A/N: Once again I thank all of you for your patience as I write this story. It's hard for me to find consistent time to write given the other demands on my life (and that's not going to change, unfortunately), but I will keep writing at whatever pace I can manage as long as people keep reading. As always, reviews are very welcome.
Remember, Harry = Hadrian and Hermione = Helena
Severus sat at the kitchen table at Spinner's End, draft syllabi for all seven years of defense classes spread out before him at the table. The children were downstairs in the basement, brewing the potions he had assigned them, and the house was quiet, even peaceful.
He reflected with mild surprise that the children had been much less obnoxious than he had feared. So far, at least.
They had surprised him first with their lack of snide comments about the house, the neighborhood, or the tiny bedroom they now shared. True, the girl's face had looked pained when he first showed them the bedroom, but that was no more than he had expected, and as she had been wise enough not to speak he had said nothing. He had been more surprised that the boy made no comments, since the girl had the better-developed sense of self-preservation, at least when it didn't come to showing off her knowledge.
The children had been here with him at Spinner's End for a week now, and so far they had not caused him undue irritation. By unspoken agreement, all three acted as if they were at school. They ate their meals together in the kitchen, but without speaking much, and the children washed up afterwards without complaining. He spoke to them only as needed, and so far the household had been quiet.
It was rather like being at Hogwarts during term time, he admitted to himself. He had given the children assignments and a schedule, in order to structure their days and keep them from irritating him. In the mornings they worked on the summer homework for the incoming fourth years, since they would be joining that class, and which they were required to complete to his specifications. On top of that he had given them potions assignments, hoping that even a minimal amount of extra teaching would make them more believable… or at least keep the boy from embarrassing him. In the afternoons the children continued their potions work, with oversight when he thought it necessary, often brewing in the basement lab. Only the children's evenings were free, and they spent those quietly in their room, much to everyone's apparent relief.
Severus smirked to himself in satisfaction as he contemplated the children's potions assignments. He had come up with a strategy to force the boy to actually learn on his own and to force the girl to stop parroting her textbooks, much to his own satisfaction. He had set them both to work on potions from the fourth-year curriculum that were relatively safe to brew and required minimal supervision time from him, but there the similarity ended. The boy was required merely to brew the potions and explain common mistakes and their likely results: very like the assignments given in class, except Severus hoped that by returning to more elementary material and without distractions—or undue help from the know-it-all—the boy might actually absorb some of the nuances this time around.
He required the girl to alter the potions, each time specifying a change in the potion's effect and expecting her to work out how the brewing process must be changed in order to create the desired alteration. It was finicky work, quite advanced (though he wasn't about to concede that), requiring a deep and nuanced understanding of the material. These assignments were demanding enough to stop her from spending too much time doing the boy's work for him, and different enough that he wouldn't be able to copy much of use from her work (even if he understood it, which Severus privately doubted). Best of all, the answers to the girl's assignments were nowhere to be found in any of her textbooks.
If it were possible, Severus would have been content to continue the current routine through the end of the summer. He had no idea how to go about forming a warmer relationship with the children, much less building the closeness and trust Albus had asked of him, damn the man. He had been pleasantly surprised to find he could tolerate them in their current form, but his feelings certainly did not go beyond that. Their current truce appeared stable, and he had no wish to interfere with its delicate balance. Besides, he could easily have spent five months designing courses for all six years of defense classes, rather than a few weeks of work crammed between other obligations. Even more than usual, Severus resented all distractions.
However, some deviation from their current routine was unfortunately necessary. The children needed books, uniforms, and supplies for Hogwarts, and Narcissa had invited him to bring the children to Malfoy Manor for dinner on Friday, damn her. It was not an invitation he could refuse, but given Draco's newfound grudge against him and his own children's strong dislike of the boy—and likely all things Malfoy—it bore every hallmark of a disaster in the making.
The twins' supposed birthday was on Wednesday, and Severus decided to take them to Diagon Alley to buy their school things then. It was as good a day as any for shopping, and they would need formal robes for dinner at Malfoy Manor. He could even take them for dessert in honor of the supposed occasion, for the sake of verisimilitude. It would please Albus, if not himself.
#
Helena was horrified by Professor Snape's rules for her coursework: no assignment was to include any discussion beyond the narrow scope of the assignment—no illuminating historical footnotes, no clever applications, no theoretical implications—and no assignment was ever to be more than 1" beyond the required length. Expansion charms were explicitly prohibited, as was shrinking her handwriting. Snape had given her these rules for her summer homework, but he'd been clear that they would apply for as long as her disguise was in place. Helena was appalled. She had been resigned to going back two years in the curriculum, but had originally consoled herself with the thought that she would surely discover new nuances in the familiar material, much as she had while studying for OWLs in the previous year. The thought of repeating 4th year coursework without the chance to explore new insights in her work made her utterly miserable.
Worse, Hadrian was totally unsympathetic, and had even laughed at her anguish. It was easy enough for him—he was only required to write an outline in advance for each essay—like she'd been attempting to convince him to do for the past five years!—and had to show it to Professor Snape for approval. Snape had also said that during the school year Hadrian would have to turn in his outline for each essay a full four days before it was due, to discourage him from procrastinating, but again that was hardly a burden… even if Hadrian seemed to think it was.
Helena's main consolation was the potions work she did in the afternoons. Learning to modify potions was fascinating, and she was learning by leaps and bounds. She hoped they would continue potions tutoring during the school year—though she had not dared voice that thought aloud, for fear that Hadrian would laugh at her or Snape would withhold the tutoring out of spite. At least that way she would be able to make progress in one subject, even if it wasn't her favorite. She thought there was a reasonably good chance their lessons would continue, since they were probably getting them to help reinforce their roles. Not that Snape had said as much, of course.
She missed Madam O'Malley, and especially her lessons and discussions about warding and Arithmancy. Helena could tell that Hadrian was also sad, and that he seemed subdued, but for once she was too caught up in her own worries to watch him closely. The routine of study and potions brewing at Spinner's End offered regularity and the chance to escape from her feelings, and she clung to it accordingly.
#
Hadrian was considerably less comfortable than Helena with the routine of life at Snape's. He did not enjoy the constant schedule of studying as Helena did—though he admitted (grudgingly) that he was learning a great deal, especially about potions. Helena refused to help him during their afternoon study sessions—she said she couldn't focus properly on her own assignments and help him—but he was learning a surprising amount on his own, and had taken to writing down questions when he was really stuck. Helena happily answered those questions when they retreated to their room after dinner each evening, and in combination with his own efforts each afternoon he was learning much more about potions than he ever had before.
But he was not happy. Rather, Hadrian was exhausted. His insomnia from earlier in the summer had never really disappeared, and it gripped him more tightly in the dreary surroundings of Spinner's End and Snape's forbidding presence. Luckily Helena continued to sleep soundly, and for once was not badgering him about his exhaustion. But he still feared waking Snape, and so spent long hours each night lying in bed, staring at the narrow window and small scraps of moonlight that filtered through it.
Hadrian missed Madam O'Malley and the house in Ireland constantly, and he particularly felt the lack of time spent outdoors, in a way Helena did not. He had used to joke with Ron that Hermione would never have left the castle if they did not drag her out of doors with them, and it had recently occurred to him that this had been far closer to the truth than he had imagined. Hadrian was very glad that they had not spent the entire summer at Spinner's End, not least because the many hours indoors had begun chafing by the third day.
Hadrian was particularly excited that evening when Snape announced over dinner that they would be going to Diagon Alley on Wednesday afternoon. He could tell that Helena was also pleased, but he didn't think anything could match the sense of relief he felt at the prospect of leaving the house. She was probably excited about getting their textbooks, he though wryly. For himself, he didn't care so much about getting their school things, though he knew he needed them. Hadrian was more excited about the chance to spend some time outside. Besides, he'd always been fond of Diagon Alley.
# # #
On Wednesday morning the children came down to breakfast slightly earlier than usual, even knowing that they would not leave for Diagon Alley until after lunch. They were surprised to see a parcel at each of their places, and stopped just inside the doorway.
Snape bent his head, indicating the parcels. "It is customary to give children gifts on their birthday," he commented.
Helena smiled and reached for her parcel, while Hadrian gaped. After so many years with the Dursleys, it was incredible to think that Snape of all people would give him a gift when it wasn't even his real birthday. Besides, Madam O'Malley had given him a cake this year for his real birthday in July and Helena had been there to share it, making it the best birthday he could remember.
After a few moments Hadrian shook himself and reached for his parcel, finding that it contained two familiar books: Hogwarts, A History and Quidditch Through the Ages. Glancing over, he saw that Helena had received the same two books and was beaming at the new copy of her favorite.
Snape cleared his throat. "The headmaster and I felt that it would be prudent to give you these to help explain knowledge you wouldn't otherwise have, though you should still take every precaution to avoid slipping. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir." Helena chirped happily. Hadrian echoed her, feeling strangely relieved. Snape's presents weren't really gifts, then, and the world hadn't turned quite so far sideways as it had appeared for a moment there. Still, it was nice to get his own copy of Quidditch Through the Ages.
#
Over lunch Snape reminded the children repeatedly that this was supposedly their first trip to Diagon Alley, and not to act like they remembered anything or make comparisons to previous visits. Helena nodded and looked thoughtful, but Hadrian was frustrated by the warnings. Even a simple trip to Diagon Alley seemed to become bloody complicated when Snape was involved, didn't it? Why couldn't he just enjoy the afternoon for what it was? Hadrian nodded anyway, if only to get Snape to stop talking and let him focus on his lunch.
Snape brought them to Diagon Alley after lunch using side-along apparation, as his house was not connected to the floo network. Both children hated the sensation, though Hadrian reflected that it was better than the Knight Bus, if only because it was over faster.
# # #
Diagon Alley was a shock to both children. Where it had once been noisy, bustling with witches and wizards as they met and shopped and gossiped and lingered, it was now nearly empty. People now traveled in twos and threes, moving quickly and constantly glancing over their shoulders. Many shop windows were boarded up, and even those stores that remained open were no longer welcoming.
Snape walked between the children with one hand resting on each of their shoulders. The physical closeness surprised both children, and neither was entirely comfortable with it, but while the children exchanged startled glances they said nothing. The Alley was so eerie that Snape seemed almost comfortable and familiar in comparison.
When they passed Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor—or rather, the building where it had once been—Hadrian spoke. "When did—" Snape's grip on his shoulder tightened painfully. "Er, has it always been like this?"
"No." Snape's response was soft, and characteristically lacking in any discernible emotion. "It has only been like this for the last month or so."
They continued in silence to the apothecary, where Snape bought a number of things for himself in addition to buying their potions' kits for Hogwarts. Next they bought school trunks, cauldrons, and telescopes, all of which Snape shrank and tucked into his robes.
Madam Malkin's shop was the first time anyone said much to them. The saleswitch was surprised that they needed Hogwarts robes for new students, without House crests, and said as much. Snape frowned and responded tersely, and the woman took the hint and stopped asking questions. Hadrian grinned at Helena, reflecting that Snape was much more pleasant when his ire wasn't directed at them.
Snape also insisted on getting them each three full sets of robes that weren't for school: one set of charcoal grey robes for everyday wear; a dressier set in dove grey linen that the witch said were for informal affairs; and formal dress robes, which were made of satin and velvet. Or at least, the saleswitch said they would be; the formal robes were made to order and would be sent to them by owl.
Madam O'Malley had bought them some outer robes for everyday wear when she took them shopping at Fae Court back in July, but those were much like their school robes, and worn over ordinary clothing. In fact, the children were wearing them now, over ordinary muggle clothes, also purchased in Cork with Madam O'Malley.
The new robes Snape was getting them were complete outfits. Helena's each consisted of a floor-length gown—there really wasn't any other word for it—with tight sleeves and a matching over-robe. Hadrian's robes were more complicated: each set included trousers and a waistcoat to match his over-robe, and a high-collared white shirt to wear under them. The lighter grey set even included a tie, and he suspected the formal robes would as well. It was all rather much in Hadrian's opinion. But at least Snape hadn't made him get the traditional wizard's robes, which were practically dresses like Helena's. Hadrian glanced at the offending garments and shuddered, not noticing the way Snape quirked his lips in response.
Flourish & Blott's was emptier than usual, like all the other stores, but the quiet there was less disturbing. Snape handed the children their book lists with a firm admonition not to dawdle—clearly aimed at Helena—and then went to browse the new arrivals section while the children retrieved their school books.
Hadrian soon found himself armed with a new set of very familiar books, including The Standard Book of Spells (Grade Four), Intermediate Transfiguration, and One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. He also found himself in possession of his very own Rune Dictionary and a new book that appeared to be for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Evading the Ruthless looked rather interesting, and hugely better than that Slinkhard trash they'd been assigned by Umbridge last year.
As they walked over to Snape, Helena thumbed through the new defense book.
"Looks promising, doesn't it?" commented Hadrian.
"Quite," said Helena, grinning at him. From the look in her eyes, Hadrian knew she'd read as much as she could that very evening. He smiled back, knowing what they were both thinking but couldn't say: the quality of the defense books usually matched the quality of the teachers, and this book boded well.
With the purchase of their textbooks, they had bought all of the items on their school lists. Snape surprised the children by leading them further up the street towards Gringotts rather than back towards the Leaky Cauldron.
When they reached Ollivander's shop and saw it boarded up and empty, both children slowed. Snape gripped their shoulders tightly and steered them forward, warning them not to comment. Luckily, Hadrian was so stunned that he didn't have the words to say anything he shouldn't, though the stunned looks on his and Helena's faces were surely inappropriate for their roles.
Hadrian was further stunned when Snape steered them into a fancy shop called Cardamom & Coriander, Fine Chocolatiers. When Snape led them up to the counter and asked them what they wanted, Hadrian stared at him, totally shocked.
"Was I incorrect in thinking that you would enjoy a birthday treat?" Snape asked.
"No, Sir," Hadrian replied, still stunned. This had to be one of the strangest days of his life.
After some discussion, Hadrian and Helena both ordered chocolate éclairs, while Snape ordered a slice of bittersweet chocolate cake. Snape also ordered pumpkin juice for both of the children, and tea for himself, before leading them to a small marble table in a corner away from the windows. They had their pick of the tables, for the rest were all empty, though a steady stream of witches and wizards ordered chocolates and pastries at the counter.
When the food and drinks came, they ate slowly and in silence. They'd had so many quiet meals by now, it seemed almost ordinary, and Hadrian got the impression that everyone wanted to savor their desserts.
Hadrian was still stunned by Snape's generosity. He'd been able to explain away the books at breakfast—they were to help them play their roles, so they weren't really gifts, not properly. Or at least he'd been able to convince himself of that this morning. But this? Well, it was hard to convince himself that a chocolate éclair was part of any plan to hoodwink Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Try as he might, Hadrian couldn't see any ulterior motive for coming here and buying them treats. It was a birthday present. From Snape. As he savored the cream filling of his éclair, Hadrian struggled to wrap his head around the idea.
Unfortunately, sitting quietly made it increasingly difficult for Hadrian to ignore his need for the loo. He looked around the shop but didn't see a door. He squirmed in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, while wondering whether it was worth it to ask Snape.
Seeing the child fidgeting—really, he was far too old for such things—cause Snape to end Hadrian's dilemma. "Do you need anything?" he asked pointedly.
"Er, the loo?" Hadrian asked in response, turning bright red. The Dursleys would have murdered him for this, and he didn't want to discuss anything even vaguely relating to bodily functions with Snape.
"Well ask at the counter then," Snape responded, obviously impatient.
The wizard at the counter told Hadrian that the nearest loo was at the toy shop next door, and Snape waved him towards the door.
Still red, Hadrian exited the chocolate shop and went into the toy shop next door. He tried not to be distracted by the piles of wizarding toys as he walked through the aisles to the back of the store, but couldn't help feeling a pang of jealousy. He'd had so very few toys at the Dursleys—just a few of Dudley's cast-offs that had been small enough to sneak from the rubbish bin, really—and so many of these were brilliant. There were stuffed dragons that rustled their wings and breathed out puffs of warm air, and model castles with working drawbridges, all of them beautifully made. It was hard not to imagine a childhood playing with such toys, in a house where he was loved enough to have them.
Perhaps these reflections explained why Hadrian's first reaction was envy rather than disgust when he entered the bathroom.
A small boy, no more than three or four years old, stood in the open area in front of the sinks, tears flowing freely down his round brown cheeks. The front of the boy's clothes were covered with vomit, and there was a puddle of it on the floor in front of him. A man knelt in front of the boy, so alike he had to be the child's father, seemingly oblivious to the vomit he knelt in and which liberally decorated the front of his own robes. The man rubbed the boy's back with one dark hand while he felt his forehead with the other, murmuring soft words of comfort to his son.
As he skirted past the mess to get to the stalls, Hadrian felt himself overcome with envy rather than disgust. No one, he thought, has ever loved me like that. Maybe my parents did once, but never since they died. I wish I could have that kind of love, he thought.
