Severus took a seat at the bar of one of the six pubs the smallish muggle town offered. There were as many pubs as there were churches in the town. Not that Severus was totally surprised by that fact. He might be wrong, as he hadn't seen the entire town yet, but he knew towns like this one. He'd lived in one similar to it for many years. Only difference was, his town was reliant on purely industry. Once it dried up, the town pretty much had, too.

This one was faring better. Perhaps that was why it was chosen for him. He had no idea, and likely never would truly know.

His healer left for good yesterday, memories completely altered. She would have no recollection of aiding Severus Snape while he convalesced. He wasn't sure anyone had counted on him recovering as completely as he had.

Hell, he sure hadn't!

Seven months. Granted, only two of those had been in a magically induced coma so that his wounds could heal. So, he wasn't completely out of the loop. Aside from the fact that the past seven years, he'd been a bit busy with the magical world goings on to pay much attention to what the muggle world had been doing.

Thus, coming to pubs. Sitting here and doing what he did best, listening. He listened to anything and everything people said. Not to be nosey, but to pick up on information.

Kingsley encouraged him to make this town of Carrignaveen, County Cork, Ireland home. His actual house was protected by a Fidelius Charm and located just west of here. He could drive (as would be his usual mode of transportation since this was a muggle town) here easily enough.

Yet it was far enough away that no one should stumble across his property in error (that had been his only demand on Kingsley about this plan really). No one but Harry Potter, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Minerva McGonagall knew that he was alive. No one but Harry and Kingsley knew where his home was. It was no reflection on Minerva, or her trustworthiness, that she did not know. It was more giving information only to the people who truly needed it. Minerva just wasn't going to be visiting him. Harry and Kingsley would be periodically.

He was not counting on those having knowledge of his home's location expanding between the two wizards. So, if he ever got caught, his throat slit in his own bed. Well, he'd have only himself to blame because he knew Kingsley nor Harry would betray him. Harry wouldn't even tell his godfather. The wizard understood it was paramount to their plan that no one know.

He had no desire to "make himself at home". He was perfectly fine making potions and creating new ones in his home. He was not going to be left to his own devices, it seemed. Kingsley had given him an assignment before taking his leave with the healer.

Kingsley wanted a list of five people Severus had introduced himself to when he came to visit him next week.

"Five people?" Severus asked.

"Yes, five. It's a reasonable number."

"Reasonable for whom? Have you paid any attention to me the past twenty-seven years, Kingsley?"

"All I'm asking for you to do is introduce yourself. It could be the clerk at the petrol station for all I care."

"Have you looked at me, Kingsley?"

"I have, Severus. You, obviously, still have your voice. Use it."

He huffed, sounding petulant, even he knew that.

"Fine," he muttered, through gritted teeth.

"Excellent. Next week then."

They had agreed one week between his visits to start now that the healer was gone was acceptable. To ensure he truly was all right. He supposed Kingsley wanted to ensure he wasn't going to starve himself to death or something, too. He, and his plan, would have to be scrapped if Severus wasn't here to aid them.

No doubt Kingsley would verify somehow , so he couldn't make up names, as much as he might like to do just that. It wouldn't be difficult for him to do. All he'd have to do was find the person connected to the name and ask them if they talked to a man who bore a face no one could love. He was pretty easily identifiable. And likely memorable. The Minister for Magic was thorough that way. There was a reason he'd been chosen to take the position toward the end of the war, and kept it.

Severus wasn't a personable person before the war.

Now!

Well, Bellatrix had ensured Severus Snape now bore a face that likely no one would ever look at fondly. When he expected not to make it much past his thirties, he hadn't really cared that he was still single with absolutely no options.

Now, though. He had the rest of his life ahead of him. Potentially a long life, and certainly Bella ensured he'd spend it alone. Looking in his mirror tonight before leaving. Well, he could acknowledge thoughts of just ending his own misery was a bit tempting. Albus hadn't expected him to live past the end of the war. Severus realized, now, that he'd been set up much the same way Harry had.

And yet. He was here. He survived what most deemed unsurvivable. (Harry Potter was living proof there were exceptions to every rule.) There had to be a reason. Right? That and his word meant something. He didn't have a whole lot left, really. His reputation had been in tatters for years thanks to his duplicity. The Minister trusted him, though.

A deal was a deal. He committed to aid the Minister for Magic until he believed all former death eaters and followers were caught. It didn't matter at the time he agreed to the deal, he was quite confident he wouldn't survive his wounds. As well as being rather out of it from the strong pain killers he'd been administered.

Likely, too, Kingsley knew if he did not give him this assignment, Severus wouldn't leave his house other than to purchase groceries.

As to his task.

His home here was outfitted with magical copies of everything recovered post-war. And it was pretty literally everything. From everywhere. If it was something that a copy couldn't be made of, like a sculpture or something, magical and muggle photographs had been provided of all angles and surfaces of each item. He was hoping to glean information as to a former location (or owner in some cases) on some of them. He and Harry Potter would go to those places, investigate, and hopefully catch them. If it was someone too powerful for just the two of them to capture, Severus would forward the tip to Harry, who would then take an auror team with him to pursue said tip.

Few questioned The Boy Who Lived twice being in charge of the task of hunting down all of Voldemort's followers, in any capacity. They were trying to round them all up, formal Death Eaters or not.

Kingsley thought it would be better, at least here in the beginning of this project, that those who escaped believed that they were not being hunted. If it was just the two of them working together, any … associates with those captured wouldn't attribute it to aurors behind the captures, but instead (hopefully) would just assume they'd made a mistake. Thus, Harry and Severus working together.

Severus wasn't sure how well this was going to work, but he was committed to seeing the Dark Lord's reign of fear and terror completely ended. He wasn't sure this didn't go above and beyond his agreement with Albus, but honestly, that hadn't dictated his actions for years now. It wasn't as if he had anything else to do but live the life of a scarred recluse.

That all led him to where he was tonight.

At a pub, drinking alone.

He looked around the pub with a sigh.

This was his second, no third, time in this particular one.

The healer, an antiquated woman who knew her job, had been asked by Kingsley not to leave the house during her stay unless necessary. Severus felt … bad a couple of times, leaving her there alone but there was something less maudlin about having a drink in a pub, even one full of strangers, rather than home alone. And the healer was no one he could befriend. The fewer memories and things to alter, the better.

There were a handful of people here, but no one he wanted to approach. The women (not that there were many in here, it wasn't that type of pub) didn't look at him. Not unexpected. The men were … curious. He was an unknown. A foreigner. He looked like someone who had stories to tell.

He was not a circus display!

The first time he'd come in here, the entire pub had gotten quiet. He'd fought the urge to turn around and leave. To hide his face. To do anything but walk up to the bar and sit down to order a drink.

He'd withheld the scowl and snarl that were usually automatic when he felt he was being stared at and made fun of most of his life. It took every ounce of will power he had not to let them see he was a foul human being. He would not … make a home or friends if he started out that way. There was nothing saying he had to stay here, and maybe he wouldn't, but he knew Kingsley would have carefully vetted this place before placing Severus here in something as permanent as the home he had.

He knew that while the Marauders were bullies, Severus hadn't been completely innocent as to his Hogwarts experience. Both as a student, and as a professor. It was easier, though, to act the role of an arse and have no friends than to try to be nice and end up with the same thing.

At least people hating him then was on his terms that way, which Kingsley had told him was not the appropriate way to think!

What did he know? He was liked by most everyone.

The other pubs hadn't … appealed to him. Too uptight. Or too seedy, even for him, in the case of one. He wasn't looking to get into barroom brawls. He wasn't looking to take home trollops either. He just wanted to sit and have a drink, and observe. It's what he did best.

Maybe bring a book and read instead of doing so at home alone.

So, he'd come back to this one where, while no one spoke to him, they hadn't been impolite. The barmaid had even been … kind.

Five names.

He assumed if he could give him a list of three, Kingsley would accept that. Maybe, depending on how much information he could give him about each one to go with the three names.

How he loathed the very idea.

He shook his head, returning his focus to the bar. He huffed. It shouldn't be this hard. It always had been for him, though, even as a child. He just didn't fit in. Bella hadn't helped him feel as if he ever would going forward. How was he supposed to make any legitimate relationships looking like a freak?

"Long day?" the barmaid said.

He lifted his eyes to look at her. He must have made a sound or something, drawing attention to himself. He didn't even realize that he had.

How to even answer her question. No, his day was not truly long. Not this day anyway.

"You could say that," he murmured.

He couldn't talk very loud anymore. Not a real hardship. He didn't plan on talking much. He wasn't teaching classrooms full of dunderheaded students who thought the subject of potions was meaningless. And would, thank his lucky stars, not have to do that again.

He took the barmaid in because her question had been empathetic not indifferent. As if she … cared.

She was of average height for a female, perhaps a bit shorter than that, but not overly short in stature. She had long, curly brown hair he would describe as being similar to the tawny hue of his father's preferred whiskey. The curls were something he could imagine the witches he taught at Hogwarts over the years salivating over. He could see, too, though that they might be problematic. Like his hair looking oily no matter what he did, the curls could probably look like a tangled heap of a rat's nest if not cared for properly. Her eyes were a similar shade of brown, too. Her face was a pleasant one. A hint of makeup, but not overdone. Her eyes betrayed her emotions and feelings quite clearly. (He'd learned she was not someone he wanted to get on the bad side of very quickly the first time or two he'd come in here. She might be petite, but she took no shite from anyone. Her ire had not been aimed at him either time, otherwise, he likely wouldn't have come back. And she wouldn't have been greeting him politely tonight.)

The emotions and feelings aspect made him think, if she was magical and attended Hogwarts, she would have been sorted into Gryffindor. Of course, she would have been his student and would loathe him, as all the others did.

He huffed at that thought.

Except Harry Potter.

The one who probably had the biggest reason to loathe and hate him.

"Oh," she said, clearly taking the moment of silence to realize she recognized him. "Hello again. What can I get for you?"

"Do you carry Bushmill's?"

The first couple of times he'd come in, he'd gotten a beer and left. He'd done this at all of the local pubs. It was far easier to walk away from a bottle or glass of beer than one full of good whiskey. This was the only one he'd come back to a third time. He wasn't even sure why. It was no more aesthetically appealing than the other handful of pubs the small town offered. A barstool was a barstool.

"Of course," she said.

"Neat," he said.

She stepped away then to see to his ordered drink.

She was dressed casually: blue jeans and a top he'd see on anyone on the street. Appropriate looking footwear that looked like muggle hiking boots.

He watched as she drew out the bottle and poured the whiskey into the tumbler. She was generous with it, filling it almost to the point of spilling over.

"Thank you," he said, taking the glass when she set it in front of him.

He sipped, nodding his appreciation. His old man was a drunk, but there were some things he was correct about. Bushmill's was one of them. Of course, his father hadn't been able to afford it most of the time, but when he could, a bottle made its way into the house. That wasn't often, and he marked the bottles so that no one else could have any.

He regarded her as she did things behind the bar like clean dirty glasses and restock the garnish that would go in various drinks as he ran his finger along the rim of the glass. There was no one else sitting at the bar tonight, so it was her or the wall. She was far more … pleasing to watch so he chose her. She looked … young.

He huffed. She was nearing his spot again, wiping down the bar as she went. Here went nothing. He wouldn't introduce himself if he said nothing, would he?

"Long day for you," he asked.

Her eyes snapped up to meet his. She was surprised. He did not see revulsion or insult that he deigned to speak to her. He knew those looks well. He'd expected to see that, which was why he opened the conversation as he did. Small talk versus trying to pick her up chatter. At least he hoped! She'd been the bartender during each of his visits and, other than ordering his drink, he hadn't spoken to anyone. Surely she would know that.

"Not so bad today, but now that the sun has set that could change." Her eyes scanned the room and he saw that despite her calm demeanor she was vigilant as to being aware of what was going on. Important especially, he imagined, being a rather petite woman in this environment.

Ah, yes, he supposed that would have a bearing on things. The sun being up or down hadn't influenced his father, but he imagined it would for most people. Most people who worked. Most people who wanted to be home with the families they had.

"I see," he said, glancing at the current inhabitants of the pub. There were quite a few left yet, but he imagined it was early enough for that to be the case. "You are here until closing then?"

"I am," she said.

She stopped wiping down the bar, walking away to help someone who approached the bar, leaving her towel behind. He took that to mean that she would likely return. That she didn't find him bothersome.

"Another round, Wren?" she asked, walking to the cooler that held the beer. The man, Wren, merely nodded and the barmaid took four bottles out, opening each of them for him before setting them on the bar.

"Thank you, Hermione," he said.

The young man winked. The barmaid, Hermione (he had a name for his list), didn't seem to notice. Or if she did, she didn't focus on it or react, which caused the man to blush, likely from embarrassment that his attempt at flirtation had failed.

"You're welcome, Wren."

The man walked away then, returning to a table where he and three other men were seated.

She returned to where she'd left her towel.

"Regulars," he said, gesturing to the four men.

"I'd say like clockwork, but I think clocks may be less reliable than the four of them coming in here."

Severus chuckled softly, and she smiled at him. It was a nice smile and made her eyes … look rather fetching. A thought he had no business thinking. He wasn't here to develop … feelings. He just needed to make enough conversation to warrant an introduction being appropriate. A name for his list.

She went about her work, he went about his observing. The barmaid, Hermione, as well as the patrons. It was clear he was the only unknown here this evening. They recognized him from his previous visits, but they didn't know him. No one but her spoke to him.

She refreshed his whiskey before he requested it, just topping it off. The second time she tried, he set his hand over the glass. He wasn't here to get drunk. He was nursing it tonight, and she nodded then, seeming to recognize that.

It was clear, as he listened to her conversations with the patrons who came up to the bar to get their beverages instead of having her go to them, that she was an intelligent woman. And about a variety of topics. He heard her talk of football (she clearly didn't like talking about it, but she had), community occurrences, history (someone brought up the Vietnam War of all things), and entertainment.

"Hermione," he whispered when she was near his spot at the bar again.

"Yes," she said, glancing from his glass, which obviously did not need to be topped off to him. 

"I'm Severus," he said softly.

She offered him her hand, which he accepted and shook.

"It's nice to meet you, Severus. Does that mean you'll be coming back? I've seen you once or twice before, but you never said anything."

"I am still getting acclimated as I recently moved to the area. I think you can count on my returning, though."

"Well, I look forward to seeing you the next time then."

"Are there nights you do not work?"

"Mm, Monday and Tuesday."

"I will bear that in mind. It's not every day someone can fill my complex order so capably."

She winked at him as she gave a laugh. Her left hand went to a gold chain at her neck that had a lovely gold eagle pendant hanging from it. It looked as if its visible eye was accentuated by a diamond. She grabbed the eagle charm and slid it along its chain, a gesture she obviously did often. He was quite certain she wasn't even aware she was doing it.

"It's always nice to meet new neighbours, Severus. Welcome to County Cork."

"You do not sound as if you are from here either."

She narrowed her eyes a bit, and he wondered if he'd erred by mentioning her obvious lack of an Irish accent. She dropped the eagle pendant to bring her index finger to her lips.

"Don't tell anyone."

It was his turn to chuckle.

"London," she said.

"Cokeworth," he said, raising his glass in a mock salute to his now demolished childhood home.

All evidence of Severus Snape's survival and role in things had been wiped off the planet. That meant any space he'd occupied at Hogwarts - as headmaster or professor - had also been cleaned thoroughly. Kingsley realized that Severus might have to … get close to some followers to get leads on others. So, his duplicity was purposely left … up for debate.

If he was ever able to return to magical Britain, he would be cleared of all charges then. Kingsley had better keep his end of that bargain, because he was taking a lot on faith. Not that he thought Kingsley was that devious of a person.

He wasn't Albus.

"Mm," she said.

"How long have you been here?"

"A little over seven years."

"Oh, then your feet have gotten rather firmly planted."

"For now," she said.

She looked at him. Really looked. He shook his head at the thought, because no doubt she would find him as repulsive as he did.

His only demand on Kingsley when outfitting the home here was that there to be no magical mirrors.

"Same," he said with a nod.

She left him alone for the most part. Their conversation continued in that vein. She'd stop to check on him and they'd exchange a few words. He hadn't learned much of anything about her nor her about him. It wasn't at all unpleasant, he realized, when he closed out his tab.

"Do you have a way home?" he asked.

"I do, Severus, thank you for asking."

He nodded as he stood and took his leave. He was among the last to leave. This would be the best way to … be social and get to know people. He knew that. He just wished he wasn't bloody awful at small talk.

He left then, pulling the collar of his coat up around his neck and pulling his scarf into place. From there, he made his way to an acceptable apparition point to return home.

"Honey, I'm home," he murmured once he arrived in his entryway.

Of course, there was no one there to greet him with the healer now gone.

He hung his coat and scarf up on the coatrack near the door. He ran his hand along the soft cashmere of the scarf. Harry asked Molly Weasley to make a scarf that he could give to a muggle friend, so there were no charms on it or anything. Harry had even bought the fabric apparently.

It was the nicest thing Severus had ever been given in his life. And the scarf felt … not good, but not scratchy against the still healing and somewhat festering scars on his neck and jaw. He wondered not for the first time what Lily would think of him forging a … friendship with her son.

He liked to think she would be accepting. He truly had no idea, as he'd come to the conclusion while recuperating that he wasn't sure he ever truly knew Lily Evans to begin with. Not the person she'd grown into. He was very glad Harry could understand that while he loved his mother, he wasn't in love with the woman. There was a difference, and Severus could honestly say he'd never been in love. He'd never allowed anyone to get that close to him.

He made his way to the kitchen. He had barely had two tumblers of whiskey, but thought eating something prior to bed would be wise.

He paused, glancing behind him and then into the kitchen again, ensuring he had come home to the right house.

He had. This was his house.

There shouldn't have been anyone, or anything, here when he returned from his evening out.

"Well, hello there," he said to the orange feline on his counter. He didn't even have the courtesy to look guilty at being caught scrounging in his kitchen.

"Meow."

"And who are you?" he asked, slowly approaching the cat.

"Meow."

"Yes, you said that already. That doesn't tell me who you are nor how you got into my secret kept home. I know that you're not Minerva."

Minerva wasn't orange in her feline form. She also did not know where he was living. Of course, that didn't explain how this cat got into his home.

"Meow."

The orange cat had a rather smooshed face that he butted up against Severus' hand. Severus gave into the wordless request, petting the feline. He encountered something around his neck, which answered one question Severus had.

"You have a collar, so it would seem that you're not a stray," he murmured. He ran his fingers along the cat's back. The cat enjoyed the attention, but Severus wasn't doing it just to pet him. He was feeling whether he was thin. "You have meat on you, so you're not starving."

"Meow."

"I'm not going to be guilted into giving you a can of tuna," he said. It was all that he might have to offer him since he had no cats himself. He smoothed his hand along the cat's back and then over his long and rather fluffy tail.

No response. Of course not, he was talking to a cat.

"I do not feel comfortable going into my animagus form at this juncture, but soon I will and you can reveal your secrets to me, Cat."

Wordlessly, he cast the animagus reversal spell, a defensive spell at the ready. Nothing happened, other than the cat seemed to almost wink at him. This was just a cat, not an animagus. He was really being paranoid.

Or he'd let Hermione top off his glass one too many times.

She'd only charged him for two drinks, too. Generous, because it had probably totalled three with the amount she'd given him with the first drink.

"Meow."

"All right, it's time for me to go to bed. Shoo," he said. "Go home."

"Meow." This one was said with some emotion behind it.

"You cannot stay here. This is not your home."

He picked him up then, stroking under his chin and over his ears. He carried him to the back door off the kitchen and set him on the stoop there.

"I'm sure your owner is missing you. Go, let them know you're all right."

The furry intruder made his way down the three porch steps and then trotted off deeper into his back yard into the night. The last Severus saw was that bushy orange tail swishing in the darkness.

"How in the blazes did he get in here?"

He returned inside, locking and warding both doors before making himself a sandwich and then heading up to his room. Tomorrow, he would start with his research. He felt pretty good today for the first time since waking up after the final battle. He was going to bed not completely exhausted, feeling as if just sitting taxed him. He took that as a good sign that it was, in fact, time for his healer to be dismissed.

He still wasn't sure hiding out near Cork was going to work. Kingsley believed it would because there weren't any magical communities in this area of Ireland. So, no one should accidentally recognize him.

He regarded his reflection in the mirror as he readied himself for bed.

"Assuming anyone would recognize me anyway," he muttered with a scowl.

Last, he brushed out his hair. It hadn't been this long in years. Since he changed sides eighteen years ago. The year leading up to the war's end had been a bit grueling, so things like shaving and haircuts hadn't exactly been a priority. Evidently, no one wanted to cut it without his permission while he was unconscious. Various healers arguing over who was going to risk getting hexed for cutting it against his wishes amused him.

For now, he was keeping it.

Extinguishing the lights, he got into bed. Realizing only now, he hadn't actually eaten the sandwich he made. It was no doubt still on the counter downstairs. Thoughts of the cat had distracted him from doing that. He wasn't that hungry, and he'd nursed two tumblers of whiskey over hours.

And if he woke with a hangover in the morning? Well, he was a potions master, after all, and had a medicine cabinet with the cure for that ailment already prepared.

He had the start of a name to put on Kingsley's list anyway. That was something. He hated doing it, but, realistically, knew that he couldn't go through life being a complete hermit. Despite having to avoid the magical world.

One name was better than no names. Surely Kingsley would see that!

And that, as well as the person that name belonged to, was far more pleasant to go to sleep thinking about than other thoughts that could fill his head.

He took it, even if it wouldn't keep the nightmares at bay.

Story ©Susan Falk/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com