Chapter 1 [i]

Emptiness became his companion for a long period of unaccounted time. It was not darkness, for he knew darkness like the back of his hand; having toyed and controlled it for the past 17 years of his life. It was pure emptiness where his conscience and will were kept far apart, preventing him any control over his form. He could hear voices far away but could not understand them. Nonetheless, they spoke to him, instilling a sense of hope to his rigid shapeless form. He wondered who the voice belonged to, but could not retrieve his memories.

The existence of his memories were acknowledged as a whole, but did not earn an individual identity. It was strange; he knew he had a life, but the gaping holes in the connection between what he knows he has and what he needs to process them denied function. He knew he was helpless, yet it didn't occur to him his detestment towards helplessness. Was he to hand over fate and reality of his existence to the hands of greater power? His conscience and will thought separately.

More unaccounted time passed, and somehow, he felt a change. Was he praying? No. As the changes unfurled, he realised he was not one to pray for his soul. There was a connection between his being, thus awareness was attained. His senses were yet to be sorted to place, but he could feel it very distinct... And although the nature of the subject cannot be identified by touch, it was what he felt- the colour green. It was always accompanied by the scent of silver mist. Why though? He thought, the intensity of the colour seem to seep into reasoning. Memories. He needed them. It was a need touched by desire.

Light.

It faded.

The realisation beckoned for more familiarity. It was calling. Summoning what was so distant from his scattered core. His senses slowly heightened. Did he do it? Was his voiceless summons heeded? The distant sounds closed in. It was like seeing stars converge into a galaxy as the distance between him and the stars increased. He could now associate the sound with something of fimiliarity. A woman's voice?

He felt the green again, this time the silver mist was lesser. It was daunting. He was confused about his feelings towards this colour, much like a paradox that developed across the terrain of time. The green took shape, into another familiarity. He recognized those eyes which were staring down at him from an angle. His heart leapt.

"He's awake! Snape is awake!" the voice reoccurred, but it was clear to him it could not be a woman's. It was a girl's. Nevertheless, before he could fully accept that, he stirred and reality clouded his judgement.

"Lily?" Snape muttered with at last, control. He stared into the green eyes, submitting himself to its comfort. But when he shifted his view to the rest of the features on the face, his body tensed immensly and he jumped out of bed, tugging cords which some unknown instruments fall. He ripped off the nasal cannula from under his nose, and the wires connected to his chest. "POTTER!" he realised.

"Easy there!" Arthur Weasley approached him from the other side of the room.

Snape staggered. His knees were weak and he felt very tired. Harry caught his arms before he fell, and helped him to the bed while nurses rushed in. The static noise in his head got louder and denser when Harry touched him. He wanted to throw him off. He wanted to, but the force he discharged had refused to be inflicted upon those gentle hands.

He took in the room, pale blue with white curtains, and noted the presence of five others. Hermoine Granger, insufferable witch of muggle descendant; Arthur Weasley, the muggle-loving father of countless red-heads; Harry Potter, of course- the boy was a reminder to his secret mistake and betrayal; and two nurses who kept prodding their fingers around his body. He shrugged them away violently, causing one of them to take two steps back and scowl at him. The confunded nurses then left the room at Arthur's instruction.

"What is the meaning of this?!" the former potions-master and more recently, former headmaster of Hogwarts demanded. Every inch of his body now felt pain, but he was a master.

"Please, calm down. You're in a hospital." Arthur explained, biting down the kindness in his voice.

"A muggle hospital." Hermoine continued. "Harry insisted upon your safety from the wizarding world. Your whereabouts are unknown to them."

"Don't credit me. I just did what my mother would have done." Harry responded. He realised that he rarely used that excuse, 'what my mother would have done'. It was always what his father would have done. But this time was different. He had heard Dumbledore's explanation at King's Cross Station. Snape had been with them all along... and all those things Harry had said about him- to him, he had no idea where to throw. He still wondered where Snape got his strength; it was one thing Dumbledore had avoided answering.

Snape glared at him, while trying to recall any recent memories. He remembered Voldemort. He waited for the memory to sharpen, but was distracted and forced away from it as Harry inched closer, staring into his black infernal eyes.

"My mother's name- Lily. This was the second time you called me that."

"Have you been confunded as well?" Snape spat, brushing the allegation off with denial. "Where is my wand?"

"You're in no position to be asking for a weapon," Arthur said. "Which in any case, we do not hold anyway. Surely you remember the events that occured in the Shreiking Shack six months ago? You've been in a coma ever since."

"Six months." Snape thought quietly. How could he have been so careless as to land into the hands of others, besides Dumbledore?

"We've won the war, thanks to no small part from you- as we would like to be true." Hermoine said.

Snape narrowed his eyes to the comment, and traced it back to Harry. He recalled silver mist. "Where are my robes? I am leaving."

"You will do no such thing!" Arthur Weasley said, blocking Snape's attempt to leave his bed. "not until we get everything straight. The Order will want to hear it from your mouth."

Snape's eyes were still cold and resentful yet there was a hint of deep emptiness, of resignation, and that was uncomfortable to look at. "What- can you possibly want to hear from me? I betrayed the Order. I was the Dark Lord's servant. If you had lost your mind and kept me alive, I suggest you allow me to repay you by leaving!"

"LIES!" Harry shouted. "Why do you keep lying even when it can't do you any more good?!" He was so emotionally agitated, having made a witness Snape's persistence over the years, and, as he calculated, his despair. Why would the man carry on his painful charade when there was nothing more at stake?

"There is nothing for me to say, nothing for you to question." Snape said as the tension in his expression dispelled. It was true that Harry was safe now. But there was still so much they didn't understand that he should have taken to his grave. He managed a stoic expression. "I, however, have certain inquiries. For one, why is it that I am alive, when I clearly remember being constricted by the Dark Lord's pet snake? I cannot imagine he would not leave me for dead." His mind lingered on his last extracted memory, careful not to mention it in case nobody had seen it.

"I was there, and Voldermort was mistaken. You hadn't died when Nagini went off." Harry didn't mention that it was him who caused the snake to believe Snape dead.

Snape rapped the drawer by the side and found his robes. He slipped it over his hospital gown and slowly made his way out of the room. They seemed to let him go, knowing he would be back.

Owing his life to Harry Potter was not something easy to take. In fact he could not accept it, how could he? When that person even had any remote resemblance to James Potter? His strength of choosing what to deny himself was great, and he could choose not to remind himself of Dumbledore's words. The pain was excruciating. He figured his bones were still regrowing.

Decidedly, he would rather obtain answers from others' conversations than straight from the person. It wouldn't be hard, the gossip-span in the wizarding community far exceeded any other species, and Potter wasn't one to keep his mouth shut, was he? Certainly, as his father had a detestable rotten mouth of a snitch, the son would no likely be different. Snape realised that he would be snooping around, eavesdropping on people, but it would give him at least something to do.

"How low have I sunk?" he asked the night, as he walked out of the hospital. The air was calm. The streets ahead scarcely littered with cars. The sky was blacker than his memory, and the stars twinkled brighter than ever. It pained him as he realised how peace had settled in. It was over. They must have done it... they won the war. He gathered this first information, and continued walking down the tree-lined path, wondering whether relief ever felt this constricting. How would Lily react if she saw Snape right now, walking through muggle England abysmally content that there were no more bridges upturned, no more wild explosions everywhere, no more Dark Marks hanging in the sky? At least at this moment, he had shown that he could understand Lily's heart, even if it is a minuscule portion he managed. All these years, his only lifeline was Lily. Everything he managed, was for that one sole purpose, because he loved her. He marvelled more at Lily's strength. That one person had allowed him to extend his life, and go through everything he had. If it were up to him, he would have welcomed death with open arms, and join Lily in afterlife, if that ever exists. If it were up to him, he wouldn't be able to come up with a reason to stay in a life without her. If it were up to him, Harry Potter shouldn't hav-- His throat tightened at that thought, and he fell to his knees, choking tears for no apparent reason.





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still fixing up the rest of the chapter... I'll most likely be editing this again, not very satisfied with it... I'm known to be vague =o=