The world of Harry Potter does not belong to me, but I do so enjoy messing around with the characters. This was originally an Exchange Gift for Droxy on the SSHG Winter 2011 Exchange. I owe a debt of gratitude to all those who helped, encouraged and supported the writing of this story.
Though I am not new to publishing fan fic this is my first attempt to publish on this archive. I hope you all enjoy!
Severus re-cast the prolonged Stasis Charm on the lifeless bodies before him. This was a more advanced charm than what was typically used to preserve potions for a limited time—instead, they would remain as such until he reversed the charm himself.
As he gazed upon the features of his wife and child, there was a part of him that wanted to keep them just as they were… forever. Had it been so long? It seemed like only yesterday little Melissa had happily thrown herself into his arms, on one of the rare occasions he was able to steal a visit home, her curls bouncing and her beautiful brown eyes dancing with mischief. No one would believe that such a beautiful, outgoing and loving child had come from the surly Potions Master.
Soon he would no longer be in his long-time quarters in the dungeons, and he needed to put these last vestiges of his past to rest. With Minerva's passing, Severus Snape would—once again—become Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This time he wanted to do things differently… but in order to do so, he had to say goodbye.
When he had first put Helena and Melissa under stasis, it had been a necessity—not even Albus had known of them. Hidden in hopes that perhaps this one small corner of happiness could be spared from the nightmare he had brought upon himself, Severus had concealed his family through the years of "peace" preceding—and the first six years of—Harry Potter's career at Hogwarts. No one had known that the year the boy had started at Hogwarts, Severus Snape's Muggle wife had given birth to a daughter; no one knew on the night Charity Burbage had died, so had a piece of Severus Snape.
That was the night the Dark Lord discovered Severus had a weakness.
After having watched Charity suspended before him—looking at him, pleading with him—his Occlumency had slipped; it had been only for a fraction of a second, but it had been enough to give Voldemort a glimpse of Severus' secret. In that brief moment, it was not an image of Professor Burbage begging for her life—but Helena. The unfamiliar face had sent the Dark Lord careening through his spy's mind, madly searching for the identity. Severus had struggled to regain control without alerting Voldemort, but the damage had been done.
Voldemort's first act after Burbage's death was to murder the family of his most trusted spy.
That was also the night the Dark Lord had all but ensured his spy would do everything and anything to aid Harry Potter in ridding the world of his rejuvenated, fetid soul.
As Severus brushed an errant curl from Melissa's smooth brow, he was tumbled back in his mind to a time when he had known love and laughter. "Papa, stay!" Melissa had been insistent, but Severus, knowing his duty, had gently extracted himself from her arms as her tears began to fall. "Hush, love," he had murmured, his baritone barely a rumble in his chest, as he had rocked his inconsolable child and wiped her tears away with a gentle hand. "Sprite, I want nothing more than to stay here with you and Mum, but I have to go. Remember our song until I come back." Sniffling, she had rubbed her moist cheek on his robes, and as her thumb had found its way to her rose petal mouth, she had murmured, "Please sing it, Papa?" (listen here)
That was the last time he had held his baby girl… the very last time.
Looking back, he wished he had stayed. He wished he had walked away from everything: Voldemort, Dumbledore, the wizarding world, and Unbreakable Vows be damned. Had he stayed, he would have surely died when he failed to fulfill his Vow to Dumbledore, but his child—his beautiful child—might have lived.
Shaking himself from the memory, Severus readied himself for Minerva McGonagall's funeral. Next September, he would be reinstated as Headmaster—fortunately, summer lay ahead, so he had two months to see to the burial of his wife and daughter. No longer in his quarters—but they would be in his heart, always and forever.
The sun was high in the noon-day sky. It appeared that every wizard in from Great Britain and beyond had made the journey to bid farewell to one of their own. The only shadow cast was from Dumbledore's white tomb—Minerva, too, had requested permission to be buried on Hogwarts grounds. Severus wondered if this was to become a tradition for Headmasters-and-mistresses who died while still overseeing the school. He shuddered to think one day he, too, might be laid to rest on the grounds of what had been his home, his sanctuary, and his prison for most of his life. He made a mental note to purchase a third plot when making arrangements for Helena and Melissa—he wanted to be near i them, /inot on this windy hillside overshadowed by the castle and all it represented.
Severus stood at the back as he watched people milling before the services began. He knew Minerva had made the arrangements herself when the Healers had told her there was no hope of recovery. Though she was young in wizarding years, the damage done to her heart during Umbridge's tenure at Hogwarts had taken its toll. She had been in a gradual decline since the end of the war, and now she was gone. Severus felt as though everyone that had mattered had died. Although he and Minerva had never displayed their affection for one another, it was there all the same—she was the mother he wished his own had been. He hoped whoever had been engaged for the service would be able to do justice to her memory.
Severus' thoughts were interrupted by the haunting call of bagpipes floating across the air. Realizing the service was about to begin, he took his seat. He recognized the song without having to look at the lyrics printed on the parchment in his hand: iGoing Home./i No voice broke the beauty and clarity of the bagpipes wafting on the wind. (listen here, lyrics below)
He felt a chill course along his spine. Either the Funeral Director knew Minerva McGonagall well, or had had enough respect for her to follow instructions.i Perhaps some of both, /iSeverus thought as he felt unbidden tears gather at the corners of his eyes. By the end of the funeral, there was not a dry eye to be found. No one was left unmoved by the tribute paid to the late Headmistress. Eulogies were spoken by those who had known and loved her—not unwelcomed Ministry officials grandstanding for their own political gain. The music selected reflected the heart and soul of the deceased without being maudlin. As the services concluded with Winter Solstice Song (listen here, lyrics below)—a song Severus knew to be a particular favorite of Minerva's, and so fitting it should be played now as she entered her longest night—he recalled how Minerva had spoken in her last months of all she wished to do and had yet to accomplish, and how she had hoped death would bring her the chance to complete work she felt would be best finished without the hindrance of her ailing body. He hoped she was right.
As the last strains of music died, Severus looked at the back of the funeral programme. He wanted to know who had so tastefully sent Minerva off to her rest—perhaps they would do justice to the memories of his wife and child. His eyes flickered to the bottom of the parchment which read:
cH.G. Funeral Director's ~ We Care.
16 Belkamp Row
London, England
Post or Owl/c
Severus was surprised—the establishment could not be entirely wizarding, as it accepted Muggle post. This would make things easier; Helena had been a Muggle, and he did not want his private business bandied about the wizarding world. This way, he could do the right thing without bringing undo attention to himself—no one in the magical world knew he had married and fathered a child, and if news of their funeral were to get out there would be many questions... questions he did not have the heart to answer. Yes, a Muggle service would be best.
Going Home
Going home. Going home. I'm a-going home.
Quiet-like some still day, I'm just going home.
It's not far, just close by, through an open door.
Work all done, cares laid by, Going to fear no more;
Mother's there expecting me, Father's waiting, too.
Lot's of folks gathered there. All the friends I knew.
Morning star lights the way, restless dream all done.
Shadows gone, break of day, real life just begun.
There's no break, there's no end, just a-living on;
Wide awake, with a smile, going on and on.
Going home. Going home, I'm just going home.
It's not far, just close by, through an open door.
Winter Solstice Song
On the longest night we search for the light,
And we find it deep within.
Open your eyes to embrace what is wise,
And see the light of your own soul shining.
Enter the night and you'll find the light,
That will carry you to your dreams.
Enter the night, let your spirit take flight,
In the field of infinite possibilities
Wrap up in the cloak of starry darkness my child,
And you'll find the center of all things.
For from this space of the deepest dark place,
Life Eternal does spring.
Enter the night and you'll find the light,
That will carry you to your dreams.
Enter the night, let your spirit take flight,
In the field of infinite possibilities
So when you find that spark
When you dream in the dark,
Hold it close to your heart and know.
All that you see is all that can be
When you give birth to the dreams of your soul.
Enter the night and you'll find the light,
That will carry you to your dreams.
Enter the night, let your spirit take flight,
In the field of infinite possibilities.
Hermione arrived to the office a half an hour before business hours {began}. This gave her time to consume the first, necessary, jolt of caffeine and go over the day's calendar. She sighed to herself when she saw it would be a full day—three Muggle appointments and one wizarding. She looked over the names to see if she knew any of the families. Two of the Muggle families were most certainly unknown to her, but the third rang a depressing bell of familiarity—Margaret Creevey (departed), Dennis Creevey (son to the deceased). Hermione had known that Mrs. Creevy had been diagnosed with cancer. She had been through every known treatment—Muggle and wizarding—but even magic cannot cure everything. She was thankful to see Dennis was her next to last appointment—it was sure to be draining.
When she had started her business, it was with the determination that every funeral or memorial would be unique to the parties involved. She had suffered through too many services during which the deceased was barely mentioned by name as countless politicians used her friend's deaths as means to promote their own political agendas. Ginny Weasley-Potter's funeral, a mere eighteen months after the fall of Voldemort, had been the final straw—not one person who spoke actually described the vibrant young witch; her love of horticulture, flying, her friends and family. Instead, she heard how, "Ginevra Molly Weasley-Potter's death was a tragic loss because she was a hero of the wizarding world." Those who knew and loved the family understood the tragedy was that Harry was now raising their young daughter alone, and that she would never know her mother's laugh.
Six months later, after Hermione had just finished her licensure to become a Funeral Director in both worlds, she had arrived at Godric's Hollow for a visit to discover the baby in sore need of a bath—as was her father—the dirty dishes untouched in what appeared to be weeks, and dust an inch thick on every surface. "Oh Ginny," Hermione had sighed.
She had stalked over in front of the television Ginny herself had charmed to work in the wizarding house as a wedding present for Harry.
Harry had jumped visibly. "Huh? Whah, oh… hi Hermione," he'd mumbled as he had settled back down and stared in the direction of the video game he had been playing.
Hermione had remained in place, blocking his view of alien invasion and war. Harry had leaned to the side trying to see around her. "Hermione! Can't this wait? Just one more level and I'll beat the game," he had whined.
"No, Harry, it can't wait!" she had snapped. "You have a daughter that needs you now, not whenever you come up from that stupid game long enough to realize she's still alive. You're all she has!" Harry's face had crumpled, and his body had seemed to fold in on itself. Hermione continued, "Molly says you've not been by in more than two months. I heard you were fired from the Aurory. What has happened to you?"
"It just doesn't seem real, Hermione. I keep thinking that Gin is going to walk through that door any minute, talking about the flowers blooming in the garden, and…" That was when he had broken. Hermione had moved to her friend's side and held him as he cried. His body had shuddered with the effort of his sobs, and it had seemed his soul was purging all of the pent up hurt and pain of a lifetime. Finally, the wails of a wounded animal had changed to the shuddering and hiccoughing of a body spent of its grief. Hermione had leaned back, holding his exhausted body upright. She had brushed the hair from his face as he looked at her with pain-filled eyes. "Her birthday is next week," he'd whispered as more tears had silently fallen.
Ginny Potter's memorial service was the first Hermione had planned.
The following week—on her birthday—Harry, the Weasleys, and as many school friends as Hermione could muster, had gathered at the graveside. This time, instead of grandstanding speeches, there were memories shared, "Remember when Mum caught her sneaking into the broom shed?" "How about the time she tried to bring the dahlia bulbs to bed with her because she thought they would be cold in the dirt!" The stories had gone from the sublime to the ridiculous, each recorded by a charmed quill Hermione had devised for the occasion. These were the memories Harry could share with their daughter when she asked about her mother. Some—like the time she was covered in Stinksap by startling a Mimbulus Mimbletonia—Hermione was sure Ginny would prefer remained unshared, but each one spoke of the woman they loved and how she had enriched their lives.
As the sun had moved low in the western sky, Hermione had brought out a bag filled with bulbs, seeds, starters, and many hand trowels. She had walked to where Harry, Molly, and Arthur stood talking, Molly cuddling her granddaughter. She'd handed each a trowel and gently removed baby Lily to her own arms. As she'd passed the bag to Harry, she said, "I want you to go plant a garden right there, over Ginny, so each season she will have her flowers."
Harry had visibly swallowed, then nodded his head before, together, the three had moved to where Ginny had been buried in the Potter plot. They had soon been joined by the remaining Weasleys and their friends. The initial whispered conversations and tears had soon given way to laughter. Hermione had remained the small distance away, content to hold Ginny's daughter and watch as Harry took the first steps to healing and letting go.
Hermione smiled at the memory—that had been three years ago—but as her first family member was due to arrive in less than ten minutes, she couldn't afford to spend any more time in the past… but did make a mental note to stop by Godric's Hollow one day soon to say hello and spoil her god-daughter a bit. She had no more concerns where Harry was concerned—unless it was his desire to get Lily on a broom when she was too young for such things—he had become a wonderful, attentive father.