Chapter Text
June, 1998 - April, 1999.
When starting with a blank slate, and almost two decades of barely touched salary, one might think it would be easy to know where to go and what to do. One would, perhaps, not take into account the years of living at the edge of crises, surviving on one's nerves and walking a precipitous line between two camps, while attempting to teach a complicated subject requiring patience and precision to students with the average mental capacity of a troll.
The sudden calm was excruciating. Severus felt as if he were permanently waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it was exhausting.
Gratefully accepting shelter in Filius' surprisingly modern and un-wizard-like London flat, he sent instructions to the goblins of Gringott's requesting that they transfer all his assets into Muggle funds. Opening a regular bank account had been an ordeal in itself with no utility bills to his name. (He might have had to improvise slightly.) A passport was also something to contend with, but luckily at least he had a Muggle birth certificate to aid him. House elves packed up the books from his personal library in the dungeon of Hogwarts, and Filius had them forwarded to Spinner's End, which acted as temporary storage.
Had anyone pushed him for his reasoning on leaving the magical world at this time, Snape was not sure he could have given them a clear answer. He had spent some time travelling overseas during the summer breaks between the wars, and he had always attempted to follow the old doctrine of 'When in Rome...' when he did so. His feeling now was that, if he wished to start from scratch, he should come to some acceptance of both sides of his heritage. While Severus was notoriously accomplished with wandless magic, for example, he was also curious to see who he might become if he chose not to use magic as an aid and crutch. There might be benefits to doing things the hard way for a while; even doing the washing up might help to ground him in the present while he adjusted so much so quickly.
He had known that he could not face a return to Hogwarts; that was definitely in his past. Spinner's End was also his past, and although he wasn't above using it as a storage locker until he found a permanent residence, he was damned if he'd stay there. When he discovered that a developer had been sniffing around the area looking to build a new 'luxury' apartment block, he thought all his Christmases had come at once. He sold the crumbling house which was on a row of semi-derelict buildings, banked the proceeds, and revelled in the soaring freedom he felt in knowing that the bloody place would be obliterated. He didn't care about the gentrification of Cokeworth; he could not imagine that anyone who knew it as it had been would ever willingly live there. Instead, he gloated mildly over his increased bank balance and tried to envision a home of his own.
He contemplated moving southwards permanently; he had occasionally thought it might be nice to be nearer the sea - Brighton, maybe? No, too expensive - and there was an undeniable energy in London that he enjoyed. But some part of Tobias' genes made themselves known, and a voice somewhere to the rear of his hindbrain told him to stop being such a nesh bugger and to settle his roots where they belonged. Hiring a car, he packed a bag and left London for a week-long expedition north.
Severus had always loved the moors near Manchester, and no history of murderous evil could deter him from his joy in the wild open spaces of Saddleworth. He explored its edges afresh with a view to finding a home and felt compelled to follow, one sunny August day when he spotted a signpost for Scapegoat Hill. The irony was such that he felt he could not ignore it. An absence of suitable properties had almost demoralised him before he found an estate agent listing what looked like the perfect stone cottage on a reasonable amount of land just down the road in Golcar. Its simplicity and solidity appealed to him. He booked a viewing for the following morning, and when he discovered that the house had a dry stone cellar, he offered the asking price on the spot. He was enthralled by the potential, excited that it had an allotment included in the parcel of land, could see productive and happy years stretching ahead. Severus, usually patient and methodical, gave his heart to the house as soon as he saw it, and what he came to learn of the town in the following months only made him love it more, especially when he discovered that Golcar's emblem was the Hugeneot lily. The historical precedent of finding a haven from persecution lay gently upon him, and he felt the omens were good.
Hallowe'en saw him settled in his new sanctuary and starting to repair some of the more dubious decorating choices of its previous occupants. He scraped off fossilised wallpaper from decades gone by, and set himself to design a home where he could feel wholly comfortable. He postponed setting up the cellar as a lab, unsure if making Potions would be part of this life yet. In the interim, he used it to store his collection of cauldrons and glassware, collected earlier in the month from Minerva's tartan travesty of a cottage.
He had been nervous about seeing her - it was only the second time since he'd woken up and found himself in hospital - but her delight in his recovery and freedom was evident, and he observed no reproof in her manner. Sitting over afternoon tea in her parlour, she had been at pains to say what she felt was necessary in her usual direct way.
"Severus, my boy, I've known you since you were eleven years old and I am ashamed that I never saw what was happening to you. No, don't look at me like that; I need to say it, and you need to hear it. I'm ashamed that I doubted you, and I don't blame you for walking away from the life that hurt you so badly. If Albus were here, I'd tell him where to shove his 'Greater Good', and I'd smile while I did it. But there are people who care, lad; there are people who want you to be happy, and I'm only one of them. We're here if you need us for anything...if we can help, at all... It's not only that we owe you so much, and Merlin knows we do, but we're fond of you. And that's so much easier now we can understand why you acted like such an arse for so much of the time."
She had smiled that mischievous, sparkly smile of hers and Severus had been astonished to feel tears pricking his eyes. He had made his excuses shortly after. Deciding to write to her once a month, he never said precisely where he had settled, but the post office box he used in Huddersfield gave her enough of an idea. He knew she wouldn't pry, but he appreciated knowing that there was someone invested in his wellbeing after spending so much time alone.
In fact, Snape discovered that there were friends to be made all over his new town. He consciously worked to overcome the reserve he had cultivated and made a point of talking to anyone who showed the slightest inclination. After meeting George and his Jack Russell terrier, Frank, outside the post office one afternoon, he learned that there was an informal group who played Backgammon on a Tuesday evening at the Rising Sun pub; he went. He was the youngest man there by a good twenty-five years, but it was a relief to mix with people who knew nothing about him and who accepted him at face value. When he visited the butchers on a whim for pork chops, not long after he moved in, he saw a flyer for a book club. When Harry behind the counter noticed, he said that it was a club his sister Susan had just started the month before and, as long as he didn't mind being surrounded by middle-aged women, he'd be very welcome. Severus grinned and said he might give it a try. He chatted to the staff at the local garden centre when he went to buy seeds for his vegetable patch and listened to their advice on gardening tools. Bit by bit, and despite often finding it very tiring to go against decades of training and self-discipline, Snape wove himself into the fabric of the town.
Six months after he moved in, the nightmares started again.