Plan B

A/N:
Darque Heart: Yep, specifically left ambiguous. If you'll notice she and Severus didn't really collaborate well during the prep time. Leaving books for one another and a brief chat isn't exactly what I'd consider proper preparations, but then, well, that's plot.


Chapter 5


Well, the old adage of bad news travels fast may be true, but good news, absolutely fucking fantastic news still takes a bit longer. It was three nerve-wracking days of camping out in the wilderness before word of Voldemort’s death reached us, though that probably had more to do with the whole 'wilderness' thing. Ron jumped up and down screaming like a little girl who’s been given her very own pony while Harry sat paralyzed with his mouth gaping open for a good twenty minutes, and I tried vainly to conceal my wide Cheshire grin. Those three days were the most excruciating days of my life.


But at least it was done. The story as I’m told, and I have been told, (over and over again and each time a bit more exaggerated) is that the Grim Reaper himself appeared before His High Scaliness as he sat enthroned and surrounded by every lowly bowing Deatheater. The Grim pointed his dead bony finger at Voldeshorts’ dead bony body and his soul was sucked out leaving only a dead bony corpse behind. The Grim Reaper was now a national hero. Wouldn’t Sirius have enjoyed that? Most god fearing people dropped to their knees and thanked the heavens for divine intervention. But most people were not god fearing, so the grand majority of witches and wizards took to the streets to celebrate.


When I arrived in Diagon Alley it looked like Bourbon Street the day after a parade. Trash, bottles, streamers, and puke littered the street, and revelry was still to be found in the pubs and nightclubs throughout Britain. I myself felt no compelling need to pour excessive amounts of alcohol down my gullet, but Ron did a fabulous job of making up for my teatotatling all by his lonesome.


Several weeks later, word of Snape’s innocence hit the headlines. In an unbelievable coup d’état a horde of exonerating evidence was unearthed clearing him of any wrong doing, and making him a bit of a local celebrity as well. Not that the Order was really ready to embrace him or anything, but I was at least glad to see it. I had my suspicions, and quite frankly I was happy that he was exonerated on his own without having to provide any form of testimony myself. I’d rather live in relative obscurity than be forever known as the Witch-Who-Summoned-the-Demon. Because to the best of my knowledge only Snape and myself know what really happened. Ferret-boy probably has a suspicion of what happened. And if anyone else figured it out I’d never be able to rid myself of Rita. I’d be forced to squash her. I’m rather fond of squashing nasty bugs, but not so keen on Azkaban.


When the world was quite finished from spinning in a furious mad pitch I completed my independent study projects that sufficed for school credit, took my leaving exams, walked away with several respectable NEWTs, and left the boys to bemoan repeating the year. Of course if they had only stuck the study schedules I tailored for each of them they wouldn’t have anything to lament, but then what the hell do I know? (That’s right… I’m just the Witch who sold Voldemort’s soul to a fucking demon)


From there, I enrolled in a pilot program at Cambridge’s Trinity College that essentially allowed me to continue to take upper level classes of my favorite disciplines without the Master/Apprentice commitment. It had the dangling carrot of potentially Mastering more than one subject; however, it was a risky choice career wise because upon graduation if I failed to take a Mastery level I might be viewed by potential employers not as ‘well-rounded,’ but rather not specifically knowledgeable enough for any given profession. Despite the consequences, it was very necessary. The very idea of choosing a single subject to study turned my stomach. That would be like picking a favorite author, and then only be able to read his or her books. Or telling your children which child was your favorite. There are just some things that are morally objectionable.


Determined not to be bothered by it, I forged ahead in my studies with my well documented zeal for education only occasionally hindered by sleep or necessity for food. Fortunately I didn’t have daily common-room clatter to contend with or nasty whispered comments about how unfashionable my rats nest hair was getting, or how frightfully harassed I was looking. The simple joy of not having anyone give a damn if I never showed my face outside of the classroom or library was liberating. I was finally free to not only take the course load I wanted, but maintain the study habits I’d long ached to. The only concession I was forced to make towards my new lifestyle was the requirement for caffeine.


I quickly became accustomed to bringing my Arithemancy homework to the late night bohemian coffee shop I frequented called Sacred Grounds. I discovered what I long suspected in that most people hate math, or anything that remotely looks like math, and Arithemancy appears so intimidating to the uninitiated with all the foreign symbols and squiggly lines that most muggles frown at it. Actually they frown at me wondering if there’s something wrong with me that I’d actually want to do math. Blessedly the very few true math geeks out there are not given to hanging out at all night coffee bars, so I felt relatively safe with my little magical cross-contamination.


Then the oddest thing happened during the first half of my second semester. I saw Snape. Well, I must admit I was rather pleased to see the man up and about with color in his pale cheeks even if he did look a bit neglected, but then who was I to cast aspersions? The first time I saw him he was crossing the street uncomfortably dressed in a muggle suit and I barely caught a glance at him before he was gone, but there was no doubt in my mind it was him. Snape wasn’t the kind of man you mixed up for someone else.


The second time I saw Snape was several weeks later queuing up for an espresso while I grabbed my skinny double-shot café latte, no foam. I gave him a hesitant smile to acknowledge his presence and damn if the man didn’t look as if my presence was as welcome as a steaming hot stack of Hagrid’s rock cakes. He fled as soon as his double espresso hit the counter.


I could only gather that he must live or work in the area because after that I started seeing him more frequently at the coffee shop; not that we ever talked, or held each other’s eyes longer than a fraction of a second, but at least he stopped running away. Occasionally late at night, I’d feel like I was being watched, and every time I tore my eyes away from my laptop I’d find him sitting at a table rummaging through a newspaper or reading a battered old paperback. I never once caught him staring at me, but even if I had it wouldn’t have changed anything. It wasn’t like we had or ever would suddenly become friends. One shared demonic summoning experience does not negate years worth of mutual torture.


Yes, mutual torture.


I inflicted myself on his classroom. If I had asked one or two questions per class in my other lessons I invaded his like a charging Mongol army. It became a perverse pleasure to work him into a snit. He was such a thoroughly nasty and callous man that I made myself absolutely determined to live up to taunting jeers I’d received my very first day. After all, I’d worked out the House points to question ratio, and I almost never lost points for asking questions. As a teacher he could not honestly deduct points from a student actively engaged in the learning process. But given how violently unnerved he got from those insistent and never-ending questions the entire endeavor bore ripe fruit.


I am told that Gryffindors are as blunt as bludgers and not nearly as subtle or as clever as Slytherins, and yet all of Gryffindor was in on the joke, and I have a vague suspicion that neither Snape nor the Slytherins ever figured it out.


When summer came I went back to mundane suburban living at my parent’s house with only the oddest twinge of regret at not seeing Snape.

Thank you to everyone who left reviews. And if you haven't, thank you for reading anyway. Makes me feel all warm and squishy inside. A.V.