Well, it took me just two short years to get this story going again. I don't like leaving things unfinished, so I will make every effort to keep this train on the tracks - for once.
Reviews are more than welcome.
Samantha was still getting used to wearing an engagement ring again. After Mark died, she was sure she would never wear one again. My, how things had changed. She looked up to find Snape, sat on the couch in his sitting room, writing lesson plans. Though, given how thoroughly he intended to shake things up, it was little closer to plotting than not. She watched a satisfied smirk come across his face and smiled to herself.
Truth be told, she'd been worried. Very worried. They weren't out of the woods yet, but for the first few weeks of Snape's recovery, Samantha had feared not only that his physical state would show little improvement, but almost more so, that his mental state would be highly unstable. There had been nightmares, which were to be expected given what he'd been through, but he seemed to be in higher spirits than at any time since she'd met him. She only hoped this seemingly miraculous recovery wasn't short lived, or, for that matter, a show put on by Snape in order to keep everyone at arm's length. As much as he'd changed, Samantha knew that a scant month out of the espionage business wouldn't put an end to a lifetime's worth of carefully cultivated behavior designed to preserve both life and limb.
"So what have you got planned for them now?" Samantha asked. She had draped herself over the adjacent armchair, doing a little of her own plotting for her students.
Snape looked up at her and raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.
"You really aren't going to tell me?"
He quirked his mouth and looked up to the ceiling, clearly only pretending to consider her question.
"No," he said with finality. "I have never once been at the liberty of making my lesson plans entirely mine. There was always someone there to influence what I had to teach. Minerva has given me free rein."
She accepted his answer, knowing it wasn't because he didn't value her opinion. He simply wanted to take advantage of the luxury of finally allowing his own to dominate his teaching. Though all of that leeway he'd been granted was probably more a result of McGonagall's guilt than anything else (Samantha was fairly certain McGonagall would allow Snape to convert the Great Hall into a laboratory if he asked). Hopefully, he would not hang himself with it.
Samantha sighed and went back to her book on art history. It was something she had always been interested in and something that seemed to be missing in the wizarding world. Portraiture was, of course, a thriving business – something that could not be said of the Muggle art world – but there seemed to be less an emphasis on allowing the artists to speak through their work and much more, well, literally allowing their subjects to do so.
Feeling like she was being watched, she looked back up to Snape. He made no show of pretending that he hadn't been staring at her.
"Yes?" She asked in her best impression of his voice.
"And what new light are you going to shed on Muggle Studies for your students?" He asked sarcastically, though without malice. Snape knew she had real plans for the subject.
"Museum field trip," she answered.
"That narrows it down."
"The National Portrait Gallery, if you must know," she said, closing the book and setting it on the table.
"You're going to wrangle a group of Muggle-ignorant students through London?"
Samantha shook her head.
"Scottish Portrait Gallery," she clarified. "Edinburgh should be slightly less hectic. And the history of portraiture in Scotland is much more interesting, I think. Not to mention that these kids all spend seven years of their lives living in this country and most of them don't know anything about it."
Snape was impressed. And if he were honest himself, he hardly knew anything about the country and he'd spent more than half his life in it.
"If I were a masochist, I would try to time the trip with the Fringe, but I have frequently found myself overwhelmed by the experience just on my own. I can't imagine what it would be like with twenty students in tow."
Before Snape could ask what a fringe was and why the experience would be overwhelming, Samantha stood and stretched. She'd been curled up in that armchair for at least an hour already. His back hurt just thinking about it.
"I'm going to be out tomorrow," she informed him as she poured herself a cup of tea.
"It is Sunday, is it not?" He asked, knowing Samantha had started going back to church the moment she'd been able. After the first weekend, she had returned to the castle with red-rimmed eyes. Snape thought the worst (had Father Matthews been killed in the midst of the war?), but she had simply been so overwhelmed at finally seeing him again that she'd cried for a solid twenty minutes.
"Well, yes, that too," she said absently, as she stirred the sugar into her tea. "I meant for most of the day. I need to move some things from my flat. I will need to have my own quarters arranged before the students arrive."
For all intents and purposes, Samantha had been living with Snape for most of the summer. Though due largely to the destruction of her rooms in the final battle, Samantha had also wanted to stay with Snape after coming so close to losing him. Nice as it had been for the two of them to be able to have some time to themselves for once, she was still adamant that they would not officially share quarters until after they were married.
"Your…flat?" He asked, not having forgotten the feelings that were stirred up when he had first learned of its existence.
Samantha gave him a warning look. She really did not want to have another fight about it.
"Perhaps you would like to join me?" She offered carefully, only then realizing that she very much wanted him to go with her. She had not, after all, been back to the flat since that fateful journey on the Hogwart's Express – and the subsequent revelation that her husband had been murdered by Death Eaters. Samantha was certain it would be more than a simple matter of packing up a few belongings.
Snape opened his mouth immediately to respond, but thought better of it. Did he want to see it? Did he want to be in the space she'd shared with her late husband? To be shown what he could not provide?
Samantha sensed where his thoughts were leading him.
"Severus," she said softly, joining him on the couch. She curled her legs up underneath her and took his hand. "If you are adamant about not coming, then I won't press you. But, I think…I think I want you there with me. For some time now, I've felt as though I've led two totally separate lives. Even after I found out how Mark…died. I would like to bring those two lives together."
Snape knew well what it felt like to lead a dual existence. He also knew that he could not refuse her the chance for unity between the two halves. He nodded his response and she squeezed his hand in thanks.
"Father Matthews will be so pleased to see you," she said.
Snape looked over at her to see her eyes beginning to glisten. In truth, he began to feel himself getting a little emotional. The last time he had seen the priest was just before the war had well and truly begun. They had been so anxious, so uncertain of their future. His chest constricted at the mere memory of it. It was in moments like this that he could scarcely believe they had both lived through it.
The next morning found the couple, dressed in their Muggle best, walking arm in arm through the Entrance Hall on their way to the front gates. Snape had acquiesced to Samantha's rather ardent request that he wear the same three piece suit he'd had on for the Christmas service they had attended together. And had even further allowed her to charm his green shirt to white, though not without some grumbling on his part that he owned plenty of white dress shirts. She had, rightfully, he admitted, pointed out that his Victorian high collars were not exactly current fashion. At least she was nothing short of adamant that he sport his pocket watch. Snape was hard-pressed to think of a single day he hadn't worn it since she'd given it to him.
While Samantha had lost most of her clothes along with her quarters, she had managed to pick up a few things here and there and so wore a dress that she had purchased only the week before whilst in London for the day. It was a designer dress and entirely too expensive. Normally, Samantha didn't put much stock into labels, believing, more often than not, one paid more for the name than any real style or quality. Alexander McQueen, however, had always made her go a bit weak in the knees, and after having lived through, well, everything, Samantha had decided to treat herself. The knee length A-line black dress had long sleeves and a row of large, round silver buttons lined the edges of the otherwise hidden pockets. Though the dark wool garment was more suited to fall, she reasoned that she had spent far too much money on it to let it languish in her wardrobe for nearly two months. And, to be honest, she felt amazing in it.
Once out to the gates, they apparated to the graveyard and walked to the church. Snape had only ever been to the area twice, and both times had been well after nightfall. He took in his surroundings a little more leisurely now – something he found he quite enjoyed doing shortly after his recovery. Not that he completely let his guard down, but he now felt quite at ease taking an early morning walk around the lake with no purpose other than that he wanted to.
The Mass was slightly less formal than the previous one he'd gone to, though there was still more than enough incense to go around. The smell, to him, was something deeply associated with Samantha. Every Sunday, she returned to the castle with the smell coming off her hair in waves. Snape couldn't imagine ever growing tired of it.
Samantha knew that Father Matthews had spotted Snape in the congregation, for he had given her a small wink when she approached to receive communion. She had not yet told him about the engagement and was unusually anxious for Mass to finish so she could share the happy news.
As Father Matthews processed out of the church, he stopped at Samantha's pew and whispered "sacristy" to her before continuing on his way out. Clearly he wanted to have more than a few minutes to speak to the couple. So, rather than exiting the church after the recessional hymn had ended, Samantha guided Snape up the central aisle toward the sanctuary. Those who knew Samantha eyed the dark man walking beside her with interest. They stepped out of the nave and into the transept to wait in front of the sacristy door for the priest to finish greeting the congregation.
Samantha watched as he re-entered the church and strode quickly up the side of the nave with a wide smile on his face. He was headed straight for Snape, who, Samantha noted, looked remarkably like a deer in headlights.
"Severus," Father Matthews said as he approached, pulling Snape into a hug. Samantha couldn't help but laugh, though she noted that Snape not only received the hug with good grace, but even managed to return it.
"My son, I am so happy to see you," he said with feeling after pulling back. "After last time…"
Snape merely nodded in response. How could he forget?
Father Matthews looked to Samantha and hugged her as well. As he took both of her hands in his own, he stared in awe at her ring finger. He looked up to the pair with the question clear on his face. Samantha happily nodded her answer.
"Oh, Samantha," he said, hugging her again. He settled for a handshake with Snape. "When?"
"We haven't really discussed that yet," said Samantha, looking to Snape. "We're still trying to get used to a…a normal existence."
Father Matthews chuckled in response. Samantha gave him a lopsided smile.
"Well, as normal as we," she motioned to herself and Snape, "can get. But I promise you that we will contact you as soon as pre-Cana comes into the picture."
"Well, I should hope you'd be in contact with me before that," the priest said jokingly.
Samantha rolled her eyes, but smiled at him all the same.
"You know what I mean."
"I do, indeed," he said warmly, his eyes twinkling.
Samantha was very well aware of how trite Father Matthews' joking could be sometimes, but she honestly wouldn't have it any other way.
"I have to get myself ready for the next Mass," he continued, already pulling Samantha into a hug. "But I am so happy the pair of you could make it down here to see me."
"I see you every weekend, Father," Samantha pointed out.
"Yes, well, I hope to see the pair of you," he said pointedly as he shook Snape's hand, "much more often."
"I'll see what I can do," said Samantha while Snape looked slightly anxious.
"Until next week, then," said Father Matthews as he opened the door to the sacristy.
Samantha smiled and nodded. The pair walked back to the graveyard to find a secluded spot from which they could apparate to Samantha's flat. Not knowing where he was going, he allowed Samantha to control the spell. When their feet found terra firma again, Snape was none the wiser as to where in London it was that she lived.
Walking out of the alcove into which they'd apparated, Snape immediately recognized the area as Chelsea. A very affluent part of Chelsea, to be sure. Samantha led them along the Kings Road before turning down a terrace house-lined street. He spied a bridge ahead, quickly identifying it at as the Albert Bridge. Turning right, they walked along the sidewalk for less than a block before Samantha stopped abruptly in front of a building made of what was almost orange brick. It stood out starkly against the white building next to it. Snape looked around. Surely they could not have reached their destination.
"This is it," said Samantha with little fanfare.
Snape gaped. He couldn't help it.
"You live on the Embankment?" He asked, catching sight of the Battersea Bridge further down the street.
"I live at Hogwarts, Severus," Samantha said firmly. "Once I clear this place out, it will be going on the market."
He continued to openly stare at the brick building while Samantha fished her keys out of her purse. She always kept them with her, but had not used them in nearly two years.
They entered into a marble foyer with a reception desk just past the hallway. The man seated at the desk quickly stood.
"Mrs. Collins," he said immediately, with more than a little surprise coloring his voice and eyeing Snape with a bit more suspicion than was to Samantha's liking.
"Leonard," she responded with a nod of her head.
"The cleaners were in yesterday," he informed her. Samantha had been sure to keep a monthly service coming in to clean the flat while she was away. It was no good having a place as nice as it was only to let it decay as it sat unused.
"Good," she said simply.
The man nodded and stood uncertainly for a moment before sitting back down. Though she knew it was objectively more desirable to live in a building with a reception desk, Samantha had always wanted to just walk into her flat without having to engage in small talk with anyone. She found it terribly awkward.
Walking through another set of doors, Samantha stopped in front of the first door on the left. She wrapped her fingers around the wand concealed in her pocket and whispered the spell to take down her wards. She then inserted the key into the lock and took a deep breath before unlocking the door.
Snape looked over Samantha's shoulder as she opened the door to find a small stairwell, though very nice. They walked up a short staircase to find another hallway, beyond which Snape could see a much larger room that was clearly well-lit by natural light.
"My entrance hall," said Samantha with a sweep of her arm. She put her keys down on the side table as she moved into the living room. Snape noted that it was a practiced move, as if part of her daily routine. He felt a hint of jealously, but quickly tamped it down. It could serve no purpose.
The living room had high corniced ceilings and tall windows lined the far wall. It was light and airy, everything his rooms were not. The wood floors gleamed and small rugs pulled together the pieces of furniture spaced throughout the room. He was struck by the artwork on the walls. These were no prints or posters, but originals. They alone would cost a fortune, he reckoned.
As Snape gazed around the room, his eyes landed on a piano, upon which were a number of framed Muggle photographs. He was drawn to one, in particular; it could only have been her wedding day. Samantha was dressed in a white lace gown and next to her was an older man, smiling broadly. So this was Mark Collins. Snape supposed he was handsome; he never really had an eye for these things. He, unlike Snape, had no glaringly distinctive physical characteristics and was, from all outward appearances, exceptionally normal. Snape concluded that he seemed unlikely to attract attention – good or bad.
Samantha moved to stand next to Snape. She took his hand as he continued to study the photo, but she remained silent.
"Do you…miss him?" He asked. They had never spoken much of Mark and Samantha seemed keen to keep it that way.
"Of course," she answered quickly, though not unkindly. "But not like I did. And not like I thought I would."
Snape finally tore his eyes away from the photo to look at her. He studied her face closely.
"He will always be part of my life, Severus," Samantha continued. "It isn't as though we had a falling out and divorced. He died in what I thought was still the beginning of our marriage. That doesn't just…go away."
"No, it doesn't," said Snape quietly. He could sympathize, but only to a point. He knew what it felt like to lose someone you loved in tragic circumstances, however little that someone may have loved him back.
"So we both have a past. Let's try to build on them."
Samantha gave Snape's hand a squeeze before relinquishing her hold. She had work to do.
The couple ended up staying at the flat until after nightfall. Samantha had gone through her clothes, taking much of what she would need through the coming winter. Periodically, she would hold up a piece of art or various bric-a-brac and ask Snape his opinion on it. After the fifth non-committal response, Samantha nearly unleashed hell on him.
"Severus!" She said sharply. "Someday," she said, sweeping her arms over the room, "all of my stuff and all of your stuff is all going to be in one harmonious home. Would you not like to have a say in what will be there?"
Chastened, he dutifully offered comments on everything. Truth be told, she – or they, perhaps he should say, she had not decorated alone – had excellent taste and the money to indulge in it. He had virtually no objections to voice on her belongings. The few trinkets he'd kept over the years were of little more than sentimental value and no one had ever accused Severus Snape of sentimentality. No, he was perfectly happy allowing her to dominate their shared space.
Once satisfied, Samantha shrank all but the artwork. Although she knew that the pieces would not be harmed by the magic, she just couldn't bring herself to chance it. They were thus left to be crated up and shipped when she found use for it all.
"I will have to deal with my lab at some point," she murmured to herself as they prepared to leave.
"You have a lab here?" Snape asked.
Samantha shook her head.
"No, rented space," she explained. "I didn't leave any ingredients when I left for Hogwarts, but I have equipment, research, books, and the like. Mark and I were very social and had friends over quite often. I didn't want anyone coming upon anything and have to try to explain it."
Snape was bothered by her explanation, but didn't know why. It took him until they were back at the gates of Hogwarts, after having disapparated from an out of the way alley in Chelsea, to find words for it.
"Did you not have any magical friends?" He asked, seemingly out of the blue as he held the gate open for her.
She cocked her head at him, confused.
"When?"
"You said that you kept all of your book and potions in your lab," he clarified. "So no one would find them."
"Oh, well…"
She shrugged.
"I guess I never thought much of it, but, no, I didn't," she answered honestly. "There were some girls I had been friendly with at Salem, but we e-mailed or phoned when we wanted to talk. There was not even the suggestion of owls or floo. And they never visited, though, to be fair, I never visited them either."
"You never felt…stifled?" He further questioned, recalling vividly the way his mother's magic had drained away from her under his father's heavy hand.
Samantha was silent for a moment as they continued to walk the grounds.
"No," she said at last. "But it was my choice, not Mark's. Apart from brewing in my lab and a few limited bits of magic at home, I very much lived my day-to-day life as a Muggle. I cooked, cleaned, and went about my life with little to no magic. Almost no spell casting to speak of."
She stopped speaking, but Snape could sense she was not quite finished with what she wanted to say, though she looked very unsure about it.
"I miss that sometimes."
Samantha cast a wary sidelong glance at Snape, hoping he wouldn't take it the wrong way. His face was set in hard lines, but she could tell no more than that.
"It seems no matter where I am, I feel a bit disconnected from something," she finished.
Rather than walking straight to the doors, Snape had led them on a detour toward a bench by the lake. Though Samantha was tired and wanted to just sit and drink some tea, she willingly followed. Snape was not often in such contemplative moods and she was quickly learning to allow him as much time as he needed whenever he was.
"I never miss Manchester," said Snape emphatically as they settled on the bench.
"Manchester?" Samantha asked. She had always assumed he was from London. Did she really know so little about the man she'd agreed to marry?
Snape nodded.
"I still own the house in which I was raised."
"I would have never guessed," said Samantha, leaning back against the bench and looking out over the lake. It was dark and the moon's reflection danced across the rippling water.
"I inherited –"
"I meant that you were from Manchester," she said, smiling at him. "You have absolutely no accent. You could be a bloody BBC newsreader."
Snape sighed.
"I worked very hard to rid myself of that accent. I wanted to sound as little like my father as I could."
Samantha watched Snape closely for a few moments before speaking.
"I wasn't terribly close with my father either," she said in a quiet voice. It was not a topic she often ventured into.
"Mine was an abusive alcoholic," said Snape flatly. Samantha could swear she heard a challenge in his tone.
"It's not a competition, Severus," she chided him.
Changing his tack, Snape asked, "Is that why you married someone so much older?"
Samantha sighed loudly and rolled her eyes. Clearly he'd chosen the wrong tack.
"No," she answered with feeling, "it is not. Mark's age had nothing to do with why I married him. I was not looking for a new daddy."
Snape wisely did not try to engage her on the subject. She had obviously had enough of that for a lifetime.
"What about your mother?" Samantha pressed forward, trying to get more out of him about his family.
Snape took a deep breath in through his nose.
"A pureblood," he answered, though not quite knowing why he led with that fact. "Eileen Prince. She was disowned by her family when she married my father."
"What was she like?"
Snape almost shrugged.
"She…tried," he said ambiguously. "My father did not like magic and did not allow its use in the house. I think my mother genuinely loved him at first, but by the time I was old enough to really understand, she…wasn't really a person anymore, much less a witch. He had beaten it all out of her. After I found out what magic could do, I never understood why she didn't just curse him."
"Women in abusive relationships often feel it's what they deserve," Samantha offered, hoping Snape didn't think she was just regurgitating a psychology textbook at him. "And that the man they're with is savable, that he isn't abusive when he isn't, you know, insert problem here: drunk, angry, and so on. That if they could make sure they were good enough and did everything right, everything would be fine."
"Am I savable?" Snape asked almost in a whisper. He didn't look at her, preferring to stare at the lapping water on the lake's bank.
"You are not your father, Severus," Samantha said gently, but firmly. She leaned forward, trying to engage him. "You have your moments, but there is no question of abuse."
"My father wasn't abusive until I came along," Snape countered. "I know how little patience I have for my students as it is, what if we were to have a –"
He stopped himself, not wanting to continue on that train of thought.
"If we were to have a child," Samantha started carefully, "You would be a wonderful father precisely for the same reason that you are sitting here worrying about it in the middle of the night. You are aware of your family history and, from what I can tell, anxious to ensure it does not repeat itself."
Snape remained unconvinced of Samantha's assurances, but let the matter pass. It would be discussed again, he knew, if the look on Samantha's face was anything to go by. But for now, the only children he needed to be focused on were his Slytherins. They were due back at the castle in just a few short weeks. He needed to prepare himself for the resistance he would surely come up against in unveiling the new face of the House of Slytherin.