn't gotten that far yet. Convincing them of his 'innocence' on the other hand... "oh God" he spat out furiously. "How the hell am I going to get them to check my wand for the sacramentum adiuro if they want to kill me on sight!?!

Snape closed his eyes. The headache wasn't helping, and he needed to get this finished.

Dragging himself off of the faded couch, he stood over the pensieve. Concentrating, he removed

the memories. Silvery, gossamer thin strands dropped from his wand into the bowl before him.

The antique shop and his promise to Dumbleore earlier that week were safe now. Really, he

thought, the promise should've been removed sooner, he just hadn't had the time...Snape shook

his head. He'd have to be more careful.

Turning, he ran his eyes along the bookshelf, his own spidery handwriting readily visible by

the firelight. Snatching a clear bottle off the shelf, he poured the whole contents into the

pensieve. Watching the potion sink and pool in the center, he smiled. Perfect. This wasn't what

the potion's original intent was for; after all, who would want to have a frozen moment in time

located in the middle of a pensieve? Snape chuckled darkly to himself. It was originally used

to ship delicate potion ingredients to keep them from decaying.

It wouldn't work on animals, but that was alright, he figured. A soul isn't living matter.

Takeing his wand, Snape aimed a bottomless charm at the bowl's contents. Just in case the Old

Lunatic tried to pass through the metal. "Better

safe than sorry," he said evenly. Taking a step backwords, he admired his handiwork.

"...Koo koo ka choo

Koo koo ka choo

Ka choo..."

Humming, he reached into his robe's pocket and withdrew slytherin's locket. He wanted to

destroy it, but he doubted could and get out alive. But make it so that it was stuck in what

the muggles called 'suspended animation?' That he could do. Holding the heavy golden chain

between thumb and index finger, Snape peered in the pensieve. Carefully aiming for the middle

where the potion was located, he let the locket drop. "And with any luck," he murmered,

"That's where *that* particular bit of soul will stay." Snickering madly, Snape made his way

back to the couch. He'd waited years to 'pull one over' on the Old Lunatic...and he'd finally

succeeded. His last thought before exhaustion overtook him was that perhapes the Beatles

weren't so bad, after all.

"...Expert..expert..choking smokers don't you think the joker laughs at you..."