Notes:

So, I am not sure why my daemon (a Greek entity of inspiration) has decreed that I write the sequel to my first-thought-of fanfic but a quick summary should surmise:

Severus had a wife, Celeste Snape nee Bonum, who bore him two children: Edgar (17) and Seraphora Seraphine (14). Yes, if one does the math, Severus and Celeste had Edgar at 17.

Edgar and Seraphine (she prefers it, don't ask me—the author-why!) live under the alias Foxwood, at the home of Remus and his partner, Tom.

None of my characters bend to the will of the author. I am at their mercy, the vessel to tell their stories. Haha, like I said in my bio any questions, constructive criticism, or praise can be sent my way.

As any of us, I have not constructed any of J.K. Rowling's authors, only interpreted them.

Chapter One

The cloaked figure wrenched the silver cufflinks, plucking the silken cream sleeves at the wrist, clutching about his left bicep. Focusing in and out of the sandstone glow of candles, far and close to the circle of silver reflection. Slitted onyx eyes spying the blond companion lounging on his sheets.

Blond hair cloaked the muscular figure, straining his metallic eyes at the door, flittering back to his noitret friend…tapping his feet so the evergreen duvet fluttered. Huffing as his friend examined his charmed physique: a respectable seventy inches, fattened about the middle, with a healthy glow from summer gardening and sightings with his offspring. His own physicality the same…muscular, clean shaven, seventy-one inches making him level with the twitchy owner of the mirror.

"Surely your disillusion salve has merit," the blond drawled, not bothering to look at his own bicep, or his confidant, juggling a velveteen bag of galleons.

"Mm…" the black-haired murmured, turning about towards the door.

"Oh, goody, we may begin as the game ends," the blond chuckled, slinking behind the houseowner, summoning the velvet and yeti-embellished cloak. Homeowner smirking as he reached for his utilitarian woolen black cloak, pulling his sleeves through, knowing his friend more accustomed to house elves aiding his dressing.

"Papa, s'il vous plait laissez moi veneer!" the teenage whined, her normally floral and neon apparel switched to a twilight purple jumper and skirt, black leggings, and velveteen Mary Janes covering her feet in the warm cottage.

"Andoillet," a young man muttered, slinking up the stairs.

"Do not insult your sister; and no, you may not," the shorter of the two men sighed. A seventeen-year-old son, and his daughter thirteen…at 35! Some father he was, seeing them three and a half months out of the years…14 weeks, 93 days, not ever wanting to calculate hours; 2232 as his intellect quickened before guilt. The "necessary" routine for the last twelve years, plus two.

"If I recall, you're more into enchantments than sports?" the blond inquired, surprisingly compassionate as the father glared. Noting the slight downturn of his lips as he took in the usually honey blonde transfigured to black, held up in a ponytail instead of free flowing.

"Oui," she sighed, turning about to her contemplative guardian…the man's facade conflicted with a half-frown enlarging scars and wrinkles, warm hazel pupils downturned to avoid the quizzical expression of the child's blood relative.

"Right, so let us go Severus. I do not recall arriving late on my itinerary…or Narcissa's…" Lucius growling the last words.

"I'm sorry, brother, but doesn't fashionably late suit you?" Severus drawled, glancing once more at his shrunken daughter on the settee, surfing through the telly without watching. Contemplating what he could buy on his own accord, not wanting to borrow on Lucius' generosity.

"Yes, but there's a difference between coming late and being late, brother," Lucius pronounced, knowing he spoke loud enough for the werewolf to still hear.

Rolling his eyes, he allowed Lucius to apparate before a last glance at the already shut door.

He sat between Lucius and his godson, and Narcissa; the silence deafening if not for Draco's shouting and swaying with the crowd. Lucius' chin downcast, brows almost to where his third eye would be, attempting to spin laws and regulations suitable to his livelihood. Gazing a curvaceous redhaired secretary jotting and peering at her thick leather ledger.

Even with the knowledge that his daughter had no necessity, Severus still brought her a Nimbus 2000, enchanted green butterbeer emblazed with the Irish team's autographs flying about, varying sized photos and posters of the French team to adorn her room at Beauxbatons. And while not a fan of his son's adversarial behaviour, a flaming red bottle of IceRakia with Krum's autograph, Bulgarian playing cards, and a red snitch.

Presented as a foreign (disowned, he snickered) relative of Lucius…Severus feigned ignorance of the English language. Oh, how persons were free to speak when thinking they are unheard. A portly man lamenting how the Irish team would not throw the game no matter the expenses paid, the curvaceous secretary viewing Narcissa with wistful eyes…how Lucius would love to see the redhead with anybody but, Severus mentally spoke the truth as his benefactor huffed, looking for other prospects. Hearing over the cacophony of cheers and jeers how a woman was having an affair with her married boss in the Department of Mysteries…keeping her and his love a mystery she guffawed to her girlfriend. Severus half-snorting, noting how the man was nowhere to be seen.

And then it was over, the Bulgarians catching the Snitch while the Irish took the Cup. Lucius absentmindedly descending the stairs, Draco glancing around for one last look at the players, and Narcissa silently descending with a dignified determination. Severus regretting the twenty plus minutes spent on a sports arena, not to mention the expectation of public celebration. The crowds of Irish already drunkenly stumbling and embracing anybody nearby, Bulgarian fans bemoaning and rejoicing over their loss and Viktor Krum's Snitch-catch.

The palatial tent of the Malfoys was unmissable: the ivory white towers, the French windows, the creeping vines of nightshade adorning the door. Men and women greeted by house elves taking their coats, floating elven wines, fairy cognacs, and firewhisky, pumpkin pie petit fours, hippogriff canapes, giant slug escargot floating on golden plates. Women puffing elven herbs, and men settling with their goblin-made cigars. Mingling with their cohorts and adversaries, the upper echelon of wizarding society gossiped of affairs, business hassles, and all other things disinteresting as Severus slunk through to the smoking den.

The dragon holstered furniture held silent men concentrating on their hands…not a bad idea for an illiterate foreigner as he seated himself, a dwindled-down pouch presented in the pot. Sitting beside former Death Eaters Antonin Dolohov and Corban Yaxley he restrained all facial expression other than seeing the folds, dealings, and the overweight cheat sputter as he lost a small fortune. Taking cues through side-glances Severus needn't use legilmancy, having sat by his opponents during the first Wizarding War. Gaining most of the overweight man's dwindling fortune and the former Death Eaters' galleons without remorse…mentally accounting for any profit to use towards Edgar and Seraphine.

It was only after the bucking of clothed and unclothed feet did Severus take leave of the table, losing moderately amongst tipsy ministry workers, only to win back and then some against more foes nee friends. The men at the latest table smirking and smiling as they apparated coats and kicked at house elves lacing up their boots. Faking his ignorance at the excitement he spoke rapidly in broken Italian, knowing the foreign tongue would be ignored in most circles.

The sky was not green with leprechauns or green shooting stars or enchanted four-leaf clover firecrackers but a large, slithering green snake. Clutching his forearm instinctively Severus pondered the nonburning sensation, searching the crowds of drunken, staggering, and screeching parents scurrying for the man he came in with, the man who may have been in another woman (or man's if it suited, Severus huffed). Knowledge of Narcissa fleeing with Draco to the manor Severus also looked midriff high for a certain raven-haired student alongside a bushy-haired encyclopedia, and a foolish looking redhead…and he wasn't to be disappointed as the Weasley patriarch screamed inside the forest.

So, it was he saw the terrified and confused face of Harry Potter, wands pointed dangerously all over his body. Nostrils flaring and head held high, seeing no obvious "re"-incarnation of his former master Severus turned and apparated as others took their leave.

The cottage was lit, Severus shocked when it was Lucius, and not his daughter or Remus Lupin inside. Clearing his mind, attempting to feel the magic around he finally opened all the cupboards and doors without thought…calling out his children's names until Edgar sluggishly got to his feet, a befuddled look as he blinked at his father's hurried state.

"Where…is…your…sister?" Severus barely spoke through high-focused breathing, still attempting to find them throughout the property.

"Beats me," was the sole answer as Edgar swung the door closed.

"Great help from an American detective," Lucius commented, a slight slur as he held onto the bottle of Goblin whiskey.

"God willing your father—" Remus begun as Severus whisked down the stairs, wandlessly and physically looking for any damage at his teenage daughter, her hair tussled and skirt askew but otherwise fit. Her eyes bird-like in their wideness, she slowly melded into her father's embrace as tears fell and lips rolled into her mouth.

"What…happened?" Severus inquired…his eyes not once losing the werewolf's sheepish downturns and side eyes.

"She…may have flown to the World Cup…" Remus muttered, looking at his young ward, rummaging his many pockets for emergency chocolate, finding a somewhat melted chocolate frog, offering it not to Seraphine, but to Severus as a peace offering.

"How?"

"I…may have been in the loo…'oh, goody, a guard dog that cannot take care of its family' "fuck off" 'hmmm, when, and where? I'll send you the photos'" the blonde and grey men bickered as Seraphine apologized into her father's back, not realizing as he steered her to the kitchen.

"We'll need more than that," he muttered, grabbing ingredients for the dark chocolate and strawberry fondue his daughter was fond of…a bowl of fruit levitated towards the shocked teenager. Feeling his fingers elongating to their familiar callused selves he stirred the cream, cut the strawberries and straining them the Muggle way. Ignoring the bickering of the two men in his sitting room.

"Papa?"

"Oui, amore?"

"Is he back?"

"What matters is you're safe," he sighed, wondering how many nights he could keep up the charade. "As for you two, you may as well bugger each other and see how it turns out!" he hollered towards the entryway, hands unlookingly tempering the chocolate bars.

The three men—an aristocrat, a potion master, and a werewolf—were seated around the kitchen table as night slowly turned to dawn. It seemed surreal to have survived the night of a Dark Mark, especially since Severus had bound himself to opposing masters, Lucius diplomatically neutral to those serving him best, and Remus being targeted not only by Voldemort but other creatures as he bounty-hunted full-time as the children were away at Beauxbatons.

"So, before the Prophet spins, how far is he?" Lupin asked, rubbing his hair into a further bird's nest.

"Well, he certainly isn't dead," Lucius managed to slur between shots of firewhiskey and Severus' stash of tainted elven leaves.

"No…he isn't. Not corporeal, but the Dark Lord is back," Severus declared.