Chapter 8

What We Are And Could Have Been


Special thanks to Duj and Prince Slytherin for their reviews! Feedback greases the wheels :D


When they arrived at Kingsley's house, Sev heard the sound of waves in the distance and saw in the moonlight that they must be on the coast. The air felt charged and fresh. It was fairly desolate. It was an actual residence. Probably Unplottable and with enough warding to keep Muggles away.

He had decided that the huge black man was likeable when the former Minister had pretended to ask if Sev found the notion of staying with him temporarily acceptable. It had even seemed possible that if he had not said that it was, that there might be more discussion to the matter, but he was not that picky where he stayed so long as it wasn't a cell, dungeon, locked room, or holed at the Ministry. Or Azkaban. Because that all had occurred to him. Even if he rather knew the last was implausible, if only because he disqualified himself on being too young when the shock wore off.

They might say he was among friends, that he was safe, but he had not been so sure they were not just trying to get him to soften and hang himself. That was, unfortunately, more what he was used to from his old world. The tiny pebbles of evidence that they were not trying to fool him or lull him into false safety were growing into a little pile.

Dreamless Sleep had taken care of his first night, and while the thought of taking unknown Potions from any of them made him on his guard, he had eventually used it. He had, after all, been left the bottle with the comment "in case you need it, you'll know where it is." It was not as if he did not know how to recognize Dreamless Sleep. He did not have any 'things' for them to look through. He only had what was in his pockets when it had all happened. It seemed excessive to move him while he slept, so he had eventually decided it was safe, and he needed it. His father would have made him take it. That had likely been the deciding factor.

The following morning had not gotten enough beyond eggs to become awkward. Sev was, predictably, not very hungry, but he was managing to eat a few bites if only because he knew Dreamless Sleep did not agree with him without food.

And he needed to be able to keep his wits about him. Being in this odd place and time was no fit situation to get wholly complacent just because there was no Dark Lord.

Kingsley, meanwhile, was trying to glean as much as he could from what little the boy overtly gave, wasting little time on his own generous breakfast.

He figured the Little Snape either had enough determination or enough politeness to not hide in the bedroom all day. He had come to the kitchen early enough and with his eyes hazy enough that he had taken the potion, so Kingsley knew he could not have been awake long before emerging. There was obviously no way the former minister could know that was edged on by the side effects of the Dreamless Sleep Sev knew to be looming.

It probably should not have surprised him that the boy had been fully dressed in his trousers, shirt, and tie when he came down, but it had surprised him anyway. Whether that was habit, self-consciousness, or politeness again, Kingsley was not sure. His guest was put together from an appearance standpoint, no matter what had happened the day before. Kingsley wondered how many times Sev had to appear so unaffected after other horrors. He did not think even a well-trained thirteen year old could manage this without having had actual practice and experience he could relate to the situation.

The boy had not declined eating or shown much outward emotion at all. Surely the death of both parents impacted him, but Kingsley had yet to wholly glean how close they all were. He suspected it was not a lack of feeling, but a redirection of attention away from inward analyzing. Most Slytherins could run fairly cool when it was required. They were not hot-headed like Gryffindors. He knew enough from all the others yesterday that they boy had very truly been petrified and had cried, sobbed, and stuttered; one did not go from that to this without having emotional turmoil involved. It was just being carefully packed away.

It will take time for him to trust, and he has Snape's comfort with silence. His self-preservation skills too.

One did not successfully spy on Voldemort for that long without having those in abundance to pass on in over thirteen years of co-existence with a son.

Abandoning his thoughts, he said, "I would understand if you just wish to stay here and keep to yourself today. It has been rough for you."

Again, Sev surprised him by looking him passively in the eye and saying, "Actually, sir, would you mind if I asked you some questions?"

Straight to the point. Kingsley finished his last bite and replied, "You can always ask me whatever you like." Taking a sip of juice, he gestured with the cup as he swallowed and then added, "I used to answer questions all day and most far sillier than any you will think to ask. Don't be shy or quiet or stand on ceremony because you think you'll bother me."

"Are there still followers of the Dark Lord? Or other practitioners of Dark Magic here?"

"Some, to answer both, but the activity is very quiet and infrequent. After their numbers were decimated, it became a little easier to keep an eye on it and track down the more boisterous and dangerous of offenders."

"They told me my father was a great hero here, so I'm assuming it's common knowledge that he had been working for Dumbledore?"

Kingsley had already figured out that the boy was now trying to assess what outside danger he might be in beyond their immediate group and the Ministry.

"Yes, Harry had his memories. Plus, Dumbledore had already testified once in the aftermath of the first war that he was spying for their side, so there was something of a sensible timeline."

"So my father has enemies here?" he asked.

"As do I. Many. Do you feel in danger because I have enemies and you are with me?"

The boy's brow furrowed. "Hm, point taken, sir."

Kingsley raised a brow, but he did not have much time to ponder if the point was taken before the boy continued. The lack of segue rather proved the point was taken.

"I am," the kid paused, perhaps gathering himself. "I am at a disadvantage here that's dangerous…from what I'm used to."

Instead of what he might say to a child who was afraid of danger, he replied as he might to an adult, tweaked some. "Son, any of those left that might want to do you harm won't see you coming from a million miles away," he chuckled heartily. Having seen some of the boy's memories the night before, he could say with a bit of confidence that anyone would underestimate what the brainy pipsqueak was capable of doing magically. "This world has been fairly benign. Children here don't even know much about that sort of magic."

"Well, erm, sir, trusting in an unknown person's stupidity or foolishness isn't a very good defense either way."

Kingsley only laughed more. "Oh you are your father's son, most certainly."

"It's just that I…I've rarely ever felt that I did not know what's going on. It's uncomfortable."

The former minister could not chuckle at that. "You will. Just give it time. You're prepared enough for dangers in this world, even if you don't believe it. And you'll be with me for a little while, and until you're prepared by your standards, there's no better person to be with." Kingsley saluted the boy with his tea cup and took a sip.

"Are there any modern history books covering the last two decades? Or, erm, something discussing the rebuilding and legal ramifications since the war?"

"And you are Hermione Granger's son too," he replied, putting an almost comically serious look on his face. "I am sure that there are, and there is probably no better person to give you an assortment than her."

At some point very soon, the boy was going to have to get used to the idea that he had a mother who had not been his mother. The sooner, the better. With Snape's proclivities for avoidance, the last thing Kingsley wanted was to let the boy develop a habit of avoidance.

"That would give me something to do." To keep my mind off other things...


Although he had been prepped the Draco Malfoy was far tamer in this world, Sev still felt on edge to see the man and not know what to expect. He was used to a world where Scorpius was his best friend and Mr. Malfoy was his godfather, but in that world Scorpius was a budding sociopath and Mr. Malfoy not much better. He had known them his entire life.

At least in that world, he knew what to expect from the elder blond. Right now he felt like he stood there foolishly in front of the couch he had been sitting on as Draco brushed off a speck of soot. They had spoken only briefly the night before.

He ventured, "Hello, sir." He was not really sure what else to say. That feeling was a frequent one. It had never bothered him if he did not have anything to say in his old world.

"Hello." There was a strange pause, and then he said, "I never asked what you preferred to be called. What did my other self call you?" Malfoy was a realist, no ignoring the white elephant in the room.

It earned a ghost of a smile, "You called me Sev, sir. Most people did, to not confuse me with my father."

"Severus is rather larger than words for you."

That got a lopsided smile. "That's strange that you say so, sir."

"How so?"

Sev wet his lips and said, cautiously, "It was not you that said so in my world, it was, erm, Mrs. Malfoy. She also said it was too stern for me." There was a hitch of a pause before he continued, "Is…?"

The blond wizard could not answer right away. He sat there rather stony-faced for a moment, thinking, not about the question but about the revelation.

"No, she's not, at least one similarity with your world," the blond finally answered.

"I shouldn't have said anything, sir."

He waved it off. "In your world my Scorpius was your best friend?" A redirection of the Slytherin variety.

"Yes, my only friend really." Inside Sev felt something for the possibility that the Scorpius here could be more like the Scorpius from when they were younger. In all of this bloody mess and misery, the universe could be kind enough to give him back his best friend if it was going to give him this new life that he had not wanted.

"Your father was my godfather, you know?" Malfoy said.

"Yes, sir, in my world as well, and Scorpius'…and you were mine."

Why Mr. Malfoy seemed relieved, letting out a breath through his nose, Sev had no idea.

"And I would still be, if you wish it. Your father was more formative to me than my own in many ways."

The kindness with which he said it made time seem to stop for Sev for the first time since time had severed his life in two. If Mr. Malfoy could emanate such emotion, perhaps his hopes for Scorpius were not unfounded.

It did not end there, though. He looked up at Malfoy's ice blue eyes, his own a bit wide.

"He was like a father to me though I was too immature to realize, more than my own, braver than my own. He did things for me. Not for the family name. I miss him."

Sev felt his throat ache, and he knew tears might threaten. He tried to take in a breath and hold it quietly and harshly in his chest. Of all the people he had spoken to, people who had promised he was safe, people who had spoken of how his father's death had hit them and their regrets, not a one had truly said they missed him. Not in a way that made it seem they knew his father, in a real way, at all.

"When you wish to talk about him, let me know."

"I will, sir," he heard himself whisper. He was not ready to confront those thoughts head on yet.

"I've brought you some things for until it's sorted out if they can do something with your father's account at Gringotts. With Goblins, who knows how long that might be."

Sev smiled, that was very much so like his own Mr. Malfoy. Spending money was a pastime. His charcoal eyes got even larger as his newly offered godfather started magicking bags back to full size.

"Sir! You got me a broom!" he burst out when that was enlarged and held out to him like something as insignificant as a quill.

Necessities he had expected. Some shirts, trousers, shorts, so he wasn't running about starkers or in the same clothes for a week. This Mr. Malfoy did not even know him.

"Good, you like quidditch then. Were you on the team in your world? Seeker? Chaser?"

A wry smile accompanied, "Beater, sir. Since second year. Scorpius was the Seeker, sir."

"Beater?" Nobody ever believed he was one, and if they did, they never imagined he was very good.

"I'm stronger than I look, and I know more maths than the big oafs, so I hit very accurately."

"And Scorpius said he was apparently an excellent Seeker in your world?"

"The best at school, sir, easily. I do a good job of keeping bludgers away from him, though." He had been flying with Scorpius since they had learned to fly, so they did make very intuitive teammates.

"He said he wants to try to practice more."

"He's not on the team here, sir?" Up went a dark eyebrow. That was hard to fathom. Scorpius was known for two things: Quidditch and violence.

"No, he is not the most confident of his capabilities, although this little excursion seems to have emboldened him some. He's had a lot of anxiety about pain and death." If anyone could help the younger blond get over that particular mental block, Draco would take advantage of it.

Sev was confused for a moment over Scorpius having anxiety over anything. Anger was easier to imagine than anxiety. Then he figured it must have something to do with Mrs. Malfoy's death. It had hit Scorpius hard. In his world, it pushed Scorpius over the edge. Had it pushed him over the opposite edge here? Nothing Mr. Malfoy had just said sounded much of anything like Scorpius, but in a good way.

"Well, I'll practice with him, especially now that I have a broom. I know what he can do, in a way."

Mr. Malfoy smiled. Sev had not seen that in his world for some time. Not this sort of smile. A smug smile. A powerful smile. Yes. Not this smile.


Kingsley wiped the sweat from his face. "You are a good little dueler. I did not think it would be that much fun." Breathing in a hint of his fighting days, he chuckled.

The boy smiled that quiet smile, pushing pieces of loose black hair behind his ears. He was not very talkative, even after a week, but he was far more comfortable. He rubbed surreptitiously at his hip, having taken a good few blows to the ground.

"How did you get so good at rebounding spells with your blocks?" Kingsley asked. If there was one thing to be said about his thirteen-year-old technique, it was that he took heavy advantage of simple things that required intense focus and practice, not an overabundance of magical energy that most kids could not sustain for very long.

"Loads of maths and work with angles mostly, sir, and repetition, endless endless repetition."

"Saves you energy and lets you send more spells without having to cast them." His tone reflected the wisdom of that technique. He doubted the boy had come up with it himself.

"And saves me from any moral qualms, sir. If you send it at me, nobody can complain if you get what you gave," the boy added, with a sly look.

Snape, no doubt, realized all three of those things. "Your father was a very smart to have you practice that skill, and you must have worked very hard."

"He was, sir, and a very good strategist." The mention of his father no longer made him completely silent. "Working hard is not difficult when the alternative is torture and death, sir, and I had a lot of reminders about working hard."

"You should give yourself credit, son. That was a motivator, but it was you that accomplished what you did."

Thinking about it, and perhaps even thinking about a thing called conversation, the boy divulged, "The blocking I practiced ridiculously as soon as I figured out that I could use it in dueling club to take out the more vicious students without having to use any of the worst magic myself and that it'd give me two spells to their every spell."

Kingsley smiled. That was his kind of Slytherin, for sure. Cunning took away a lot of the need for overt bravery, but bravery was much more obviously lauded, even if it killed you.

"I won a lot," the boy added.

The former minister noticed a smug happiness in that fact, probably bolstered by the fact that it was probably one of few acceptable ways he could protect the more defenseless students against the worst of the attackers without putting himself at risk. In fact, it likely did the opposite. If you are not afraid of the worst of the worst and can take one of them out, you probably earn a 'scary' moniker fairly quickly.

"I would think you did." Kingsley chuckled again. "I doubt even in that world underaged witches and wizards would be that skilled at using their blocks for an added offense." Most had enough issue knowing a correct block or counter to that many spells. "I'd imagine your silent spells did not hurt either."

"Vocal chords don't make the magic," the boy replied, with practicality. "I never understood why so few were able to use them for more than simple things, sir." There was a pause, "A silent spell would never matter for the simple things…"

"No, they wouldn't," he agreed. "Learning the focus and discipline of the mind for Occlumency very young made a lot of things far easier for you than others I think."

"Yes, sir, probably. Not much point in bungling about trying to control magic if you cannot control the thing that is supposed to control the magic, is there?"

There was another chuckle of disbelief. The boy did not say much, but some of the things he said came out like a little philosopher. "I have a feeling your father was very thorough in more than just teaching you magic."

"I should hope so, sir. He was my father, not just my professor or even Head of House," Sev replied, as if that had been the most obtuse statement ever, his eyebrows knitting some in confusion. There was far more to life than magic.

Kingsley laughed a loud, reverberating laugh that seemed to startle the boy, who was probably not used to such unexplained jubilation. "Very true, son, very true."


AN: We'll be heading back to Hogwarts in the upcoming chapters and also another flashback! Sorry for the long update time :D Labor Day weekend sucked a lot of writing time away.

Little Sev being good with his blocks is actually a nod to canon Snape being skilled at the same.

Let me know what you think of this chapter! What might be in store for Little Sev next?