Severus: Greetings, loyal readers. I feel obliged to inform you that there has been a slight change of plans...
James: He means mutiny.
Severus: Shut it, James. Anyway, we've taken matters into our own hands and finally got this thing updated.
Sirius: Or at least we did. He spent half the time snoring.
Severus: Didn't you read the last chapter, mutt? I'm practically obligated to rest when I can.
Sirius: -rolls eyes-
Remus: And I'm currently going through and fixing the britpicks pointed out by our dear friend whitehound. If any other characters need an American-English translation, they should check out her very well complied webpage.
James: You forgot to put up the warnings.
Sirius: DISCLAIMER! We don't belong to anybody! Slavery's been against the law for what, a few hundred years now? You think you lot would get the idea.
Severus: Also, -reads off placard- this chapter is DEDICATED to SupportSeverusSnape and Talamh,who convinced the author to update withtheir wonderful reviews.
Remus: This is way too long an A/N. Can we just get on with it?
James: Righto. -hits play button-
It Falls to the Young Chapter XXV:
My Uncle, My Mother, My Cousin, My Brother, My Friend, My Lover
Except for Remus—who had to help Evans usher the first years to Gryffindor Tower—the Marauders lingered in the corridors after the Welcoming Feast. Severus was not particularly eager to rejoin the hordes of staring, whispering idiots who hadn't a clue what they were talking about; so they took their time, and Sirius and James explained in detail why color was so important when transfiguring things into amorphous life-forms.
Eventually, however, Severus found himself standing in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. She, like everyone else in the bloody school, was staring at him.
"There you are!" Remus called from behind them. Severus turned to see him dash up the staircase before it could move elsewhere. "I was wondering where you lot had gotten to. I thought maybe Dumbledore had asked you to stay behind for some reason, or—"
"Password?" interrupted the Fat Lady.
"Widdershins," Remus answered automatically.
"No Moony, we were just recalling the good old days of the amoebic armor incident," Sirius said as he stepped through the portrait hole. He sighed dramatically, invoking an air of nostalgia. "Ah, back when I was your age..." James laughed and punched Sirius' shoulder; Severus followed them, hesitantly, into the unknown place that was now his common room.
It was... very... Gryffindor. Warm and bright and crowded and cheerful, with tables and squashy armchairs scattered about on the red carpet—everything from the crackling fireplace to the mismatched throw pillows to the overcrowded notice board reeked of comfort, rather than the cold formality prevalent in the Slytherin commons. Severus approved. He could imagine himself here, relaxing, doing homework... being stared at by everyone else in the suddenly quiet room...
There was a flurry of movement by the fireplace, where the most influential members of Gryffindor house—the upperclassmen and Quidditch team, along with a handful of younger students—were gathered, and Lily Evans stepped forward.
"Hi. Um, I'm Lily Evans," she said, ignoring the fact that they knew each other's names perfectly well. She extended her hand and the faintest hint of a smile touched Severus' lips—perhaps Gryffindors as a whole are not as thick as they usually appear. They've selected as their emissary the one Gryffindor uninvolved in all the inner-house bickering.
"Severus Snape."
They shook hands briefly, then Lily stepped back. "Well, they nominated me to say this: we trust Dumbledore, and the more gullible among us trust James, Sirius and Remus, so we're willing to give you a chance. However, if you don't mind, there's a few people who would feel a lot better about this whole thing if you'd show them your forearm..."
Severus raised an eyebrow. "I do think the Headmaster's word should be enough, but if you insist." He pulled up his sleeve. Though some of the deeper cuts he'd obtained on midsummer still remained, there was no evidence of the Dark Mark. Half the room sighed in relief and Severus felt another twang of gratitude towards the Tonks couple for ridding him of that damning brand.
The silence returned for a moment, but now it was less hostile than awkward—particularly as this was the Gryffindor commons, which had probably never been so full and yet so quiet in all its history.
"You spied for the Headmaster, right? Were—were you there when You-Know-Who killed people?"
Severus stiffened, and everyone turned to see who had shattered the awkward stillness with an even more awkward question. It was a particularly tiny first year, with long dark hair and large glasses that overwhelmed her face; Severus remembered her from the Sorting—Susan Wagtail.
"Why do you want to know?" he replied, voice dangerously cold.
Susan bit her lip but continued to hold Severus' gaze. "I'm a half-blood, and my mum and aunt are muggleborn. You-Know-Who attacked my aunt and uncle's house and because of the ruddy Ministry's Decree of Security for Threatened Persons they won't tell us anything, and it's been months and we still don't know if they're alive or dead," she said quickly. "Mum and my grandparents and everyone are all really upset, and it's just awful not knowing, and I... I was wondering if you could tell me."
Severus blinked. "Decree of Security for Threatened Persons?" he repeated. "You mean they've gone and passed a law saying they don't have to tell you whether your aunt is alive or dead?" Susan nodded and he collapsed into a nearby armchair. "That is utterly atrocious."
A number of similarly astonished and disgusted murmurs echoed throughout the room.
"Yeah, Dad complains about it all the time," James said, perching on the armrest next to him. "He says they're trying to save face by not revealing the exact number of people dead; the law forbids Ministry officials from giving out the information and they won't let the Daily Prophet print complaints about it."
"So will you tell me?" Susan pleaded.
Severus stared at her a long moment, choosing his words with care. "If you want me to. But please realize that the odds of getting the answer you want are not in your favor."
"I don't care. It's been too long already—we're stuck wondering, we can't properly hope or grieve or try to move on... Nothing can be worse than not knowing."
Severus disagreed, but rather than voicing his opinion he sighed and closed his eyes. "Date of the attack, description of the house, descriptions of your aunt and uncle..."
"June fifth. Their house has blue shutters and two chimneys, it's on a grassy hill about twenty miles outside Edinburgh. My aunt is a bit overweight and has dark hair rolled up in a bun; my uncle is tall and always wears—"
"—a Chudley Cannons jersey," Severus said quietly, remembering. "And smells like tobacco."
"Yes! Yes! Are they—"
Severus opened his eyes and smiled faintly, thanking Merlin that this story, at least, had a happy ending. "The Aurors came in time; they're both fine. They'll definitely have to remodel their kitchen, though—"
Susan shrieked for joy and tried to hug him. He threw up a shield charm and she rebounded onto the floor, not seeming to mind at all. "Thank you thank you thank you thank you!" she shouted, grinning up at him through tears of relief.
"You are welcome. However, the next time you tackle me I shall be forced to hex you."
She just laughed again, delirious with joy, and hurried through the crowd towards Evans, asking to be led to the Owlery so she could write home to her mother. Severus took a deep breath, glad the ordeal was over, when another Gryffindor approached—a boy, third year, anxious about his cousin. Then a seventh year, worried about her best friend's mum. A fourth year, for his father's coworker. A fifth year girl, for her grandparents. Another first year, for her mum's friend's sister. A second year, for his friend's uncle. A seventh year, for her cousin. A fourth year, for his neighbor's father. A sixth year, for his girlfriend's aunt. A second year, for her father. A seventh year, for his sister's fiancé. A fifth year, for her friend's cousin.
The questions kept coming, always accompanied by a pair of pleading eyes, some more desperate than others—"Are they alive? Is he dead? Are they okay? Is she safe?"—and Severus hadn't the slightest idea how this was happening; all his energy was focused on placating so many eyes; he felt as though he was fighting a mental current, trying not to drown in the vivid images of horror and death, the memories he spent every waking moment trying to forget. Now the common room carpet was stained with tears, and for every first year crying in happiness, a second year, third year, fourth year, fifth year, sixth year and seventh year were mourning—some silently, without tears; others cried out in great gasping sobs and fled to their dormitories. Many were writing letters, both of joy and grief, to their families; some sought out friends or siblings in other houses to tell them the news, which of course spread...
He was dimly aware of the Marauders flanking him—James and Sirius sitting at his side, Remus behind him, hands on his shoulders—trying to offer whatever support they could. They were the ones Evans told when she discovered there was a crowd forming outside.
The first Severus knew of it was when he blinked and noticed the line of Gryffindors had vanished. Is it done? Are they done?
He felt Remus' presence in his mind. All the Gryffindors, yes. The mob of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs outside is another matter. James, Sirius and Lily are trying to get them in some semblance of order—we're dangerously close to curfew for the younger ones, so they need to go first. Severus... he hesitated, are you okay with this? Not that I disapprove, but it's gotten way out of hand...
We can't choose our own penance, Severus commented dryly. Sirius appeared at the portrait hole and motioned for him to come outside, where he was startled to see over a third of the school waiting in two impatient, nervous lines.
Then it began all over again. He leapt from one nightmarish memory to another, the time limit reducing his answers to a simple "They're alive" or "I'm sorry". Severus refused to elaborate; those he answered with the former phrase did not require elaboration, and those who heard the latter would not be consoled by learning their loved ones had, in the majority of cases, been brutally tortured to death.
He had not the slightest idea how much time had passed, though the students he was speaking to were older now, his own age... Someone pressed a cold glass into his hand and he blinked thrice before realizing that it was water, it was from Sirius, and his voice was hoarse. Severus drank half the water in quick, shallow gulps, murmured thanks in Sirius' mind and held the glass out.
Sirius did not take it. Instead he stiffened, turning to face the shadows of the corridor and pulling his wand from his pocket. "Who's there?" A pair of students stepped away from the wall, revealing the Slytherin crest on their robes. "What do you want?" Sirius snarled. Several others in line drew their wands as well.
"Padfoot."
Sirius turned about sharply. "Yes?"
"Shut the hell up." Severus looked past his friend to the unflinching pair. He nodded in acknowledgement. "Durand. Andreana."
They nodded in acknowledgement as well—nothing more. Even a second year Slytherin knew the value of neutrality.
"Do you know anything about Annora Vide?" the taller figure, Durand, asked.
"She's dead."
"Raymond Sandon?"
"Dead."
"Hadrian Quentin?"
"Alive." They sighed in relief, thanked Severus with their eyes, and left as quickly as they'd come. Severus continued on as if nothing had happened; but as he answered the last dozen questions, his mind was calmly and gently collapsing under the strain of yet another set of memories, as he felt for all those who didn't know what to think or who to believe, those who had lost loved ones on both sides of the conflict. Annora Vide and Raymond Sandon had both died at the Dark Lord's hand; one in his service, one in defiance... and do two second year Slytherins with friends on both sides have the slightest idea what to do, of course not...
And then, all at once, the corridor was empty. He blinked, but everyone had gone... everyone except James, Remus and Sirius.
"Come on," Remus said quietly. "Let's go to bed."
Severus let Remus steer him through the empty common room, up a winding stairway and into their dormitory. He collapsed, raw and empty, on his bed, and lay there unmoving, unthinking, as the others prepared for sleep.
A hundred thousand nightmares flitted pointlessly through his mind. Nightmares, memories, memories of nightmares... they were all the same. Remembering was dangerous, and oh, how much had he remembered tonight...
Remus' face appeared in his line of vision, disrupting his view of the perfect red canopy that draped over his bed like the blood of so many...
Remus' eyes were concerned and he was about to say something Severus decided he didn't want to hear. So he transformed and glided across the room to curl up in a quivering heap of fur at the foot of Remus' bed. He heard voices prodding his ears and mind; then the dormitory lights faded out and it was quiet.
He felt the covers move as Remus climbed into bed. Everything was still. Severus' feet, acting of their own accord, pulled him up and walked across the duvet. He resettled on the pillow by Remus' head, where he could twitch his ears and hear the werewolf's breathing, open his eyes and see the rise and fall of his chest—know in an instant that his friends were still alive, that it was just another bloody living nightmare in this universe of bloody living nightmares...
Severus closed his eyes, knowing sleep would elude him for hours if not the rest of the night.
Cats can't cry.
He did not know whether this was cause to rejoice or collapse in a mess of impossible tears.
Sorry it took so long to update. I was in New York City (why does everyone in NYC have a dog?), then I had approximately 3,000 projects due, then finals, then college registration, graduation, parties,I got my first job, and tomorrow we're going on vacation to Arizona. But don't worry- I loaded the story onto my flash drive to bring and I'll try to update relatively soon. The things I do for ya'll... Though you deserve it after this break.
Also, I wasn't kidding above. I know lots of people put big "give me X reviews and I'll update soon" signs right about here, but honestly, you lot can guilt me into updating fairly easily. I'm very guilt-prone. Feel free to email me and complain, it'll probably work. (Since the story's 90 percent complete the actual writing isn't much of an issue...)
Anyway. Sorry for the two huge author's notes. Though I personally thought the first one was funny. Now, the dumb questions:
What's good? Bad? Reminds you of Freud? Or celery? What will happen to Nymphadora? Will the plot ever come together in a coherent fashion? Will the author get three thousand emails tomorrow demanding an update? Who killed Mr. Boddy? And why does everyone in NYC have a dog?