Tying Up Loose Ends
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife
And you may ask yourself-Well...How did I get here?
Snape sat on a comfortable chair in the garden. He was supposed to be reading the Daily Prophet but the words were darting to and fro in front of his eyes. He was too tired to try to make sense out of the dancing letters. Instead, he fingered the letter in his pocket, a letter he had read several times since he read it furtively while he was supposedly napping. He still did not believe its contents. He could almost recite it word for word as he had read it so many times, trying to find the truth of it.
Severus,
If you are reading this, then Lord Voldemort must have suffered a final defeat, otherwise, this letter would have burst into flames. You are most likely with an attractive dark haired witch named Sylvie Turner and she has no doubt told you an incredible story of how you were supposed to meet at Hogwarts, marry and have twins. You do not remember any of these occurrences because I went back in time and changed the patterns of destiny so that you would not meet at Hogwarts. You will discount this story as utter hogwash, a fabrication of a woman who is obviously mental. As difficult as it will be to believe, all that she tells you is true. Sylvie Turner did come to Hogwarts. You were married. You had twins. Your newfound loyalty to your family threatened all that I had so carefully orchestrated. I went back to change my decision regarding the hiring of Sylvie Turner. I deeply regret the actions that I was forced to take but I would not change them. Your particular talents are vital to the defeat of Voldemort. If I had allowed you to leave Hogwarts, to live in Canada with your new wife and family, we would have lost an irreplaceable spy. I could not risk the loss of your intelligence.
Now you have a second chance. Your wife is a very special woman. I am thankful that she allowed you to keep your promise, to bring down Voldemort. In turn, I gave her information that I believe will aid her if she needs to reverse death. I hope that she will not have to use that information. Know Severus that she loves you very much and that when you were together in that other life, you felt the same. I am also happy that she found a way to guarantee the existence of your children. I know that I have not always treated you well, Severus. I want you to know that I am very grateful for all the assistance you have given me over the years, that I am very proud of you, that I think of you as the child I never had. We share more in common than you know.
Enjoy your new life, Severus. I know that you will doubt these words. Remember the night I revealed to you that Harry Potter must die for Voldemort to be truly defeated. You conjured your Patronus, the doe. I said, "after all this time," and you replied, "always". No one else knows of this, Severus. I have kept your secret all of these years.
Albus Dumbledore
The letter could still be a fake. She could have taken the real letter from his clothing while he was unconscious and substituted this one. 'But how did she know about the Patronus,' Traitorous Snape questioned. 'She could have taken it from my mind,' Loyal Snape retorted. 'You can't seriously believe that she is skilled in Legilimency. Her every thought is displayed on her face. Anyone who can steal the thoughts of others would also be skilled in hiding their own.' 'She could be an excellent actress who only seems to reveal her thoughts.' He had to admit that Loyal Snape's argument sounded weak. The woman did not try to hide anything. Not only could he guess the direction of her thoughts from her face, she also told him and showed him everything. She had no sense of modesty whatsoever. It had been a week since he had first woken up in her bed, a bed he hadn't expected to have to share with her. When she had emerged from the washroom in her nightgown that first night, he had thought she would continue onto some other room. Instead, she crawled into bed with him.
"What are you doing," he asked, horrified.
"Going to bed," she stated like there was nothing wrong with that.
"Here?" His voice was high and squeaky with shock.
"It is my bed," she said with eyebrows raised.
"Isn't there another bed that you can sleep in?"
"No, there isn't. There are only two bedrooms and the twins are in the other."
"What about your great-grandmother? Where does she sleep?"
"Before you came, she slept with me. Now she sleeps at the castle."
"Castle?"
"This is the estate of my Nona's family in Ireland. She was born in that castle. We are staying in the Honeymoon House because Nona felt it was no longer safe in London so I sold my house and we moved here."
So he had seen her in London that time in Diagon Alley. Who knows how many times she had watched him, hidden by her disguise. Her nightgown looked like an oversized shirt. There was nothing remotely sexual about it but the sight of her bare legs aroused him. He remembered what it was like to have those legs wrapped around his as he pounded into her. Stop! Stop! Stop! Get control of yourself, he thought.
She rearranged her pillow to her liking and then said, "Don't worry. I won't attack you… tonight. Your modesty is safe for now." He could hear her softly laughing to herself. And for the rest of the week, she had left him alone, sleeping soundly. He, however, found it almost impossible to sleep with her next to him. For one thing, she did not stay in one spot but would wander over and end up cuddled next to him. Finally, he cast a spell that created an invisible barrier between them so that she stayed on her side. But that was only part of the problem. His lust took over his reason and images of sexual activities crowded his head. It wasn't helped by the fact that she had no problem undressing in front of him. He tried to turn away but somehow his eyes would take in her bare body of their own volition. Seeing led to the desire to touch, thus his torturous nights.
There was also the fact that the woman was a furnace. Heat radiated off her at night, making him even more aware of her presence. She would be nice to sleep with in the winter, not that he intended to be here in the winter. 'Then why am I here now? Why not leave?' But where would he go? He couldn't go back to Hogwarts and he couldn't go back to his childhood home. He felt shell shocked, incapable of movement, incapable of making any decisions. Here, all the decisions were made for him. Time to eat, time to sleep, time to read to the twins. He was operating on autopilot, not really feeling anything, just existing. Without her, he did not know what he would do, where he would go. 'Without her, I would not have to make any decisions because I would be dead and I would see Lily again,' he thought angrily. 'But would you really?' He was starting to doubt that the voice had been hers.
He looked over to where she was lounging in her chair. She looked so innocent, her book on her lap, watching the children playing. They were blowing bubbles, changing them into various distorted animals. It was a contest as to who could make the funniest. Shrieks of their laughter broke the quiet of the afternoon. His children, it was hard to believe. If he were to imagine that he had children, they would be nothing like these two. They looked so carefree and why not. They were doted on by their mother and Nona. They were secure in the fact that they were loved, something he had never experienced himself. No, he would have pictured his children as copies of himself as a child, reticent, insecure, uneasy in his skin. These children were confident, noisy, and happy, but, despite the amount of time Sylvie spent with them and the amount of material possessions they had, they were not spoiled. He was surprised at how respectful they were. Indeed, they often looked at him to see if he approved of their actions.
And that was another thing. When he was growing up, he was expected to entertain himself. She did all sorts of things with them and expected him to participate. He had to admit that he enjoyed the walks in the woods, pointing out plants to the twins and explaining their uses. Sophia seemed particularly interested. However, bathing them was not something he thought he should be doing. The first time she had asked him to give them their bath, he had looked at her with disbelief. Shouldn't they be doing that on their own and if not, wasn't that the mother's job? Seeing his look, she explained that the twins were quite capable of washing themselves. He only had to wash their hair and help dry them off. After that, he was supposed to assist with the putting on of pyjamas and the reading of bedtime stories. He found the whole experience extremely uncomfortable. Like their mother, they were entirely unabashed with their nudity. He had no idea where to look when they stripped off their clothes and jumped into the bathtub. As instructed, he washed their hair, handed them towels to dry themselves off and told them to change themselves.
When he entered their bedroom to complete the duty of reading a bedtime story, he found them waiting for them on their couch, one on each end. Gingerly, he sat between them. The girl had a book in her hand.
"Is this what you want me to read," he asked, gruffly.
"No Poppa. I'm going to read to you since you like us to do stuff ourselves."
She opened up a yellow book and started to read.
"One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish.
Black fish, blue fish, old fish, new fish.
This one has a little star. This one has a little car. Say! What a lot of fish there are."
She showed him the simplistic drawings of what were supposed to be fish on each page, but they did not look like any fish he had ever seen. One fish had spectacles. Another was pushing a baby carriage. What drivel was she reading? There was no plot to this book. It did not tell of how fish could be used in potions.
"Yes. Some are red. And some are blue. Some are old. And some are new.
Some are sad. And some are glad. And some are very, very bad.
Why are they sad and glad and bad? I do not know. Go ask your dad."
They both looked at him as if expecting him to voice an opinion on the emotions of fish. He looked at them, aghast. "What are you reading?"
"It's Dr. Seuss." Sylvie came into the bedroom.
"Why are they reading this nonsense about fish?"
"It's not the content that matters. The rhyming helps young children with language development and the silliness of the stories gives them a love of reading. Why don't you read to them instead? Here, read them The King of the Golden River."
He looked at it curiously. "Is this a muggle book? Does it concern fish?"
"It is a muggle book but you will find the story similar to The Tale of the Three Brothers. From what I remember, there are no fish in the story. You don't have to read the whole thing, just the first chapter will suffice." The children wiggled as close to him as they could get without actually climbing on his lap. He was not accustomed to people touching him so he found their proximity disconcerting. However, he forgot all that as he started to read the story. Instead of stopping at one chapter as he had originally intended, he ended up reading the whole story about three brothers. The older two were evil and selfish while the younger one was kind. The three have a chance to find untold riches. Of course, the elder two make the wrong choices and were punished for it while the youngest gained the treasure at the end. Sometime during the reading of the story, both children managed to crawl onto his lap. He had allowed it as he found it not altogether unpleasant to have their small bodies against his. Once the story was done, he was uncomfortable again, restraining the instinct to throw them off of him. He hustled them into bed after they had both given him a hug that he withstood, body stiff. He followed her into the living room and sat in the chair as she curled up on the couch.
"The story is similar to The Tale of the Three Brothers. Was the author a wizard familiar with The Tales of Beedle the Bard?"
"No, both stories are allegorical. You will find stories of three siblings common in children's literature with the third being rewarded for their behaviour. Look at the story of the three pigs. The first two pigs are careless about the building materials of their houses so they are eaten by the wolf. The third little pig builds his house from brick and ends up cooking the wolf."
He looked at her, perplexed. Stories of pigs? Was this like the book about the fish? A thought sneaked into his mind. Maybe she was smarter than he was. Instantly, he banished that thought. She wasn't smarter. Her head was filled with muggle nonsense, which wasn't worth knowing anyway.
Petting Lizzie who was lying beside her on the lounger, she looked up and caught him staring at her. At her smile, he looked away, seeming embarrassed to be caught watching at her. 'I wonder what he was thinking about.' She felt depressed. His first week here had not been the most successful. He was very different from the man she fell in love with and that made her nervous which made her tend to babble. She thought back to their conversation about The King of the Golden River. Comparing it to the Three Pigs. He must think she is an idiot. She was trying to give him time to adjust. It must be difficult for him to go from bachelor to instant family. She had memories of their time before, whereas this was all brand new to him. She really wasn't sure how to proceed. An extended wooing was what was needed, something she was having difficulty with. Having his body so close to hers at night made sleep difficult. She just wanted to reach over and start kissing him but she restrained herself, keeping to her side of the bed. She felt so tired.
He looked tired too. Maybe he wasn't sleeping well. Maybe the curtains were too thin in the bedroom. "Do you think we should get heavier curtains for the bedroom? You look so tired all the time."
"It matters not to me. It's your house," he replied, indifferent. "I'm not tired because of the light. I'm tired because I am not sleeping alone."
"It's not my house. It's my relatives' house. At the moment, I don't own a house. If you have trouble sleeping, why don't you use a mild sleeping potion? That's what you did when we were first married. After you were used to sleeping with me, you discontinued taking the potion." Some advice I should take for myself, she thought.
He felt a little foolish that he had not thought of it before but he was used to insomnia, having been cursed with it his whole life.
"I've never thought about it but everything in this house belongs to someone else. Why don't we go to your childhood home and we can gather the things that you would like to keep. If you want, we can sell the house and the rest of its contents. That's what we did when we got married," she offered.
"Go to Spinner's End? What if someone sees me? I could be arrested, like the other Death Eaters."
"No one from the Ministry is looking for you. In the eyes of the magical world, you are dead. And if your neighbours see you, so what. They don't know about your activities outside of their neighbourhood. Or do you think someone has already sold the house?"
"No. I do not think anyone has bothered to think about my possessions outside of Hogwarts. There really isn't much there. Most everything that has any value to me is at Hogwarts."
"Well, I'm not going there to pick them up."
"It doesn't matter. All of my things have probably been discarded, like trash, since that matches my reputation. Maybe they held a bonfire and burned the lot, roasting marshmallows over the remains. Maybe it will be declared a holiday, a time for celebration that Severus Snape is no more."
She chuckled. "Yes, I can see it now, witches and wizards cavorting around the flames. Seriously though, maybe we should go to Hogwarts. We could set the record straight and you would be celebrated as the hero that you are. You could probably have your old job back if you wanted. Is that what you want," she frowned.
"I never want to return there. My time there is done. Do you seriously think that we could convince them that I was 'the hero' as you so naively put it. People do not want to hear the truth. I am a person that others despise. No one wants to think the best of me. I shall always be the outcast."
"I think the best of you, Severus," she said softly. He ignored her pleading eyes and looked back at the children, who had stopped their playing at his raised voice. The boy looked curious while the girl looked frightened. They came over to the chairs.
"Is there something wrong, Poppa," Nicholas asked.
He stayed silent so Sylvie answered. "Poppa has nothing here that is his own. I think we should go to the house where he grew up and bring back anything he would like to keep."
The children responded with much more enthusiasm than he felt. Return to the house on Spinner's End? It was not something that he wanted to do but he was carried away in the tide of their eagerness to see his childhood home. Reluctantly he agreed.
…
They ended up taking her car in order to hold any items he wanted to keep. Flying through the air at dizzying speeds, they arrived long before he was ready to face the house. It must be a mode of transportation they had used often in the past as it did not seem to bother the children or the house elf at all whereas he felt ill to his stomach. The streets they passed showed neglect with broken windows and graffiti until they turned onto Spinner's End. The street had the look of a place where the residents had long ago gave up giving a shit. As they pulled up beside his house, he berated himself again for agreeing to this unnecessary journey. The house, the final one on the street, looked even more derelict than the last time he had visited. A visitor is what he felt like, never truly feeling at ease here. The heaviness of unhappy memories dragged his feet behind everyone else. The garbage filled street was deserted, like many of the houses, but he could feel curious eyes behind curtains, hoping to witness someone more misfortunate than themselves. The twins were first to the door in their eagerness to see their Poppa's house.
He opened the door to the mustiness of disuse. At least there was nothing rotting in here. The house was small with a tiny sitting room, kitchen, utility room and den on the main floor and bedrooms upstairs. Dust covered everything, gray being the dominant colour in the rooms. Everything was shabby, old and of second hand quality. Creatures scuttled into their hiding places at the unexpectedness of light.
The twins held each other's hands, quiet for the first time since this journey started, absorbing the bleak furnishings. They asked if they could explore and he waved them off. Instead of thundering like elephants as they usually did, they quietly left the room. He stood still, unsure of how he felt. She slipped her hand in his.
"Teeny will clean the house while we gather your possessions. I would guess that you want to take all the books," she said questioningly. With a flick of her wand, the books began to load themselves into boxes at his assent.
"Why don't you show me around?"
"Haven't you already seen the house? I thought we came here when we were first married." If he was hoping to trip her up, he failed as she described the location and look of each room. "You have told me so little about your childhood. I thought a walk-through would encourage you to share some memories with me."
"Perhaps I do not want to share any memories."
"Then let's say goodbye to them and move on." She tightened her hand in his and moved into the kitchen. "Is there anything here that you want to keep?"
"Nothing."
"That's too bad. I have wonderful memories of the kitchen at home. My brothers and I would perch on the chairs while Mel, our house elf, would prepare the daily meals. Smelling homemade chocolate chip cookies still makes me homesick. Close your eyes. When you stand here in the kitchen where you grew up, what do you remember?"
"Fights. My father berating my mother that the food was taking too long or that it tasted like the inside of a garbage dump." His face grew hard at the memories.
"There must be something good you remember. What about when you and your mother were alone?"
His face lost some of its rigidity. "Sometimes, she would hum as she was preparing dinner, and she would tell me all about Hogwarts. I couldn't wait to go."
"Was your mother in Slytherin House too?" He nodded. "You must have been thrilled when the Sorting Hat chose Slytherin. Your mother must have been pleased."
"I suppose. We didn't really discuss it. Hogwarts was better than here but it wasn't what I had hoped."
The twins rushed into the room. "Poppa, Poppa. Someone else has been living here."
He looked around suspiciously. "Why do you think so?"
"We were in one of the bedrooms. There were clothes in there."
"And how do you know they weren't your Poppa's clothing," queried Sylvie.
"Because they weren't black. They were brown and besides, they were too small to be Poppa's clothes. Whose clothes are they?"
"They belong to a rat that was living here."
"But rats don't wear clothes, Poppa. Only in stories."
Sylvie understood what he was referring to. "Do you mean that Peter Pettigrew lived here?" She looked horrified when he nodded. "Oh Severus, how awful. Why did you let him stay here?"
"Do you think I really had a choice in the matter? That was another injustice I had to suffer. Every time I had to look at his face…"
The children were looking alarmed, not sure of how to react to their father's tirade. Sylvie rushed over and folded her body around his in a hug. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. Sophia followed suit and wrapped herself around his leg. Nicholas dealt with the confusion he felt by looking out the window.
"Poppa, where is your backyard? There is nowhere to play."
Severus recovered himself. Sophia joined her brother looking out the window and Sylvie took his hand again. "I spent a lot of time at the playground. Things weren't so bad when I was growing up. The factories were still running so the houses were better maintained. It wasn't such a wasteland."
Teeny interrupted carrying a large cardboard box labeled 'Severus' in spidery writing. "I found this in the attic. Since it has your name on it, I thought it might be important."
She placed the box on the floor. Everyone crowded around it. "What's inside, Sev?" He didn't even notice the use of Lily's pet name, he was so intrigued.
"I have no idea." He slowly opened the box. Inside were various objects from his childhood. The first he pulled out was a well-worn teddy bear. He turned in over in his hands, his eyes glazed, lost in memories of holding the bear tight late at night when he imagined the noises outside were trolls waiting to grab him or when the noises inside might mean that his father had finally killed his mother. His introspection was broken when Nicholas asked if he could have the bear.
Upset that he had allowed himself to dwell on the past, he thrust the bear towards the boy. "Take it," he said roughly. Nicholas held onto the bear as if it would break apart if held too tightly and lightly stroked the worn fur. Snape looked at his daughter, expecting her to demand the bear. Although they sometimes fought over toys, Sylvie knew that Sophia would not mind that her brother had the bear. All other toys were put away at bedtime and the stuffed cat her grandmother had given her was the only thing she slept with. Their attention was pulled toward the other things coming out of the box, a pair of baby shoes, a small cauldron, a tiny nightshirt, a pair of booties. They were all things from his childhood.
"Your mother must have saved these things," Sylvie observed. At the bottom of the box was another wooden box. Opening it revealed a letter and a well worn Slytherin scarf. Looking over his shoulder, Sylvie said, "It's your letter of acceptance from Hogwarts. Is this your scarf?"
"No, it's my mother's. She used to put it on me. I would pretend that she was the Headmaster welcoming me into Slytherin House."
"I knew she was proud of you." She noticed that Sophia was looking at the scarf intently. "I think that Sophia would like you to put it on her."
"She would just wreak it," he muttered, placing the items back into the box. Sophia's face fell, devastated. Her thumb, her comfort mechanism, made its way into her mouth.
Sylvie knelt down beside her. "The scarf is very old and fragile. Maybe when you are older, Poppa will let you wear it." She gave her a small smile, trying to hide her tears. Snape inwardly groaned. What did he know about young children. Sylvie always knew the right thing to say. He had no idea how to comfort a child. What business did he have staying here, pretending that he was any kind of father.
"I want you to help Teeny take the rest of the boxes out to the car. Poppa and I will be along in a minute." Alone together, she took both hands in hers. "I know this was difficult for you, that we've stirred up some unpleasant memories. I would like you to leave with a happy memory. Will you let me kiss you?"
He looked into the deep blue of her eyes. He didn't know what to say. Would kissing her give him a happy memory? The very thought caused conflicting emotions, desire, fear, even revulsion. Without waiting for his permission, she stood on tiptoe and lightly brushed her lips with his. He had been expecting a kiss like their previous encounters, one that set his lower regions on fire. Instead, it was the merest whisper of a touch as her lips continued to gently meander across his, applying a light pressure that made his own lips tingle. Tentatively, his lips applied a soft pressure against her own, gradually increasing but not to the point of the desperation of her past kisses. Her hands pulled his head down to give her easier access. His hands rested on her back but did not pull her closer. Just as he was considering doing just that, she broke from the embrace and smiled up at him. "We should kiss like that more often. I hope that will leave you with a happy memory."
Allowing her to lead him from the house, they paused on the threshold. He took one look back at the place that he had once called home but the realization that he would never see it again left him feeling nothing. He closed the door and stepped towards the uncertain future.
