Sitting Still
By Zillah

In the years following the Great War, Severus Snape did little more than exist. He woke up in the morning and performed a routine he was barely aware of. His hair had turned prematurely grey during that final battle and he still wore it long. He missed the shiny, dark sheet he used to hide behind; grey just wasn't as comforting when he needed to be invisible.

Minerva was Headmistress now and Albus was a statue that offered a twinkling smile and a warm handshake to any student or professor that happened by. More times that Snape would admit, he had been awoken at the foot of the statue by Argus Filch in the wee hours of the morning. Filch knew better than to spread rumours about Snape's late night habits.

Seven years after the Great War, Severus Snape had to face the fact his former students - heroes from the War - were now teachers. He looked at their bright, eager faces and saw dirt-streaked, bloodied faces set in grim determination.

Worst of all was Potter. Whenever Snape looked at him, he saw the boy who had stood next to him and Dumbledore, his wand raised in battle and blood dripping from his robes. He could barely sit next to Potter at the Head Table in the Great Hall.

Potter taught Transfigurations having eagerly accepting the job when Minerva offered it to him. His godfather, Black, had taught it for five years without a single peep from Snape. He barely noticed that his old enemy shared a table with him.

Minerva had calmly informed Snape of Potter's acceptance over a cup of tea. Snape flashed back to his numerous talks with Albus about new teachers and his hand began to shake violently. He set the tea aside and ignored Minerva's gentle inquires about his health.

Part of just existing meant that Snape couldn't allow anyone to care about him. His capacity for friendship died with Albus and he had buried it there. Hermione Granger's polite intrusions into his life stopped soon after he snapped, reminding her that there was a library to answer her potions questions and as the Defense Against Dark Arts teacher she should know how to make Vampiric potions.

Potter luckily left him alone. However, since Potter was now a registered Animagus, Snape spent quite a bit of time checking for a black snake slithering around the dungeons. He had always found it interesting that Potter's Animagus of choice was the symbol for Slytherin.

Mostly though, Snape didn't wonder about anything. He taught his lessons - still considered the scariest teacher on staff - and made potions. When he remembered to, he slept.

Eventually Snape knew he would die and only then would he be relieved of the guilt he carried around himself like a heavy cloak. Sometime before that, Snape hoped he would stop seeing the violence of the Great War flickering behind his eyelids.

Albus went down first, a crumpled heap at their feet. Voldemort's attention turned to Snape next, leaving open an opportunity for Harry to cast the spell Binns had found in an old Aramaic text. As Snape twisted under a relentless Crucio, Harry recited the words that Hermione and Flitwick had drilled into him.

And then silence. Snape forced his eyes open. Voldemort was trapped in a blue fire, his mouth open grotesquely. Harry's wand was unwavering. Through blood-crusted lashes, Snape watched as a enormous Dark Mark rose above the fire and dissipated. Screams echoed outside and he watched as Voldemort fell to the ground, a lifeless pile of robes.

Snape rose and swayed in place. On either side of him were his two masters - Voldemort and Dumbledore. Harry stood wearily near Dumbledore, his wand still pointed at Voldemort.

'Should I bind him?' Harry asked, his voice hoarse.

Snape blinked and looked at Voldemort's corpse. He lifted his own wand and whispered a binding spell, finally getting a modicum of revenge. He stumbled over to Dumbledore and fell to his knees, cradling the dead man in his arms.

When he was asked about the final battle now, Snape claimed he didn't remember. It was a lie.

All Snape wanted was to forget.

Snape had read the transcripts from Potter's degree in Transfiguration along with the paperwork for his Animagus registration. Oddly enough, Potter had minored in Potions.

Granger's transcript read like her Hogwarts transcript had. Too many classes without a thought to her social life. Granger graduated with high honours and a double degree in Dark Arts and Charms.

Snape filed away their transcripts and continued to ignore them. Granger's face was always lined with exhaustion, dark circles under her eyes whenever he looked at it. The blood on Potter's face was fresh and he smelled of death at all times.

The Ministry of Magic wanted to call it Harry Potter Day, but Harry himself protested and pushed for the name Victory Over Darkness Day. Snape thought they were both ridiculous names. He saw no reason to celebrate the single bloodiest day in recent wizard history.

This year's celebration was to include speeches by all of the war heroes who were currently teaching or in residence at Hogwarts including Potter, Miss Granger, Minerva, Flitwick, Binns, and himself.

Snape listened to the speeches with little interest. He picked at the sumptuous banquet the house-elves had prepared without eating anything. He rarely ate anything anymore. Potter was sitting three seats down between Miss Granger and Flitwick. They were the guests of honour after all.

Binns's speech put most of the students to sleep and Snape slipped out of the Great Hall unnoticed. He hurried down the corridors, ending up in front of Dumbledore's statue. The statue smiled at him and a hand rose to touch his head lightly.

"Severus, my old friend."

Snape closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. Without a word, he sat in front of the statue. He rested his arms at Albus's feet using them to pillow his head.

"I wish you would allow them to care for you."

"I do not need them to care for me, Albus. I have myself and you."

"In case you haven't noticed recently, I am a statue and you are falling apart. Speak to them. Talk to young Harry at least. He was there as well."

"Sod off, Albus."

"Very well." The statue went silent and the stone hand touched his head again. Snape felt whole again, his head bowed to Albus far away from the noisy celebration of Voldemort's demise.

Snape felt the air around him move and someone settle next to him on the ground. He lifted his head and saw Potter sitting there silently. The statue placed a hand on top of Potter's head briefly to offer him the same comfort it had so recently offered Snape.

"They all remember that Voldemort died today," Potter said quietly. "No one seems to remember all of the other people that died. They don't want to remember."

Snape didn't answer him which apparently meant to Potter that he should keep talking. Potter was touching the stone folds of Albus's robe.

"I remember the way you cradled him in your arms and wept," Potter looked over at Snape. "You loved him."

"Of course I did," Snape scowled at him. "He was my friend."

"You spend a lot of time here." Potter's voice wasn't accusatory or even questioning. For him, it was a fact that Severus Snape sat at the foot of a statue of Albus Dumbledore. Snape could not deny it.

Neither of them spoke for quite some time. Every so often, there would be a rise of cheering from the Great Hall. Finally, Potter reached into his robes and set a handful of lemon drops on the base of Albus's statue.

"Stay here, Severus. I will inform Minerva that you are ill and unable to speak tonight," Potter reached into his robe again and pulled out a small package. He shook it out, the shimmering silver of the invisibility cloak flowing around them both. He settled it around Snape's shoulders and kissed the top of Snape's grey head. "Enjoy your evening with Albus. I will come for that later tonight."

Snape didn't say anything as Potter walked away. He huddled further under the invisibility cloak and silently thanked Potter for understanding.

The statue bent and picked up a lemon drop. Albus smiled happily and held it out, "Lemon drop, Severus?"

Snape swallowed thickly and took the lemon drop from the statue's hand. "Thank you."

The lemon drop was sweet and tart in his mouth. If he closed his eyes he could almost pretend that he was back in Albus's office, living.

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