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𝚇𝙻𝙸 >> 𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃 𝙸𝙽 𝙶𝙾𝙾𝙳 𝚁𝙸𝙳𝙳𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴

< 6 MONTHS, A HANDFUL OF DAYS
(Severus has stopped counting) >

The trial is called off on the morning it is scheduled to occur.

Aurors appear at Snape's doorway and very gently alert him that the poor old Fallacia Peritus has died of a stroke and, therefore, cannot make any claims inimical to him or Remus Lupin or the school. They pause in incertitude, slightly disturbed, as Severus merely sits back and laughs in complete satisfaction at the news. They expected tears and shock; they receive relief.

Horace Slughorn takes the news less well, as he has made some decent progress in therapy to deal with his guilt and now must add grief to the checklist. He has been diagnosed with an unfortunate case of anxiety from the whole ordeal, and he has made claims that he will never step foot in a school again; he does not want to hurt it more than he already has.

Albus says this is foolish and thinks he'll end up right back where he was. Severus hopes that this means he himself will be teaching something more beguiling, like Defense Against the Dark Arts, which he's much better at anyway now that he's fortuitously mastered the art of silent spellcasting. But Albus says Snape is not to teach that class because he'll be cursed and out of work within a year. This is also not received well, and Severus storms ostentatiously back to the dungeons to glower at the never-ending sun.

But just weeks later, at the very sweet end of May, it rains.

Rain is more than welcome here. Rain has always been kind to him. Too often it is blamed for bringing thunder and lightning and danger and pain, but it is not the rain that does it. It is the thunder and lightning themselves. The rain is simply a gift in the horrors. All it wants to do is gently touch you, hit the ground, and sleep there.

Severus thinks it is much like love. It is easy to be wary of love and resent it for bringing you pain. But it is never the love that hurts; it is the loss of it.

School has ended for the summer, and he has arrived back at Spinner's End with his appurtenances and books and a note from Ambrosia Fane thanking him for his lenience towards Frederick (this secretly is hung on the refrigerator). He spends his first few days sitting at the window and watching it pour. The rain doesn't withhold its self-expression, and he likes it that way. It continues and it's peaceful, and so it's not worth saying that he welcomes more rain and more love as they hit his doorstep on his third night home.

He opens his door to the dusk-laden storm outside, illuminated by streetlights and the deep gray-blue of the clouds. Standing there is the only person he ever wants to see outside of his domicile, holding a hat and a suitcase and wearing a light brown sweater.

"Hello, Remus," he says, not bothering to hide the coquettish smile that attacks his expression as the greeting leaves his lips.

Lupin beams as he sees him, entering the dry shelter of the house and setting down all his things, hanging his coat and hat on the hook by the door. "Congratulations on the case."

Snape smirks and turns the kettle on. "Make yourself at home," he instructs like a doting mother hen. "Or partial home, if you will; you'll only be absent in another... three months regardless. In fact, unpack nothing at all. You'll just be necessitated to putting it all back again."

Remus laughs and brings his things to the bedroom. Snape makes two cups of tea and sets them on the kitchen table, looking out through the darkened window at the rain. They sit there and watch the storm and say nothing, because nothing desires to be said.

They both unpack their things together in the flaxen light of one of Eileen's old table lamps. Severus brings all his extra accoutrements to the storage closet he ransacked on the last night of October, and stares quietly at the box of ingredients on the floor that he practically tore apart to find what he needed.

But there's something entirely different about it. He kneels down to inspect it, noticing that all the bottles and paraphernalia have been placed upright, cleaned, and neatly organized. He hasn't touched this box. He knows he hasn't. And Lupin hasn't even been in the room yet; too busy philandering.

It was his mother's box. He knows that. But of course it wouldn't be her, or her ghost, or whatever she may be now. Why would she make an effort to return to the physical world to simply clean up a box?

He decides he must have imagined how badly he terrorized the organization. He leaves the room and clears his head, and goes back to see Remus in the living room and read a book off his shelves.

In the dark storm, it is Albus Dumbledore as well who begins to descry strange changes in scenery. He receives a parcel from Horace Slughorn beneath the same moon, and, opening it, he sees an old and tattered copy of the very Advanced Potions textbook that Severus has been looking for all year. There's writing scribbled across every page, and he stops looking at it all when he falls across a note taped to the inside of the front cover in entirely different handwriting.

He reads it before he puts it away. He smiles at its mystery. His fingers caress the words, knowing they bend reality to even surveil at all.

»»

Dear Albus Dumbledore,

I have been keeping this book safe from my dear Severus for as long as possible so that he wouldn't cause more damage to himself in finding it. You must understand that, as a mother, I have a special way of knowing what he needs and what he absolutely does not, and so I took it upon myself to keep it safe while such was necessary.

Perhaps you can keep it safe now. It might find a nice spot at the school, correct? Either way, I have put it into your hands on purpose; you may know its situation better than I do, even though I'm the mother. Ha, ha.

Thank you for your understanding and your continued wisdom. I look forward to helping out in the near future.

All the best,

Eileen