A/N: Remember, Harry = Hadrian and Hermione = Helena

Thank you for continuing to read this story, despite my slowness in updating. Reviews are always welcome. Also, I apologize for the brevity of this chapter, especially after so long a wait. It made more sense in terms of the story to cut it off where I did.


As July wore to a close it became clear that Madam O'Malley's health was deteriorating rapidly. Healers began to visit the cottage regularly, faces grim.

On the 31st, Madam O'Malley baked and frosted a small cake for after dinner, saying with a small smile that she had simply felt inspired to make it. Hadrian was delighted and touched. It was more of a birthday celebration than the Dursleys had ever given him, and far more than he had expected given that the day could not be openly acknowledged. The children had gone flying that afternoon, and Helena was finally competent enough on a broom to throw a Quaffle around while they flew without dropping it constantly. The cake, in Hadrian's opinion, was the capstone on a perfect day.

His delight dimmed at lunchtime the next day, when Madam O'Malley did not join them, instead remaining in bed. He heard a visiting healer mutter something about overexertion, and he felt overcome by guilt.

#

At Madam O'Malley's urging and to the healer's clear relief, the children reluctantly departed as usual on their afternoon excursion. It was a walking day, since they had flown the day before. Without discussion, they silently headed into the hills and towards the furze-dotted valley that was Hadrian's favorite spot.

Hadrian's disquiet was obvious to his sister. About five minutes after they reached the valley she began pestering him to talk to her about his feelings. Ruefully, he reflected that he was more surprised that she had waited so long than at anything else.

"I guess I feel like it's my fault she's so bad today," he confessed. "She went to all that effort for me yesterday, with the—baking—and all, and today she's stuck in bed."

Helena stopped and turned to face him, sad if not really surprised. "It's not your fault. Look, she chose to do all that last night. She enjoyed it. She enjoyed how much you enjoyed it. It's not your fault that she's sick. She's been sick for a long time."

"I know that. I just—well, I guess it was easier to ignore, before. To pretend like she was well. And…"

"And?" she prompted him.

"Well, I guess it seems like horrible things keep happening to people who try to do nice things for me. Cedric wanted to share the cup with me, and he died for it. Sirius tried to protect me, and he died too. And now… Mam's done so much for us, and yesterday… That was the second birthday cake I've ever had, and the first I've ever gotten to share." Two dark spots of color appeared on his cheeks at this admission.

Helena hugged him tight, then pulled away and grasped his shoulders.

"None of that was your fault. None of it. You didn't kill any of them. Cedric and Sirius died because of Vol—Voldemort, not because of you.

"Mam was already dying. Long before yesterday, before any of this. Dying from an incurable magical disease—what she has, it's like cancer in her magic—not really, but close enough—and they didn't catch it until it had spread out of control—well, it's not like dying from a Muggle illness. With potions—and charms too, but mostly potions—they can keep people feeling well, keep the symptoms at bay, until the last week or two. Witches and wizards almost never seem sick when they're dangerously ill, from what I've read, unless they're really old, or if they have a really spectacularly disgusting illness like dragon pox. It's the less-serious diseases that keep wizards in bed. Usually when they're really sick, they get to keep living normally almost until the time they die.

"She's going to die soon, no matter what, and she knows it. She's known all along. And she chose to have us—to have you—in her life and in her house," Helena continued fiercely. "She chose to teach us, and to tell us stories in the evenings. And to buy us books, and cook dinner, and all the other things she's done for us. She baked that cake because she chose to: it was how she wanted to spend her time."

Wordlessly, Hadrian pulled Helena in for another hug, grasping her tightly. He didn't know what to say. In his memory, no other adult had ever cared for him in such a way. Not just for him. He was used to teachers caring because he was a student, and to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley being kind because he was Ron's friend. This was different in a way that was important, but that he couldn't quite articulate. Sirius had come close, perhaps, but he had been more of a companion, almost an older brother. And anyway, Sirius was gone.

If the tears seeping down Hadrian's face dripped onto the back of Helena's neck, she didn't mention it.

#

The children began taking turns sitting with Madam O'Malley around the clock, except for the short hour each day when the healers shooed them both out of the room. Hadrian took over all of the cooking, while Helena did all the washing up and the laundry.

Helena took bedside duty each morning, resumed it again from tea time through dinner, and sat up the first half of the night. At first Hadrian was horrified that she still managed to study for at least two hours each afternoon, but he slowly realized that she found it comforting to escape into her books. Hadrian took bedside duty each afternoon, after dinner each evening, and the second half of each night.

This vigil was tiring, both physically and emotionally, but neither child complained. After all, no one had asked them to do it, though Madam O'Malley seemed to appreciate their presence. It was something they asked of themselves.

#

One morning several days into their vigil—he wasn't quite sure how many, they had blurred together so completely—Hadrian was sitting downstairs in the library while Helena sat upstairs with Madam O'Malley. Nominally he was reading about Irish magical history—he knew he would not be able to absorb ancient runes at the moment—but between his exhaustion and his anxiety he had read perhaps two pages in the past hour.

Hadrian was staring at the book, wondering if attempting to read was worth the effort, when he was surprised to hear a knock on the front door. The healers always came and went by the Floo, so often that he hardly noticed anymore. Frowning, Hadrian replaced his bookmark, set the book on the table, and went to get the door.

It was Snape.

Hadrian stared stupidly, surprised. He had known in an abstract way that they would have to meet Snape sometime before school started, but he had not expected the man here, much less today.

The man stared down at him, examining the boy as if he were a potions ingredient.

"You must be Hadrian," he stated, entirely without inflection.

"I—yes, Sir." Hadrian stuttered back.

"My name is Severus Snape. I am here to see your mother."

"Er, she's not—that is, she's in her room. She's really sick. I don't think she could get out of bed, even if the healers allowed it."

"Please take me to her." Snape's tone was not warm, precisely. Hadrian could hear impatience and frustration, both familiar in Snape, but his voice strangely lacking in venom, at least to Hadrian's ears.

The boy gulped, nodded, and ushered the man into the house and led him up the stairs to Madam O'Malley's room. At the door, Snape turned to him and pointed back towards the stairs.

"Your presence is not required. Go."

Hadrian was momentarily torn between wanting to stay with Madam O'Malley and the desire to escape from Snape, but a glance at the man's frown was enough to send him scampering downstairs.

Upon his return to the library, Hadrian did not retrieve his book, but merely flopped into an armchair with a good view of the front hall.

Helena joined him soon after. "He said he wanted to speak with her alone," she explained in response to his unspoken question.

"Mhhm."

"Did he just show up?" she asked him

"Pretty much, as far as I could tell. There was a knock at the door, and when I answered it there he was. Gave me a right shock, I tell you."

Helena made a gurgling sound that was not quite a giggle. "You should have seen my face when he opened Mam's bedroom door."

Hadrian smirked, imagining.

"Mam didn't seem surprised, though. Smiled at him, even."

"Huh."

"Perhaps she was expecting him."

"Don't you think she would have told us, though?" he questioned.

"Maybe, but I'm not sure." Helena's voice was thoughtful, soft.

"Why not?"

"Well, it would have meant admitting some unpleasant realities, or at least made it harder to avoid them. She hasn't been keen to discuss it, has she?"

"Discuss what?"

"You know."

"Huh?"

"The—well—it's all pretty imminent now, isn't it?" Helena was clearly uncomfortable, not wanting to say out loud that Madam O'Malley must be about to die fairly soon.

"It—oh." Suddenly Hadrian understood. He shivered, though it was not cold.

Helena grimaced in response, and they sat in silence for some minutes.

#

By the time Snape returned downstairs, the children were sitting down to lunch. He stood in the doorway, observing them before he spoke.

"Your mother's health is deteriorating rapidly. As she is no longer able to care for you, you will come to live with me now."

"But we can't just leave her!" Hadrian burst out. "After everything she's done for us… We owe it to her. Can't we stay?"

Helena did not speak, but her face pleaded, echoing her brother's sentiments.

Snape frowned. "I will speak with her about it, on the condition that you agree to abide by her choice, without complaint and without badgering. It is her wishes that matter in this, not yours."

Neither Hadrian nor Helena heard anything of Snape's conversation with Madam O'Malley, but the adults must have spoken. They stayed.

# # #

Two mornings later, Severus was asleep, curled uncomfortably on the small sofa downstairs, when he was shaken awake by a healer. The hour and the expression on her face in the pre-dawn light told him everything.

"How long?" he asked, his voice husky with sleep.

"An hour, perhaps," came the steady response. "Perhaps as much as two, at the most." A moment's hesitation, then, "She's not in pain. But tired, and her awareness of the world around her will quickly slip away. Not yet, but soon."

Snape rose without responding and preceded the healer upstairs. Frowning, he paused at the top of the stairs and turned back. "The children?"

"We sent them to bed hours ago. It wasn't healthy, the way they kept hovering all night. So we told them they couldn't stay overnight any more, maybe three nights back."

Snape nodded, then turned to enter Maureen's room.

She was awake, and smiled kindly at him as the healers in the room cast monitoring charms and filed out. By the time he sat in the chair next to her bed, they were alone.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"For what?" she asked, smiling lightly.

"That you didn't get another century. That you'll be tied to me now, in the eyes of the world. That you've spent these last months saddled with two teenagers and Albus' ridiculous machinations."

"No." She shook her head, bemused. "No, I don't accept those apologies. The only apology you owe me is for not visiting or answering my letters for so many years after I moved here."

Two bright spots of color appeared on his sallow cheeks. "I'm sorry for that, too."

"You should be. For that, I mean. But not the rest." She grabbed his hand. "Listen, Severus. It's not your fault that I won't get more time. I've had so much more than most of my family or friends, I don't want to be ungrateful. I have the chance to say goodbyes. Maureen never got that chance. Neither did Lily, or my parents, or my brothers. To have that, that's something.

"Also, those children are the furthest thing from a burden I can imagine. Really, Severus." He grimaced in disbelief, but she continued.

"I mean it. I've felt more happiness these last months, with them, than in all the decade that came before it. They're sweet children—stop looking so disbelieving, they are. Helena is a pleasure to converse with. I don't wonder that she has Marlene's wand, now that I know her. She has the same sort of mind, and she might be even sharper. And Hadrian… he's an incredibly generous child, but also needs so badly to be loved.

"Please thank Albus for bringing them to me. Yes, I mean it, Severus. Thank him. Or at least convey my thanks."

"I will, if you really mean it."

"I do." Her eyes blazed with conviction.

"And will you… will you tell Lily I'm sorry?" He tried to keep the pleading out of his voice as he made his one request of her.

Her eyes softened. "I will, though I'm sure she already knows. May I ask something in return?"

He nodded, surprised to find his eyes damp. He would give a great deal in return for that apology, so very many years overdue.

"Look after those children. Both of them." He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off. "Not just what you must do—whatever you've promised Albus, whatever is strategically necessary. I know you've already promised that. I'm asking you to do more. To care for them, beyond what is necessary." She said the word with scorn, dismissively. "Really care for them. If not for their own sake, for mine. And for Lily's."

He nodded shakily. "It is not in my nature, and I don't like either of them. But I will try."

She looked at him piercingly, and he felt the weight of her exasperation and disappointment, tempered by a sort of sympathy he couldn't quite name. It made him feel ashamed and yet cared for, all at once. Finally, she nodded. "I suppose that is the most you can promise. But do try, and keep thinking about it. I hope you surprise yourself."

There was nothing he could say to that. They sat in silence for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts.

After a few minutes Severus cleared his throat and rose. "I will wake the children and bring them to say their goodbyes."

#

Snape walked past the healers in the hall and knocked softly on the children's door before opening it without waiting for a response.

Only one of the two beds was occupied. Glancing to his right, Snape saw the boy silhouetted in the grey light coming through the window. Hadrian was seated in a rocking chair, his dark eyes open.

Crossing to the occupied bed, Severus pulled back the covers and shook the occupant's shoulder, more gently than he might have. Groggily, the girl sat up, still dazed by sleep.

"Your mother does not have long," he informed them tersely. "It is time to say your goodbyes."

Hadrian's eyes flickered to Helena, clearly fighting her way to consciousness from a deep sleep. "I'll go first," he volunteered.

Snape nodded and followed him out of the room, pausing just long enough to be sure that the girl was indeed getting out of bed. He did not follow the boy into Maureen's room, but instead stood outside the door and cast a covert listening spell. The healers frowned at him but did not comment.

"I wanted to say thank you," Hadrian began, his voice both awkward and strained to Snape's ears. "I know it hasn't been that long, but you're the only mum I can really remember. Aunt Petunia certainly doesn't count. And, well. You were great."

Maureen's voice was warm and reassuring. "Having you for a son has been a great joy, however briefly. I am so very glad I've gotten to know you."

"I used to wonder what it would be like. Having a real parent, I mean. Someone who really cared." The boy's voice was thick with emotion. "I know it wasn't long, but I won't ever forget. I want you to know that. To know how much it's mattered, to me. No matter what happens later.

"I can't remember my real mum and dad, but I'll remember you. How kind you are, how you cooked for us and told us stories and took us shopping for new clothes. I'll always remember, I promise."

Maureen's response was muffled, as if she was speaking into the boy's hair or shirt. "I want you to remember that this summer meant as much to me as it did to you. Never doubt that."

#

When Hadrian left Maureen's room he didn't even look at Snape, just walked straight past him into his own room. Helena emerged moments later, glancing at Snape as she went to speak with her adoptive mother.

Again Snape cast a covert listening spell. The girl's voice was also strained, but somehow more contained than the boy's had been.

"I wanted to thank you," the girl began, "for agreeing to take me as well. It's meant to much to me, both getting to be here with Ha—Hadrian and getting to know you.

"I've wondered for years what it would be like to have a magical family. Being able to ask questions about the magical world, being told things I never would have thought to ask. And also… well, being able to speak freely.

"I love my original parents very much, but they're Muggles, and they just don't understand. I've never told them about most of what happened at Hogwarts, because I knew they'd be frightened and make me leave, and I couldn't bear that. So I didn't tell them much, and that was hard too. It got harder and harder for me to spend time with them. I guess we grew apart."

Snape smirked at the girl's naïveté in thinking that wizarding parents would have been less horrified by her participation in Potter's exploits over the years. The girl's words displayed an innate trust in adults which was utterly foreign to him.

"You've been… It's been wonderful, having an adult I could talk to more. Thank you for sharing all the stories about your family, and starting to teach me warding, and everything else."

"You are very welcome, Helena. It has been as much a pleasure for me as for you, I promise." Maureen's voice was as warm and tender as it had been when she spoke to Hadrian, but without the underlying notes of concern.

"Getting to know you this summer has been a great gift for me, Helena. One I had no idea I wanted, but no less treasured for that. I am so glad you have Marlene's wand, and I'm quite certain she would approve. Use it well, and take care of Hadrian. I think you were right about his needing you."

Their voices stopped, replaced by sounds of sniffling and the rustling of blankets. Severus cancelled the spell, uncomfortable with so much maudlin sentimentality.

# # #

When Helena opened the door several minutes later, the healers bustled back into the room immediately, followed more slowly by Hadrian and Snape. The three of them sat quietly around the bed as the room filled with bright morning light. Perhaps 30 minutes later it was over, and both children found themselves staring over the quiescent form of Madam O'Malley in the bed, their eyes fixed apprehensively on Snape.