Miles to Go Before I Sleep: Chapter 13
Later that night, as Snape lay restless and worried, unable to sleep, the idea of occlumency as a way to control emotions flitted through his brain, and he found himself contemplating the vision of himself teaching occlumency to the little girl. It was not an unpleasant image, and Snape was on the verge of accepting the idea as an actual inspiration when it shifted and became an image of himself upending furniture and shattering glass vessels against the walls. He sat bold upright in bed.
How can I teach her to control her feelings when I can't control my own? Then Molly Weasley's face and voice came to mind. Control. Did she ever talk about controlling the feelings? She talked about dealing with them and working them out. He forced himself to look back on his life, searching for some evidence that he'd learned how to work out or deal with anything emotional. Not rationalize it, but deal with it. Even Dumbledore's lessons, back all those years ago, had been about working with the occlumency, not working with the feelings.
I deal with things by locking them into cages, like wild tigers. Tigers don't like being caged. It makes them worse when they break out.
In the recesses of his brain, Snape could feel the bubbles forming again, tigers clawing at the bars, volcanic gasses building to an explosion. Molly's voice came to him – 'Never abandon them to work it out alone…' He didn't want to be alone.
Throwing on a dressing gown and slippers, Snape left his rooms and hurried downstairs. Fortunately, a light was still on in Hagrid's hut.
"This ain't like you," Hagrid said as he made tea, "seeking out what some might call assistance. I ain't complaining, mind you, but what happened?"
"I 'got religion,'" said Snape. He was jumpy and irritable, waiting for the first bubble to burst inside his head.
"Fine. Don't tell me. It ain't like I've gone outta my way to be helpful from time t' time."
"I'm sorry, Hagrid. I shouldn't talk to you like that. All my life, it seems, you've been there to cover my back and pick up the pieces." Snape took the proffered cup of tea and sipped it absent-mindedly. "What happened was getting caught in that cave back in June and facing dying, really dying…
Hagrid waited. What needed to come would come without his prodding.
"You know," Snape said with a deep breath, "I was grateful that someone else was dying with me." He stopped and glanced up at Hagrid. "That didn't come out right. I didn't want anyone else to die. It's just… I didn't have to face it alone. There was another human being there – Harry was there – a warm body, a voice to listen to. Someone who knew my name and might actually prefer my living to my dying. It was something to cling to. And that wasn't all."
Hagrid, about to comment, closed his mouth in silence.
"I asked Molly Weasley about the little girl's tantrum, and she said it's because toddlers have these powerful emotions, but they haven't learned to deal with them, to work them out, and you have to be there with them to show them what to do, and it came to me that I've never learned that either, just how to lock them down, and maybe I need someone to be there with me and show me what to do… Hagrid, does that make sense?"
"Ya sound just like ya did that first time ya ever come to me with a question about people. D' ya remember? – Hagrid, ya asked me, why do ya feel bad when yer friend has another friend? – Just like that, like you was a kid again."
"I was jealous of Lu… of Remus. I was afraid if she talked to him, I'd lose her. In a way, I was right." Snape clutched his head suddenly. The bubble was rising. It was irresistible, and it was rising…
He was strolling with Dumbledore in the deserted castle grounds by twilight. "What are you doing with Potter, all these evenings you are closeted together?" he asked. "You trust him… you do not trust me."
"It is not a question of trust. It is essential that I give the boy enough information for him to do what he needs to do… Do not think that I underestimate the constant danger in which you place yourself, Severus. It is a job I would entrust to nobody but you."
Yet you confide more in a boy… that boy… you trust him… him, not me… never me…
"Y' know," said Hagrid after a few minutes, "I can't read ya like Harry can. I don't know what that memory was. But I'm pretty sure Madam Pennywhistle, she'd like to know. D' ya think we might jot it down for her?"
Snape cradled his aching head in his hands. "I was talking to Dumbledore," he said. "I was jealous of Potter. Dumbledore was always talking to Potter that year. He used to talk to me more. I was… I was afraid of being shut out… left out… left alone…"
"We was just talking about being jealous. Ya was jealous of James Potter, wasn't ya? Taking yer girl like that."
"My girl? You know I didn't think of Lily like that!"
"How did ya 'think of her?"
"She was… my friend. I could talk to her… She could talk to me… It was…"
"What did she ever tell ya about her life? Her problems?"
Snape was silent. "She had a good life," he said after a few moments. "She didn't have any problems."
"None that she told ya about."
"That's not fair, Hagrid," said Snape quietly. "If she'd told me, I'd have listened. I couldn't force her to tell me things."
"Did she ever talk about herself?"
"All the time. She talked about school, and her fights with Petunia, and the things she was going to do during the summer with her parents, and she asked about the wizarding world, and complained about not doing real magic, and in Hogwarts she talked about her dorm mates and…"
"Did she tell ya how she felt about James Potter?"
"Yes," Snape said, "she did. The technical term she used was toerag. On several occasions."
"Don't seem too likely to me," Hagrid countered, "that a young lady of taste would marry someone she considered a toerag. Did she ever tell ya why she changed her mind?'
"No. But by then we'd drifted apart in any case and weren't sharing confidences the way we once had."
"This drifting apart… did it have a cause?"
Snape shrugged. "It did at the time. By the time we found out who was really to blame, it was too late. She'd already started talking and acting like a Gryffindor instead of like a friend."
"Now ya got me curious, lad. How does a Gryffindor talk and act?"
"Like the sole possessor of revealed truth. They pretend to ask questions, but before you can get two words in, they've already supplied the answers, and they pay no attention to what you might have said. Their answer is the only one they consider valid. It's a very useful thing for a Gryffindor, never having to pay attention to anyone else's view of things. That way they don't strain their brains too much."
"I see," said Hagrid, and Snape was rather relieved that Hagrid didn't point out that he'd been in Gryffindor house. The half-giant continued blandly, "Ya ever have any other Gryffindors talk t' ya like that?"
"Yes. Dumbledore."
"I see we got some unresolved issues here."
"Whatever gave you that idea?"
Hagrid screwed up his mouth. "Did ya love her? And don't ask me t' define love. That's one of yer tricks ya use to get out of answering a question."
"I don't know." Snape stared down at his hands where they fidgeted on the table. "I needed her. He had so many friends. I had one. He didn't have to drive a wedge between us."
"What about yer dorm mates?"
"You can't shut yourself off from everybody. You can't refuse to speak to your own house mates."
Hagrid frowned. "That weren't what I was asking."
"That's what she was asking. Cut myself off from all other people, shun the common room and my dorm mates, make myself totally dependent on her, and maybe she would condescend to bestow her company on me. From time to time."
"That's why ya drifted apart."
"It was one of several things." Snape looked around Hagrid's hut. Far from comforted, he now felt bitter and resentful. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, and he began to lock it away. Then he thought of Jane Clearwater. Looking across the table at Hagrid, Snape admitted, "I'm angry. I'm angry, Hagrid, and I'm not sure what to do about it."
"Don't ya want t' be angry? Ya got a lot t' be angry about. You got probably more reasons t' be angry than any other human being I know."
"I don't want to be angry at her."
"'Cause y're supposed t' love her? Anger ain't the opposite of love. Lad, the only people ya never get angry at are the people ya don't care about. Maybe ya should just let yerself be angry."
Snape did let himself be angry. He rose and paced around the room, picking things up and putting them down, hitting fist into palm in frustration, and gradually he let himself talk. He told Hagrid about the fight over the Levicorpus spell, and learning later about James's invisibility cloak, about her demands on his loyalty and her withdrawal of her support that left him more dependent on the Slytherin students, not less. And he told of the brief, fleeting moments when they connected again, and it was almost like old times…
Snape didn't get back to his rooms in the castle until two in the morning. No more bubbles had surfaced, but his head was now full of too many thoughts and memories, thoughts that kept going round and round in a maddening dance that threatened to keep sleep away for the rest of the night. He wanted to lock it all away behind a door…
I can't. I have to learn to deal with it. This is what normal people do – they have sleepless nights. Is Hagrid right? I'm angry because I cared. They were able to hurt me because I cared. Which is worse, to be hurt, or never to care?
And suddenly it was morning, and Snape was waking up to sunlight coming through his window. He had fallen asleep after all.
Things went relatively smoothly for most of the next week. Pennywhistle came twice, and she and Snape began to form a more solid relationship, one that – Snape was starting to realize and even to accept – would most likely have to continue for several years if he was ever to be able to lead a relatively normal life. On her second visit, Snape recounted to Pennywhistle his conversation with Hagrid about Lily.
"Good for her!" was Pennywhistle's response.
"Good that she used and manipulated me?" Snape was astounded that the healer gave him so little sympathy.
"Good that she was no plaster saint, but a flesh and blood person who was able to live her own life and take care of her own needs. Good that you're able to recognize it, even resent it a little. It isn't healthy to put people on pedestals."
"But I needed her!"
"Yes, you did. And she was there for you for an important couple of years. But she wasn't created for the sole purpose of being a crutch for you. She had her own needs and her own life to live, and I'm pleased she didn't sacrifice herself as a martyr to your problems."
Snape turned his back on the healer and walked over to the window where he stood staring down at the lake. She rose from the sofa and came to stand beside him. Her voice was gentle.
"Severus, you were cursed from birth with a disability that placed a barrier between you and the normal world of human emotions and relationships. That was a terrible burden to bear, and I'm not trying to minimize it. The world has treated you unfairly from the moment you were born. Added to that, you had an abusive family, and you were thrust right into the middle of the worst conflict the wizarding world has ever known. That you weren't crushed by it all is a tribute to your intelligence and strength. I might go so far as to say that the rest of us are fortunate that your situation was so difficult, because what blighted your life turned out to be a gift to us all and led directly to Voldemort's destruction. You're right. It isn't fair. The world seldom is. But you can't use that as an excuse for being unfair to someone else. I know you hate me right now. That's all right. You go ahead and hate me; I can take it. I'm going to sit on that sofa and wait, and when you want to talk, we'll talk."
It only took a half hour before Snape was back, challenging Pennywhistle, debating and arguing, and even yelling and screaming a little. At the end of the session, he felt better. Not wonderful, of course. Just better.
By the following week, Pennywhistle's visits had become a routine, which meant they were beginning to feel normal. Snape even found himself looking forward to seeing the healer again.
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Friday, October 9, 1998 (3 days before the last quarter)
By the beginning of October, Snape had also managed to make talking to Jane Clearwater a routine. The children now played on a daily basis in the little playground, and Snape came to sit and watch them at least once a day for a few minutes. He still had no solid evidence of any magical abilities, but at least the little girl accepted his presence.
"This," Jane solemnly informed Snape from her position in the sandbox one Friday morning shortly before lunch, "is a pail. And this is a shovel. Robbie's pail is yellow, but mine is blue. You have to put sand in it like this. And then you turn it over. See? It's like the pail, just sand. Now I have to make another one. It's a house."
"Jane, may I ask you something?" Snape said.
"I have to make more sand walls. This is my house."
Taking that for a yes, Snape continued. "Just for pretend, Jane, how would you feel if you couldn't play in the sandbox anymore? Would you be happy, or sad?"
"You're silly."
"Why am I silly, Jane?"
"I can't be happy if I can't play. That's silly."
"Does your mommy play in the sandbox with you?"
Jane giggled. "Mommies don't play in sandboxes. They have other games."
"What if you told her she couldn't play those games? Would she be happy or sad?" Jane didn't answer, so Snape continued. "Some teachers are going out tonight for one of those games, but if Robbie gets sick, your mommy can't go, and she'll be sad. Do you think Robbie's going to get sick tonight?"
Jane looked over at Winky and Robbie, who were playing pat-a-cake on the other side of the playground. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe sometimes he doesn't get sick."
In the Great Hall at lunch, Snape again invited the three muggle teachers to dinner and a movie that evening.
Shortly before six o'clock, Snape, Davis, and Bradford were in the entrance hall, and at precisely six Professor Clearwater came down the stairs, dressed to go out for the evening, a coat over her arm.
"How's Robert?" Snape asked as Bradford gallantly held the coat for Clearwater.
"Amazingly well," Clearwater smiled. "He's playing quite happily with Jane. Winky's pleased as punch."
"I'm glad to hear it. May this be the first of many excursions."
The movie came first. At Bradford's suggestion, they went to see the latest 'Jackie Chan' film because, as Bradford put it, 'how can you not know about Jackie Chan?' It was lighthearted and fun, though Snape appreciated most the martial arts work, especially the clips at the end that showed how they'd filmed several of the stunts and how difficult they were. At dinner they reviewed their favorite parts with much laughter from the three muggles, and by the end of the evening they were on a first name basis, the title 'Professor' having been left by the wayside.
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Monday, October 12, 1998 (the last quarter)
The very next Monday was the beginning of the OWL and NEWT exams for the students who'd missed them the previous June. It was a bit of a holiday for everyone except the fifth years, since the staff were all needed to proctor the exams. Suddenly the lake, the lawn, the gardens, were full of playing or lounging students who thought it great that someone else had to be working while they were having fun.
Professor Marchbanks was naturally with the other Examiners, though she also planned to spend a large part of the week with Snape and the new teachers reviewing their class frameworks, standards, schedules, lesson plans, and what, so far, had been put into place.
"I have a little surprise for you," Bradford told Snape when the group met in the Muggle Studies office during lunch on the first day of exams. He handed Snape a flat rectangular device with a number pad and several arcane keys on it.
"This is a calculator," Snape said.
"I know," replied Bradford. "Try it."
"Electronic devices don't work on the grounds of Hogwarts," Snape insisted.
"Just try it."
With considerable skepticism, Snape punched the number seven, the addition sign, the number eight, and the equals sign. The calculator told him the answer was fifteen. He stared at it as if it were the eighth wonder of the world. "How did it do that?" he whispered.
"We've been trying to figure out what effect the magic has on the transmission of electrical current," Davis explained. "We're still not exactly sure, but it definitely inhibits transmission through wires and has a damaging effect on traditional batteries. But not these." She pointed to a row of tiny black squares at the top of the calculator.
"What are they?" Marchbanks asked, fascinated.
"Solar cells," Bradford explained. "Solar cells and microchips. We couldn't run the whole school on solar power because we couldn't wire the school; it wouldn't work. But we could bring in quite a bit of equipment."
Snape pounced on the idea like a cat on a mouse. Before the day was over, Bradford's office was littered with catalogs brimming over with the latest in scientific equipment. Marchbanks was beginning to back away in some consternation.
"This is going to be terribly expensive," she reminded him.
"Not as much as you think," Snape told her, practically vibrating with excitement. "There's already a laboratory. When Voldemort came back, he wanted the very latest in a potions lab and I managed to con him into… eh… persuade him to equip a fairly complete chemistry lab. It's in…" He tried to say the name, but the residue of the old Fidelius charm still blocked it. "Don't worry," Snape continued, "I can get it."
In the end, it wasn't Snape but the house-elves who transported the laboratory equipment from Birmingham to Hogwarts. They couldn't use all of it, not yet, since Birmingham had, unlike Hogwarts, been able to take the electric wiring, but it was a tremendous start, and Marchbanks was so pleased at not having to lay out money – and more pleased that Voldemort was paying for it – that she promised to look over their wish list for the more expensive things.
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Friday, October 23, 1998
At the end of two weeks, the exams were finished, the school was back to normal, Snape had no more classes, and that Friday he again invited the three muggle teachers to London. This time Bradford and Davis excused themselves, Bradford with a wink, and Davis with a sly smile – both equally mystifying to Snape – and so he and Clearwater found themselves deciding what to do with their evening out together.
They decided on a production of "Richard III," which meant dinner first, during which Clearwater confessed that she already knew the play would upset her.
"It's sad to think that someone who was probably a very decent person would be so maligned after his death. Half the world thinks poor Richard was a monster, and most of that's because of Shakespeare's play."
"Didn't he go around killing kings and babies?"
"You see? You believe the Shakespeare. But Shakespeare does it by mixing up dates and putting people in the wrong place. In "Henry VI" Shakespeare has the young Richard fighting in a battle when the real Richard was only about ten years old. Watch what happens in Act I of this play."
"What happens in Act I?" Snape had just noticed that Clearwater's hair wasn't brown, but a rich honey color, and that her eyes weren't blue like her daughter's, but gray. And right now they were sparkling in defense of a king who'd been dead for more than five hundred years.
"It starts with Richard getting his brother George arrested for treason. Then he meets a funeral procession for the recently murdered Henry VI, and charms the dead king's widowed daughter-in-law Anne into considering him for her next husband. In reality, Henry VI died in 1471, Richard married Anne in 1472, and George wasn't arrested for treason until 1478. Richard wasn't even close to London when that happened. He and Anne were living quite happily in Yorkshire."
"I thought getting rid of George was part of his plot to become king when Edward died."
"Why would he think Edward was about to die? Edward was only thirty-six when George was executed. Richard was twenty-five. Nobody had the slightest idea that Edward would die just five years later, and when he did, Richard was up in Wensleydale, in Yorkshire."
"Wensleydale?" Snape said, an image of his great-grandfather surfacing in his mind, and his grandmother's voice telling him that the Snapes were from the West Riding, while the Princes came to Lancashire from Yorkshire after being on the losing side in a dynastic war. The War of the Roses? "Richard III lived in Wensleydale?"
"Middleham Castle." Clearwater tilted her head to one side. "You're joking with me, aren't you? You know that the supporters of Richard III used Snape Castle as one of their meeting places after he was killed at Bosworth."
"I didn't even know there was a Snape Castle. I knew there was a village, but only because my grandmother told me. I've never been there."
"It belonged to the Barons Latimer, part of the Neville family. They and their friends were still giving the Tudors problems well into the reign of Henry VIII. You have heard of Henry VIII?"
"Oddly enough," said Snape wryly, "I have. That was rather late, wasn't it? I mean, it was Henry's father who defeated Richard."
"Good! There are some wizards who know some history after all. I was beginning to wonder. Now, let's use you as an example. What would have happened if you'd died in the Battle of Hogwarts and no one ever learned all those things that came out in your trial? What would the general opinion of you have been? They'd all have been certain that you were a Death Eater and a murderer…"
"I've never murdered anyone."
"I've heard that there were some who believed that all Death Eaters were murderers."
"There are some people who are stupid. They let their prejudices and preconceptions get in the way of their facts. Their opinions are about as valid as the Ptolemaic universe. Interesting for an understanding of the archaic mind, but useless for twentieth century astronomy."
"Richard was like you, except he died, and his enemies wrote the history books. It strengthened Henry's position if people believed Richard was evil. You got to have a trial where the truth came out. Richard didn't."
"All right, O Expert of the Period. What was Richard III really like?"
Clearwater's face softened as she thought. "The opposite of his brother. Edward was handsome, athletic – at least when he was young – outgoing and sociable. Everybody loved him, even if he didn't deserve it. Richard was quiet, analytical, slow to make friends… One of the problems at the end was that few knew him well enough to stand up for his reputation. Only those close enough to him to have seen what he was really doing."
"I think I'm beginning to like this Richard III," said Snape with a slight smile.
"You just watch the play closely, and if you have questions, I'll answer them." Clearwater eyed Snape shrewdly. "And I think we need to go to Wensleydale this weekend."
Snape did have questions after the play, and they talked about them briefly as they first looked for a quiet spot to apparate, and then as they walked up Hogwarts hill.
"But why would he mention strawberries at a moment like that? It seemed so odd."
"That comes from an old source – many people think it was an eyewitness account. It says that 'strawberries' was a signal."
"Then why would he say it to one of his victims…?" The old lure of the murder mystery was beginning to draw Snape into the even more alluring real-life mystery.
And, of course, the matter of the ghosts. "Was that from an old source, too? That he saw the ghosts of the dead before the battle at Bosworth?"
Clearwater nodded. "There's a lot of talk about his state of mind just before he died. A lot of Ricardians think that was just Tudor propaganda."
"Not necessarily," said Snape quietly. "He lived his whole life during a time of war. He must have lost a lot of family and friends. Seeing the ghosts doesn't mean you killed the people."
"That's an interesting way of looking at it." Clearwater took a deep breath. "Is that what she talks to you about? The doctor who comes up from London every week?"
"Is it that obvious that I'm seeing a psychiatrist?"
"Not really. She just has that medical 'air' about her."
Snape walked Clearwater to her rooms and said good night at the door. They had already arranged to go to Yorkshire the next day.
At midmorning Snape and Clearwater met in the entrance hall. "How did Jane and Robert take it?" Snape asked on the way down the hill.
"They're used to me being gone during the day. During the day they have lots of things to do. It's in the evening that they don't want me to go."
Middleham Castle stood on a rise overlooking the surrounding countryside. Like many old fortresses, it had fallen to ruin as soon as its caretakers stopped fixing the roofs. The outer walls and most of the inner ones still stood, but floors and thus all real sense of human habitation were gone. The inner ward was neat and well cared for, and the staff passionate in their devotion to the castle's most famous resident. It was a shrine to the much misunderstood Richard.
"You have to see this," Clearwater said, leading Snape to stairs, part new wood and part old stone, that led up to the top of one of the remaining towers. "No one who could look at this every day could possibly want to live in London."
Snape followed her up, and stepped onto the viewing area. Below and around him was rolling hill and moor country, with the vast expanse of the sky overhead. It was achingly like the area where he'd been raised. He walked over to Clearwater, and as he reached her, she turned, looking up at him, almost touching.
There was a pause, a heartbeat in which neither spoke, and then, without really thinking about it, just because everyone was telling him he wasn't supposed to lock his feelings away, he was supposed to deal with them, and because at the time it seemed the logical thing to do, Snape kissed her.
It was a short, delicate kiss, rather like one a parent might give a sleeping child, and as Snape moved back, he considered apologizing for being presumptuous. Clearwater, however, looked so completely comfortable with the situation that Snape decided apologizing would be silly. Instead, he kissed her again, a kiss that lasted a second or two longer.
That was all, but suddenly everything had changed. As they turned to marvel at the beautiful view, it now seemed natural that she would stand in the curve of his arm, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder, or that going back down the stairs, he should go first, holding her hand to be sure her descent was safe. Now she laid her fingertips on his arm to direct his attention to the round stones set along the rear wall that had been used for milling flour, and when they commented on a statue, they bent their heads close and spoke in low, private voices.
Lunch was under a tree on the edge of a small area of pasture land. He told her about the moors of eastern Lancashire and admitted that his first name was also Richard, but that his name in the family had been Russ. She talked of growing up on the rocky coast of Yorkshire's East Riding and of North Sea storms, and confessed to being Peggy.
After lunch, they went to Snape Castle. This was more of a manor house than a castle, its fanciful crenellated towers and turrets having been added for show in the 16th century. It was also in some disrepair, though parts were still not only habitable, but lived in, and plans were being made to refurbish it for the tourist trade. Snape and Clearwater played a little game about fixing up the dining and ball rooms for entertaining, and putting a new library in the east wing. Snape was fascinated by the elaborate woodwork and carvings in the chapel, and Clearwater explained what everything was and how it was used.
By three o'clock they were finished and ready to return to Hogwarts. They apparated to the outskirts of Hogsmeade where they exchanged a third, quick kiss, then walked properly and sedately to the Hogwarts gate.
Harry Potter was walking down the hill from the castle, an oddly shaped package in his hands.
"There you are!" Harry called as he spied the two of them entering the gate. "I was looking for you, but they said you went out. Good afternoon, Professor Clearwater." As they approached each other, Harry glanced from Snape to Clearwater, speculation in his eyes, but made no comment on his thoughts.
"Well now you've found me," said Snape. "What can I do for you?"
"I wanted to thank you. Someone was working extra hard at the Board of Examiners, and the results for the NEWTs are already out. I passed all my exams and I'm heading for London to submit a application to the Auror Department. I probably couldn't have done it without your classes so… well… thank you."
"You're welcome," said Snape.
"Oh," Harry added. "And I got you this. You mentioned it a few weeks ago. I was in Diagon Alley this morning and saw it. I thought I'd, you know, get it for you."
"For me?" said Snape. The package was about three feet long and rounded at one end. It might have been a broomstick, except it was too short.
"Probably not," Harry said with a grin. "Though right at this moment I have a pretty good idea who it could be for. A little girl, maybe? Or a little boy?"
"Are you talking about Jane and Robert?" Clearwater asked.
"Yeah," said Harry. "Professor Snape was asking about a child's broomstick. So, here it is."
Snape took the package that was proffered to him. "Thank you very much, Harry," he said. "It was thoughtful of you. I appreciate it."
"Well, that's that, then," said Harry. "Off to London now."
"Good luck with the auror position," Snape said.
"Thanks." The two shook hands, then Harry continued out the gate and disapparated as soon as he was off the grounds.
"A broomstick for Jane?" Clearwater said, staring at the package in Snape's hands. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"I don't think children's brooms will go very far off the ground," Snape assured her. "And you will have Winky to keep an eye on her and be sure she doesn't get hurt."
"But can she use one?"
"I don't know. If she's just a non-magical muggle, probably not. In that case, she could just pretend with it – a toy broom. But I think she's like her cousin Penelope. I think maybe she'll be able to fly."
"She'll be in the playground with Winky and Robbie. I suppose now is as good a time as any."
They went around the hill and up from the garden to the playground where Robbie was swinging and Jane playing in the sand. Jane had made quite an elaborate sand castle with her little pail and shovel. Either she was using magic, or Winky had lent a hand. Clearwater called to her.
"Jane, we have something for you!"
It took Jane no time at all to rip the paper from the shiny new broom and then prance around the playground with it, crowing in delight. Snape took the opportunity to exchange a few words with Winky, who understood the situation perfectly.
"Professor Snape does not want Winky to help Janey fly?" the house-elf asked.
"Not yet. We want to see if she can do it herself. If she can, Winky will have her hands full keeping Janey from getting hurt. If she can't, maybe then Winky can help."
Within a few moments, Jane had mounted the broomstick and was galloping around the playground pretending to fly, just as she had with the ordinary broom. "Jane, why don't you try…" Clearwater began, but Snape stopped her.
"We'll see first what she can do on her own," he advised, and the two stood quietly to one side watching the little girl. It was a few moments before Snape even realized that they were holding hands.
After a bit, Jane began jumping instead of running, and then suddenly her feet were kicking off the ground, and the broom was about two feet in the air. Jane began shrieking, "Mommy! Mommy! Look at me, Mommy!" while Clearwater threw her arms around Snape and hugged him.
"She has it!" Clearwater cried, laughing and weeping at the same time. "She has the power. My baby's a witch."
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Teenagers are collectively blessed with certain unfailing instincts. The first and most compelling is for blood. Let a fight start on any part of a school's grounds, and within seconds there will be a yelling, cheering audience. The second is for romance, especially if it involves two people who prefer privacy. Although they themselves were still in a state of bemused wonder at what was happening, by supper time that day the entire school had it on good authority (whose was never made plain) that Snape and Clearwater were an item. Slytherin house, lacking its former Death Eater core and with strong memories of how their previous head had stood up for them, much more than Slughorn did, became especially protective.
"Anyone gives you a hard time," a seventh year named Harper told a mystified Snape on their way in to dinner, "and you let us know. We'll take care of it for you."
"Thank you," Snape replied, that seeming to be the correct response. He was still wondering what Harper could possibly be talking about when Professor Clearwater's entrance set off an almost silent wave of whispers and glances. This Snape did notice, which prompted him to look around the staff table. It, too, was permeated by an air of acute expectation.
The best defense is a good offense. As Clearwater approached, Snape rose and held her chair for her. "What are you doing?" she whispered.
"Look around you," he countered. "They already know. I'm not sure how, but they do."
She looked, and he was right. What was more, everyone seemed pleased, even happy about the turn of events. McGonagall raised a silent glass to them, which gesture Snape returned with the slightest of bows. "I suppose," Clearwater said, "that it does save us the bother of sneaking around."
"Sneaking…?" Snape started to protest, then realized she was teasing him. He sat down quickly, keenly aware that he was beginning to blush. "I hope you don't think…"
"That you're a lothario? Heavens no. I don't think I've ever met a man who was as instinctively proper as you are. Look, now I've embarrassed you." She stopped then because Bradford had entered the hall and was taking his customary seat next to Snape while Davis was settling in beside Clearwater.
"Who's a lothario, dear?" said Davis. "Not our Severus, surely. A model of decorum, our Severus. I trust and hope you two had a pleasant outing."
"Very pleasant, thank you," Snape said as Davis winked at him and Bradford prodded an elbow into his arm. "We thoroughly enjoyed… that is, we had quite a nice…" He stopped, stymied, while Bradford grinned widely.
Davis merely chuckled. "Don't even try, dear," she said. "Under the circumstances, there's nothing you could say that wouldn't sound vaguely obscene. A reminder to us all that in the field of human communication, context is everything."
Clearwater was laughing now, a crisp, infectious sound, and Bradford joined her. "You have to lighten up, Severus," he said. "There's just too much you don't want to miss."
"That may be true," Snape countered, "but I'd prefer not missing it in some place less conspicuous than a fishbowl."
After dinner the teachers met in the staff room to socialize over a few drinks. Snape, long since aware of the effect alcohol had on him, for the most part abstained. At the end of the evening, he was bold enough to walk Clearwater to her rooms, but turned down her invitation to come in for a cup of coffee. It wasn't that the children and Winky were there – it was that suddenly her reputation was of great importance to him.
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Saturday, October 31, 1998 (3 days after the first quarter)
The following Saturday was Halloween, and by long tradition also the first Hogsmeade excursion of the school year. Snape, having no chaperoning duties, took advantage of the quiet school to review the developing new curricula with McGonagall and the other heads of houses in a less confining atmosphere than the headmistress's office. They met over a late lunch in the Great Hall while three quarters of the school went off grounds, Clearwater and her children among them.
"It will be good for them to go into the village with the students," Clearwater told Snape. "They can look at the shops and see something besides stone walls and the lake. Did you know today was Jane's fourth birthday? She's really looking forward to this evening, as if it were her own special birthday party. I've told her she can get anything she wants at Honeydukes."
The afternoon passed quickly and quietly without the students on the grounds, and the curriculum committee was able to accomplish a lot. That was until a quarter past three, when Harper came rushing into the Great Hall.
"Professor!" he yelled at Snape. "You have to come! They've taken over Madam Puddifoot's and they're holding everyone for ransom. Professor Clearwater's inside with her children!"
In an instant, Snape, McGonagall, and the others were out of the Great Hall and rushing down the hill.
Well before the professors reached the gate into Hogsmeade, they could hear the explosive pop of wizards apparating into the area around the village. Word had apparently gotten out quickly, and someone had contacted the Ministry of Magic, for one of the arrivals was Gawain Robards, accompanied by a brand new auror-in-training, Harry Potter. They were already in front of Madam Puddifoot's talking with John Dawlish, who'd been on duty in Hogsmeade with the students when the incident occurred. Snape hadn't spoken much to the Dark Arts teacher, who never stayed in the evenings to socialize, but it was clear today that having an auror on staff could be useful in an emergency.
Robards spotted Snape immediately and moved to intercept him before he could approach Madam Puddifoot's. "You need to stay back," he said firmly. "This is auror business."
"Those are Hogwarts students in there," Snape insisted. "It's a school matter, too."
"Yes. Students, a professor, and two children. I've been filled in on the details. Look, Severus, they're not going anywhere. Dawlish has already made it impossible to apparate from the tea shop. Right now, they're not going to do anything stupid if they can't run. But if they see you, it could change everything."
"Who are they?"
"Older Death Eaters. As near as we can tell, there are three of them – Reginald Lestrange, Malcolm Avery, and Frederick Mulciber. They want a direct exchange, the release of their sons for the people in the shop. We're talking, and it's relatively calm. But since you're directly responsible for the sons' being in prison, if you put in an appearance it could get explosive."
"I want to help."
"You'll help by staying out of it. Minerva, get him out of here. I don't want them to see him."
McGonagall, Slughorn, Sprout, and Flitwick together managed to drag Snape away from Madam Puddifoot's and maneuver him into the Three Broomsticks. There they pushed him into a seat in a corner and barricaded him with a table and their own chairs. "You heard Gawain," McGonagall stated crisply. "You'll only make it worse. I know it's hard – you've been too used to doing things on your own – but this time you've got to accept that other people are in charge."
Hagrid came in and added his bulk to the barricade. "Harry says we got t' keep ya in here for the time being," he announced. "They got George and Ron coming up from London, and soon 's they get here we ought t' get some news."
"What have the Weasley's got that the aurors don't?" asked Sprout.
"Extendable ears. Robards recalled using 'em t' help Ginny and says the auror department's going t' start buying wizard wheezes."
Harry stuck his head through the door of the now crowded main room of the Three Broomsticks, but went first to Madam Rosmerta, who nodded and pointed upstairs. Then he came over to the table where the professors were sitting.
"Is there news?" McGonagall asked.
Harry didn't answer her directly. "Madam Rosmerta says we can use one of the parlors upstairs. I thought you might prefer that. It's kind of public down here."
As soon as Slughorn rose to go to the staircase, Snape made a move for the front door, but Hagrid grabbed his arm and steered him to the back of the public room and up the stairs to the parlor, Harry and McGonagall ahead of them and the others behind.
"You make sure," McGonagall told Flitwick, "that he can't get out of here without Gawain's permission." Flitwick nodded and proceeded to make the room secure.
"Sit down," Harry told Snape, who remained standing. "The news so far is good. Nobody's been hurt. They recognized Professor Clearwater immediately because they read about her and the other muggle professors in the Prophet, but they think she'll be useful to bargain with, so they're taking good care of her. The two children are sitting with the students. Everything's calm."
"Can't I go down there?" Snape asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice.
"Sorry. They don't trust you. To be honest, they don't trust me either. Robards says I have to get over my complex about saving people if I want to be a good auror."
"I thought aurors were supposed to save people."
"They are, but not the way I do it. I tend to ignore what everyone else is doing, rush in, and try to go it alone. That's why I mess things up half the time." Harry smiled ruefully. "Robards explained the whole problem to me in considerable detail. It was rather embarrassing, actually. It appears I have this reputation for… how did he put it… careless heroics and uncoordinated acts of badly planned daring, usually resulting in someone else getting hurt."
"That sounds about right," said Snape. He walked over to a window looking in the direction of Madam Puddifoot's, Flitwick's barrier keeping him from touching either the window or its curtains. "So now we wait."
"I have to go back," Harry said. "If there's any change, I'll let you know." Flitwick released the door for a moment, and Harry was gone.
Through the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, the standoff continued. Robards was the personification of patience, listening to every rant and every demand with quiet sympathy, keeping the three Death Eaters informed of every shift and change so they wouldn't be taken by surprise and act out of panic, and calming the parents of the children who were being held captive, parents who were now occupying every spare room in Hogsmeade. Robards, in fact, seemed to be doing the work of six aurors in terms of negotiations and public relations, and Harry tagged along behind him in awe. Harry'd admired Moody for his passion and fire, but the businesslike Robards got more done while ruffling fewer feathers.
At six-thirty, Robards was standing across the street from Madam Puddifoot's going over the matter of catering. This was being done by the Hogwarts house-elves, who were unable to otherwise assist with the hostage situation because the Death Eaters had a house-elf with them, too. The street in front of the shop was empty, but on either side it was thronged with anxious parents, friends, and teachers.
"We're trying to keep it simple for you to control," Robards was saying, his voice raised so the men in the tea shop could hear him easily. "Sandwiches and fruit mean you don't have to worry about forks and knives. Or plates for that matter. We're assuming the shop has enough tea, milk, butter beer, and water for everyone. If there's something else you need, let us know."
"How do we know the food isn't poisoned or drugged?" came an answering voice from the shop, one that Harry now recognized as Malcolm Avery's.
"It's all together on the same platters, your food and the students'. Let them eat some of it first. If there's anything wrong with it, you'll find out."
"We'll do that," Avery called back. "Don't think we won't."
"We have a request. It's about the children – the students – you have inside."
"We're not letting any of them go."
"We're not asking you to." Robards took three steps into the street. It made him an easy target, but no one really thought at this point that the Death Eaters would be that reckless. "We have lots of parents coming into Hogsmeade. We've also compiled a list of students that aren't accounted for. We'd like to know that the children are all right. Could you let each child come to the window and say his or her name and a word to the parents?"
"You're not getting them out of here until we have our own children!"
"I'm not asking for that. We don't even have to see them as long as we can hear them. The parents will recognize the voices. You'll be in complete control. Parents who're sure their children are all right will be less likely to try something foolish."
"Give us a moment to confer."
The food arrived at that moment and was sent in to the Death Eaters' house elf. A few minutes later a very young voice called out from the front window, "Mum? Dad? It's Barry. What? Oh, sorry. I'm Barry Belby. I just want to tell my mum and dad that I'm fine except I'd really like to get out of here."
"That's right, Barry," a man called from the crowd. "Your mum and I are here waiting for you. You just do what they tell you to, and be good."
"I love you, Barry," the woman with him shouted.
Another student in the shop came forward to give her name and status while Barry's parents hugged each other and made their way to the rear of the crowd to let others take their place in front.
"It looks like it's defusing the tension a bit," Harry whispered to Robards.
"As long as all the missing students are there and well, it should," Robards replied. "My only worry is if we're missing someone."
They were interrupted suddenly by the appearance of Professor Sprout. "Harry," she said as she threaded her way over to where they were standing. "Healer Pennywhistle's here, and she says she needs you right away. Severus has had one of his 'episodes,' and she has to know what's surfacing."
"You'd better go," Robards told Harry. "You're needed a lot more there than you are here."
"What happened?" Harry asked Sprout as they pushed through the crowd. "I thought he was all right."
"He was, but then one of those memories forced its way up, and he just seemed to collapse. We got Pennywhistle in by floo, and she wants to know what he's remembering. She asked for you."
"I'm on it," Harry assured her, darting into the Three Broomsticks and taking the stairs to the upper floor two at a time.
The parlor was furnished with small tables, chairs, and a couple of sofas. Snape was lying on one of the sofas, curled up on his side in a tight ball with his arms encircling his head. The only other people in the room were Pennywhistle and Hagrid.
"Something powerful came up," Pennywhistle told Harry the moment he entered. "It would help immensely if you could read it. He's covering his eyes right now, but Hagrid can help you."
Hagrid could and did. "Now, now, lad," he coaxed as he gently pried Snape's arms away from his head, "there ain't nothing t' be scared of. It's just me 'n Harry, and we already know all the secrets. Ya ain't gonna shock no one. I'd even wager a bit as I was in them things ya just saw. Now look at ya," – this as Snape buried his face in Hagrid's sleeve – "Y're just making it harder on yerself. Here's Harry all ready t' help, 'n you doing nothing but hiding."
Harry watched, fascinated, as Hagrid slipped an arm under Snape and turned him so that he was facing away from the back of the sofa. Snape whimpered and tried to hide his face again, but Hagrid would have none of it. Harry realized then, with a bit of a shock, that Hagrid was more than old enough to be Snape's father, and that Hagrid had probably cared for Snape as for a fosterling son from the moment the child Snape had arrived at Hogwarts. It was one of those rare moments when Harry fully comprehended the depths of his own ignorance. He waited with the patience of a Robards for Hagrid's signal to move in.
When it came, it came fast. Hagrid held Snape's head while Harry pried his eyes open, open for just a moment, and glimpsed what was hiding behind them. He then released Snape to snuggle once again into Hagrid's sleeve, where he was rocked and gentled into a peaceful ease.
"Well?" Pennywhistle asked.
"Two memories," Harry told her. "The first was seventeen years ago… Merlin, today's Halloween." Harry paused to look at the ceiling for a moment. "It was the night he heard that my mother was dead, and he tried to kill himself. The second was more than two years ago when he was told that someone else he cared about was dead. He went to see the body in the clinic…"
"A woman?" Pennywhistle asked.
"Yeah. They'd been… close."
"How many other women have there been in his life?"
Harry thought for a moment. "Other than his mother? I've never heard of anyone else. That doesn't mean anything, though. I'm not exactly the one he'd open up to."
"No, you got it," Hagrid interjected. "So far as I know, that's the only two. And his mum, of course. All dead and a fourth in danger."
"A fourth?" Pennywhistle exclaimed. "Explain this to me, please."
They did, stumbling over each other in the telling of it, how the muggle teachers had come, and how Snape had become interested in the prospect of a little muggle-born witch, and how his interest in her mother had blossomed…
"And now he's facing the death of this new woman. Merlin, has there ever been anyone he was close to who didn't die?"
Harry and Hagrid exchanged a glance. "Not that I know of, ma'am," Hagrid said. "Offhand I don't think there's anyone, male or female, as he was close to that's still alive. Except me, of course. And the staff here at Hogwarts. I'd kinda like to think I was the closest, but after me it'd have to be Professor McGonagall and Professors Sprout and Flitwick. Tha's about it, though, until Professor Clearwater come along."
"All right," said Pennywhistle. "I'm going back to London to look up a few things. You have to stay with him. Preferably you, Hagrid, since he seems to see you more in the role of a protector. Still, anyone is better than no one. Don't let him be alone. He's been suicidal before. I don't want it to happen again."
The two agreed, and Pennywhistle left for London.
Outside, in the streets of Hogsmeade, the hostage situation continued, growing neither better nor worse. Inside, in an upper parlor of the Three Broomsticks, a totally different drama was set to play out. And did, as soon as Snape roused from his self-imposed retreat.
"What's happening?" Snape demanded suddenly of Harry and Hagrid. "Is she all right?"
"I… eh… well… um…" Harry said – a litany not likely to pacify the newly alert Snape.
"What's going on?" Snape demanded of Hagrid.
"Nothin' much," Hagrid replied. "They're at what ya might call a stalemate. No one's going forward nor back. All them in Madam Puddifoot's – 'n that includes Professor Clearwater – is healthy and well. We're just waiting."
"Who's in charge?" Snape demanded, rising and pacing around the room. It was two o'clock in the morning, but neither of the other two was sure if now was a good time to inform Snape of that fact.
"Gawain Robards is handling it hisself," said Hagrid.
"Then it'll be days before anything's resolved. We'll have students collapsing from starvation before there's any progress."
"That's not going to happen," Harry pointed out. "They've been sending food in, simple things like sandwiches."
"That's even worse. That means they have less incentive to give up. This could last for weeks. How many entrances are there to Madam Puddifoot's? We could get in by the back…"
"Y're not going in," Hagrid stated flatly. "Y're staying out of it. Ya'd only make it worse."
"And who's going to keep me out of it? You?" Snape made a slight motion with his right wrist, but nothing happened. He looked down at his hand. "Where's my wand?" he demanded.
"I got it away from ya last evening," Hagrid confessed without a trace of remorse. "We was afraid ya might try damaging something. Seemed a good idea at the time. Seems a better one now."
"You are not keeping me a prisoner in this room!" Snape yelled at him, and strode to the door. Flitwick's barrier stopped him. "Take this thing down and let me out of here!"
"Ya ought t' keep yer voice down," Hagrid suggested calmly. "There's people all around trying to sleep."
"That's all right," Harry told him. "I'll just put a silencing spell around us…"
"Potter, open this door!"
"No!"
"Open it!" Snape made a move for Harry's wand, but Harry was equally fast and backed away, wand raised to repel Snape.
"You're going to stay here and let other people handle this!"
"I have never in my life stood idly by while someone else fought my battles for me!"
"You arrogant git!" Harry screamed at him. "What makes you think this is your battle? Did it ever occur to you that it might be Gawain Robards's battle? And maybe he'd really resent you interfering!"
"Potter, there are Death Eaters in Madam Puddifoot's holding someone who is… important to me."
"No. That's where you're wrong. They're holding a group of Hogwarts students hostage in exchange for prisoners. Students. It's just luck that they got a teacher, too. But guess what. They haven't got a clue that she's important to you, and we don't want them to find out because if they know she's important to you, she'll become important to them. And if you go blundering around over there, they're going to find out. Even Death Eaters can put two and two together if you shove it under their noses!"
"Harry, please," Snape was beginning to break down. "She's a muggle. They hate muggles."
"She's not what they came for. They're not going to jeopardize their goal by adding something stupid to the game plan."
"I can't just wait here doing nothing!"
"Ya got t' face it, lad," said Hagrid, taking Snape by the shoulders and turning him away from Harry, "waiting's the only thing ya can do. It's hard when it's someone ya love…"
"I don't love her! Why are you always trying to bring love into things?"
"Why're you always trying to keep it out?"
"There's no such thing as love!"
"I thought ya'd got past that a ways back. There is if ya add it up right."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Sure ya do. I ain't even going to ask if ya feel ya wanna protect her for the rest of yer life. Ya kinda made that clear already. D' ya think about her at least once every five minutes and imagine what her face'll look like when ya tell her things? D' ya kinda vibrate all over when she touches yer hand? Does yer entire world light up when she's happy? Can ya picture the two of ye growing old together, and it makes ya feel comfortable and peaceful like?"
Snape sat at one of the tables and slumped forward, his face buried in his arms. "O Hagrid," he whispered, "I don't know what I'll do if anything happens to her. I don't think I could bear it."
Harry settled into the chair opposite Snape. There was a tacit agreement between him and Hagrid that they had to keep the professor talking. After so many days and weeks working with Pennywhistle to keep Snape's brain open, Harry was sure the worst thing would be for him to lock tightly down again.
"Was this how you felt about, you know, the other one? The cousin?"
"Yeah," said Hagrid. "Seems you ain't told me a lot about her."
Snape sighed. "Her name was Phina. Delphina Vaughn. And no, this isn't how I felt about her. She was more of a friend… I mean, she was more than just a friend, but she was…"
"Ya were close, I know that much," said Hagrid. "I ain't going to ask about the 'L' word."
"That's all right, Hagrid," Snape said. "It's easier with Phina. I didn't love her, I know that now, but we were comrades, soldiers in a war, and we helped each other forget for a while."
"What were you trying to forget?" Harry asked.
"Gad, Potter, you can be so…" Snape stopped, exasperated, then forced himself to continue. "That was one of the most frightening times… Every week, I tried to teach you occlumency, and every time you walked into my office I thought – this is it. This is the night he sees me through your eyes and from that moment I'm a dead man. It even happened one night. You made contact with him right there while I watched, and he was reaching out… I had to strike you to break the connection. Another few seconds…"
"Oh," said Harry. "I didn't realize. So when I looked at that memory…"
"Do you have any idea what would have happened to me if he'd come across my memories in your head? I was living on the edge of a razor. Phina brought a few hours of normality into a mad world. It was something I treasured, but there was no future in it."
"Ya see that future now?" Hagrid asked.
"I did, until this afternoon. Now I don't dare look five minutes ahead. I wasn't planning this, it just happened. But if I lose her, too, I know it won't ever happen again."
"I'd say then that ya love her."
"Hagrid, I love her very much. I don't think I knew how much until this started. And if you," Snape turned on Harry, "say one word of this to anyone…"
Harry grinned. "If I'd wanted to, I'd have done it before now. Do you have any idea how many memories of yours I watched this last summer? To tell the truth, I'd no idea you'd been through so much. It was a… a kind of humbling experience."
"So you understand why I have to do something."
"No. I don't. I understand why you think you have to do something, but you're staying right here with me and Hagrid."
The discussion and argument seesawed back and forth for the next few hours, until dawn tinged the windows of the rooms. That was when Robards arrived with Flitwick to let him in. He wasted no time.
"Tell me about Al Mulciber," he said, joining Snape and Harry at the table. "Can we trust him?"
"How far can you throw him?" Snape replied. "Subtract three feet from that, and that's how far you can trust him."
"He's willing to come and talk to his father."
"In exchange for what?"
"Easier sentencing. He doesn't want to go back to Azkaban, and he's trying to bargain for a softer place to get locked up in."
"So we're not talking about him going free?"
"We're not that stupid. He'll be under tight guard. And these aren't vague promises either. He's made specific requests about changes in treatment in exchange for specific things his father agrees to do. It's like drawing up a contract."
"It sounds like Mulciber. He never would make a commitment until he was sure who was strongest and had the best prospects. Once he took sides, though, he generally stuck by his choice."
"So he'll abide by the deal?"
"Yes, I think he will."
"Good." Robards rose and left the room, Flitwick behind him. "I'll keep you advised of our progress," was the last thing he said.
The next thing that happened came as a complete surprise. At about eight o'clock in the morning, Professor Sprout came into the room behind Flitwick. She was carrying Robbie Clearwater, whimpering in her right arm, while her left hand struggled to hold on to a kicking, squalling Jane. The moment Jane saw Snape, she ran to him, clutching his jacket with both fists and hiding her face in the cloth. Sprout sat in the chair Robards had occupied, and Robbie immediately left her to crawl into Snape's lap.
"Well," huffed Sprout, "there's no question about that, is there?"
It was an awkward moment, Snape having almost no experience whatsoever in holding small people. He hoisted Robbie up near his shoulder, stood, and gently maneuvered Jane over to the sofa. As soon as he sat down again, she was snuggled next to him, sobbing and hiccupping. Robbie burrowed into his other side.
"Have they had anything to eat?" Snape asked Sprout, trying to ignore the bemused looks on Harry's and Hagrid's faces.
"They hadn't sent breakfast in yet when that Mulciber fellow asked his dad to send the children out as a show of good faith. So I suppose not."
"Al asked for that?" Snape said. "I suppose it was Robards's idea."
"I don't think so. Robards seemed as surprised as everyone else, especially when it worked."
"Al always was a good card player," Snape commented, then addressed the children.
"Did your mommy smile and tell you to be good, Jane?" The little girl nodded without speaking. "I was sure she did," Snape continued. "She knew you were coming here to get a nice breakfast. What would you like to eat?"
There was a pause. Snape decided to take matters into his own hands. "Waffles?" he asked. "Or pancakes? And if you like, I bet we can get Winky to bring them to you."
This was welcome news. Jane raised her head. "Pancakes," she ordered, "with blackberry syrup. But Robbie wants bacon strips. He likes bacon strips."
"Is that true, Robbie?" When the little boy nodded emphatically, Snape agreed. "Bacon strips it is. Pomona, could you let Winky know?"
"You know," Harry said slyly after Sprout had gone out, "if this keeps up, I'm going to have to rethink my entire view of the universe as we know it."
"Get stuffed," Snape replied, a phrase that Jane loved and immediately began repeating.
"Get stuffed," she told Harry, and her piping voice oozed Lancashire.
Winky arrived with breakfast for everyone, and now there was something for Snape to do, because the children had to be kept happy and entertained. It was, after all, something that he could do for Peggy that it seemed no one else could, for Jane and Robbie refused to leave him, seeing in Snape a closer connection to their mother than even Winky could bestow. Snape was surprised at how pleased this made him, as if it vindicated his claim that he loved their mother.
Within an hour after eating, both children were sound asleep, cuddled close to Snape on the sofa. "If I hadn't seen it with m' own eyes," was Hagrid's pronouncement, "I wouldn'ta believed it."
As it turned out, the end game belonged to Aloysius Mulciber, and it was a sort of revenge against Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange for having dragged him back into the fray when they'd all been safe overseas. Al knew his father, and he played on his father's distrust of Reggie Lestrange to the point where the two nearly came to blows. Shortly after noon, the melodrama was over.
"Severus!" McGonagall called from the street. "Severus, you can come down now! They're coming out!"
Six hours earlier, Snape would have raced for the door without a thought for anyone else. Now, however, he had two others to think of, two tiny people who had to be awakened gently and told that it was time to go see their mommy now. Their short legs were slower than his, so he matched his pace to theirs, making sure that in their haste they didn't stumble and fall on the stairs, then holding hands as they rushed through the crowded, jubilant street.
Snape saw Clearwater first, and it seemed perfectly natural that his initial thought was for the children. He was already carrying Robbie, and he cried, "Look, Jane, there's mommy!" bending down so she could grasp his neck and be lifted up high enough to see.
That was how Peggy saw them in that first moment of recognition – Russ with his left arm holding Robbie and his right supporting Jane, who clung to his neck waving frantically at her mommy, the three people Peggy cared most about in the world together when she needed to hold and touch them, and she somehow contrived to embrace all three at once.
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