Never Give Up, It's A Wonderful Life

Chapter song: Family Force 5 - "Topsy Turvy"

Chapter 5

When Hermione awoke the next morning, the first thing she did was cautiously turn the lights up, prepared to see Snape looming over her. She was slightly disappointed to find that he wasn't. Maybe he had left for good. On the other hand, it was always good to start the day without one's former professor staring at one's bits -- although she had taken the precaution of wearing a sweatshirt and loose leggings to bed this time, just in case.

Her first stop, once again, was the Headmistress's office, to inquire after Snape's portrait. Minerva let her search the room thoroughly, but it was nowhere to be found.

Now she was climbing a rickety ladder leading up to the castle's undercroft above the seventh floor, following one of the castle's house-elves. It was Hermione's idea to work back a step at a time to trace the portrait's whereabouts. As soon as a new Headmaster was invested by the Board of Governors, a photographic image was sent to one of the magical portrait painters under contract to Hogwarts. Once the portrait was finished, usually within a couple of weeks, it was sent back to Hogwarts, to be stored until the Headmaster died and the castle's magic imbued the portrait with his imprint, allowing it to talk and interact with the living. Snape's portrait must therefore have been completed early in the previous school year, and delivered to Hogwarts for storage. Hermione wanted to see whether the portrait had simply never been brought out, in the confusion following the Battle. If it wasn't there, then she would go one step further back and track down the portraitist.

She'd never been up in this part of the castle before. The ceiling was so low that Hermione had to bend over. Her house-elf guide, of course, had no such problem. The little grayish-green figure led Hermione past a row of what looked like cells with wooden slats dividing them. Through the slats, she could see neatly stored furniture, linens, and other things that might be needed to replace items that got broken or wore out during the school year.

"Headmasters' portraits is this way," the house-elf piped up from the dim recesses of the storage space. "Mistress Headmistress McGonagall's portrait is not being delivered yet. But Master Headmaster Snape's portrait is here. Spats is not losing it." He sounded insulted that someone would even think such a thing.

Hermione kept going until she caught up with him, standing in front of the last compartment. He wrung his hands together and looked up at Hermione earnestly. "Spats is never forgetting to bring down a portrait when it wakes up," he insisted. "Mistress Professor sees?" He gestured into the cell.

Hermione stuck her head into the small space. In a recess in the back wall hung a picture. It was hard to see what the subject was, as the lighting was dim, and the picture itself was quite dark.

"Master Headmaster Snape's portrait is not awake yet. When he is waking up, Spats is bringing it to the Headmistress's office."

Excited, Hermione squeezed into the storage cell to get a better look. If it were this easy to find the portrait, they were just a hop, skip, and a jump away from getting Snape's spirit properly housed. As she got closer, she could make out the dark-robed body, the pale face. His eyes were closed, and he did look like he was asleep. Yes! Hermione crowed to herself. She reached out to take the portrait out of its nook.

"Oh, no!" the house-elf cried, reaching out as if to stop Hermione from touching the portrait, then stopping and pulling at his ears. "Mistress Professor mustn't take the portrait yet. It is not awake! Hogwarts castle cannot wake him up if he is not on the wall."

"It's all right," Hermione soothed the elf, lowering her hands so as not to upset him further. "I need to fix the portrait... or have it fixed," she amended, not having any clue as to what enchantments were required to put unite the imprint of a deceased spirit and a magical portrait. "Professor Snape's ghost -- or whatever it is -- somehow got separated from his portrait. Maybe something happened during the Battle, something that damaged the castle's ability to wake the portrait up."

"Hogwarts castle was sorely injured, Mistress Professor is right," the house-elf said, still agitated, "but not so bad that Headmaster enchantments was broken. Mistress Headmistress McGonagall was accepted. All Headmaster keys are working. Master Headmaster Snape's portrait is not awake yet because Master Headmaster Snape is not dead yet."

Hermione frowned at the elf. "Of course he's dead. I saw him die with my own eyes. Maybe the problem is that he abandoned his post before he died? Maybe the castle is rejecting him as a true Headmaster for that reason?"

The house-elf shook his head vigorously. "Oh, no, Mistress Professor. Hogwarts castle is recognizing every witch and wizard who serves as Headmaster or Headmistress. What is happening to them later is not mattering. Spats is sure. Master Headmaster Snape is still alive."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. She was afraid the house-elf might try to hurt himself if she took the portrait, thinking that he had failed in his charge. At least she knew where it was now. And as soon as she informed Professor McGonagall, the Headmistress could order that the portrait be brought down so they could work on it.

"It's all right," she said again, stepping back out of the storage room. "I won't take the portrait. Although Professor Snape is dead," she couldn't resist saying.

"Master Headmaster Snape is still alive," the house-elf's stubborn little voice repeated from behind her, as they made their way back to the ladder. "Hogwarts castle is knowing."

======

"That's ridiculous!" Harry said from the flames of Hermione's fireplace.

"It is, right?" Hermione agreed with a small laugh. "I mean, we saw him die!" She was sitting on the floor of her quarters, having returned there after reporting to Minerva on what she'd found. The Headmistress had agreed to talk to the elves and see about bringing the portrait down to Hermione's rooms, as that appeared to be the only place Snape's spirit was able to manifest.

"No doubt," Harry said, his head flickering ghoulishly in the fire. "It wasn't as if we could have done anything for him, either. He didn't have a drop of blood left in him."

"Still, it's odd. Minerva said she didn't know where he was buried. She thought the Death Eaters made off with his body."

Harry's image shuddered. "I wouldn't like to think what they did with it."

"Well, they didn't know he wasn't actually on their side, did they? Even Voldemort thought he was pretty much loyal to him right up to the end. He only killed him to get his hands on the Elder Wand."

"True. And we know where all the Death Eaters were after that: in the forest, watching him kill me."

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. It still bothered her how blasé he was about what had happened to him that night.

Harry shrugged. "So if one of them did collect Snape from the Shrieking Shack that night, they didn't have any time to give him a proper burial. I wager they left him in the forest somewhere, thinking they'd come back to collect him later on, after they'd won. Only things didn't turn out that way."

"So you think his body might still be in the forest?"

"Well... I doubt it," Harry said, screwing his face up in a way that said Hermione wasn't going to like what he had to say. "Not with the place crawling with giant spiders and the like."

Now it was Hermione's turn to shiver. "Ugh, Harry!"

"It's just a fact of life, Hermione. I don't like it any better than you, but I'm pretty sure that's what must have happened."

"So, aside from us, there's no one who can say he actually died?" Hermione frowned.

"I guess not," Harry agreed. "Well, except whoever it was that removed his body from the Shack. But he was dead. Otherwise, how could his ghost be appearing to you now?"

"You're right," Hermione said slowly, although something in her tone didn't sound entirely convinced.

"Miss Granger!" Snape's voice caused Hermione to jump in surprise.

She turned to see him standing, semi-transparent, in the middle of the living room, his arms crossed and a well-known look of displeasure on his face.

"Oh, Harry, look, here he is!" She pointed at Snape, excited to have another witness.

Snape leaned down to peer at the fire. "Potter," he said, curling his lip.

"Professor Snape?" Harry's fire-image looked incredulous. "It's... nice to see you again, sir. I... I didn't have a chance to thank you. For your memories, and... all that stuff. So, thanks."

"It is gratifying to see that my efforts were not a complete waste," Snape drawled.

"Wow, this is pretty surreal," Harry said, running a fiery hand through his hair. "Um, Hermione? I think I'll just let you and Snape ... talk in private. And good luck with that portrait thing."

"Thanks, Harry. I'll keep you posted."

Hermione stood up, shaking out her numb legs. She felt unreasonably giddy at Snape's reappearance in her quarters. Probably just light-headed from getting up too quickly, she thought to herself. "I'm glad you were able to come back," Hermione said, trying to keep her voice neutral and professional. "I was afraid you'd gone for good when you went out the door. I don't suppose you were able to see where you went?"

"No," Snape said shortly. "My conscious memory remains restricted to these rooms. However," he added slowly, "I do have a vague impression that someone was ... singing ..."

Hermione rushed to her desk to find the notes she had started that morning. "Singing? What do you mean? Was the voice familiar? Could you make out any words, or was it more humming?"

"Please, Miss Granger! One question at a time. Singing, as I said. Not humming. I do not recall any words. As I said, it is more of an impression, not a clear memory. As to familiarity... I cannot say I recognized the voice. Female, I should say."

Hermione paused in her note-taking to look at Snape curiously. "Do you think... Might it be your mother, sir?" At Snape's startled expression, Hermione explained, "I'm just thinking out loud here... I've heard that when one dies, one is greeted by family and loved ones. Maybe your mother is trying to reach you, and you're trapped halfway between this world and the next."

Snape's mouth turned down in distaste. "If I am meant to spend the rest of eternity with my parents, I will gladly choose this half-existence instead."

Hermione felt a pang of sympathy, colored by her own now difficult relationship with her own parents. "I'm sorry, sir. Did you not get on well with your parents?"

"Surely Potter did not withhold the sordid details of my childhood memories from you?"

"He did say something about seeing you as a child, and you appearing unhappy," Hermione admitted, feeling uncomfortable now.

"Suffice it to say I was happier during my months at Hogwarts than at any other time of the year, despite the constant attacks from your precious Potter and Black, and not having any allies who wouldn't as soon stab me in the back as use my talents to further their own ends."

"Is that why you denied your part-Muggle background then? Because you had an unhappy home life?"

"I never denied that I was a half-blood!" Snape said indignantly. "Nor did I see any need to proclaim the fact publicly. It was to my advantage to let my Housemates, and others, assume what they wanted regarding my heritage. As with so much else, people generally only see what they want to anyway."

"I'm very sorry, Professor," Hermione said contritely. "I'm afraid I've been guilty of that as well. I wish I'd known all of this before you died. I wish we'd all known."

"Why, so you could pity me? Does it make you feel self-righteous and superior to be kind to an abused, friendless outcast?"

"I was never unkind to you," Hermione said in her defense.

"You consider setting me on fire, stealing from me, and blasting me across the Shrieking Shack to be kindness?" Snape snorted.

"That was-- That was different!" Hermione said, feeling herself turn red. "I thought you were -- See, that's exactly what I mean! If we'd known you were there to help Harry, we wouldn't have--"

"Did no one assure you there was nothing to fear from me? Dumbledore, perhaps? Molly Weasley? Not even Potter's old sidekick, Lupin?"

"I don't know-- maybe -- Oh, that's not fair!" She stamped her foot. "You're twisting things all around! I said I was sorry, and I meant it. Can't you accept that?"

Snape chuckled, an unpleasant, sarcastic laugh. "My, my. An apology from you and gratitude from Potter, all in one day. What's next? Will Weasley be offering to polish my silver? Oh, I forgot. You gave it to the poor."

"I did nothing of the sort, and I don't appreciate being lumped in with everyone you believe has ever slighted, insulted, or disrespected you."

"Why not?" Snape asked in mock surprise. "Now that we've established you have, in fact, done all three."

"Because I know you now! I only knew who you wanted the world to see, before, and you fooled me, along with everyone else. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I was a child. I only knew what I was told."

"And now, a few weeks later, you are suddenly an adult, the scales fallen from your eyes? You're barely what... seventeen?"

Hermione tossed her head defiantly. "I'm eighteen, and I'll be nineteen in less than a month. But it doesn't have to do with age as much as experience. And don't you say I'm not old enough to have the necessary experience. I grew up this past year, as did Harry and Ron. Don't pretend you know what we went through, because you don't, no more than I know what you went through last year, having to live here and witness the Carrows' cruelty."

Snape was silent for a moment, regarding Hermione. Then, quietly, he said, "Touché, Professor Granger."

A warm feeling spread through Hermione at the sign of respect. She huffed out a breath and straightened her robes. "All right then. Fine. Now. Maybe we can get back to figuring out your present situation." She consulted her notes, finding it a bit difficult to concentrate. Her pulse was still elevated from the heated exchange.

"Please do," Snape agreed. "Although I must say, I've come to the conclusion that there are worse situations than the one I currently find myself in."

"About that," Hermione said, tapping the list she'd created. "Looking at the evidence we've collected so far, I don't believe you're a ghost."

"The fact that I fade in and out in an arbitrary manner and am unable to manifest outside of these rooms does point toward that conclusion," Snape allowed.

"Which leaves us with the portrait theory." She looked up at Snape with a grin. "And I have good news. I've found your portrait."

"Wonderful. Where was it?"

"Right where it was supposed to be, up in the undercroft. One of the house-elves brought me up."

"I assume Minerva has the portrait in her office already and is setting things in motion to have the charms re-applied?"

"Oh, she will," Hermione assured Snape. "As soon as possible. As I've told you, she has a lot on her plate right now."

Snape, who had seemed calm and even amicable a moment ago, now showed the first signs of outrage. "And what of me in the meantime? Who knows but that I may fade out of existence altogether if we wait any longer? So much for the great show of solidarity," Snape said bitterly. "If it were Dumbledore or the great sainted Harry Potter whose portrait were disembodied, you can bet she would be setting every possible lever in motion to get things righted."

"It's not as easy as that," Hermione tried to explain. "The house-elves--" She was a bit embarrassed about mentioning it, knowing where the discussion would lead. "--They don't think your portrait is ready to be moved."

"Not ready? What nonsense is that?"

"It's what I was talking to Harry about when you appeared. It seems... I know this is ridiculous, but the elf I spoke to -- Spats was his name -- said the castle hasn't recognized you as dead yet. In fact, he suggested you were actually still alive... somewhere. And that if we moved your portrait, it would interfere with the castle's enchantments." Hermione cringed, ready for another tirade.

Instead, Snape turned and paced a few steps, rubbing his chin. "Interesting theory," he mumbled. "I presume you are ready to discount it out of hand?"

"Well-- I just think-- Sir, we saw you die in the Shrieking Shack. Harry and I were there when Voldemort instructed Nagini to attack you. We saw the bite, and the wounds you sustained. There was no way... I mean, that's why we left. Harry had to get to Voldemort, before he killed anyone else. We told them afterward where you were, of course. We just assumed Hagrid or Filch or someone would go and... collect you."

"And later, you saw me buried, attended my funeral," Snape pressed her.

"Well... no, not exactly," Hermione hedged.

Snape gave Hermione a hard look. "I understand. You did not see fit to pay your respects to me. But there were others... Minerva can vouch that I died. Kingsley. Slughorn."

"Sir, there was..." Hermione mumbled the next few words in a small voice. "There was never a funeral." She watched him nervously, wary of his reaction.

He remained surprisingly calm. "No. There wouldn't have been. Everyone was relieved to be done with me. I was not even accorded a final resting place in the Headmasters' plot, was I?"

"I don't know," Hermione answered truthfully. She felt now that she should know, that she should have asked someone where Snape was buried. But he was right. She had hardly wasted another thought on him after the Battle. There was so much else to do. So many other funerals. Dealing with her parents. Scrambling to take her NEWTs, to find a job. "But I'll find out," she promised. "Harry thought it likely, though -- and this makes sense to me -- he thought it was likely that one of the other Death Eaters took your body from the Shack and brought you to their gathering in the Forest. And then... well, I'm sorry, but you know they suffered terrible losses, and the rest were taken into custody. There probably wasn't anyone left to go back and get you." She tried to look at Snape steadily as she delivered this news. She felt he deserved to hear the truth.

Snape only nodded. "Yes. An ignominious end to an ignominious life. Thank you for your assistance, Professor Granger. I won't be bothering you again."

He moved toward the wall. As soon as Hermione realized what he was doing, she cried, "No, Professor! Wait!" Frantically, she tried to think of something that would keep him there. Her eye fell on the box of things from Professor McGonagall's office. "Here, your things. What about your things?" She picked up the box and held it out to him.

Snape stopped and regarded it with an empty expression. "Give it to Potter. He may dispose of the contents as he sees fit." Then he turned around again and faded into the wall.

Hermione was left standing alone in the middle of the room, the box heavy in her hands.