Then
Saturday, 8th August, 1981~
"I need to talk to you."
Severa's statement, spewed immediately from her mouth when the door to the little cottage before her had swung open, nearly makes her wince. She sounds desperate, her voice rough with too much wine and too little sleep, and she can tell the couple standing just past the threshold are just as surprised as she is. It may be an effect of finding Severa Snape on their doorstep at ten thirteen pm, though, and she doesn't have time to wonder. She flicks her eyes from the woman, her one-time friend, to that of the man beside her.
"Both of you."
The red-haired woman, Lily, immediately nods, reaching out to grasp Severa's hand and tug her into the small home, muttering apologies for her husband's rudeness as she leads Severa- and Potter trailing after them- into the kitchen. She sits Sev- because she's Sev to Lily, the empty little twinge in her gut tells her, she was when they were children and she will be until her dying day- gently in one of the wooden chairs and sets about making tea, reaching into a cabinet for a jar of biscuits as James hovers awkwardly.
Sev understands what the man must be feeling- a quiet night in with his wife ruined by the sudden appearance of a school-yard nemesis on the stoop does not a calming situation make- and feels another little twinge in her gut. She experiences a momentary, somewhat wine-fueled longing to reach out and comfort him before she strangles the sensation; she's supposed to be sullen and foreboding, damnit, not giggly latent regrets.
"Why are you here, Sev?" Lily pushes the jar of cookies- chocolate, how divine- across the table, not bothering to beat around the bush so late at night. Severa smiles, remembering many a time when Lily's House-affiliated bluntness had shocked her into ceding control in the middle of a fight when they were teenagers. It makes her want to cry (something she's had quite enough of lately, thank you much) though, of course, she doesn't. She merely sniffs haughtily, taking the steaming mug Potter offers her and sipping at it so as not to burn her tongue. Coffee, presumably decaffeinated, with enough sugar to taste and half as much milk as what-all; exactly to her preference.
"Severa?" Lily looks at James sharply, her brow knit together in mild confusion at Potter's use of Sev's given name. Severa doesn't blame her; practically from the get-go he and his friends, those empty-headed Gryffindor fools, had given her the horrid nickname of Snivellus Snape, occasionally shortened to just Snivelly or (most often) Snivs when it suited them. When they did use her given name it was always her surname- the only gift her horrid Muggle father had deigned to grace upon her in his entire wretched life- and always with a bit of sourness in their tone.
Just now, though, Sev could've sworn he sounded almost... not hateful. She sighs, shaking herself of the thought; no use dwelling on fantastical thoughts, or putting off her reason for being here any longer. She takes a breath, looking Lily directly in the eye as she sets down her drink.
"I've had a child."
Lily's face lights up before the last syllable is fully out of Sev's mouth, a peal of delighted laughter ringing out that startles Severa badly enough that she gives a small jump. A bit of coffee sloshes over the rim of the ceramic, scalding the back of her hand.
"Oh, Sev, that's wonderful! A baby- when did it happen? Who's the lucky father; is it someone we know?"
Lily has not been her friend for a very long time; though it's not been horribly long since they sat up gossiping- which amounted to Lily studying and deflecting while Severa went about whining about Potter and Black- in the Room til well after midnight, only five scant years, but that's a quarter of their lives. They've both grown up since then. Severa really shouldn't feel as terrible, as apprehensive, as she does about imparting the next bit of information. Her heart- filled with a ridiculous, impossible amount of feeling- leads a small rebellion against her mind even as she opens her mouth to answer.
"It's," She has to stop, swallow past the lump that's grown in her throat. "He's nobody. Just a faceless man, who may or may not be among the Dark Lord's ranks, singled out to take part in the evening's entertainment as a reward."
Lily sucks in a shocked lungful of air as James settles next to her with a stony expression. "How do you figure into that equation?"
Severa turns a bitter, self-deprecating smile towards her ex-rival, quashing down the wave of nausea she feels as she answers.
"I was offered as entertainment."
A slightly pained sound escapes Lily, as if she's doing all she can to keep herself from moaning in sympathetic agony, but Severa brushes any emotional comfort she gains aside as she nibbles at a biscuit. Now is not the time for offering or receiving comfort; not, at least, from Potter and Lily.
"You weren't-"
"It doesn't matter. Not then, not now, not ever, because no one will ever know about-" Sev takes a shaky breath and sips at her luke-warm drink, silently cursing herself. She'd meant to come about this rationally, not sounding like a bloody lunatic.
"I don't understand. Why have you come to us, Severa, told us about this child- your child- if you're so adamant that-"
"Don't," Severa's harsh command cuts off Potter's line of questioning, leaving a silence so vast, so suffocating, it is all she can do to not gasp out in the sudden void. Sev huffs a breath, clenches her eyes in an attempt to blink away the hot rush of anger that threatens to spill over and flood the room. She keeps her eyes closed when Lily mutters something to James, too softly for her to hear, doesn't bother to flinch away when Lily grasps her hand.
"Sev," her name is spoken on an exhalation as if it were a prayer, "Why?"
"You know why!" Emotion explodes out of Sev in a hazy crackle of pent up magic, manifesting itself in wispy blue sparks that singe the table top. "The prophecy, that stupid prophecy, spoke of a child borne to parents who have defied Him three times, delivered at the end of July; it's either the Longbottom child, my own, or- or yours." Lily stiffens in her seat, but doesn't draw her hand away. "He considers one contentious progenitor enough to see my child as qualified," She sneers almost automatically, derisively, at the memory that rises unbidden. "The Dark Lord knows of the pregnancy, but nothing of the recent birth of my child, or what has become of yours, which means he will not be safe staying in my presence for a moment longer. Under your care he can have a mother and a father, a set of capable and doting parents to protect him whatever the circumstances! With me he'd have only-" Sev pauses, catching her breath in a raspy, shuddery motion as magic sparks around her. When she opens her mouth to speak next she's managed to calm herself enough to bring the sparks and whiz-bangs down to a low fizzle at her finger tips. "If I go back to the Dark Lord with the news of a late-term miscarriage or- or that the child has been disposed of," A wince rises from the woman before her, "Then he's all the less likely to pursue it. He'll see it as taken care of and continue in his search for immortality or that blasted stick. He won't care for the missing bastard of a half-blooded slut. The boy will have no life worth living if she stays under my care, Lily, and that is why you must take him as your own. You and Pot- James. I need you to."
There's a moment of rather intense silence, in which Sev stares imploringly at Lily, obsidian eyes meeting emerald to convey such a heavy rush of emotion that the connection cannot be broken. Lily sighs, then, only after the end of the minute-long staring contest, her shoulders sagging and her head drooping, her hand still wrapped protectively around Sev's. Severa nearly flinches when James, from his post in the doorway (she hadn't even seen him return, let alone leave) answers for the both of them.
"Okay. For you, Severa; okay."
~X~X~
Saturday 31 October, 1981~
It is the burning in her arm that tells her something has gone wrong. It's not painful, not like it is when the Dark Lord calls for her and she ignores it for too long, but it isn't pleasant, either. It sends chills down her spine, and makes her stomach roil with an emotion she hasn't felt in more than a year and has no name for. Severa startles at the sensation and smears ink over a student's essay (already marked liberally with a harshly corrective shade of purple) in her haste to tug at her left sleeve, pushing it up until it rests, bunched at her elbow to reveal-
Nothing. A pale, perfect, unmarred expanse of alabaster skin, bare except for the occasional freckle and what may or may not pass for a potions-related burn scar, the length of her hand from wrist to finger-tip, resting blandly on the underside of her wrist.
Thankful beyond words that the annual Halloween Feast ended a good hour ago, she strides purposefully towards the fireplace, repositioning her sleeve as she takes a pinch of Floo powder from the bowl on the mantle, casting it into the hearth as she shouts out the name of the man she wishes to speak to.
"Albus!" The green flames dance soundlessly for a moment as she paces back and forth, rubbing at her right forearm through her sleeve. It's begun to itch, and scratching, she's learnt, only exacerbates the achy feel that tends to manifest deep in her flesh.
"Something the matter, Severa?"
She scowls at the flames despite the fact that Dumbledore can't see her. The man sounds so damned calm all the time, it's infuriating. Severa knows that he felt at least a ripple of disruption, if she's feeling something this strongly; the old fool just wishes to make her life more difficult than it has to be.
"Yes, in fact. Something's come up and I have to leave the castle for a bit; I didn't think it would be a problem considering the time and the upcoming weekend, but I wanted to alert you should any problems arise in my absence." Should you get yourself in a fix that you can't get out of without my assistance.
"Of course. I don't suppose I'm to know where it is you're headed?"
"No. Goodnight, Albus."
The flames flicker and die as she turns away, diminishing into a barely glowing pile of embers as the door swings shut behind her.
Her last thought before leaving the castle, dressed in heavy robes with a matching cloak, is of Lily and James Potter holed up in Godric's Hollow- which does not bode well for them or for her. If she can place a name to the location in which they've hidden, then the Fidelius Charm has been broken and they're either dead- or well on their way to it.
~X~X~
Godric's Hollow, Halloween 1981~
Severa has to actively make an effort not to vomit as she walks through the decimated structure. From the outside looking upon the cottage nothing appeared out of the ordinary- a small family home with the lights dimmed is nothing to be worried over, especially gone eleven at night- but simply the fact that she could see the building meant that either the Secret-Keeper or the owner of the dwelling was... indisposed.
She shakes her head, inhaling deeply before opening the garden door. The kitchen- once bright and colorful and full of laughter- positively stinks of spell fire; splintered wood and shattered glass speaking of either a fight between equals or of a powerful wizard showing off before a kill (she hates that she knows it's the latter). Stepping over a section of the table to reach the sitting room, she traces her fingers in a feather light touch over scorch marks on the wall. A whole portion of the roof has buckled in and collapsed on the stairs, crushing the wall beneath them. Another quick twist and she's on the landing, barely managing to catch herself on a bit of wall- still standing, thank goodness, though her muttered Strengthening and Reinforcement Charms could have added no disadvantage- as she trips over a fallen bit of debris. She steadies herself before turning to look, hoping and praying to any Gods she can hope will hear her that the object, thing, whatever, won't be a person.
A choked wail tears out of her throat straight from her core- not her heart, not the empty black chasm that had been so quick to replace the once-organ- as her eyes come to rest upon the pale, lifeless face of Lily Potter. Her eyes are wide, staring infinitely into the nothingness above her, and the bright emerald shade has dulled to nothing more than a weak imitation of summertime grass. She looks like a wax doll, posed precisely to achieve the greatest shock value.
Severa's chest heaves as she sobs, once, but the woman allows herself no more time to mourn over the body of her friend; she found no trace of either of the male Potters on the ground floor of the home (the traces of James's magic she felt were concentrated in the kitchen, or else were several hours old) and can only assume they are somewhere beyond the landing. With a strength she doesn't rightfully posses and can barely muster Severa shoves herself to her feet, taking a wobbly step in the direction of the nursery. The door has been left to hang open, resting on the wall and only attached to the frame by a single hinge. Dust and smoke filter through the air, winding and swirling over fallen chunks of plaster and drywall in a hazily orchestrated display.
She keeps herself in the doorway for a moment, trying to quell the nausea she feels as she takes stock of the room. Nappy table, up-ended; toys scattered to all ends of the room; shards of glass tinkling as they continue to fall from the broken pane. Finally, drawing on her last bits of courage- she has no right to, she's a coward in name and being and always will be- Severa turns her attention to where the crib should be, hoping, stupidly, that it will be untouched.
The ceiling has collapsed in on itself, buckling over to create a shelter where the infant's bed once was. From just beneath the edge, she can see a set of socked feet, and nearly heaves again.
Potter. James Potter, once the boy who- along with his friends- tortured her needlessly for most of her school years, has now become the man who died protecting her progeny. But now is still not the time to dwell, not the time to focus on past wrongs. Severa gulps down several lungfuls of dusty air and raises her wand, deftly (shakily) levitating the collapsed roof away from the body.
The silence that has reigned supreme in the tiny room is immediately replaced with a horrific squalling, the sound far more soothing to Sev's shot nerves than any angelic choir could possibly hope to be.
"Harry," Severa is choked by the name and has to section herself to soft murmurs as she approaches the screeching infant, meaningless words like 'darling' and 'hush' and, the most especially meaningless of the lot, 'it's okay'. Fresh tear tracks cut through the quick-gathering grime on Sev's face as she gasps, dripping uncomfortably down her chin as she stifles a sob into the boy's wispy shock of hair.
"Harry."
~X~X~
Sunday 1 November, 1981~
"You told me," she shudders. Inhale. "You promised me you would keep them safe."
The man standing opposite her, moon-gazing through the window and kept separate from the room's other occupant by the desk, says nothing. Or he might- Severa can't be fucked to care.
"Why didn't- the plan should have worked! Everything else, every detail and contingency was planned for and considered; why didn't you foresee this?"
Severa huffs angrily for a moment, too overwhelmed with grief to see much beyond the edges of a five-foot radius. Blood rushes noisily in her ears, a neverending torrent that's begun to sound uncannily like traitor, coward, murderer.
Ha.
"Lily and James," Her attention snaps to the old man, though she keeps her eyes trained on her trembling hands; she wouldn't be able to see much if she did look- he's hunched in front of the window, pale moonlight streaming around him to blanket and blur any discernible features. "Lily and James chose to place their trust in the wrong person, Severa. Not unlike-"
"Don't. Don't go there, Albus."
There is silence or a moment, chilling and heavy and suffocating, broken only by Severa's uneven gasps of breath; she imagines it's because Dumbledore is a man who is quite unused to being interrupted in such a manner.
"The boy lives." The headmaster turns his piercing gaze on the infant fussing in Severa's arms, and it's all she can do to nod halfheartedly, hardly bothering to pay attention to Dumbledore's reminder as she is. "He will need protection."
"Protection?" Severa sneers, her throat and eyes so raw from crying that the words emerge a raspy growl. "What should he need protecting from, Albus- the Dark Lord is dead, gone, finished, and I don't think he'll be too keen to show his face so soon after getting his arse handed to him by an infant." Thankfully, the Headmaster forgoes admonishing Severa's choice words in favour of continuing to explain in an infuriatingly calm tone of voice.
"The Dark Lord will return," From anyone else- the angular, aristocratic face of Bellatrix Black comes to mind- Severa would think the words were the promise of an impending uprising. From the old man they sound wary. "He will return, and when he does, Potter will face a danger more great and terrible than he faced tonight. When the time comes, he will need to be watched, carefully. The Death Eaters have not all fled to cover; should anyone take it upon themselves to-"
"I understand." Severa pales at the thought of Mulciber or Crouch or- Merlin forbid it- Bellatrix getting wind of the child's situation. She clutches the boy- her boy, Harry- just that much closer to her bosom, as if she can shield him from her poorly-chosen cohorts through sheer willpower alone.
"There is a way to help, Severa. To make this right."
Dumbledore speaks softly enough Severa might've considered it a whisper but for the fact it's gone screaming, resonating harshly, through the forefront of her mind. He needn't even clarify; it's the same out he'd offered her the night she delivered the Prophecy to the Dark Lord, the offer to turn coat and make a difference and save people.
Only now does it sound at all appealing.
"I- if I do this, Albus, if I do this... no one can know."
Headmaster Dumbledore nods sagely, turning his face to Severa for the first time since her delivery of the news of Lily and James' death. "Naturally."
"No, it's-" She sighs tiredly, shoving her fingers roughly through a snarl in her hair that's grown tacky with an as-yet unidentified substance. "I will not be able to help him. I cannot show any favour to him when he arrives, unless he is by some miracle Sorted into my own House. I will not have the boy put in danger because of me; I will not allow you to put him into danger because of me.
"Promise me that, Albus."
The man turns fully, then, to face her, fixing the woman- young, so young, his oldest students are nearly her age- to her seat with a piercing blue gaze. He looks old, and logically Severa knows that Albus Dumbledore is old, but she's never quite appreciated just how long the man's lived until just now.
"I swear it, Severa."
~X~X~
Now
28 July, 1991~
"I think that's as good a place as any to end this meeting- we'll reconvene in two weeks to settle any lasting issues. Severa, Pomona, would you please stay behind?"
Severa halts midstep, raising an eyebrow in question. Next to her, the Hufflepuffs' Head of House appears equally as confused, and in tandem they step aside to allow the remaining staff the exit the room- Quirrel, Kettleburn, Pomfrey, Sinistra, and Vector being all that was left- before returning to their previous seats at the long table. Dumbledore, Minerva, and Filius are still seated, grouped tightly together at the head as if heading up a council.
The frantic, exclusive whispering lasts for five minutes.
"They have not answered a single letter." Albus's statement nearly startles Severa, would have but for the fact she was expecting it. She tilts her head in acknowledgment as Mona gasps. None of the gathered adults need ask for clarification; there is only one student who's unanswered letter their employer would cause such fuss over.
"Not one? But that's- Albus, that's dozens by now. Hundreds. What could the Muggles be thinking; surely they know-"
"Of course they do. That's exactly why." The utter disgust in Minerva's tone sends a shiver of something (certainly not fear, but it's just a bit too chilly to be either pleasure or glee) trilling down Severa's spine. She wonders when the woman could have met Petunia Dursley- perhaps she was the one to bring Lily Evans her letter, maybe she watched them before the child was left so callously on the stoop. Either way: she's right.
"The next letters to be sent to Number Four Privet Drive by owl will number in the hundreds, in one fell swoop. After that, I'll have no choice but to send a member of staff; right now, I've the choice between.
"Severa, if you're willing, I'd like for you to pay a visit to the Dursley household. If Petunia remains unwilling to let him see the letters- be persuasive."
"Albus," Minerva hisses at the man, glaring at Severa as a slightly manic smile spreads across the woman's face. "Albus, I trust your judgment whole-heartedly, but are you really suggesting we send Snape? This has to be dealt with the same way we would if we were acclimating a Muggle-born, and-"
"Forgive me, Minerva, but did you assume you'd be sent? That does seem a bit... hasty."
Filius squeaks and Mona huffs, though whether in amusement or disapproval Severa can't be sure. From her perch next to Albus, Minerva seethes.
"I might remind you, Severa Snape, of just why that child is with those Muggles in the first place."
"Professors, please. There's no need for petty sniping; my reasons are my own, and they stand valid. Now- I believe it would be best if Pomona and Severa set out at once. Arabella has informed me of a plan to take the boy away- to the coast, I think; they don't expect us to be able to find them so far away from their home- and I'd hate for young Harry to catch ill so soon before term."
"What's this, then? Surely they're not staying here?"
Pomona's incredulous squawk is nearly drowned out by the sound of waves, huge and more foam than actual water, crashing against the sharp edges of a cliff face nearby. Severa grimaces when she's sprayed with droplets of salt water before she has the chance to cast and Impervious Charm. Surveying the tiny landmass they've apparated to, she can see that it is perhaps fifty yards square of slimy, muck covered rock sticking out of the middle of the sea, weakly boasting a soggy wooden hut that looks as if it might topple at the next onslaught of rain. She'd have thought it entirely devoid of human life, but for the faintest of tinglings in her right arm.
Setting her mouth in a firm line, Severa draws her wand. "They're here."