Author's Note: I'm going to try really hard to finish this story this year, but don't hold your breath. I never thought this would happen to a story I've worked on for nearly 4 years. But with the release of the seventh book and most of my assumptions confirmed about certain characters, the story needed to be re-written. But then I found it troubling to do since I'd come up with a few of my own characters and didn't want to kill them off or completely write them out, so here I am, yet again re-writing my precious story. Only thing is, it can't be posted here. So I'm going to be nice and post the older version, which is utter crap and more than a little disjointed, and post the re-write in a new story under the name Broken Pedestal. Now I warn you that Broken Pedestal is completely different from this and yet this will have some spoilers for Broken Pedestal. Read at your own risk, though I suggest waiting for the re-write.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Secret Lies/Book of the Dead
by:
Dreams 'N Demise a.k.a. Needless Noodles
Prologue: End theme
o . o . o.0.o . o . o
He walked away from Narcissa Malfoy intent on heading home before he cursed something to death. Of course, he just might do that anyway. Maybe he just didn't want to go to Azkaban for killing the blond wench whose name said all you needed to know about her. Either way, Severus Anzori Snape had to get out o f there. He'd keep the oath Narcissa had him make this time; and only because Draco's life was at stake. No matter how much Severus loathed the Malfoys he couldn't–wouldn't– let Draco get sacrificed for the mistakes (or maybe it was just the idiocy) of the previous generation.
After seeing Narcissa and her equally annoying and demented sister, Bellatrix, out the front door he brought the wards back up around the little house. He wasn't there very often; the walls held too many of the less wanted memories of his childhood. Besides, as was proven by his earlier visitors, anyone in the Wizarding world could find the place. The sooner he left Spinner's End, the better.
Snape made his way back through the small and cramped sitting room to get to the stairs. He bypassed the first door, not even thinking of the fact that it was bigger than the room he claimed as his own. Severus never bothered with the room. He simply kept the door closed and kept the memories of his father locked with it.
Walking into his room he pushed the door closed behind him. Ignoring the book that fell off the book case that was hung on the back of door, Severus gathered what little belongings he brought with him and disapparated. Appearing in a nondescript alley a few blocks from the Leaky Cauldron he stepped out into the streets of muggle London, making his way to the aforementioned building.
He stepped into the Leaky Cauldron, taking out a small pouch of floo powder, and flooed to Hogwarts. Not really desiring a lengthy, riddle filled conversation with Dumbledore he announced his plans of leaving for his home while stepping out of the fireplace. Dumbledore looked as if he wanted to object. Though not quite understanding why the younger man would be returning to a place he'd just left, Dumbledore decided he'd just leave things as were. He simply smiled knowingly and wrung a promise from Severus to continue with an investigation for the Order and to fulfill his duty to Poppy (replenishing several potions for the matron).
"That was easier than expected," Severus murmured to himself as he headed for his quarters in the Dungeons. "Everything with the Potter brat must be finally getting to the old man."
His mind was steadily on the thought of going home. He'd only been back a hand full of times since Potter's first year. In his opinion, not quite enough escape time from bubbly, old fools and cranky, fire breathing matrons; not to mention all of the dunderheaded brats, idiotic ministry officials, mangy mutts, bloody werewolves, and bloodthirsty Death Eaters.
That's why he was rushing through the empty, summer warmed halls so that he could pack the last few essentials; such as lesson plans to revise, new and old potion ingredients for refilling, notes and a few personal items that needed to kept away from prying eyes. Even with Hogwarts being the acclaimed 'safest' place in Britain, there were some items that Severus didn't even consider it safe to leave without his continued presence. Especially in the unrestricted presence of Albus Dumbledore.
The old coot couldn't know everything.
— — – — — – — — – — —
Severus stepped out the fire place in an abandoned flat somewhere in muggle New York. From there, he apparated to his home outside Salt Lake City, Utah. As soon as Severus disapparated into his bedroom he quickly emptied his pockets of previously shrunken objects. Thoughtlessly throwing them on the bed– later finding himself glad of the protection and unbreakable charms he'd placed on his things– he hurriedly divested himself of his robes and emerged from his room in black slacks and his white button-up shirt.
One would wonder what would make the great potions master carelessly rush from his room. Severus had no care in what he looked like stumping down the stairs, rolling up his shirt sleeves as he went. The muffled sounds that floated up from the family-room at the back of the house was more than enough to make him descend the stairs like a bat out of hell.
Upon entering the room Severus announced his presence with a dark and menacing, "What is going on here?". He took a moment to look around. It was a normal enough room for a typical muggle/magical family. There were pictures– all unmoving– a large screen tv, book shelves built onto the same wall as the entrance way. To the right there was a long sofa that curved around to face the fireplace on the far wall, old wizardly paintings, and enchanted items and nick-knacks. The dark brown coffee table between the longer end of the couch and the tv doubled as seating--four small ottomans could be pulled from under it.
Severus sneered at the design of the room. Everything on the ground floor was muggle friendly and he– of course– had no say or input in the decorating of the room. But it was alright with him; he wasn't the one whom had to live there twenty-four-seven. Though, there was one framed photo that his eyes were drawn to when ever he even passed by the room on the way to the basement through the kitchen. It hung over the fireplace on the far wall. The photo was a larger version of the one he kept in his room wherever he was staying for long periods of time. It was the only photo within public viewing of him with his family. A family he'd been successful in keeping hidden from the Wizarding world.
"Well?" He arched an eyebrow at the group of five teenagers. They always seemed to be the bane of his existence. "I am waiting for your answer," he drawled.
"Uhm, well," one of the three boys started. "We were just watching a movie."
The other eyebrow joined the first just as the voice of a woman called out "You okay, baby?". "I can see that, Mister. . ." He trailed off, clearly asking for the teen's name, ignoring the movie playing in the background.
"Talvin. John Talvin." He sounded like some half baked rendition of a 'James Bond' film.
One of the other two boys suddenly stood. Severus thought that perhaps he'd seen this young man before. He didn't bother with trying to remember and just focused on intimidating the youngsters.
"I guess we should get going," the second boy announced. "Goodnight, sir." He dragged his two male companions into standing.
Severus eyed him curiously. He was tall, muscular, and black. Unlike the first boy, who was of average height, light brown hair, tan skin, and blue eyes. He'd only personally knew a few black men in his life; Kingsley being the only one that he'd kept in contact with, and that was only because they both worked for the Order.
"Goodnight?" Severus asked sarcastically. He flipped his wrist with over dramatic flare to look at his watch. The display read a little after 4 a.m. "I'd say, rather, that it's morning and would be a better one once you remove yourselves from the premises." He watched the boys went pale and then ran for the door, their female companion lagging behind long enough to smile coyly at Severus. His sneer widened in return.
There was one teen left whom walked casually up to Severus. As she started to pass, Severus grabbed her upper arm and harshly turned her to face him. "We will talk later. For now, see to your guests," he spat the last word like Malfoy would say mudblood. "I'll be in my lab. Do not disturb me." He watched as the darkly tanned skin girl walked down the hall and disappeared in the foyer.
Before leaving through the kitchen to head to his lab in the basement, Severus took another look at the picture over the fireplace. There, in living color, was the reason he had originally stayed away: a beautiful wife of-- literally– African decent that he'd kept secret from all but her surviving family and dim-witted muggles.
She had creamy skin the color of the Sahara desert for which she was named after, thick black hair that fell just passed her shoulders, a smile that captured the cruelest of hearts (Severus being prime example), and hazel eyes that would pierce through his soul better than any leginimens or veritaserum. Even with her death being a little over six years ago, any picture of Sahar pained him almost as much as the cruciatus.
Severus looked away from the image of 'his' Sahar, eyes passing to the younger version of the girl he'd just dismissed. She looked just like her mother, even with her long, curly hair that fell to her waist. Severus supposed that had to be from having a mixed heritage. The only thing she had of Severus was his habits and mannerisms. She could imitate him without fault. The little one in her arms was no more than two then and was even more like Severus that it was scary. Even at that age she knew how to smirk as well as him.
The twin boys standing before Severus (who was just slightly behind Sahar) could have easily been his clones if it were not for the fact that one had brown eyes and both had their mother's nose. In fact all five children had Sahar's nose. Of course that could have been for the fact that neither of those children had their nose broken repeatedly at a young age. His youngest son was even more withdrawn than even Snape was at the tender age of five. His brown eyes smiled just as much as his lips, but he was a quiet one that would rather be alone reading some book– taking in as much knowledge as his little brain could.
He turned away from the room and headed for his lab. There were things in the present and planned to happen in the near future that his mind needed to concentrate on, rather than the unchangeable past.
o . o . o.0.o . o . o
It was four hours later that found a fully risen sun and a slightly taxed Severus Snape. He was sitting at the rectangular kitchen table reading– of all things– a Laurell K. Hamilton novel (Obsidian Butterfly). There was something about the sadistic tendencies the woman incorporated into her books that intrigued Severus. Perhaps it was how unintelligent the victims in the story always seemed to be, or, rather, how much he could see Anita–the main character–as the female counterpart of himself. No matter what it was, it was a great rendition of some of his views on muggles anyway.
Just as he stood to refill his mug of tea a whirlwind of color raced into the kitchen headed straight for the fridge. Severus watched a couple paces behind as the short little girl took out a carton of juice, opened it and as she turned around she put it up to her lips. Severus waited as she took a sip before loudly clearing his throat. The girl jumped back into the fridge and spluttered. She sprayed Severus with the juice as she choked on it.
With a light sneer in his voice Severus responded sarcastically, "I do so hope that you do this regularly. I love having a morning shower of orange juice."
Recovering, the girl smiled up at Severus, black onyx eyes meeting black onyx eyes. "Er, well, sorry," she whispered, indicating the mess she'd made of his shirt. Orange juice usually stained anything white. "I wasn't expecting you back yet. . ." she trailed off at the shake of his head. "So, how long are you here this time?" the hope and anticipation could be clearly heard in her voice.
Severus internally winced at her question. It was perfectly valid. Though he was very well aware of how little he came home these days, he couldn't lie to himself and say that her hidden rebuke didn't hurt—somewhere, deep within.
"A week before the first." He knew she would understand that he meant a week before the first of September--as that was when the school term at Hogwarts began. And as her face lit up with the news of having her father home for nearly two months, he knew he would have to dash those hopes almost completely. "Though, I shall have to be gone from now and then. No more than two or three days at a time."
The girl simply nodded, her silky black hair falling from its loose tie into her face. As she was leaving—Severus assumed to head back up the stairs—he called out to her, "Alice, wake the others while you're up there." He could tell that she was rolling her eyes from the way she stumped up the stairs.
What am I going to do with her? She's too much like me. He ran a hand over his face and through his still greasy, black, shoulder length locks. Severus knew that he was doing what ever he could to keep her from turning out like him, for any of them. But having them had changed him somewhat. He knew what unconditional love was, even if it was still rather hard for him to show it, because of his children. He would even go as far as saying that he could be compassionate. There were times when he would almost feel sorry even for Potter.
Dear Salazar, that boy doesn't need anyone else fawning over him. I know that I shouldn't treat him as I do just because of James-bloody-Potter, but it's hard when the brat is the spitting image--carbon copy--of the bloody man. And Dumbledore isn't helping at all, treating the boy like he did the sire. He wants me to be civil to him, has come to expect it from most. And they wonder why I won't comply with that and kiss up to the all-mighty-golden-boy-Potter, he spat in his mind. Though he may hate the attention it's something he's gotten use to and to have done that will eventually lead to his already oversized ego. I will not contribute to that sort of downfall. Those pitiful excuses for even muggles did one thing right while having him as a charge: not being nice to the boy.
His thoughts were interrupted with the sudden appearance of five bodies. He looked at each of them, all but one smiling. Then they all started talking at once. He rubbed his temples, wincing at the oncoming headache. As they got loader, each of the four talking trying to be heard over the other, Severus couldn't help but think that perhaps a warning of when he would be returning was in order. Or just return more often. He smirked to himself. The thought of more exposure to such cacophony was blasphemous.
The oldest of the five berating him smiled knowingly as Severus let out a growl and murmured under his breath, "Stop your infernal blabbering." He looked up just in time to see the older girl roll her eyes. The other four caught on, having seen the flash in his eyes, and quickly quieted down. "Ah, so much better," Severus mumbled.
After getting everyone settled, Severus took his seat and as he listened to each of his children take turns on explaining what had passed in the last several months since his last visit he let his mind wander.
His first thoughts were on how ridiculous his children were named. Though Sahar had named the oldest after herself– her full name being Sahar Arrakis– she had decidedly put some of Severus into the name as well. They'd finally settled on Arrakis Gennavehn-Eileen Prince. The hyphenated middle name, of course, wasn't his idea. Neither was naming the baby after a star. (It reminded he too much of Sirius Black, and that was never a good thing.) He just called her El instead, after his mother–the only other person in his life to love him unconditionally.
Then there were the twins. Sahar just had to keep with the constellation theme and gave the boys the names Saiph and Eltanin– after some barely known stars. Severus opted to go slightly Greek and Hebrew with Marcus-Aurelius and Zachirus as middle names.
When his youngest son was born Severus argued for hours throughout the pregnancy and well after the birth over what to call the baby. Three months had passed before they named him. Severus still scowled at the boy's first name. Who would burden a child with the name Irihi? Thank Salazar she didn't put up a fuss with 'Sean' as the middle name. I'd call him 'boy' if it were anything else.
Then there was his baby girl, Safaia Alice Prince. Now, he would never refer to her as such, his 'baby girl' that is. But the name Safaia was the only 'heavenly' name that he liked. It reminded him of the stories his mother use to tell him of his great grandmother, Safaia Elenor Prince.
Severus smirked internally as he placed his elbow on the table and rested his head on his fist. It was a blatant disregard to the hard learned manors his uncle use to beat into him. He was even playing with his cooling tea. Half listening to his children argue over some trifle thing or other he let his mind wander to other things, more important things. Like the things already set in motion that he had no control over. He could not predict nor stop what was to come. People would surely die and he more than likely one of them.
What would happen to his family if he were to never come back; never write another letter to them? As much as he hated to admit it– even to himself– they were all he had left. He knew he couldn't die, not only was his family's emotional well being (not that he cared much for
that) were at stake, but Draco's, his godson's life was in the balance. He was fighting for too many people, and if it meant helping out another Potter, then so be it.
o . o . o.0.o . o . o
The fallowing weeks passed in a blur. Severus spent Mondays tinkering with his potions. Sometimes Alice would watch or even help out. Other than Sean and Alice none of his other children expressed such dedication to his specialized art. Instead he would spend Tuesdays and Thursdays training the three in duelling. He taught them offensive magic–having taught them defensive already– now that they were coming of age. He spent part of Wednesdays teaching Sean defensive magic and going over the basics with Alice.
He had hope that they would never have to make use the knowledge he fed them, but instinctively knew that they would face magical foes at some point in their lives. The death of their mother was proof of that.
For three weeks Severus would disappear on Friday and would show back up on Monday mornings or late Sunday night. Sometimes he would be battered and bruised and always in a terrible mood. The children quickly learned to give him a wide berth on those days.
It was the week of July that they met with any significant change. Their routine had shifted to where Severus was gone only on Tuesdays and he always came back irritable at best and in a foul mood at worse. The children found themselves glad that at least he wasn't coming home looking like he walked straight out of a brawl. Severus had taught them enough about 'his' world that they knew and understood why he had to leave for long periods of time. He left enough books lying around for them to know most of the Wizarding world's history.
They were having a late dinner Wednesday night when it happened. Severus was summoned. His dark mark flared suddenly sending burning, white pain up and down his left arm. His fork dropped halfway to his mouth and he jerked so quickly to grab his arm in a feeble attempt at trying to stop the pain that he knocked over his glass of wine. His plate clattered to the floor when his elbow bumped into it in his haste to leave the room.
None of the children knew what was wrong. They had never witnessed their father acting in such a way before. Whatever had their father racing from the room with a grimace of pain bringing wrinkles to his eyes had to serious.
It wasn't until Severus had stomped back up the stairs from his lab in the basement did the oldest of the siblings make a move.
"Arra," Severus said once he saw her stand. Using his shortened version of her first name let them all know he was being deadly serious. "Stay where you are. Finish you dinner," he directed to them all. "Do not wait up for me. I must leave, but I shall be back." He wasn't too confidant about that. The mark had never burned like that before. Except for the night Voldemort was reborn. It could only mean one thing: Voldemort was pissed.
Severus could only think of one thing. Please don't let this be the end, he kept repeating over and over silently.
Reiteration: This is a posting of the early versions of Broken Pedestal. I have no intention of continuing posting under this story after the last chapter is up. As such, this version of the story wont stay posted on this site for very long, yet since it was added to several communities and on alerts I thought to give readers a preview - if you will - to let them know I have not, nor will I, abandon this story. Check out for Broken Pedestal instead.