My Living Ghost

Severus put his head in his hands. The dank, dustiness of Number 12, far from reminding him of his beloved dungeons, grated on him. And now the godforsaken brats were here as well. Of course, he’d known they would be, as he himself had reported to headquarters at the end of the school year. He could hear them scurrying around like rats above his head…

Well, he could three hours ago, anyway. Now the rest of the order had retired to bed, the children with them. He glanced up at the clock hanging above the fitfully burning fire, and saw that it read ten till two. He stood, unsteady on his feet, knocking an empty bottle beside him to the floor. It struck the stone hearth and shattered with a sound reminiscent of the crack of apparition. He looked down at the green glass glittering in the firelight, and swayed dangerously.

“I should sleep,” Severus said to himself, but sat right back down into the hard, antique chair. “Gods,” he murmured, putting his head to the cool wood of the table. “I should sleep.” The smooth surface against his forehead was soothing, but only just. He didn’t sleep anymore. Come to think of it, had he ever really slept? No… not for over fifteen years. Not since…

At that moment he heard a peculiar little squeak from the doorway, and raised his head. The warm, flickering light fell across a slight, feminine figure. It couldn’t be. Severus’ heart stalled in his chest.

“Lily…?” he croaked. The firelight on her candy-apple red hair. Her Gryffindor tie loose around her neck. Her delicate, pale skin.

“S-sorry professor!” Ginny squeaked “I- I was just- Sorry!” She, mortified, immediately turned to go. Obviously she had stumbled upon some private moment.

“Wait! Don’t go!” he called after her, and jumped to his feet. Unsteady as he was, however, he could find no balance, and slid to his knees. They crunched on the broken glass and he vaguely felt a shard cut into him. No matter.

“Professor?” she peaked back inside the room. “Professor Snape!” The illusion shimmered.

“Miss Weasley.” It was hardly more than a whisper. She was standing in front of him now, her uniform rumpled. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” She was right before him, close enough to touch, and yes, he knew that she was the youngest Weasley child, but his mind was cloudy and she was *there*. She *had been there*.

“I could say the same for you, sir,” she replied quietly, and shifted nervously.

“Lily,” Severus said again, and he could tell the girl hadn’t yet heard him say her name. “Lily.” His face was downcast, black hair hanging in forlorn curtains.

“Professor, are you alright?” her voice was full of concern, full of bewilderment.

“Please don’t”

“Don’t what? Professor, I don’t-“

“Don’t call me that!” The anguish and pain in his voice was shocking, and Ginny shifted back uncomfortably. His voice dropped again.

“I’m sorry, sorry, don’t leave me… I didn’t mean it…” he trailed off, fingers reaching out to touch her socked foot. She shifted back, and caught sight of firelight glinting off of a broken bottle of firewhisky.

“Prof- “ the tensing in his shoulders made her reconsider, “Ss…Severus… You’re drunk.” He looked down beside himself at the remains of the bottle. Blinked.

“I…I’m drunk.” He looked up at her, shadows cast sharp and deep across his face. “You should go to bed, Miss Weasley.”

“Yes Sir,” she replied, voice hushed, and took a few steps backward before turning to leave. At the door she glanced back to see him reach out and brush his fingers across the carpeting where she’d stood.
“Goodnight.”

“Goodbye,” he replied, knowing she would never come again, “Lily.”

****

In the upstairs hallway, Ginny was absolutely bewildered. That had to have been the most bizarre exchange she’d ever had with anyone, let alone a teacher. Serves her right to go wandering around in the Order headquarters in the middle of the night.

Silently, she eased open her bedroom door, and slipped inside. She undressed in the darkness and slid into her bed, careful not to wake Hermione slumbering across the room. Ginny lay awake for a long time after that, wondering what had spurned Snape to drink, what had made him call her “Lily,” and whether he’d managed to pick himself up and go to bed.

****

As it turned out, Severus had indeed managed to collect himself long enough to reach a guest bedroom, and that night he dreamt fitfully of what could never have been. He awoke the next morning with a terrible pounding in his head, and a painful heaviness in his heart. Pulling a blanket over his face he made to curl up as the grey morning sun pierced his eyes, but felt a sharp pain in his knee protest the movement. Throwing back the blankets, he found himself fully dressed. Odd. Noting a tear in the knee of his trousers, he carefully rolled the leg up, and found that he hardly had to search for the source of the pain, as a large shard of glass was protruding rather obviously from the side of his knee. It came out with a sickening pull as the dried blood tore away. He inspected it curiously. His voice was gravely as he pulled out his wand and pointed it to the wound.

“Tergeo,” he husked, and the blood disappeared. “Vigoratus,” and the wound closed itself. As quickly as his hungover body allowed, he pulled his pant leg back down, inspected the bloodstained tear, and cast another pair of spells. “Tergeo… Reparo.” Satisfied, he readied himself to face the rest of the insufferable inhabitants of the Black house.