Warning: Un-beta’d: read at your own risk!

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Chapter One

This was assuredly hell.

Severus Snape had welcomed death, had looked forward to the end of his pathetic life. Finally, he had thought, when he had felt himself succumbing to the overgrown maggot’s poison, finally I am free. The physical pain he had felt had been nothing, inconsequential, soon, he had naively believed, he would blink out of existence. Little did he know that the torment was only just beginning. From the Shrieking Shack to Spinner’s End he went. And that’s where he’d been ever since, confined to the wretched place of his childhood, where memories were abundant but never pleasant.

And memories was all he had.

He could not touch, he could not taste, he could not be seen, he could not be heard. Ghost he was not, Severus deduced early on, nor was he a poltergeist. It had been maddening at first, logically trying to decipher his state of being. With time though, the direness of his predicament began to lose its urgency. Months, years, decades had probably passed but to him it was all the same, one long endless and unforgiving day.

Periodically, the monotony of his existence was interrupted by muggles moving in. He didn’t mind them, not at all, they provided a distraction. When the house was occupied, time become tangible again, and precious information leaked to him from the telly, radio and other such devices the muggles brought with them. However, Spinner’s End was hardly ever occupied. While he no longer was able to interact with the world in a physical manner, his moods wrecked havoc on the house. There were days where his anger was so substantial it caused glass to shatter, dishes to crack, doors to bang open and close. Other times his mood was so bleak, so hopeless, that even the inhabitants of the house seemed to be infected with it. Along with that came the failure of their technology; no electricity, no gas, no plumbing, sometimes even candles failed to light.

Needless to say no one ever lasted for very long, and soon he would be alone again, with his thoughts, with his pain, with his never-ending guilt. This was hell, surely. This was to be his sentence, an eternity of loneliness, an eternity to despair on his mistakes, an eternity of longing for the peace he thought would come at death. There were moments of melancholy where he thought he could no been so wicked as to deserve this misery. When memories of Lily overwhelmed him and self-loathing crawled through every particle of his being he knew he deserved far worse.

His house was empty now, abandoned, only mice and other vermin kept him company. Severus had taken up the habit of staring out through the dingy windows, staring after the muggles that wandered on the street. Ironic that in life he had only wanted solitude and in death he yearned for company. The windows were getting so dirty it was hard to make out the shapes, soon they would be completely covered by grime and he would no longer have even that small pastime.

Severus didn’t know how long he had been staring out this time, hours or days or whether it was day or night. He was trapped in memories, his gaze following the silhouettes outside but not really seeing them. He remembered Lily, her laughter, her brightness, her beauty… and her death. The only person that had loved him, she had been his life, his soul, and he had killed her. It was he; he had been the one to bring about her death. The sorrow was so intense, his pain so deep, he wondered why he didn’t expire from it. But he knew he would not be so fortunate.

It was then that he was snapped back from his mental lashings by two approaching figures. The doorknob rattled, then turned, and the two figures entered. James, he thought, it was James Potter. He must be going insane, Potter was dead, same as Lily, they had died together, because of him. But this man was almost identical, almost but not quite, the eyes, Severus thought, it was the eyes. Potter’s had been filled with mischief and arrogance, this man’s eyes were sad, so sad, as if he had suffered and seen too much. And they were green.

A memory sparked, this was Harry Potter, Lily Evans’ son.

This meant that Voldemort had been defeated, surely the Dark Lord would not have allowed the young man to live had he triumphed. It brought an enormous amount of comfort to know Voldermort was no more. He was cut off from everything, especially the wizarding world, and had been agonizing over Voldemort, desperate to know what the outcome of the war had been. Now he knew, and at least in that respect he was finally at peace.

“Whew, what a mess!” the woman that accompanied Potter exclaimed. “Reminds me of Sirius’ house.”

“Sirius’ house didn’t have an angry spiteful ghost roaming around,” Potter teased.

The woman snorted, “No, it had a giant portrait of his racist mother. I’ll take the ghost, thank you. It’s probably a boggart or some other pest.” The woman shook her head in a disapproving manner. “I cannot believe the ministry let his house fall under Muggle control. Really, the negligence!”

The voice sounded familiar, but Severus did not recall ever seeing her before. She was in her late twenties or early thirties, of average height with brown hair and brown eyes. It was her hair that drew the most attention, it was a mass of heavy bouncy curls that came just above her shoulders. She wore a pinched expression as she took stock of his home. There were cracks on the windows, cracks on the walls, the stairway was in shambles, and every centimeter was covered in dust.

“Nothing a few good spells can’t fix,” she proclaimed. “It’ll be as good as new in no time.”

“I doubt this house was any good even brand new,” Potter said wryly. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Harry, for the millionth time, I’m sure.”

That bossy tone of voice, could it be possible that this woman was-

“Hermione, I’m not trying to aggravate you. It’s simply that I’m not comfortable with you living in Snape’s house.”

“It’s my house now. And why aren’t you comfortable about it?”

Potter ran a hand through his messy hair. “After everything he did, it just feels wrong to take this from him. I mean don’t you feel like you’re invading his privacy or something?”

Granger rolled her eyes. “Of course not. I admire the professor as much as you do, but he’s been dead for over thirteen years. It’s not like he knows I’m moving into his house. Besides this house was such a good bargain I wouldn’t care if his ghost truly was haunting the place.”

“When are you set to move in?”

“As soon as I get this dump habitable.”

Potter’s eyes roved the dilapidated house dubiously. “Let’s get started then,” Harry said with obvious reluctance.

“Harry, it’s okay. I can handle it.”

Potter gave his friend a sardonic smile.

“Really, go home to your wife and kids. I didn’t know you’d be so bothered by this or I would never have asked for your help. I’ll handle it.”

Potter sighed, seemingly relieved but probably feeling guilty about taking Hermione on her word. “Okay. Let me know if you need anything.” He gave her a goodbye hug and left.

To Severus’ delight, the girl started with the windows. She repaired the many cracks and then set to start on the built up grime. However, after only a few minutes of watching her it was obvious she was not very adept at household spells. The windows were so mucked up that a simple scourgify did not do the trick. She was muttering to herself and glaring at windows as if by doing so the windows would magically become cooperative. Severus moved in closer, wondering what the witch was muttering about.

“…should have listened to Ms. Weasly, but no I was too busy studying to pay any heed to her. Like I need ancient runes or arithmacy. Dammit! I’m going to have to clean this the muggle way.”

“Use the luere spell, you silly girl.”

Hermione squealed loudly and turned around, wand at the ready, body tense and ready for attack. “Who’s there?” she looked around searching for the owner of the voice, so freakishly like the late Snape’s.

Severus was stunned. No one, no matter how hard he tried, had ever heard a word he said. The Granger girl appeared to have. “Granger, can you hear me?”

“Of course I can hear you, I’m not deaf! Who are you?” She looked around, still searching for the owner of the voice, “Where are you?”

“Right in front you,” Severus’ voice was filled with excitement.

“Stop playing with me,” she yelled, but she squinted her eyes, focusing on the space in front of her. Slowly, a form started taking shape. And there he stood, transparent, but looking the same exact way she remembered him; from his long lank hair to his customary robes. “Ridikulus!” Hermione screamed. It had to be a boggart, it just had to be, what other explanation was there?Except her biggest fear wasn’tProfessor Snape and she couldn’t possibly have stumbled into a hiding place by cleaning windows! “Ridikulus!” she said the incantation again, not yet willing to abandon the idea of a boggart. If it wasn’t a boggart, well, she didn’t even want to go there. “Ridikulus!”

“Stop that foolish wand waving, Granger,” the thing barked at her.

It even sounded like the professor. Hermione gulped loudly, but instantly lowered her wand, reacting to his commanding tone of voice, so alike the one she’d heard at Hogwarts for six years. Maybe she was going insane, or someone was playing a trick, or this was a really strange dream…oh Cybele, please let her be dreaming. Hermione shook her head, trying to dispel the vision before her. When the Snape looking thing failed to vanish, Hermione slid to the floor, her weak knees unable to support her further.

That thing moved closer to her, until he was bending down at the waist to get a better look at her. “I don’t remember you being so lily livered,” he said more to himself than to the woman looking at him with wide puzzled eyes.

“Professsor Snape?”

“Yes, it is I.”

Hermione gulped again, and tried to smile. “You’re looking quite well… you know for being dead for more than a decade, a little see through-y but hey, it’s a good look for you.”

The withering glare he sent her way was enough to convince Hermione that the ghost really was her long dead teacher.

…

TBC

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