Anyone who happened to look through the single window in the front of the last house on the Spinner's end would surely have thought that the dark inhabitant had lost his mind. Of course, that would be after they had gotten over their shock that the normally deserted building was inhabited – and decided not to call the police on the stranger. Most of the townsfolk were quite convinced that the house was haunted and the previous owners refused to sell it on the sole count that they did not wish to put the next tenants through that sort of hell. As per usual the blinds on the house were half drawn; greenish black curtains covered most of the remaining space, leaving only an eight and a half by seven inch rectangle of grimy reinforced glass for any curious muggle to look through.
No one paid any attention to the house today … at least, not right now. During the day the house blended into all the others on the typical suburbia street – if a little overgrown. In early December snow covered every inch of the neighborhood, but the determined businessmen stubbornly covered their tires in snow chains and went out. Christmas was around the corner and they'd be damned if they couldn't give their whiny, spoiled children a better Christmas then their neighbors. That was Spinner's End, for you. A competition. Who had the biggest house? The nicest lawn? The prettiest wife?
And that was precisely why no one – besides the occasional delinquent – gave a damn cent about the very last house on Spinner's End. Not even its current inhabitant: Severus Snape.
As stated, any ordinary person who looked through the eight and a half by seven, grimy rectangle would have thought Severus Snape had lost what little sanity he still had. But Severus Snape was not an ordinary person, and nor was anyone who cared what he was doing with the short weekend he was taking. The man was pacing back and forth in front of the large and ornate fireplace, staring coolly at the wall in front of him. Every two or three minutes the man would perform a ritual of a sort. He'd glance at the clock, grunt, and then picked up a yellowed piece of parchment from the end table. After reading the words on the paper, he would either growl incoherently or mutter something about punctuality. Then he would attempt to sit in the arm chair in the room, maybe read the book sitting next to the once folded (now perfectly flat) letter. But this venture would soon be given up. He stared at the fireplace expectantly for a few minutes, then give up and return to pacing.
No, besides maybe Dumbledore, had seen Snape so agitated, and with good reason. He achieved this persona of evil only through prefect control. Control had flown out the window when he had received the letter. Every broken condemn, screwed up contraception spell, forgotten contraception spell …. All of it came back to him. Individual words popped out from the letter; "murder", "twins", "last remaining relative". Cardenas had given him a choice, technically. What was he supposed to say when she told him that he was "all they had" that their only other decision was a group home and that, "obviously", Salem Academy wouldn't be "in the home's financial range" and that "second rate" tutors would be all they had? It was a wonder the woman wasn't in his house, the way she had with words … Bleeding heart had been in Hufflepuff, of course – her and Narcissa's niece.
Snape had been expecting her to floo. Cardenas said she would bring the children here by floo powder. So, you can only imagine the potions professor's surprise when there were five sharp knocks on the door. Grumbling about inconsistent Hufflepuffs, Severus threw the door open, completely prepared to shout at anyone if they were not Victoria Cardenas. "Good afternoon, Severus," Victoria smiled up at his steely expression. If the children were with her, they surely would have pissed themselves at the murderous stare Severus was sending her way. "I'm afraid there's been a complication."