Author's Note Wow, I never expected the response to this story that I
got. That is why I actually feel bad about not updating sooner. But
classes just ended for a week and I'm now going to use that week to the
best of my ability to get as far with this story as I can.
Two things that you really should know: One, this is meant to be a sort of alternate universe, as was suggested in one of the reviews. Basically it is three years before Harry is born, only everything is going on in 1922 (the year that D.H. Lawrence published his classic tale from which I have shamelessly stolen). Two, everything is the same except for the year. Anyway, this story is meant to offer a new explanation besides the obvious ones as to why, when Harry arrives, Severus has become a bitter, angry muggle hater.
So, please continue to read and review. I will have no reason to finish it if no one is reading it, after all. I hope you like it. Have a lovely day and happy reading!
Peace. Rhiannon
"I don't know why you insist on keeping up a relationship with that silly muggle girl, Severus. I mean, it was nice and all as children, but you've a reputation to uphold now."
"Please, mum. I'm thirty one years old now. I think I can decide for myself whom to remain friends with."
"Well, all I'm saying is –"
"I know. I know exactly what you're saying. Thank you kindly for your advice. Don't be offended when I disregard it entirely."
"Really, Severus," the old witch said, standing and moving slowly into her kitchen, "I would have expected that Dumbledore fellow to have taught you better manners than that."
"Right mum. Thanks."
The old woman hobbled into the kitchen, grumbling something about the new generation under her breath and Severus stood to fix himself a touch of brandy. When his wife was safely out of earshot, Snape senior stood and joined his son at the bar before the fireplace.
"I always thought the two of you made a smart match," he told his son, giving him a jovial nudge in the side with his ageing elbow. "I know you've always been attracted to the blondes, eh?" Severus allowed a small grin to touch the corners of his mouth, turning them up and putting the smallest dimple in his right cheek.
"I'm not attracted to her, father. I just feel sorry for her. Her father gone and her stepmother leaving her destitute." Silence fell between them as Severus took a nip of brandy and turned to gaze into the fire. "You should have seen the breakfast she made me."
"Ah. That's how it always begins. You know, your mother made me breakfast one fateful autumn morning and two weeks later we were expecting an addition to the family. You can imagine how rushed the wedding plans were, I –"
"Okay, da'. Thanks. I think I'll be going out for a walk now."
"Oh, don't run away," the old man called after his son, who had murdered his brandy and left the glass upon the mantel and who was now headed quickly out the door.
'Gaw,' Severus thought to himself, pulling on his cap and slinking down the lane toward town. 'I ought to have just stayed at school with the rest of the dunderheads. At least I wouldn't have had anyone nagging me about my personal life. The children are far too petrified of me to even consider me human and Albus certainly wouldn't have the gall to be so blunt in his assessment of my personal life.' Not noticing where his step was taking him, Severus continued to walk past the post office, the grocer, the chemist, all the way to the town square, where the church had been built but two years ago.
Muggle religion had always fascinated him. Though he had never been able to understand how a perfectly rational being could explain its existence away with a set of silly mythologies, the hope that it instilled in its adherents was enough to capture his awe. As a follower of the dark lord he had become well versed in methods of intimidation and mind control. And yet nothing he was ever capable of could have rivaled what the priest did here each and every Sunday. Slowing down and winding his way between the gothic arches and into the garden beside the towering sanctuary, he beheld, somewhat to his surprise, the image of Rhiannon, the horse dealer's daughter, dressed all in black bent over a grave. Her mother's grave, he realized.
Steeling himself away behind a lanky elm tree he watched as she tediously trimmed the grass around the headstone with a tiny pair of shears, clearing away anything that may take any attention away from the aesthetic quality of the plot. He thought to himself how much work he could save her with a simple shearing charm, but that would take away from the fun of watching her work. Her hair was falling in small ashy tendrils out of the bun atop her head and he could barely perceive a few little beads of perspiration popping up above her brow. Severus was mesmerized.
"Can I help you with something, my son," he heard a voice from behind him. He almost jumped in his surprise. Almost. It wasn't often that someone could sneak up on him. He turned to see an older man, obviously muggle, dressed all in black as well with a white collar. It must be the priest.
"No, sir, thank you. I just stopped in for a rest and a look at the grounds."
The man turned his attention toward Rhiannon, watching her with an expression of pitying seriousness. "The grounds, or the patrons," he asked, already knowing the answer.
Severus turned his attention back to Rhiannon as well. "A little of both, I suppose."
"You're the Snape boy, aren't you?"
"I am."
"You've grown. I believe the last time I saw you you were only yea high," the man told him, holding his hand palm down about a foot above his own knee. "Come back for a visit, have you?"
"I have. Come to see my parents," he added, feeling a discomforting inability to lie to the man but a desire to subterfuge his real motivation for his presence here.
"Is that why you're skulking around the grounds here, then? I didn't realize your parents lived in the churchyard."
"Well, one does need a bit of a respite from one's parents at times."
"I suppose that's true. But you can't hide from your true father."
"Aye."
"She is beautiful, isn't she?"
"Aye, that she is. I'd almost forgotten her in my absence. I almost wish I hadn't returned."
"That will pass. I daresay you are already glad you've returned."
"I cannot lie. I am."
"Well, you are certainly welcome here at any time."
"Thank you, father," he answered quietly.
"May I offer you a word of advice, my son?"
"You may."
"Don't try to hide your true self from her. If there is anything that woman deserves it is honesty. I daresay she is the only woman in this village that deserves it entirely. Her father was a Godly man. She has always followed in his footsteps in that respect. And others. She was the one who trained my own Eddington."
"Eddington, sir?"
"Aye. Lovely Thoroughbred I purchased from her last spring. Those brothers of hers had no way with the animals. But she and her father . . . ah, it was like watching magic happen to see them break a horse."
"I shall remember that."
"Good afternoon, child." The man placed one heavy and comforting palm upon Severus' shoulder before turning and taking his leave.
"Good afternoon, Rhiannon," he called as he approached her from his vantage point beside Severus. The wizard watched Rhiannon sit up on her knees and lay her silver shears down beside the gothic stone cross that served as a headstone. She allowed him to take her hand in a friendly shake before wishing him a good afternoon and going back to her work.
Something had to be done, Severus decided, when she procured from her apron a bouquet of wildflowers that grew indigenously along the lane that led to their homes. A woman like that - a woman who would go to her mother's grave and cut the grass by hand - deserved to at least put a fresh store- bought bouquet in the vase there. Rhiannon hadn't asked for Sibyl to overtake the family fortune. There was no reason that she should be held responsible for it. Gathering himself and steeling silently from his hobbit hole behind the elm, Severus set off back up the lane toward the home of one M. Night he had know also as a boy. Raised a wizard, he had chosen a muggle way of life following in the footsteps of his father. The life of a banker had suited him well, and as Severus approached the family homestead he noticed several changes that had undergone the place.
With a curt knock upon the door Severus was able to lure someone out of one of the side salons of the home. To his surprise it was a woman who answered.
"Can I help you?"
Severus, at a loss for words, stuttered stupidly for a moment before finding his voice. "I was under the impression that Mr. Night still resided at this address."
The woman, who seemed amicable enough, smiled and stood aside, opening the door wide for her unexpected guest. "He does. I am his wife. Elizabeth." She held out her hand for him to shake, which he did gently, so as not to offend the woman.
"Elizabeth. It has been so long since Micah and I have exchanged correspondence that I fear I was not aware of his marrying anyone. Please forgive my lack of sagely words for you. I hope a simple 'nice to meet you' will suffice."
Elizabeth smiled even wider and withdrew her hand from his grip. "It certainly will. If you would like to have a seat in the salon I will call Micah right in from the garden. I'm sure you're familiar with his affinity for all things flora."
"I certainly am. I remember in school I used to copy his herbology homework for the first three years."
"Herbology?" Elizabeth looked at him blankly for a moment. "I don't remember my brother ever talking about that class when he was in school. He took botany, I believe, but only for a semester."
"Oh, right. Well, I was educated out of the country, you see. I'm sure it was merely a different name for the same class," Severus answered, realizing he was dealing with yet another muggle. He laughed inwardly to himself. Imagine, Micah Night, married to a muggle. "I'll have a seat just here, then."
"Right. Can I get you anything to drink? A nice glass of cider, perhaps."
"Cider would be spot on. Thank you, Elizabeth."
"Not a worry," she answered, heading on down the hallway toward what Severus was guessing was a back patio door.
'So that's what's different,' he mused to himself, taking a seat on the settee and inspecting the room. The house that he now sat in had always been a bit of a man's home. Dark wood paneling on the walls, hardwood floors, and certainly no gardens outside. Micah Night senior had been a widower who had raised his son entirely on his own (with the help of a governess, obviously). And after his passing, a few years ago, Micah junior had inherited the house exactly as it had been for years. Along with the title of head banker. Imagine Severus' surprise walking up the drive surrounded by flowers of all types and walking into the home to find every wall repainted white, Berber carpet on the floors and cream colored furniture everywhere. It had certainly become a woman's home these days.
Soon the consistent "click, scrape" of Micah's characteristic boots was heard upon the floor in the hallway and Severus stood to greet him.
"Severus," the man called from the doorway to the salon, his arms wide, taking massive strides into the room to envelop his old friend in an embrace. "It's so good to see you again. What brings you back to these parts? I thought you vowed never to return after the row you and your mother had three years ago."
"Things change," Severus answered cryptically. "I've actually come to speak with you about a favor I need."
"Anything! I certainly hope I will be able to help. Please, have a seat." Micah went to the doorway again and called out into the house, "Elizabeth, some cider for our guest," only to be taken by surprise when Elizabeth appeared from the obscure entrance to the room from the left.
"Ten steps ahead of you, my dear," she said, breezing into the room and laying upon the end table a tray of two fluted cider glasses, filled, and a plate of Cornish pastys. "And I've brought something else along, for your perusal," she said, turning toward the door she had entered from and holding out one hand.
"Come, dear," she called and the sound of two tiny feet could be heard clip- clopping uncertainly into the salon. "This is Sasha," she said as the tiny girl walked uncertainly toward her mother, never taking her eyes off Severus, and took her mother's hand. Elizabeth scooped her up into her arms and Sasha, obviously shy but wanting to get a better look at this unfamiliar face, curled her head into her mother's neck leaving just enough space to see the room.
"Sasha," Severus answered, stepping closer and removing his hat. "What a beautiful little child you are," he said, standing a foot away from mother and child. "You look just like your papa. You know, your papa and I, we were friends when we were your age. Our parents used to have us play together outside in that very garden," he said, pointing. Sasha curled into her mother's neck and began to sob hysterically at having been so personally addressed by this unfamiliar and somewhat imposing face.
Elizabeth laughed and held her daughter's head close to her bosom. "You'll have to forgive her," she explained. "It's an hour past nap time," she continued in a whisper, holding out her hand for Severus to take one last time. He did, and kissed it lightly upon the fingertips. "It was a pleasure meeting you," she said, still whispering, as she turned to take her leave. "Micah has told me so much about you that I often wondered if I would ever get the pleasure of meeting you in person or not. If the two of you need anything," she said as she reached the door and turned to face them one last time, "don't hesitate to call."
"Thank you, darling," Micah answered from beside Severus. "We shall. Now put that silly little thing to bed before she throws a tantrum." Elizabeth smiled and disappeared from view.
"Now, to business. What is this favor that you need from me?"
Two things that you really should know: One, this is meant to be a sort of alternate universe, as was suggested in one of the reviews. Basically it is three years before Harry is born, only everything is going on in 1922 (the year that D.H. Lawrence published his classic tale from which I have shamelessly stolen). Two, everything is the same except for the year. Anyway, this story is meant to offer a new explanation besides the obvious ones as to why, when Harry arrives, Severus has become a bitter, angry muggle hater.
So, please continue to read and review. I will have no reason to finish it if no one is reading it, after all. I hope you like it. Have a lovely day and happy reading!
Peace. Rhiannon
"I don't know why you insist on keeping up a relationship with that silly muggle girl, Severus. I mean, it was nice and all as children, but you've a reputation to uphold now."
"Please, mum. I'm thirty one years old now. I think I can decide for myself whom to remain friends with."
"Well, all I'm saying is –"
"I know. I know exactly what you're saying. Thank you kindly for your advice. Don't be offended when I disregard it entirely."
"Really, Severus," the old witch said, standing and moving slowly into her kitchen, "I would have expected that Dumbledore fellow to have taught you better manners than that."
"Right mum. Thanks."
The old woman hobbled into the kitchen, grumbling something about the new generation under her breath and Severus stood to fix himself a touch of brandy. When his wife was safely out of earshot, Snape senior stood and joined his son at the bar before the fireplace.
"I always thought the two of you made a smart match," he told his son, giving him a jovial nudge in the side with his ageing elbow. "I know you've always been attracted to the blondes, eh?" Severus allowed a small grin to touch the corners of his mouth, turning them up and putting the smallest dimple in his right cheek.
"I'm not attracted to her, father. I just feel sorry for her. Her father gone and her stepmother leaving her destitute." Silence fell between them as Severus took a nip of brandy and turned to gaze into the fire. "You should have seen the breakfast she made me."
"Ah. That's how it always begins. You know, your mother made me breakfast one fateful autumn morning and two weeks later we were expecting an addition to the family. You can imagine how rushed the wedding plans were, I –"
"Okay, da'. Thanks. I think I'll be going out for a walk now."
"Oh, don't run away," the old man called after his son, who had murdered his brandy and left the glass upon the mantel and who was now headed quickly out the door.
'Gaw,' Severus thought to himself, pulling on his cap and slinking down the lane toward town. 'I ought to have just stayed at school with the rest of the dunderheads. At least I wouldn't have had anyone nagging me about my personal life. The children are far too petrified of me to even consider me human and Albus certainly wouldn't have the gall to be so blunt in his assessment of my personal life.' Not noticing where his step was taking him, Severus continued to walk past the post office, the grocer, the chemist, all the way to the town square, where the church had been built but two years ago.
Muggle religion had always fascinated him. Though he had never been able to understand how a perfectly rational being could explain its existence away with a set of silly mythologies, the hope that it instilled in its adherents was enough to capture his awe. As a follower of the dark lord he had become well versed in methods of intimidation and mind control. And yet nothing he was ever capable of could have rivaled what the priest did here each and every Sunday. Slowing down and winding his way between the gothic arches and into the garden beside the towering sanctuary, he beheld, somewhat to his surprise, the image of Rhiannon, the horse dealer's daughter, dressed all in black bent over a grave. Her mother's grave, he realized.
Steeling himself away behind a lanky elm tree he watched as she tediously trimmed the grass around the headstone with a tiny pair of shears, clearing away anything that may take any attention away from the aesthetic quality of the plot. He thought to himself how much work he could save her with a simple shearing charm, but that would take away from the fun of watching her work. Her hair was falling in small ashy tendrils out of the bun atop her head and he could barely perceive a few little beads of perspiration popping up above her brow. Severus was mesmerized.
"Can I help you with something, my son," he heard a voice from behind him. He almost jumped in his surprise. Almost. It wasn't often that someone could sneak up on him. He turned to see an older man, obviously muggle, dressed all in black as well with a white collar. It must be the priest.
"No, sir, thank you. I just stopped in for a rest and a look at the grounds."
The man turned his attention toward Rhiannon, watching her with an expression of pitying seriousness. "The grounds, or the patrons," he asked, already knowing the answer.
Severus turned his attention back to Rhiannon as well. "A little of both, I suppose."
"You're the Snape boy, aren't you?"
"I am."
"You've grown. I believe the last time I saw you you were only yea high," the man told him, holding his hand palm down about a foot above his own knee. "Come back for a visit, have you?"
"I have. Come to see my parents," he added, feeling a discomforting inability to lie to the man but a desire to subterfuge his real motivation for his presence here.
"Is that why you're skulking around the grounds here, then? I didn't realize your parents lived in the churchyard."
"Well, one does need a bit of a respite from one's parents at times."
"I suppose that's true. But you can't hide from your true father."
"Aye."
"She is beautiful, isn't she?"
"Aye, that she is. I'd almost forgotten her in my absence. I almost wish I hadn't returned."
"That will pass. I daresay you are already glad you've returned."
"I cannot lie. I am."
"Well, you are certainly welcome here at any time."
"Thank you, father," he answered quietly.
"May I offer you a word of advice, my son?"
"You may."
"Don't try to hide your true self from her. If there is anything that woman deserves it is honesty. I daresay she is the only woman in this village that deserves it entirely. Her father was a Godly man. She has always followed in his footsteps in that respect. And others. She was the one who trained my own Eddington."
"Eddington, sir?"
"Aye. Lovely Thoroughbred I purchased from her last spring. Those brothers of hers had no way with the animals. But she and her father . . . ah, it was like watching magic happen to see them break a horse."
"I shall remember that."
"Good afternoon, child." The man placed one heavy and comforting palm upon Severus' shoulder before turning and taking his leave.
"Good afternoon, Rhiannon," he called as he approached her from his vantage point beside Severus. The wizard watched Rhiannon sit up on her knees and lay her silver shears down beside the gothic stone cross that served as a headstone. She allowed him to take her hand in a friendly shake before wishing him a good afternoon and going back to her work.
Something had to be done, Severus decided, when she procured from her apron a bouquet of wildflowers that grew indigenously along the lane that led to their homes. A woman like that - a woman who would go to her mother's grave and cut the grass by hand - deserved to at least put a fresh store- bought bouquet in the vase there. Rhiannon hadn't asked for Sibyl to overtake the family fortune. There was no reason that she should be held responsible for it. Gathering himself and steeling silently from his hobbit hole behind the elm, Severus set off back up the lane toward the home of one M. Night he had know also as a boy. Raised a wizard, he had chosen a muggle way of life following in the footsteps of his father. The life of a banker had suited him well, and as Severus approached the family homestead he noticed several changes that had undergone the place.
With a curt knock upon the door Severus was able to lure someone out of one of the side salons of the home. To his surprise it was a woman who answered.
"Can I help you?"
Severus, at a loss for words, stuttered stupidly for a moment before finding his voice. "I was under the impression that Mr. Night still resided at this address."
The woman, who seemed amicable enough, smiled and stood aside, opening the door wide for her unexpected guest. "He does. I am his wife. Elizabeth." She held out her hand for him to shake, which he did gently, so as not to offend the woman.
"Elizabeth. It has been so long since Micah and I have exchanged correspondence that I fear I was not aware of his marrying anyone. Please forgive my lack of sagely words for you. I hope a simple 'nice to meet you' will suffice."
Elizabeth smiled even wider and withdrew her hand from his grip. "It certainly will. If you would like to have a seat in the salon I will call Micah right in from the garden. I'm sure you're familiar with his affinity for all things flora."
"I certainly am. I remember in school I used to copy his herbology homework for the first three years."
"Herbology?" Elizabeth looked at him blankly for a moment. "I don't remember my brother ever talking about that class when he was in school. He took botany, I believe, but only for a semester."
"Oh, right. Well, I was educated out of the country, you see. I'm sure it was merely a different name for the same class," Severus answered, realizing he was dealing with yet another muggle. He laughed inwardly to himself. Imagine, Micah Night, married to a muggle. "I'll have a seat just here, then."
"Right. Can I get you anything to drink? A nice glass of cider, perhaps."
"Cider would be spot on. Thank you, Elizabeth."
"Not a worry," she answered, heading on down the hallway toward what Severus was guessing was a back patio door.
'So that's what's different,' he mused to himself, taking a seat on the settee and inspecting the room. The house that he now sat in had always been a bit of a man's home. Dark wood paneling on the walls, hardwood floors, and certainly no gardens outside. Micah Night senior had been a widower who had raised his son entirely on his own (with the help of a governess, obviously). And after his passing, a few years ago, Micah junior had inherited the house exactly as it had been for years. Along with the title of head banker. Imagine Severus' surprise walking up the drive surrounded by flowers of all types and walking into the home to find every wall repainted white, Berber carpet on the floors and cream colored furniture everywhere. It had certainly become a woman's home these days.
Soon the consistent "click, scrape" of Micah's characteristic boots was heard upon the floor in the hallway and Severus stood to greet him.
"Severus," the man called from the doorway to the salon, his arms wide, taking massive strides into the room to envelop his old friend in an embrace. "It's so good to see you again. What brings you back to these parts? I thought you vowed never to return after the row you and your mother had three years ago."
"Things change," Severus answered cryptically. "I've actually come to speak with you about a favor I need."
"Anything! I certainly hope I will be able to help. Please, have a seat." Micah went to the doorway again and called out into the house, "Elizabeth, some cider for our guest," only to be taken by surprise when Elizabeth appeared from the obscure entrance to the room from the left.
"Ten steps ahead of you, my dear," she said, breezing into the room and laying upon the end table a tray of two fluted cider glasses, filled, and a plate of Cornish pastys. "And I've brought something else along, for your perusal," she said, turning toward the door she had entered from and holding out one hand.
"Come, dear," she called and the sound of two tiny feet could be heard clip- clopping uncertainly into the salon. "This is Sasha," she said as the tiny girl walked uncertainly toward her mother, never taking her eyes off Severus, and took her mother's hand. Elizabeth scooped her up into her arms and Sasha, obviously shy but wanting to get a better look at this unfamiliar face, curled her head into her mother's neck leaving just enough space to see the room.
"Sasha," Severus answered, stepping closer and removing his hat. "What a beautiful little child you are," he said, standing a foot away from mother and child. "You look just like your papa. You know, your papa and I, we were friends when we were your age. Our parents used to have us play together outside in that very garden," he said, pointing. Sasha curled into her mother's neck and began to sob hysterically at having been so personally addressed by this unfamiliar and somewhat imposing face.
Elizabeth laughed and held her daughter's head close to her bosom. "You'll have to forgive her," she explained. "It's an hour past nap time," she continued in a whisper, holding out her hand for Severus to take one last time. He did, and kissed it lightly upon the fingertips. "It was a pleasure meeting you," she said, still whispering, as she turned to take her leave. "Micah has told me so much about you that I often wondered if I would ever get the pleasure of meeting you in person or not. If the two of you need anything," she said as she reached the door and turned to face them one last time, "don't hesitate to call."
"Thank you, darling," Micah answered from beside Severus. "We shall. Now put that silly little thing to bed before she throws a tantrum." Elizabeth smiled and disappeared from view.
"Now, to business. What is this favor that you need from me?"