Goyle jumped and tore his eyes away from Rose Parkinson's bum, which she'd stuck in the air when she bent to retrieve some notes from her book bag.

"Sorry," Goyle muttered. "Where are we?"

"Shrivelfig -- Merlin's balls, Goyle, you haven't even crushed it yet!"

"Sorry," Goyle shot back. "How d'you expect me to concentrate with that about?" He gestured to Rose's posterior, still bouncing up and down as she sorted through the bag.

Severus snorted in disgust. "I know what you ought to do with that shrivelfig."

"Huh? Oh." Goyle glared at him. "Look, mate, I'm not the one who's got a problem, here, the other fellows get excited, too. The way you act, you'd think most girls don't exist."

"Get going on that, would you, or this potion'll be ruined. And it's more like they're an entirely different species -- one I don't have time to muck with."

"Hah. You don't think that about Florence Atwater, do you?" Goyle muttered under his breath while he crushed the shrivelfig.

"Shut it about Florence. She's in another class entirely."

"But she's a Ravenclaw," Goyle whinged.

"What do you care? Who says Slytherin girls are the best? Merlin help us if they are," Severus muttered.

"I just don't get it. Florence doesn't even have bubbies, Sev, she's flat as a broomstick."

(Goyle couldn't see what Florence Atwater saw in Snape either, for that matter, although they were rather well-matched -- both tall and gangly, and neither caring much about niceties like well-pressed clothes. He didn't care in Snape's case, but he probably would have overlooked it had Florence had any attractive features that he appreciated.)

Severus rolled his eyes at Goyle's infantile obsession with "bubbies," with the baby-talk itself, and Goyle's lack of appreciation for the Important Things in Life -- which did not include slobbering over Rose Parkinson's anatomy, or any girls', for that matter.

"She's intelligent, which is more than I can say for most Slytherins. And don't call me 'Sev'."

"Mr Snape, do try to keep it down," Professor Burkett said behind them, and both boys jumped. "I realise the class is not as challenging for you as for most...."

"Yes, sir," Severus said, and kicked Goyle in the shins when Burkett had moved off.

"Ow. He's testy lately, in't he?" Goyle whispered.

"'Course he is -- wife's been ill," Severus muttered back. (Quite ill, in fact -- Avery, the Senior Prefect, had been given many of Burkett's nightly House duties so Burkett could floo to his wife's bedside in Hogsmeade.) Goyle knew that as well as Severus, though he didn't seem to understand the urgency.

"Wanker," Severus added as he sprinkled the shrivelfig into the cauldron.

Goyle never realised that Severus meant him.

Someone was shaking Severus' shoulder insistently, and he woke with a start and reached for his wand.

"It's Avery, Snape, you need to wake up. Now."

The urgency in Avery's tone made it through, somehow, and Severus sat bolt upright.

"Get dressed," Avery said quietly. "Your father's ill, you need to go home."

Severus stared up at Avery for a moment, sleep-stupefied, and then stumbled out of bed and pulled his clothes from the wardrobe.

"Come down to the Common Room as soon as you're ready," Avery said, and left the room.

Severus did up his buttons with trembling fingers. He'd been expecting this: at last holiday his father had been nearly comatose, only rousing himself occasionally to try to reach his work on his desk in the tiny sitting room downstairs. The Elves had finally had to tie him down to the bed, and at the times he attempted to rise he'd raved and cursed so loudly that Severus had finally taken off into the woods despite the winter chill, just to get away from the sound.

Just before Severus left to return to Hogwarts Lord Snape had delicately said "I may have to call you home for a few days during term, Severus," which was more than enough to tell him how serious the matter was: Lord Snape hardly ever called him by his first name -- usually when he was in trouble, and never with the gentleness he'd displayed then.

So it's going to be over soon, he thought grimly as he pulled a jumper over his head. Thank Merlin. He didn't think he could bear another holiday like the last.

He pulled out his cloak and flung it about his shoulders, and made his way downstairs: Avery was waiting with, of all people, Professor McGonagall.

"I'm to take you, Mr Snape," she said brusquely, pulling on her gloves.

"What about my schoolwork --"

"I'll let the faculty know," Avery said tiredly. He looked done in: Slytherin was not the easiest House to keep charge of, and Avery was a Sixth trying to juggle his studies, Senior Prefect, and Burkett's evening duties as well. "I'll have them write down your assignments. They usually give you plenty of grace time to finish them."

"Come along," McGonagall said, shooing him out the door. "Thank you, Mr Avery."

Severus was quite surprised when she led him not toward the broom shed, but down to the gates.

"Aren't we --"

"There's no time to fly, I'm afraid," she said quietly, "and Merlin knows what a flight that length would do to your stomach, in any case." (He'd got much better at flying for short periods, but long distances were still grueling.) "We shall Apparate."

"But don't you have to know where you're going to Apparate?"

"But I do, Severus," she said, opening the gate and herding him through. "I've been to Snape Hall many times. Who do you think I apprenticed with?"

Merlin's beard, McGonagall apprenticed with His Lordship? And lived?

Severus' respect for her went up several notches. He'd seen two apprentices try to study with Lord Snape -- and both had been found wanting in either skill or discipline, and sent packing in short order.

"Hold tight, now," McGonagall said, and wrapped an arm about his shoulders, a little more tightly than was strictly necessary. Severus barely had time to bury his face in her cloak, catching the scent of lavender and heather, before he felt a tug and a sudden shift in air temperature: late March was still winter in the Highlands, but close enough to spring in Wiltshire as to make no difference.

They were standing in front of the gates of the Hall.

"I suppose we should ring," McGonagall said.

"No -- the lychgate's warded to me," Severus said confidently, and proved it by opening the door next to the gatekeeper's cottage and ushering McGonagall through.

The cottage was dark, though, and Severus got an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach when he stepped in the dusty sitting room.

"Wait a moment," he said, and darted through the kitchen and up the twisty little stair to his father's room on the first floor.

It was empty.

He stared at the stripped bed a moment and spun on his heel -- and bumped into McGonagall.

"He's not --"

"Calm down, Mr Snape," she said firmly. "Perhaps he's up at the Hall. I take it the grounds are still warded?"

"Yes."

"Drat it, I should have brought my broom -- His Lordship was always particular about the Anti-Apparition wards, I'd forgot. Well, we'll just have to walk it."

"I'm fine, really -- you don't need to --"

"Nonsense, Severus. And I should like to see His Lordship if he's up, in any case. I haven't spoken with him in a donkey's age. Come along."

Never mind that it was one in the morning and Severus knew His Lordship was probably tucked in bed with several hot-water bottles to soothe his rheumatism: he was grateful for the company, though he wouldn't admit it.

They left the cottage and walked up the long drive, Severus' apprehension growing with every step. When they rounded the last curve that led down into the hollow where the Hall stood, they could see lights glimmering through the windows in the East Wing, where the family bedchambers were.

"There, you see?" McGonagall said, masking her own anxiety. (There was rather a lot of light: that was never a good sign in a house with gravely ill occupants.)

She noticed Severus scrubbing at his face with his sleeve -- she didn't hear sniffles, but then she supposed he'd got quite good at concealing them, in Slytherin -- so at the next opportunity she contrived to slip on the snowy road a bit and to grasp his hand for support. She didn't let go until they'd reached the Hall, rung the bell, and Darby opened the door.

"Master Severus, you is home," Darby greeted him dolefully, ears drooping. (That didn't mean anything -- Darby was an unusually sober Elf). He craned his neck upward, and his eyes went round when they reached McGonagall's face.

"Miss Minerva," he gasped. "Oh, Miss Minerva, Darby is so happy to be seeing you at the Hall again --"

He scuttled out of the way so they could enter, and hopped around anxiously while they shed their cloaks.

"Can Darby get Master Severus and Miss Minerva anything? Tea? Cake? Darby is thinking there is some of Her Ladyship's currant wine left, Miss Minerva always liked that, or some cider --"

"Perhaps you should check if Master Severus might be able to see his father, Darby," McGonagall suggested. "And if not, perhaps he should go straight to bed."

"Yes, Miss Minerva. Darby shall do that, Miss Minerva, and then get you whatever you wish," Darby babbled, leading them into the Gallery and snapping his fingers at the fireplace: the logs laid ready flamed up. "Darby will be back shortly." He scurried out.

"I've never seen him that excited," Severus noted distantly.

McGonagall went pink in the cheeks.

"He was always a bit sweet on me," she muttered as she pulled off her gloves and warmed her hands at the fire. "I don't know why, I never encouraged him. It drove Joan mad with jealousy -- he wouldn't look twice at her while I was around. She put pepper in my treacle tart once to get a bit of her own back, the silly thing."

Severus looked at her askance. It was hard to fathom how this prim, sharp, middle-aged spinster could have roused such a violent pash in a House Elf -- it was nearly as unthinkable as anyone having a violent pash for her. So, with the lack of imagination that youth displays toward its elders, he dismissed the thought as Highly Unlikely.

(He was quite wrong to do so. Not to put too fine a point on it, young Minerva McGonagall had been a bit of all right -- at least as far as one lonely and besotted House Elf was concerned -- and at the time had had a disposition as sweet as her tongue was sharp.)

It was another five minutes before Darby bounded back into the room, Lord Snape in tow.

"Miss McGonagall -- pardon me, Professor McGonagall," His Lordship said, slowly making his way over. "Thank you for bringing the boy, my dear -- I expected Burkett --"

"His wife's quite ill," she said as she extended her hand -- and Severus was flabberghasted when His Lordship took it and gave it a gentlemanly kiss. "How are you, sir?"

"Still here, that's about as good as can be expected. You all right, boy?" he said to Severus.

Severus closed his jaw with a snap and nodded.

"He was a bit worried not to find anyone at the cottage," McGonagall volunteered.

"Ah. We moved him down here so Nanny could help care for him," His Lordship explained to Severus. "She's with him now. I think perhaps you should let her know you're here and stay with them a bit, and then get some sleep. Darby, take Master Severus up."

"Yes, Your Lordship. Can Darby bring you and Miss Minerva anything after that, Your Lordship?" Darby positively squeaked. (He looked as though he'd burst if the answer was no.)

"You'll stay until morning, of course," His Lordship said to McGonagall. "Shall I have him prepare a room so you can have a rest?"

"Oh, my, I can't --"

Darby's ears drooped.

"-- but some tea would be welcome before I go."

Darby's ears perked back up.

"You heard her, Darby. And try not to wake Joan, will you?" Lord Snape said dryly. "I should prefer that the meals be edible for the next week." He shot a look at McGonagall, who went pink-cheeked again.

"Yes, Your Lordship," Darby said, hopping with excitement again. "Master Severus, come along, come along."

Darby dragged him out of the room and up the main stair, muttering under his breath the whole way.

"Miss Minerva is liking poppy-seed cake and Earl Grey and -- no, not Earl Grey, Young Hyson.... Does Darby have Young Hyson? Oh dear, oh dear, what if.... Oh well, Miss Minerva will understand --"

"Darby, do you mind?" Severus said through a clenched jaw.

"Oh, Darby is sorry, Master Severus. Darby is going to shut his ear in the larder door before he makes Miss Minerva's tea --"

"Don't be stupid," Severus groaned. "Can you just calm down for a bit?"

"Yes, Master Severus."

Darby stopped at the end of the corridor that led to the bedchambers and stared up at Severus.

"Darby is terribly sorry, Master Severus, about Master Severus' father," he said earnestly, and reached over to pet Severus' arm. "Joan is sorry too -- well, Joan would be sorry, but Joan is asleep because Joan is working very hard to help care for Master Vergil."

Well Severus knew that -- both Elves had run themselves ragged doing just that last holiday -- and so he managed not to snap at the petting.

"Thank you, Darby," he said stiffly. "Maybe we should go ahead?"

"Oh, yes, Master Severus. This way."

Darby hopped down the hallway and stopped at the first door -- one of the guest rooms -- and opened the door for Severus and slipped in after him.

Nanny was asleep in a chair by the bed, her mending about to slip from her fingers to the floor, and she started awake when she heard the click of the latch.

"Who -- oh, Sev'rus," she said sleepily.

It was really bad, then. She usually called him "Hellion" or "Scamp," -- even worse, "lamb" -- even though he'd told her in no uncertain terms that he was a Hogwarts student, blast it, and too old for silly nicknames.

"Come here, lamb," she added, and set her mending aside and reached out an arm for him.

"Can Darby get something for Nanny and Master Severus?" the Elf whispered, blessedly subdued.

"D'you need anything, Sev'rus? No? Just be sure his bed's warmed properly then, Darby," Nanny said, and pulled Severus close.

"Yes, Nanny. Darby will come back in a bit to check."

The Elf slipped from the room, and Severus got his first good look at his father in the flickering light of the candles.

Vergil Snape had never been what anyone would call handsome: he had the typical Snape features -- the sharp, prominent nose and deep-set eyes, and the familial tendency of a lantern-jaw that Severus had, thankfully, missed out on. Those features had become even less attractive the further his disease had progressed. Once upon a time, though, Vergil had been distinguished and well-kempt; in the few pictures Severus had seen of him, taken early in his career at Salisbury, the light of his intelligence had shone through his eyes and compensated for the heavy features, and he'd even smiled for the photographer. Severus couldn't recall ever having seen his father smile.

But the body that lay immobile on the bed was as unlike the father he knew as those pictures: wasted away to a thin layer of skin over bone, flesh pasty, the features thinned to an unbearable sharpness, like a razor's edge. Vergil's jaw was slack, and Severus could clearly hear him drawing in laboured breaths.

"Why hasn't His Lordship called the mediwizard?" Severus asked tightly.

"He's been and gone, lamb. There's nothing to do but wait," Nanny said softly, and tried to cuddle Severus' stiff body closer.

Severus stared a bit longer and then pulled away from Nanny, drew a chair over, and sat next to her.

This isn't fair. There were so many things he wanted to say to his father -- so many questions he wanted to demand answers to -- and now it appeared he would never get the chance.

What did you do in the war? Why did you marry my mother, why did the two of you bother to have me? Why couldn't you keep your job, or get another -- damn it, you had a family to support.... Why couldn't you once, just once, pull yourself away from that bloody desk and look at me, talk to me?

Well, he knew that answer to that one, intellectually, at least -- Vergil's disease had been particularly virulent. What might have taken decades to develop in most wizards had disabled this one in only five years. And while the true dementia might strike and then retreat several times in the "normal" course of the disease, it appeared that in Vergil's case there would be only one final, devastating episode -- the one that had started before last holiday -- and that would be an end of it.

He deeply resented not having the chance to ask those questions now that he'd had a chance to think them through and drum up the courage to demand his father's attention.

Nanny guessed what was going through Severus' mind.

"He wasn't always like that, ye know," she said softly. "Ya never knew him before all this started."

"Of course not," Severus said. "He got ill when I was a baby."

"Oh, I mean even before you," Nanny corrected. "Before the war. I remember him comin' to the Hall for Yule and in the summer. A very kind young man, with bright eyes and a laugh that would make ya want to dance...."

Her voice trailed off, and in a bit she added, "Sure I am it was the war. We never knew what he did, but it changed him. He got all serious, like, and couldn't seem to find joy in anything. He'd just stare off into the distance, and you'd know he was rememberin' somethin' bad."

She shifted her bulk in the chair, and muttered, "Happened to me nephew, too. He fought in the war -- the Great War, the Muggle one -- and he didn't come back the same. He killed himself after a few years. Broke his mam's heart."

"Perhaps," Severus said decisively, "it would have been best if Father had as well. Before he bothered to breed. Would've saved everyone a lot of trouble."

Nanny stared at him for a moment, and then reached over and smacked the back of his head.

"Don't be daft, ya get," she said, her voice rough and angry, "And don't ya ever wish ye hadn't been born, not while there's breath in my body. I don't know why we're here, Sev'rus, but we're here for a rayson, and it's up to us to find it. To be of use and help others, if nothin' else. And yer father tried, he truly did, until he couldn't any more, sure. You just remember that before ya go makin' nasty remarks."

Severus pulled away from her, rubbing at his skull, and couldn't hide the tears of frustration that welled up (she'd never, to his recollection, been truly angry with him before). She saw, reached over to smooth the hurt, and then sighed and pulled her mending back over when he flinched away from her.

"What's that?" he said unsteadily. "You're not supposed to hem sheets, it's bad for your eyes. That's Joan's job."

Nanny hesitated and bit her lip, and then admitted, "It's yer da's winding-sheet. Not many people do it nowadays, but I've always done for my families. It's the last thing we can do for them, is the laying-out."

"What do you mean, a winding-sheet?"

"A winding-sheet's to wrap the body. A shroud. After they've passed, ye wash the body and lay it out, and wrap them in their winding-sheet. At least we do -- a lot of wizards have gone all silly and have undertakers do it, now, just like the Muggles."

Severus stared at his father for a moment, chilled a bit by Nanny's matter-of-fact discussion of his father's impending death, even though it was obvious Vergil Snape was beyond hearing.

"Ye weren't around yet when Her Ladyship passed, so I'll tell ya what will happen, so," Nanny continued, working on the seam, the fabric nearly to her nose. "There'll be a layin' out in the Gallery, though there won't be a wake like we Irish would have. There'll be a pyre up in the meadow beyond the orchard -- ye'll be expected to light the pyre, though His Lordship might help if ye're not up to it. And then when it's over the ashes are spread over the orchard."

Severus was rather horrified at that, and more than a little queasy: he couldn't help but think of the hundreds of apples he'd eaten from that orchard, and the more fanciful part of his mind wondered how many bits of generations of Snapes he'd managed to ingest. Not to mention the cider -- which, if Professor McGonagall was unlucky and had caved in to Darby's urgings, she was drinking at this very moment....

"That's -- that's barbarous," he finally managed to blurt out.

"No, it's the old way," Nanny corrected gently. "Yer father becomes part of the land that his family's worked for near a thousand years, and that's supported and protected them. The Snapes have always done that. Makes more sense than all that burial nonsense."

"But the Malfoys and the Blacks don't do that," he argued. "Goyle says the Blacks just built a new mausoleum -- old Mrs Black was determined to have a bigger one than the Malfoys' --"

Nanny was not impressed.

"What earthly good does that do, Sev'rus? When they leave us, they're gone. It doesn't do one bit of good to hang on to what's left, or treat it like some -- some --"

She floundered a bit for the word.

"-- some relic. And as far as the Malfoys and the Blacks are concerned, it's just for show. 'See how many ancestors we've got stuffed in the vault.'"

"What about your nephew?" Severus said belligerently. "I suppose your brother didn't 'hang on' to his body?"

"Me sister," Nanny said quietly. "And first off, young man, she was a Muggle and it was to be expected. And second, he was buried outside the church -- that means, he was buried in unconsecrated ground, without the full rights and recognition the Church gives everyone else, and not with the rest of the family."

"What do you mean, unconsecrated?"

"He was a suicide, and that's a mortal sin, and he died without that sin being forgiven. So he didn't deserve to be buried in holy ground, at least accordin' to the Church."

"That sounds just as bad as this."

"It's worse," Nanny said bluntly. "It doesn't matter -- some places in Ireland they still dig them up after a bit, anyways, to make room for more burials."

"So they're not left alone?" Severus said, uncertainly.

"No. Seven years, usually, and then the bones are removed. Sometimes to a charnel-house --"

Severus had no idea what that was.

"-- sometimes.... Well, they don't tell you, usually. The priesteen and the gravedigger are the only ones who know for sure and certain." She shrugged. "Land's precious in some parts."

That put a different light on it. A pyre and scattering didn't seem quite so bad, now.

Nanny finished the seam, knotted the thread and bit it off, poked the needle into a pincushion, and rubbed at her eyes.

"I didn't mean to upset ya, lamb," she said tiredly. "I just though ye needed to know, to be prepared, like, for what His Lordship tells ya."

Severus nodded absently, intent on his father's body.

It had never really occurred to him that his father would die: that at some time Vergil Snape would cease to be a distant but constant presence in his life, or that he might be panicked by the thought of Vergil's absence. He'd never experienced a death before -- his mother had simply disappeared. In the rare moments when he thought of her, he thought of her as living, though he had no way to tell.

But this would be forever, and he couldn't quite wrap his intellect around that notion or understand why he was so frightened of it. It wasn't as though Vergil Snape had ever been a real father to him.

Because you'll finally be alone, part of him decided. Because you'll have no one at all, now.

Lord Snape didn't qualify -- he was more an authority than family -- and Matthew.... Well, if Matthew was Severus Snape's only family left, Merlin help him.

He was going to be alone. Absolutely and utterly alone.

"How long?" he asked unsteadily.

"Probably a day or two," Nanny said. "His breathing will get even worse, and then he'll just... stop." She shifted again in her chair, and Severus could tell she was stiff and tired.

"Why don't you go to bed, then?"

"I always sit with my folk, lamb. I'll be all right -- it's not like he's in want for anything now, and Darby and Joan take care of me. You go to bed, and come back after ye've had a bit of breakfast, so."

Severus was grateful for that: he didn't think he could bear to stay in that room another minute. So he pushed his chair back against the wall and went to look for Darby, to see which room in the Hall he'd been given. He could hear the murmur of His Lordship and Professor McGonagall's voices in the Gallery as he made his way down to the kitchen -- but he was too upset to enter and thank her for bringing him back.

He wasn't particularly thankful, in any case.

He dozed fitfully but he didn't sleep, despite Darby's best efforts to make the bed cozy with three hot-water bottles. He kept listening for his father's breathing, though the deathroom was three doors down.

He spent as much time as he could bear in Vergil's room, though more for Nanny's sake than his own or his father's. Once when Nanny had dozed off he crept over to the bed and lay his gangly, oversized teenaged hand next to his fathers', and marvelled at the similarities of the bone and sinew, of the square palms and long, thin fingers, blunt-ended, though Vergil's knuckles were larger and beginning to twist with rheumatism, like Lord Snape's.

Severus clasped his fingers around his father's limp hand, and marvelled at that, too, and at his own audacity. Vergil Snape never touched his son, even to administer a punishment: only once, when they'd Apparated from Avebury to Snape Hall, had Vergil even held Severus' hand. Once upon a time, Severus assumed -- when he was a baby -- his father must have held him, but Severus couldn't recall a single other instance in his memory, and there were no pictures. He was rather disgusted with himself that he was actually afraid to touch Vergil -- and it seemed illicit, somehow, to do it now when the man was defenceless; but Severus knew it was the only chance he'd ever get, and his fascination and yearning outweighed the fear.

His father's skin was cool, unresponsive, and, despite the physical similarities to Severus' own hand, utterly alien: too much the way his father had been in life. Nothing at all had changed. Severus gave up, slipped his father's hand back beneath the coverlet, and returned to his chair.

He never approached his father's bed again, not until the very last.

He'd been asleep several hours when Lord Snape shook him awake the third night.

"Come, Severus. Get this on," the old man said quietly, and helped Severus slip into a dressing-gown.

"Wha--?"

"He's dying, boy. It shouldn't be long."

Severus could hear his father's rasping breaths the second he stepped outside his bedroom door. His Lordship led him down the corridor and into Vergil's room.

Darby had brought in an extra chair, and His Lordship prodded Severus over to it, collapsing in the one nearest the door. Nanny was seated closest to Severus' father, holding his hand; Joan was at the foot of the bed, fruitlessly trying to chafe some warmth into the man's feet. Darby stood in the corner, wringing his hands and occasionally twisting at his ears in distress. There was a close, sour smell in the room that clung to the back of Severus throat, despite the bowls of herbs Joan had placed about the room.

Vergil's face was now ashen, his lips blue-tinged, and every once in a while his breath would catch: there would be a momentary, involuntary struggle for the lungs to work again, and a bit of choking, and then Vergil would take in another tortured breath.

"Why haven't you called a mediwizard?" Severus demanded. "He can't breathe properly --"

"Have done," His Lordship said. "Don't know what's keeping him. There won't be anything he can do, though, Severus."

"But there's got to be something to make him rest more easily --"

"Nothing but a Soothing Potion, and we can't get them down him, boy," His Lordship explained patiently. "He can't swallow well, and he's more likely to breathe it in. It would do more harm than good."

Severus glared defiantly at His Lordship, and the old man said with an absolutely uncharacteristic patience, "I'm not codding you, boy. Vergil's my nephew, and no matter how badly we've got on I wouldn't deny him that if I didn't have to."

Severus decided the old man was probably telling the truth -- but he didn't like it one bit.

They sat there for nearly an hour, waiting for the mediwizard, while Vergil's breath became more stetorous and infrequent: soon it was accompanied by a totally nerve-wracking rasp at the end of each breath.

"What is -- is he choking?" Severus said, and stood in alarm.

Nanny glanced at His Lordship, and then looked back at Severus and said "It's what's called the death rattle, lamb. It won't be long now at all, at all. Do you want to sit with him, here?" she asked quietly, and offered Severus the flannel she'd been dabbing Vergil's face with.

Severus didn't budge. He finally shook his head and she said "It's all right, lamb. Go on and sit down," and returned to her watch and care.

But he couldn't move. He stood, stock-still and with his hand clenched in the folds of the bedcurtains, for the last ten minutes of Vergil Snape's life. Lord Snape had to pry Severus' fingers out of the fabric and lead him back to his bed when it was all over, so Nanny and the Elves could wash the body and prepare it for the laying-out without distressing Severus any further. He didn't sleep, but lay dry-eyed and disbelieving, staring up at the bed canopy until the first light filtered through the windows.

It didn't seem that way now, though, as Severus peered at it through the window of the Breakfast-room. It was bleak and grey in early spring. A path had been mown through last years' dead grass leading up to the tallest point in the meadow, and a circle cleared at the very top: workers from Mortimer and Sons had arrived and were stacking pitch-soaked timbers in the middle for his father's funeral pyre.

It was a bare six hours after his father had died, and already the pyre was being laid, Vergil's body was laid out in the Gallery, and, at sunset, Severus would be expected to light the flames that would consume his father's body to ashes.

"Come sit down, boy, and eat," Lord Snape said gruffly from the table.

" 'm not hungry," Severus mumbled, and pressed his forehead against the chilly window-glass.

"You'll need it later," Lord Snape said, "and there won't be another chance, we'll go straight up to the meadow."

The old man didn't overtly demand obedience -- but Severus could hear it in his voice, so he stumbled over to the table and sat, sullen. Lord Snape pushed over a cup of tea and the toast-rack.

"Matthew didn't bother to come back," Severus observed sullenly.

"I didn't call him back. I rather thought," Lord Snape said dryly, "that his presence wouldn't be appreciated. Not now."

There was probably some truth in that: Matthew hadn't learned to keep his mouth shut, though he'd finally figured out Severus would retaliate for any hexes thrown.

"Did Nanny tell you about the pyre?"

"Yes. That I'm supposed to light it."

"That's preferable -- you're old enough, now, and the closest kin, but I can do it if you like. There's not much form to the rite -- you may say something if you like, and then there's a bit I say about returning Vergil's body to the elements, and then the lighting."

"They're almost done, out there. Why can't we just go ahead and get this over with?"

"The laying-out is tradition, boy. There will be people who want to come and pay their respects."

Severus snorted at that.

"Who?"

Lord Snape stared at him steadily.

"You'd be surprised. Not many, certainly, but there will be some -- not only for Vergil's sake, but for the family's. And you will be polite to each and every one of them, whether you know them or not. A simple 'thank you' for their condolences will do." He pointedly nudged the toast-rack a little closer, and Severus gave up and took a piece.

He chewed away for a moment, and then addressed what was really bothering him.

"What happens to me?"

His Lordship's eyebrows shot up. "Whatever do you mean?"

"What do I do now? Where do I go?"

"Back to Hogwarts in a few days, and...."

His voice trailed off as he finally realised what Severus was implying.

"Boy, are you telling me you think I'm going to turn you out?" His Lordship said, setting down his teacup with a hand that had begun to tremble in outrage.

Severus' face reddened.

"I ju-- just thought that with Father gone you wouldn't need to b-- bother with --"

"I'm your uncle, you dunderhead," His Lordship said in amazement. "And I sent papers to the Ministry first thing this morning to be named your full legal guardian, as soon as the mediwizard signed your father's death certificate. Merlin's --"

Severus had finally done it: he'd rendered the old man speechless. All His Lordship could do was stare at the boy, puzzled and angry.

"As long as I am alive," he said distinctly and slowly, when he finally found his voice again, "your home is Snape Hall. You will continue at Hogwarts, and you will return here for holiday, unless you choose not to do so. Whatever put such idiocy in your head?"

"Martin Buchanan's a charity case," Severus offered miserably. "He lives in during term, and then he goes back to the orphanage in Edinburgh at holidays."

"Buchanan? One of the Edinburgh Buchanans? There's no one at all left of that family but him, boy, it's an entirely different matter. And he's not a charity case --" His Lordship practically spat the word. "-- he's a Merlin's Scholar. No Hogwarts student ever need be called a charity case -- well I know, because I was on the Board of Governors when the damned scholarship was set up for just that purpose." His Lordship snorted. "I suppose you got that execrable language from some of the more arrogant bastards in your House."

Severus shrugged and stared at his half-eaten toast.

"Well, you have my permission to hex their bol-- their testicles off if they dare say that to you," His Lordship said crossly. "You've family and you're provided for -- there's no shame in that."

Severus didn't quite feel that way. He wasn't sure which was worse: the embarrassment of the whole House, and probably the whole school, knowing that his father was a madman -- or that he had no father at all, and was living on the grace of Lord Snape.

"Look at me, boy," Lord Snape demanded -- and was appalled at the hopelessness in the boy's eyes. "You came to us late, and not under the best of circumstances. But you're one of us, and this is your home. I've lost too many people to take you for granted: you're stuck with me, I'm afraid." He fiddled with his napkin-ring a bit and then admitted, "I can't speak for Matthew -- I think you have some bridges to mend, there, Severus -- no, I know there's as much fault on his part as on your own," he said over Severus' attempted interruption. "It's likely that he'll come back from Beauxbatons, find a job, and start a family of his own, and take the title -- not too soon, I hope, and then you shall have to deal with him on your own.

"But as far as I'm concerned you've as much right to be here as he. Your grandfather -- my brother -- grew up in this house and on this land. It's in your bones as much as it is in mine or Matthew's. You remember that."

"Yes, sir," Severus mumbled.

"Now that that's been settled, will you bloody well eat something so you don't keel over in the midst of everything?" His Lordship said, dumping Severus' now-cold tea into the slop bowl and refilling the cup for him.

Severus nodded and tried to finish his toast, and His Lordship returned to his own meal.

Joan came in a few minutes later -- visibly miffed.

"They is started arriving, Your Lordship," she announced.

"Good gods, it's not supposed to begin until one --"

"It's Miss Minerva," Joan said disdainfully.

"Oh. Well for pity's sake, Joan, show her in here," His Lordship growled.

Joan sniffed her displeasure and flounced out of the room.

"Severus, if ever you should chance to accept a pretty female apprentice, pray to Merlin you have sensible House Elves," His Lordship said wryly. "Geld the males, if you must."

"What is all that about?" Severus asked.

"Yule 1947. Darby was maundering on about not having tea-towels suitable for a noble family, and she gave them each one with the Snape crest on it -- embroidered with her own hands. He's been dotty over her ever since. Dimity thought it was hysterical -- she would, the Gryffindor."

Well, that explained it. Darby put great stock in the state of his tea-towel.

"She was good, then?" Severus asked. "At Transfigurations, I mean, not embroidery."

"Best apprentice I've ever had. You don't think Dumbledore would have hired her else, do you?"

"Dunno. I mean, hedgehogs into pincushions is one thing...."

And, if truth be told, Severus thought Headmaster's choice of faculty was eccentric, to say the least. The DADA instructors -- they changed nearly every year -- were competent at best, and then there was the question of the Gamekeeper, Hagrid. Not to mention the totally barmy Divination teacher....

McGonagall stepped into the room and Severus sensibly left the rest of the thought unsaid.

"My dear Minerva, come have a seat. We didn't expect you."

"Headmaster took my first afternoon class," she said, and set a parcel down at Severus' elbow. "He sends his regrets, and wants you particularly to know, Mr Snape," she said to Severus, "that he's terribly sorry, and will be thinking of you today."

"Thank you," Severus said automatically.

"His Lordship told me when I was here before that he should like you to stay a few more days, so I've brought your books and assignments to date," she said as she took a chair. "I thought perhaps you shouldn't like to get too far behind."

"Yes, thank you."

"Help yourself to some tea," Lord Snape murmured. "I'd ask Joan to come and pour, but I don't suppose you brought a change of clothes."

Severus couldn't help himself. Despite his dismal mood he sniggered, and McGonagall's eyes darted between him and His Lordship.

"What have you two been talking about?" she asked suspiciously.

"Elves and tea-towels," His Lordship said mildly.

"Oh, for -- that was blown out of all proportion," she said rather crossly, respectful attitude toward His Lordship suddenly gone.

Much to Severus' amazement His Lordship merely chortled, and then hastily sobered at another sharp look from McGonagall and finished his own tea.

It was the one bright spot in a thoroughly awful day.

Severus dragged himself to his feet reluctantly, and followed Lord Snape and McGonagall into the Gallery. Vergil lay on a draped table at the far end, most of his body already sewn into the winding-sheet, with only his face visible.

"I've already been in this morning, Minerva," Lord Snape said as he sat in the chair in front of Nanny's and Mr Jordan's with a groan. "You'll forgive me if I stay put?"

"Of course. Have you paid your respects yet, Mr Snape?" she asked Severus.

"No." And I bloody well don't want to.

"Well, come keep me company, then," she said kindly, and before he could wriggle out of the situation she'd taken his hand and marched him down the long room toward his father's body.

He briefly considered balking, but discarded the idea. He was too old for it -- too old to have his hand held, too, but McGonagall had him in an iron grip and obviously had no intention of letting go. He'd just have to wait it out and try not to disgrace himself.

McGonagall finally halted a few feet away from the makeshift catafalque, and stood silently for a few minutes while Severus did his best not to squirm.

"He was quite brilliant, you know, before his illness," she suddenly said out of the blue, and Severus jumped a bit as she dropped his hand and rested hers on his shoulder, instead. "He trained and apprenticed most of our best living Arithmancers."

"Didn't know that," Severus muttered. "Don't remember."

"Hmmmmmph. Well, you won't find it in Hogwarts, A History, but most of the advanced wards that protect Hogwarts are based on his work. You remember that when Mr Jordan brings you back," she said softly, "and every time you return to Hogwarts."

"Yes, ma'am."

The accolade didn't seem to help, at this point. Severus thought he would have preferred a father dumb as a post who'd actually shown some interest.

The clock at the midpoint of the Gallery struck one, and McGonagall sighed.

"I suppose I should be getting back. Merlin only knows what mischief Headmaster will allow my class to get into." She squeezed Severus' shoulder, and made her way back to the end of the Gallery to say her goodbyes to His Lordship.

Severus stayed in front of his father's body, and tried to feel suitably respectful and grief-stricken.

It didn't work. All he could muster up was rage.

Rage at being abandoned, finally and irrevocably; at the persistent thought that, somehow, his father could have overcome his disease if he'd had the willpower; rage that the man hadn't managed to show the slightest bit of interest and care in Severus, whether he'd been able to keep a job or not; rage that his father had never shared anything that directly concerned Severus -- where his mother was, why she'd left; why he'd bloody well bothered to marry and breed in the first place, if his work was that all-important to him.

The words that eventually came out of his mouth were heartfelt and intended for Vergil's ears only, no matter that the man was dead.

"I will never be like you," Severus whispered to his father's corpse. "I will never become that weak and pitiful. I'll kill myself first."

That seemed sufficient. Severus felt vindicated, and his only regret was that he hadn't said it when the bloody man was alive. He determined then and there that he would never again try to conceal how much he despised someone -- although he later amended that to concealment only if his life was in danger -- and he turned on his heel and returned to Lord Snape's side, to await the few visitors who might come.

There were more than a few, but not many -- some colleagues from Salisbury who remembered Vergil from before his illness; a scrawny little man whose eyes widened at sight of Severus and prattled on at how he hadn't see the boy since he was a babe in arms ("Your father's old laboratory assistant," His Lordship muttered under his breath when the man had moved off, "annoying, but kind, boy, don't look so thunderous,"); some retainer from the Black family who bowed obsequiously to His Lordship and gave a flowery speech about Mrs Black regretting her inability to attend, and who then spent an indecently short period of time before Vergil's body; and an official from the Ministry, the under-secretary of someone's under-secretary, who behaved in much the same manner as Mrs Black's lackey.

And, far too soon, the Hall's door was closed to any further visitors, Nanny had sewn the shroud over Vergil's face, and the officials from Mortimer and Sons began to bear his body up to the pyre.

Burkett asked him to take a freshly-brewed goblet of Pepper-Up Potion to Headmaster, who'd been feeling poorly, and just as the old man had quaffed it the Phoenix had burst into flames and disintegrated into ash, startling Severus rather badly.

"Oh, thank Merlin," Headmaster said, relieved. "I can't bear it when he puts it off and mopes about like that -- it makes me tetchy."

Severus stared at the pile of ash. He'd read about the Phoenix, of course, and knew what happened, but couldn't quite believe it.

"Is he really --?"

"Well, come have a look," Headmaster said, and rose and crossed to the perch, drawing Severus in front of him.

He poked one long finger into the ash and gently pushed it away, and up popped the wide-mouthed maw of a Phoenix chick, head unsteady on its thin neck, huge eyes blinking in surprise. (It was exceedingly ugly -- even more so than the raven chicks Severus had seen in the woods at Snape Hall.)

"Nip back to my desk, would you, Severus?" Headmaster said. "In the top right drawer you'll find a sock."

Severus did. It was a nasty old sock, rather badly knitted, and he couldn't help but notice that the drawer was stuffed with an alarming miscellany of gee-gaws and battered sherbet lemon tins, some of which twitched and rattled of their own accord.

"Yes, that's it -- bring it over."

Severus pulled out the sock and trotted back to the perch.

"Turn the edges down a bit, and hold the toe flat on your palm," Headmaster instructed, and gently lifted the chick from the ashes and nestled it into the sock, pulling the edges all the way up to the ridiculous little bird's beak. "Not much to look at now, is he?"

"No," Severus said bluntly.

Headmaster chuckled.

"Amazing, how something that looks so awkward and unpromising can become so fine and beautiful," he noted. "Human beings are a lot like that, too, though their outer plumage doesn't always match the beauty inside."

Severus stared doubtfully at the ugly, fuzzy little thing that stirred in his hands, and jumped when it gave an outraged squawk, as if it sensed his disbelief.

Headmaster laughed.

"Here," he said, taking the bird from Severus and tucking it into a fold of his robes, near his heart, "I'll have to cuddle him for a bit to warm him up, until his feathers start to come in."

"How soon?"

"Oh, a week or so. He'll be quite fractious and demanding until then," Headmaster said as he carefully walked back to his chair and sat, cradling the little bundle -- and the bird squawked again, indignantly, as if to prove the old man's point.

"How many lives will he have?"

"Oh, no one knows. Far more than you or I will have, I'm sure," Headmaster said cryptically. "He was already an adult when I acquired him, and I've no idea how many chances he'd had before that."

"Oh."

"Thank you for bringing the potion, Severus," Headmaster said by way of dismissal, "and please thank Professor Burkett for me."

Severus left the room, oddly reluctant to leave the old man, who was gently and intently stroking the ugly little bird's head.

His father's Burning was nothing like the Phoenix's, though. The fire had burned sluggishly at first, the damp air keeping it down: then the pitch had caught and the fire fed on the oxygen about it, and Vergil's body disappeared behind a curtain of fire and shimmering, superheated air, and thick, oily plumes of smoke had coiled heavenward.

The watchers had waited until the flames began to die down and what was left of the body was again visible, and then made their way back to the Hall.

"Are you ever going to get back to your work, boy?" His Lordship muttered testily. (He'd insisted the boy bring his work into the Library, so he could keep an eye on him -- he'd been quite unnerved by the boy's stoicism all day, and worried for him.)

"They're still feeding the fire," Severus said, ignoring the hint.

"Of course they are. It takes a great deal of fuel to totally immolate a body," His Lordship replied.

"Oh. I didn't know that."

"'Course not," His Lordship said with a sigh. "I forget that you've never seen this, that's all. They'll stay at it all night, and rake through the embers when it's done. When everything has cooled tomorrow, you and I will take some of the ash down to the orchard, and they'll bring the rest. I used to do it all, it's tradition, but I can't manage it anymore -- it's too much for me, now."

Severus stared up at the meadow for a few minutes longer, and then returned to his Transfigurations essay.

Severus returned to Hogwarts two days later.

His housemates had murmured condolences, uncomfortably, most of them obviously coached by the Prefects: the faculty and staff had done so more gracefully, but with the same general disinterest -- with the exception of McGonagall, who'd smiled quite kindly and given his shoulder another squeeze when he returned to Transfigurations class.

Black noted that, of course, and jostled Severus on the way out of the room and muttered "Glad the nutter's gone, are you?" before Lupin stepped between them to prevent a scrum. (Potter -- who'd seen and heard the whole thing -- actually mumbled, "Sorry, Snape, that was out of line," as he brushed past, and the shock that gave Severus was the only thing that kept him from sending Black to the Infirmary again.)

Florence Atwater offered more tangible comfort, however -- behind the greenhouse, after Herbology.

"Sorry about your dad," she said quietly as they were working together at the forcing-frame, potting seedlings.

"Thanks," Severus muttered grudgingly (he was quite tired of saying it). "Doesn't matter. He wasn't much of a father."

"That doesn't make any difference," Florence said, matter-of-fact. "At least that's what my dad says. He and grandmother used to go at it hammer-and-tongs, but it still hurt him awfully when she died."

"It's not the same at all," Severus retorted viciously, and accidently pinched a seedling in half. "Don't talk about what you don't understand."

The gong rang for lunch, and Florence -- who'd been staring at him slack-jawed (for they were friends, and he'd never been nasty to her before) -- grabbed his arm, pulled him to the wrong end of the greenhouse as the others filed out the interior door, pushed him outside, around the corner, and into the shelter of the outdoor potting-shed.

"Tell me," she demanded.

"Tell you what, you nosy --"

She punched him on the arm, hard.

"Don't act the git. I know you're hurting -- you wouldn't be nasty to me, otherwise."

He stared at her and rubbed at his arm (he wouldn't have expected that of her).

"He ignored me," he finally admitted. "I mean, really ignored me, didn't just think I was a nuisance. Hadn't said two words to me in the past two years. It was like I didn't exist. I didn't, to him."

"Cripes --"

"It wasn't totally his fault, I know -- he was sick -- but it doesn't matter. He just never cared enough to try."

Florence stared at him, mouth working, before she finally said, "Severus, I'm so sorry. I knew he was ill, of course, everybody did, but I didn't know how badly."

"Oh, would you -- Look, I don't want pity, all right? It happened, it's done, and I'm glad the bastard's dead, understand?" he said savagely.

But Florence wasn't buying it. She reached out, grabbed his robe fronts, and jerked him into her arms.

Goyle was wrong. Florence did have bubbies, she just didn't flaunt them: Severus could feel the soft little swells against his own bony ribs, and they were quite alluring, so after a moment's hesitation he slipped his arms about Florence's waist and clung to her while she awkwardly stroked his hair.

"It's awful, it's bloody awful," she muttered in his ear, "and I can understand why you feel that way. But I know it must hurt, too."

"Oh, for --" Severus started to blurt, and then some combination of Slytherin guile and primal male instinct kicked in and muttered Shut the gob and take it, you prat -- Girl. Breasts. Privacy. Snogging opportunity.

A certain portion of his anatomy that had been active in the mornings, recently, seconded the opinion -- so he pushed his hips against hers and snuggled closer, burying his nose in the curve of her neck: she smelled of linden and elderflowers and the damp earth in the greenhouse, and his penis twitched again in approval.

If this is what pity got you, he'd take it -- from Florence, at least. Especially since she didn't push him away: she held him tighter, in fact, and the hand in his hair stilled and slid down to the back of his neck.

His hips pushed against hers involuntarily at that, and he muttered "Sorry," and tried to pull away -- but she only let him get so far: just enough so they could see each others' eyes, and feel their breaths on each others' cheeks, and her lips were right there, a little thin and chapped because she had a bad habit of chewing at them --

It took him two tries because he bumped her glasses with his nose as they stumbled back against the shed wall the first time, but he adjusted the angle of attack and connected solidly with her lips on the second attempt.

Somewhere amid the panic and clutching hands and gasping breaths that followed he remembered thinking Merlin's balls, where'd she learn that, not ever imagining one could do that with ones' tongue, and Florence -- for he must have thought aloud -- panting back "Reading, stupid -- never actually tried it --"

Jorkins, that manky cow.

His wand was out of his sleeve before he'd even pulled away from Florence and turned to the Prefect.

"Awwwwwww, Snivellus, who'd have thought you --"

He aimed, and fired.

Jorkins looked awful, covered in boils. (Well, she could hardly look worse than usual, but Severus had outdone himself.)

Jorkins fled, shrieking -- and Florence, noting Severus' persisting pain in that observant, scientific Ravenclaw way (she could hardly miss it anyway, even if she'd been utterly thick), yanked him into the shed, undid his trouser-buttons, and clumsily but effectively stroked him to completion well before Filch came looking for them.

But for some odd reason the detention consisted of a week's work in the greenhouse. With Florence, because she hadn't stopped the hexing and had, in fact, laughed at Jorkins' plight. And, occasionally, they were not particularly well-supervised.

As to the secret of who had assigned such a poorly thought-out detention.... Well, Headmaster took the secret of that to his grave, to spare Severus' blushes. He was not the sort to deny one lonely soul the comfort of another, rules and propriety notwithstanding, and felt rather indignantly that were he in Severus' place he might well have hexed Bertha Jorkins, too.