Heavy tools and determination and seven tears of an innocent, loving, kind, brave Muggle woman shed on his skin and he was able to take a deep breath. He took a deep breath and the last of the walls crumbled. It fell to ashes and dust in his mind.

It was all there, laid bare before him as it had been the moment they had snapped his wand, the moment they had cast the curse on him. Memories rushing back to him. There was Eleanor in one corner of his mind, hugging him and smiling at him and with a hand on his cheek telling him that she loved him, cooking for him and looking almost cheekily over her shoulder to see if he had set the table already. Eleanor offering him a cup of tea and telling him to talk about it. Eleanor lying lifelessly on the floor, being healed by his godson. Feelings that were indescribable rushing back into his conscious. Feelings that had been suppressed for the last few days. Boxed up behind heavy walls in his mind. Feelings for her. He loved that woman. She had been more of a mother to him than his own had ever been. She had cared — from the first moment, she had first spoken to him over the wall in the garden. She had even cared about him as a boy. She had known him longer than anyone still alive and she knew him just as well these days. She knew who he was and he loved her for that and despite of that.

Draco, the little boy, the young man and the almost-adult smirking and smiling and grinning at him. Showing off his stuffed snake by the time he had been two or three. Being so desperate and so stuck in his own decision to prove himself at the age of...too young. Smiling with Aideen. Kissing Aideen and holding her and smirking at him. Helping him set the table. Smiling softly over the rim of his cauldron back at Hogwarts as a first year. With his nose broken by Granger in his third year, too proud to go to Madam Pomfrey but asking him for help. Grinning at his laptop when Aideen had emailed him. Being cuddled by Eleanor. Smirking evilly at Granger. He loved that boy. Had loved him since he had been a helpless little newborn, crying and screaming for food and attention and love and a fresh nappy. He loved that boy.

Granger at the other corner of his mind. Granger smiling softly at him and Granger falling on top of him after that apparition. Granger looked absolutely stunned as he had taken her hand. Granger in his arms. Granger as she fought valiantly to produce a little vial to contain his memories in in the Shrieking Shack. Granger almost crying over him. Granger with freshly shed tears in her eyes. Granger being absolutely afraid of going into Malfoy Manor but still going inside. Granger next to him in the car. Granger arguing with him. Granger in his arms. Granger smiling exhaustedly just before she had to be in his arms. Granger smiling. Granger in his arms.

He didn't love Granger.

But given the time, he knew he could. He knew he could.

Lily, seeing her for what she was. Lily had been a friend and he had been in love with Lily. Too long. But she had been the first object of his desire. Lily rejecting him. Lily turning her back on him. Lily smiling as a little girl and Lily sneering at him later on. Lily ignoring him. Lily as she kissed Potter and ignored him. Lily had been the object he had been in love with. Lily — had he loved Lily? It had certainly seemed like it all those years but now...

She didn't care if she had all her eyebrows or all her eyelashes or even any of her other body parts. She just needed two legs and two feet that could bring her, easily, to her own room from the doorstep. More, she didn't need.

She ignored the twinge between her legs. She ignored the odd little pain now and again, she ignored the tears that fell silently. She ignored everything and just kept on walking, rushing, almost running down the corridor and up the stairs and into her room. She didn't bother to spell her door shut. She only saw her bed through a kind of mist and knew that she could cower on that. Could press her leg to her chest and tightly together and could forget all the rest.

Could forget the regret she already felt. The feeling of betrayal.

Betrayal. She hadn't betrayed anyone — only herself. She hadn't wanted this to happen this way. It hadn't been good or even satisfactory. It had taken too long and had been too boring and too humiliating. She felt ashamed for showing anyone her breasts and the rest of her body. She felt violated, almost, even though she had wanted it. She felt that she had given someone something that hadn't been rightly his.

Could she change it? No.

That's why, she knew, she had to forget this had ever happened.

Self-obliviation. Didn't know if that worked, or existed, or if it did and did work, would she use it more often? Would people?

She needed to get this line of thought from her head. Desperately.

Pressing her back tightly to the head of her bed, she pulled her legs, shoes and all, tighter to her body and barely noticed that her chest was heaving from the sobs she tried not to sob.

"Shite," she said loudly to herself and bent down to grab the cardboard box she knew she had shoved there when she had moved in. Without magic, she pulled it to her and opened it, and because she knew she had put it on the top, she pulled out her old teddy bear and after pressing herself to the headboard again, she held the teddy bear tightly to her chest.

She shed tears on him. She wasn't sorry that she cried on him, that her tears fell onto his cheek. She wasn't sorry at all. He needed to know that she loved him. She loved him.

Suddenly, and she couldn't tell what had happened, he looked up at her and the coldness she had seen in his eyes only a few moments ago was gone. He looked up and resembled a little boy more than ever before. His eyes showed wonder and excitement and fear and difficulty.

"Eleanor," he croaked, his voice rough and scratchy. Not at all the usual liquid silk he usually carried in his voice.

"What is it, Severus?" she asked, surprised at his tone and at the way he kept looking at her. Tender. That was it. He looked at her tenderly.

"I almost died," he explained.

"What?" she asked, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "What's happened?"

"Before I came back here," he explained. "I was on the brink of death. In more than one ways, I suspect."

"In the Shrieking Shack, you told me, love," she nodded. "But..."

"I was a spy. All my energy went into being a spy. Everything I was, everything I had learned to be. Hide it, show a front..."

"Severus, I don't..."

"There is too much to explain," he shook his head slightly and suddenly turned sideways on his chair. "I cannot explain. I am not a spy anymore."

"No, of course not," she said automatically, still not quite understanding what he wanted to tell her.

"And I don't ever want to be one again. I don't want to hide all of this," he said softly, barely comprehensible. It was almost as if he spoke to himself, not to her. "I don't want to forget about the pain and the joy. I don't..."

"Severus, you're not making much sense. Were you under a curse?"

He looked at her, deeply, as if he was trying to read her and after a long pause, he nodded. "I was under my own curse. But never again. Never again," he spoke, still more to himself. Quite suddenly, his arms shot out and around her waist and quite suddenly and unceremoniously, he had stood up, arms shot out, and she felt herself being squeezed tightly, pressed to his body as if she were a stuffed animal. He hugged her so tightly that she felt her lungs couldn't possibly fill up with enough air to let her live.

"I don't ever want that again and if I can't control..." he paused and pulled away slightly even though his arms were still around here. "Did you cry on me?"

She nodded. What a silly question. He still had the traces on his cheek.

"Seven. I counted them subconsciously," he nodded. "I read something somewhere about human tears and intent and lo..., erm, love," he said quite businesslike.

"Severus, are you quite alright? Are you sure you're not still under a curse?" she was still worried. He acted weirdly and out of reflex, she felt his forehead. No, not feverish. Definitely not feverish at all.

"I am alright," he smiled crookedly. "I am under no curse at all. I think I need to find a book on this. I need to ask Granger to..." he stopped.

"Hermione?" she used his pause. He had to explain all of this to her. In all detail but why bring Granger up like this in an already strange conversation? Why her again? She used her opportunity when he, still with his arms around her, seemed to see something in the distance and not her anymore. "What is it with Hermione Granger, love? Did she do something to you? Did you do something to her?"

His eyes fell back on her again and slowly, he nodded his head, then shook it. "No," he said. "But I think I have to...if I promise that I will explain everything, may I borrow your car?"

Eleanor frowned. "Severus, yes, but I want the explanation first. Did you say you had your magic back?"

"I do."

Her door was inched open and she looked up wiping the few remaining tears from her eyes quickly. She knew this entire thing had been her own fault and now, a few hours that she had spent crying and trying not to think — but thinking — over the entire matter, she realised that she had brought all this over herself.

She had basically forced Ian to have sex with her. She had made those eyes at him that she hadn't even known she was capable of making. She had kissed him first. Or had let him kiss her, she wasn't sure anymore. But she knew she had been the one to pull his short over his head and to touch his bare chest. First. It had been her own fault, not Ian's. He had done nothing but what he thought she wanted. And she had wanted it.

But sometimes, and she realised that only now, even things she wanted were stupid and silly and regrettable. She shouldn't have done it but a few hours crying and feeling sorry for herself had put things into perspective again. She had done this.

If she had so desperately wished for Snape to have been the one to...well...she should have just plucked up the courage to tell him how she felt. But that, she hadn't been able to do. And so, she had decided. She had decided where and when and how and with whom. It had been stupid and she felt utterly stupid and alone.

Alone, until the door to her room opened and she could see, clearly now but with aching eyes, that all of her boys stood there, quite unsure, quite insecure. Harry with Teddy on his arm and Ron, carrying a dummy and a stuffed griffin and Teddy's blanket. All three of them with expressions on their faces that almost made her laugh but at least Teddy didn't look like Snape at the moment. That, possibly, would have made her cry again.

"Come in then," she said tiredly, rubbing her eyes.

"We only came in," explained Harry in what she recognised now as his soothe-Teddy-voice.

"It's fine," she nodded.

"Why did you cry?" asked Ron bluntly.

"I, erm," she shook her head. "I am just stupid."

The boys, all three of them, moved towards her bed and Harry, with Teddy, sat on her right side and Ron, with the dummy and the stuffed griffin and the blanket on her left and she wasn't sure which side to lean to. Which of the boys she wanted to hug. Which one she ought to choose as her comforter.

The two of them exchanged a glance and Harry put Teddy slowly on the bed before he slipped his shoes off and sat against the headboard next to her, and as she looked over, she saw that Ron had done that same and that Teddy was crawling towards her and put his head on her chest, his little body against her tummy.

"Is there anything we can do for you?" asked Harry softly, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

"Yeah, should we, erm, hex someone?" asked Ron, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as well. "Did he hurt you?"

"Did who hurt me?" asked Hermione, looking at Ron.

"Snape," informed her Harry.

She shook her head. "No, he didn't hurt me," she said slowly. "He has his magic back. Will you fix it for him with the Ministry, Harry?"

"All done. What's happened then?"

"I was just stupid," she explained again. "Nothing of any importance."

"Her-My-Oh-Nee sad," Teddy stated coolly and stroked, with his chubby hands, her upper chest.

"Not anymore, Ted," she smiled and hugged him to her, Harry and Ron sitting closely to her.

"Can we do anything?" asked Ron again.

"Just..." she felt fresh tears prickling at the back of her eyes again. Tears that weren't for Ian, or for her own stupidity, tears that were for Snape and her unrequited crush and for the unfairness of it all.

"Yes?" asked Harry, "We'll do anything, you know?"

"Just be there," she choked out. "Just be there. I just need my friends now."

In the end, Eleanor won. In the end, he told her, once more, everything. Well, he didn't tell her about whatever it was he felt now and whatever he felt he could feel in the future for Granger, but he told her about the counter-curse and about the trap he had pulled himself into. He explained, for the first time, how Occlumency worked and how he had to employ it for so long. How it had taken him years to perfect it and how, in the end, he had been overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of his own protection against himself and his own thoughts and feelings.

And in the end, she even won doubly. In the end, when he had finished telling her, it had been dark outside, and too late to drive all the way to London.

In the end, she had grinned at him and had given him a kiss on the cheek and had told him to go the day after. Had told him that he should get a wand and all the stuff he needed to be a proper wizard. And had, in the end, made fun of him because he hadn't even considered apparating to London if he thought it was so urgent.

He had, definitely, thought about apparition. But after the experience with his Occlumency, he knew he was out of touch. Magic and doing magic might be, he thought, like driving a bicycle. But it was simpler and a lot less dangerous to wobble around a bit on a bike while driving for the first time again in quite some time than apparating for the first time in a while.

But he would go. He truly needed to get a wand and a cauldron and a few ingredients for Eleanor's backache. He needed to make himself visible in the wizarding world again, maybe even go to the Ministry before he bought a wand. Just to see if they would still kiss him. Didn't trust those people any farther than he could throw them.

She had won in the end. She had stayed until it was time for bed and had only gone when he had been ready to go to bed himself. She had convinced him to make the long drive to London in the morning. And by morning, he knew what he would tell Granger. Couldn't very well order her to go to Diagon Alley with him.