Snape was dead, to begin with. But Minerva McGonagall was certain she could fix that.

Almost certain.

Minerva studied the tiny black figurine, turning it around in her palm, paying particularly close attention to the damage around the foreflank. The tiny pits there showed no signs of having spread from when she had first made the cat-figurine. "No sign of the venom spreading," she told it. "Fused carbon. Proof against even that damned stuff."

She placed the little black cat on the table prepared for it. She'd pulled her little table into the middle of her dining room, reinforced it with charms and transfigurations, and laid it with clean sheets. Around the table were bags and pails holding the supplies Minerva had bought over the past three months since the funeral.

"Neeps and potatoes and bread, sausage and butter and beer. All bought from Cokeworth shops, and the shopkeepers swore it's all local." The little cat didn't reply of course, but no matter. She was just having a good natter to let off a little steam. "Nettles and weeds from the canal banks. Bricks from the factories, coal from the ground. Everything you need to build a lad from Spinner's End."

She pulled one last set of supplies out from her purse. "The symbolism is nice, but what really matters are the materials. So I bought a pack of multivitamins and minerals from that little shop near your house."

Minerva set her purse aside and then emptied the pill bottles into the same bag as the turnips. She eyed the pail of water next to the table and wondered if she should have brought more. "No matter," she decided. "If a gallon's not enough then I'll turn on the tap and use local."

Straightening her back, Minerva McGonagall faced the tiny cat. She pulled her wand out from its dress pocket, tapped it once on the table, and studied it closely for any sign of resistance against what she was about to do. Finding none, she nodded.

She set the tip of her wand against the cat's head and began the stroking motions to draw out the pattern held within the figurine. It came out as a series of lights, red and purple and blue lines like the glowing signs Muggles were so fond of. Minerva drew the lights out and away from the figurine, into the shining image of a man. There was far too much red, a great many shades of purple, and too little blue. The blue she saw mainly in the extremities, in areas where the venom had not reached and oxygen deprivation had not fully set in. The red was a congealed lump in the chest, where Nagini's fangs had pumped death deep into the thoracic cavity. All else was purple shading dangerously close to red.

But in the brain, Minerva fancied it was a bit closer to blue. "Good. And don't worry, laddie. If your mind is truly gone I'll finish you myself."

Over the course of weeks Minerva had carefully laid out a set of healing charms. Now she put them on to the pattern, a series of golden specks drifting through the neon man. Around her dining table the foods went bright with lights matching the damage found by those charms.

"Now for the tricky bit," she muttered. Minerva shifted her grip on the wand, drew a breath, and then in one fluid motion pulled the glassy cat back into its true form of a damaged man. The table sheets wrapped and twisted around the man, but before they were done restraining them Minerva brought her wand through a series of motions and spoke "Anastaino."

The gold flared briefly, then faded. She frowned. "Anastaino."

Again, a brief flaring of gold. Again, "Anastaino."

Again, "Anastaino."

Again.

Again. This time the gold stayed bright.

On the table Severus Snape shuddered. Drew breath. And screamed.

~0~0~0~0~

Steam still hung around the rafters, and Minerva fancied so did the shrieks. The pail that had once held clean water was now brimming full of foul black sludge, as was her kitchen sink. The bags of food and keg of beer were empty, as were the Muggle pills. Also gone were the bag of almonds and dozen eggs she'd bought in preparation for the village baking exchange. No matter.

On the table Severus Snape trembled and whimpered. His sweat-soaked bloody robes clung tight to his skinny frame, and his dark hair was likewise slicked down with sweat. He pulled against the sheets holding him down. Minerva stepped into his field of view and he flinched away.

"You're safe, Professor Snape."

He still held himself away from her. Minerva tried not to hold that against him. After all, the last time he had seen her she had been doing her best to kill him.

Snape licked his lips. "The... boy?"

"Harry is alive."

Snape jerked, yanking hard against the sheets. The trembles in his body grew to shaking. "Dark Lord. Where?"

"Riddle is dead at last," Minerva said with a great deal of satisfaction. "Thoroughly dead, burnt to ashes, and scattered on the winds. With no Horcruxes left, not even the one in Harry. Dead."

Snape stared at her, still tight against the sheets, his expression showing disbelief. His lips moved in the shape of the word Riddle. Gradually the shaking passed and he relaxed against his restraints. His expression grew blank and he turned his gaze to the ceiling. "Potter... How did the boy survive?"

Minerva smirked. "The fool who wanted to live forever killed himself. And do you know, he might have seen it coming if he'd paid more attention to his Deep Transfigurations studies."

Snape's gaze flicked back to her, then back to the ceiling. His body trembled once, like the spasms that wake you from the edge of sleep, then relaxed against the table. Minerva watched as his breathing slowed.

"The sheets were to keep you from thrashing about," Minerva told him. A quick gesture of her wand untied the restraints. "I have a cot for you in my living room. Are you up to walking yourself, or..."

He was already asleep. She looked around her reeking kitchen. "Just like a man," Minerva said. "Takes a nap as soon as there's any cleaning to be done."