LOST PERSPECTIVE IV

POST MORTEM

By Bellegeste

Disclaimer: The characters in this story are borrowed from JKR with grateful thanks. All the Lost Perspective stories are written as a tribute - no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Note:

After LP/3 (Repercussions) a lot of people asked me if I was hinting at a SS/HG ship. I hadn't been, but I started thinking about developing this thread and seeing where, if anywhere, it might lead. Apart from that, I had steered clear of any romantic storylines so far, so it would be something different for me to try… But I found the subject matter problematical: I couldn't help feeling that any SS/HG relationship would be inherently out of character. I had to tread very carefully, on what is already very well-trodden ground.

The story, as it eventually turned out, re-evaluates some of the scenes from Repercussions and LP 1 and 2 (hence the title POST MORTEM - not in a death fic way ) and proceeds from there.

(Please tell me what you think - but be kind, I'm a bit nervous about this one.)

The scene follows directly on from Repercussions (it is the November of Harry's 6th year). It starts at Hogwarts on the morning after Snape finally cracked during the Ravenclaw Potions lesson. This is also the morning after Harry returns following his attempt to contact Sirius by going through the Whispering Archway.

(And, if you've read Deck the Halls, try to forget it for the time-being…)

CHAPTER 1 :ESCAPE PLANS

Harry staggered out of the fireplace. Snape leapt from his chair. He helped Harry to the couch before he crumpled into a heap, not taking his eyes off him, as though he might dematerialise in flames again at any moment. When Harry tried to speak, though, Snape silenced him, slipping him instead two slim squares of very dark chocolate - at least 75 cocoa solids, at a guess, Harry thought, irrationally distracted by the trivial statistic. His mind was a blur. He was still trying to reconcile the sharp, bitter, sophisticated taste with his former experiences of wizard chocolate - the sweet milky chunks that Lupin dispensed so liberally after an energetic DADA lesson - when Dumbledore arrived.

Madam Pomfrey, having Floo-ed from the Muggle hospital to the Headmaster's study to tell him the good news, now followed the old wizard into Snape's sitting room.

"Well, well, my dear boy!" Dumbledore drew up a chair and sat down opposite Harry. Leaning in towards him, he gave him a reassuring, avuncular smile. "You've led us all a merry dance, and no mistake! A real Fandango. This'll be another one for the history books: another chapter in 'The Perils of Potter' or whatever title you choose when you succumb to the pressures of commercialism and pen your auto-biography - or will you be employing the services of a ghost-writer, eh?"

Snape, with a faint snort of disgust, crossed to the fireplace to throw another couple of logs onto the flames. The dry bark popped and crackled, sending up a flurry of green and orange sparks and a smoky waft of apple-wood drifted through the room.

"Why don't you come and sit down, Severus? You've had an eventful day." The Headmaster was tolerant of Snape's anti-social tendencies.

Snape remained standing by the hearth, scuffing out the occasional stray cinder with the toe of his boot, holding himself aloof from the banter of the reunion.

Dumbledore sighed in mock despair, turning back to Harry. "Severus doesn't think your latest - er - 'quest' should be a subject for frivolity. No more do I. But your safe return is, verily, a cause for celebration. The Prodigal Potter! There is plenty of time for a post mortem, to pick over the bones, as it were, of the last few days. If I understand these things correctly, one might say there is an eternity of time…"

Madame Pomfrey bustled forwards. "In that case, the debriefing can wait until tomorrow. I need to check this child over - reverse the side effects of a week of Muggle medicine. The first thing this boy needs is choco - oh, I see you've already had some. Good. And I suggest you take a few squares yourself, Professor. Now then, Mr Potter, you come with me."

Ignoring his protests with the practised indifference of one long-accustomed to dealing with recalcitrant teenagers, she ushered Harry off to the Hospital Wing.

x x x

Dumbledore also prepared to leave, ancient knees creaking as he levered himself up from the low chair. "He's a spirited boy!" he commented, observing the Potions master thoughtfully.

"Spirited!" Snape almost spat the word. "More like reckless and irresponsible!" He seemed to be toying with a number of other adjectives too, grinding them into the hearth along with the cinders, his jaw too tense to say the words out loud. Finally, reluctantly, he lifted his hooded gaze to meet Dumbledore's. "I don't know what to do with him," he admitted, his voice leaden.

From the magical folds of his purple robe, Dumbledore produced a much-thumbed sheet of parchment - a master timetable. He perused it intently, biting his lower lip in concentration as he used his wand as a pointer, adjusting and rearranging the busy grid of teachers' names and classroom locations. He laid it out on his empty chair.

"Cast your eyes over this, Severus. It is a mere suggestion, but I would advise you to give it some serious thought. You need a break. Take as much time as you like. We can invent a pretext for your absence." He paused in the doorway. "And, Severus, don't be too hard on yourself - you did all you could. It has all worked out fine. You can get some sleep tonight. He's safe now."

X X X

Friday 6th November

Hogwarts

"You have to tell Harry," said Remus.

Snape didn't look up. I might as well not be here, thought Remus, for all the notice he takes. Snape continued methodically, infuriatingly, checking the labelled bottles, ticking them off against a list on a scroll of parchment, and packing them carefully into a black, leather portmanteau.

"You can't just go off without saying anything." Remus pressed the point, determined to elicit a response. "Where are you going? Research? What research? Sounds fishy to me. And whatever it is - is it so crucial that you have to take off immediately? It's not work for the Order. I know that, for a start. It's all very sudden. Can't it wait? Harry'll be very hurt, you know. He's only just got back from his ... trip. And now you're planning to sneak away. How can you even consider leaving without at least speaking to him?"

Snape closed the two halves of the case slowly and deliberately, letting the brass clasps snap shut with a decisive click. He turned to face Remus, his expression impassive, revealing nothing.

"That is not, and never has been, my intention. I shall inform the boy of my decision. In the meantime…"

"Your decision! Your decision! Oh yes, that's rich! That's just typical!" Remus hurled the words back at the Professor. "And doesn't Harry have any say in this? Where does he fit into the equation, eh? Do you know, for a while you actually had me believing that you cared about the lad. Just goes to show how wrong I was! As soon as he starts to get in the way of your precious arrangements, he becomes an encumbrance, and you discard him like a pet puffskein that's grown too big for its box. Demands of 'fatherhood' already getting a bit inconvenient, are they? Pah! He's a nice kid - he doesn't deserve you!"

"Be quiet!" snapped Snape. "I am under no obligation to explain or defend myself to you, werewolf. Nor do I propose to consult a child on matters which are of no immediate concern to him. His education will continue here uninterrupted - it's about time he settled into a disciplined routine – and my temporary absence will be of little consequence. As always, Lupin, you are over-dramatising the situation. I hardly think that having a substitute Potions professor for a couple of weeks will constitute a crisis in the estimation of the students. They will, sans doute, consider it a bonus," he concluded sourly.

One by one Snape was systematically double-checking the Locking Charms on the drawers and numerous individual compartments of the vast, oak-wood spice-chest, which housed several hundred of his rarer potions' ingredients, too valuable to be left in the classroom cupboards.

Remus, angrily jangling a handful of Knuts and Sickles in his trouser pocket as he tried to formulate his next argument, watched him in frustration. It was impossible to better Snape in a discussion. He had always been a sharp-tongued smart Alec, even at school - how many years ago was it now? Remus couldn't remember when he had first even noticed the skinny, silent Slytherin - had it been in their third year? …fourth year? He'd been a proud, moody, sulky sod even then, steeped in the Dark Arts, with a reputation for hexing first and asking questions later. He hadn't changed much, in Remus' opinion. He could still produce a cutting retort, a retaliation, an irrefutable counter-argument, or, failing that, he could shred you with sarcasm as easily as slicing a banana. And Remus always allowed himself to be goaded and provoked: five minutes with Snape and he became a blustering, hot-headed, emotional mongrel. If only he could command more of the proverbial Snape sang-froid. Though, come to think of it, just recently even Snape's silken self-possession had appeared frayed.

There he was now, functioning as a model of meticulous efficiency, but at what cost? Remus could see he was tired, the strain of the last few days betrayed in the tension lining the eyes, the taut pallor of his sallow skin, the furrow on his forehead now pursed into a deep, vertical gash separating the dark eye-brows.

Lupin decided to adopt a softer approach. "He'll be worried about you."

"Quite unnecessary." Snape dismissed the comment, his attention focussed on a set of papers to which he was now adding some last-minute annotations.

"My God, you're a cold fish! Merlin only knows why, but that kid is starting to get fond of you, Snape - does that mean nothing to you?" Remus cried. From a theoretical perspective, he had some sympathy with Snape's predicament; sometimes, in the abstract, he even felt sorry for the man. But, face to face - well, that always brought out the worst in him, in them both. Even a mutual interest in Harry's welfare could not erase twenty years of animosity.

Snape's quill paused, hovering over a paragraph. He swallowed before replying curtly, "Most gratifying, I'm sure. But I refuse to allow the foolish sentiments of a manipulative adolescent to dictate my work schedule. It is imperative that the work be completed urgently."

A mild retort by Snape's standards. Remus, his head cocked, eyed the Potions Master. Normally Snape would have flattened him by now with some crushing, heavy-duty invective. He sensed something different about his colleague today. He sniffed the air, scented distress.

"Can't you do the experiments here, on school premises?" Remus asked, suggesting what seemed to him to be a reasonable compromise.

"No. I cannot. I can't…" The bleak finality in Snape's tone startled Remus. The black head was still bent over the papers, ostensibly reading, but there was a tightness, a rigid, forced immobility about the set of his shoulders that prompted Remus to ask,

"Snape - are you all right?"

It occurred to Lupin, later, that he might have made more effort to get the man to talk, been more persistent - if he had pushed, there was a chance, albeit a remote one, that Snape might have confided in him eventually - but really, trying to help Snape was worse than scaling a boundary wall embedded with broken glass.

"Of course I'm all right!" The defensive shards flashed dangerously.

"Look here, if I can do anything…" Lupin offered, not expecting for one minute that Snape would take him up on it.

"Just leave it, will you?" Snape knocked-up the pile of papers into a sharp-edged block and handed it briskly to Lupin. "Lesson plans for the next two weeks. There's more than enough there to keep them fully occupied, without over-taxing your limited brewing abilities. I should be away for a few days only; a fortnight at the most. And, I shall, in any event, return before the next full moon. Professor Dumbledore is satisfied that the supervision of my classes can be split between yourself, Professor Sprout and Madam Pomfrey. You will inform me -" He stopped, consciously modifying his tone to encompass a request. "You will inform me, if circumstances necessitate my return? I mean if Harry …"

"If he needs you?" interrupted Lupin, losing patience. He snatched the papers in exasperation and headed for the door of Snape's office with a parting snarl: "Merlin forbid that a child might actually need his father!"

X X X

Meanwhile…

For once the empty seat in the NEWT Potions class did not belong to Harry. The missing student was Malfoy. Rumour had it that he had received a weeks' Suspension for the part he had played in Snape's arrest the previous weekend, though it was difficult to see how that could, in any way, be regarded as a punishment - more like a reward, as far as the other students were concerned.

One wag, thinking along the lines of recent Ministerial exercises in Muggle rapprochement, had postulated the idea of Community Service; but no one seriously believed that Cornelius Fudge, or even the entire Ministry, wielded sufficient coercive power to make Draco Malfoy run errands for little old Muggle ladies, or pick litter up by hand in the nearest municipal park.

Harry felt that a weeks' Detention with Snape himself would have been a more effective punishment - Ron could have run another Tote on which of them would survive.

It was the first lesson of the morning. Harry's unexpected arrival in the dungeon had caused quite a stir - news of his sudden reappearance the evening before had been relayed round the school, but no one trusted in this baton of gossip until they could see it and touch it for themselves.

'Resurrection' from even a hypothetical death was a definite crowd pleaser. The drama of Harry's disappearance, 'demise' and return had eclipsed the previous week's hot topic - the Daily Prophet's scandalous revelations about his relationship to Snape - and Harry was once again the hero of the hour. He allowed himself to bask, briefly. It was not a status he particularly sought, but the warmth of the reception he received on entering the classroom stroked his ego.

"Harry!" Hermione had, apparently, forgotten that she was upset with him. In front of all the others, she had openly and unashamedly embraced him - and it was such a spontaneous gesture of genuine friendship that, somehow, Harry was not embarrassed. The rest of the group gathered round to welcome him. He was so much the centre of attention that no one heard the dungeon door open…

"Take your seats!"

They leaped to attention, a knee-jerk reaction to any kind of instruction issued in the Potions room, anticipating a mass deduction of House Points for breaking ranks. But, standing at the front of the class, arms folded, surveying them sternly, was not Snape but Madam Pomfrey.

"Good morning one and all," she greeted them. "You needn't look so surprised. Professor Snape has other matters to attend to and, over the next few days, I shall be one of the staff standing in for him while he is away."

"Where's…?" Hermione began to whisper to Harry, but the question was quashed by a reproving 'shush' from the Matron.

Harry shrugged helplessly; he knew no more about Snape's plans than anyone else. Away? Where? Had he already gone? Had he been summoned? Could he resist the call of the Dark Mark? Was Voldemort once again strong enough to send out his burning imperative? Was Snape OK? He'd seemed all right last night, once he'd got over the shock of Harry's turning up in his sitting room like that out of the floo. It'd been nice, Harry thought; Snape actually seemed quite pleased to see him. I'll have to be 'lost, presumed dead' more often …

Madam Pomfrey completed her circuit of the dungeon. She was not impressed.

"Terrible working conditions. Shouldn't be allowed," she tutted. "The lighting in here is atrocious - no wonder I have you all coming to me complaining of headaches and eye-strain. How can he have purposely chosen a classroom with no natural light? 'Lumos' is a poor substitute. Honestly - men! What was he thinking? The ventilation is appalling too - borders on the illegal, I shouldn't wonder - given the amount of toxic fumes generated down here. Now then, Mr Boot and Mr Potter, see if you can crank open those ventilation grilles a bit wider - get some fresh air into the place. You should do that at the beginning of every lesson - I'll make a note to mention it to the Professor. If he objects, you can refer him to me."

Harry suspected that, on a health issue, with right and common-sense clearly on her side, Madam Pomfrey was stubborn enough to be a match even for Snape. It was a confrontation he would have liked to witness.

"The temperature in this room is completely unacceptable," she complained next, adding another note to her list and chafing her hands together, emphasising the cold. "And it's damp. It's a miracle you're not all dying of consumption!"

Sometimes she looked as though she would be more at home in a Swiss sanatorium, nursing TB patients, thought Harry, or in a field hospital in the Crimean war. She had that air of old-fashioned practicality, combined with an unshockable, nanny-like strictness - in public, at least.

"Incendissimo!" She used the emergency ignition spell she normally reserved for warming hypothermia victims. The fire not only lit, but became an instant furnace, belting out heat so that, after only a few moments, the class was warm enough for them to shed their cloaks and roll up their sleeves. She strutted between the rows of desks, scanning the furniture for sharp edges and the floor for cracked and uneven flagstones. "One splinter can be enough to give you blood-poisoning," she told them, primly. "Why should I waste my time and magic curing you all, when a few basic precautions could have prevented an accident?"

The ad hoc Health and Safety assessment over, Madam Pomfrey took up a conventional stance at the front of the room.

"Professor Snape has asked me to revise some of the more common Healing Spells and Potions with you. Don't groan, Miss Parkinson - I'll pretend I didn't hear that. I'll have you know that a rudimentary knowledge of First Aid Potions can come in very useful…

"But before we get on to those, I'd like to take this opportunity to draw your attention to the kinds of injuries I have to deal with every day in the Hospital Wing as a direct result of Potions classes. Now, they may not be as dramatic, or as amusing, as the mistakes I have to rectify from botched Transfigurations, for example; nor am I talking about reversing the effects of a deliberately ingested Potion such as, Miss Granger, Polyjuice…

"What, for instance, do you think is the most common cause of accidental Potion-related illness? Anyone? Miss Abbot? Burns and scalds? Yes, a good answer. Not necessarily the one I was looking for, but valid all the same. You do all tend to forget that these cauldrons get hot… Miss Brocklehurst? Cuts? Yes, but again, not precisely what I had in mind. Though, while we are on the subject of cuts, I must strongly recommend that you do not prepare any Potions ingredients if you have any cuts or abrasions on your exposed skin. I'm sure you will all recall the incident last year when Huw Harris was chopping Woadwort and the sap entered his bloodstream via a paper-cut on his little finger. He was a vivid blue for several days. I trust the Professor has emphasised the absolute necessity of sterilising your chopping boards…?

"Does any one else have any ideas? What's that, Miss Granger? Steam inhalation? That's it, exactly! Excellent answer! You wouldn't believe how many cases of nausea, dizziness, headaches, palpitations and other symptoms of mild poisoning I have to cure, because you lot have unintentionally inhaled the active ingredients in the course of your practical brewing exercises. A surprising number of toxins can be carried in water vapour - you don't even realise you are ingesting them until it is too late.

"So, a final word of warning: if you are not willing to wear surgical masks in class - and I'm afraid Professor Snape has always drawn the line at that one - you should at least follow these simple guidelines: attempt to stir your potions at arm's length; do not lean over your cauldrons and do not, under any circumstances, inhale the fumes…"

She tipped up her nurses' watch that was pinned to her chest and, reading the time, pulled a guilty face.

"Dear me, we must press on with the revision. Professor Snape did say he'd drop in a list of the specific potions he had in mind for study before he left. I do hope he hasn't forgotten. But, for the time-being, let's see how many Healing Potions you have encountered…"

Harry's hand was already in the air. "Excuse me, Madam Pomfrey, but…"

She gave him an indulgent smile. "I think I'll have to disqualify you from answering this one, Harry. You have an unfair advantage over your classmates, some of whom have barely set foot in the Hospital Wing…"

"No, Ma'am, that wasn't what I… Did you say Professor Snape would bring the list before he left? Do you mean to say he hasn't already gone?"

He was out of his seat and half way to the door before the Matron had a chance to reply. Hermione made a move to follow him then stopped, looking despairingly from Madam Pomfrey to the retreating figure of Harry.

"Oh, go on, Hermione. Keep an eye on him. Don't let him do anything rash."

Hermione dived for the door.

End of Chapter. Next chapter : THE LAST STRAW. Why is Snape really leaving?