The dimness engulfed him as he stepped into the foyer. The darkness lost itself in the height of the entrance hall above his head. Shoes clicking on the tiled floor, Severus followed his mothers slight form up the grand staircase.
Everything was as time had left it five years earlier. Shadows whispered across the floor and door columns seemed to lean in as one walked through them. Not an item of furniture had been moved or a wall repapered. The complete absence of change made Severus wonder, cynically, if five years had really passed or if he would always be a skittish eighteen year- old whenever he entered this house.
His mother led him to his old room.
"I've put out fresh linens for you. And had the house elf dust a little."
Severus stepped forward, looking around, but not really taking anything in knew it all already.
He placed his valise on the bed. The clasps gave a dry click as he opened it.
"Your father... is in the drawing room. His wake will be held tomorrow."
Severus still said nothing. He stared intently at the handle of his valise.
"Severus—"
"Mama, perdonami." The Italian tasted awkward on his tongue, but he new that saying it in her language would have the desired effect.
Constanza Snape raised her eyes to meet her son's. She held back for a moment, then outstretched both arms towards her son. Severus stepped forward and, stiffly, embraced her.
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Constanza and her son had tea together in the kitchen. It was a luxury that had been denied to them while Aegerus was alive, but was now reclaimed in his death. Aegerus had forbidden dining in the kitchen as it was where the house elves worked and ate themselves. It was also a way for the late tyrant to intervene in the mother-son trysting. Constanza was a great cook—or at least she had been before her husband had told her she was no longer allowed to perform "servant chores." She had grown up in a household that treated the hearth as the center of the home and food as the sustenance of the soul. When Constanza came to England as the sixteen year- old bride of the heir to an affluent pureblood family, she never fully adjusted to the blandness of English food.
Severus' lips twitched at the layout before him. His mother's interpretation of "tea" was a mountain of biscotti on a platter, a bowl of olives, capelletti, some breed of Italian soup, and, for good measure, zuccotto cake. The teapot was filled with latte macchiato, which was a mild coffee that Severus had favored since he was a small child. He was satisfied to see that his mother had returned to the kitchen after his father's death.
They ate in silence and Severus wondered whether or not he should tell his mother right away about the child. Constanza ruptured the silence first.
"He is going to be buried in the cemetery the day after tomorrow." Severus knew which cemetery she spoke of. It was the family one at the edge of the estate, beyond the gardens.
"Sent out the invitations?" he inquired mildly. His mother flinched, but Severus relished in having a freedom of tongue he had not possessed before. He had always had to be so careful about what he said when his father was alive.
"It will be a private affair."
"That makes sense. He put most of his friends in Azkaban," he said silkily.
Constanza lowered her teacup and frowned at it. "He was your father, Severus. Tuo padre."
"Sfortunato. And sfortunato he was your husband too. But he is neither of those anymore." Severus didn't know whether to be gentle with his mother, and persuade her gradually to see the situation for what it was, or to be blunt and harsh. He was aware that he was having much difficulty keeping the sarcasm out of his voice.
Constanza sighed and hid her face in her hands.
Severus regretted his harshness. He stood and left the kitchen by himself.
He found himself walking faster and faster as his rage built up. He realized he was heading towards the drawing room.
He burst through the double doors of the drawing room with so much force they swung back and hit the walls. At the far side of the room the coffin was propped open, candles all around. A large portrait of Aegerus hung overhead but it hadn't begun to move and speak of its own accord yet. It often took several weeks after the model's death for that to happen. Severus made his way over to the coffin.
His father was no less austere in death, but he seemed to have shrunken since Severus had seen him last. He had been ill for a long time.
The features were the same, naturally. But the high, wide forehead, the downcurving lips, the thin cheeks, all had a waxen translucence to them in death. The prominent, beaklike nose was the feature Severus despised the most. He often found himself rubbing the bridge of his own version of that nose when he thought of his father, just as he was doing now.
He loathed that nose. It made him see his father every time he saw it in the mirror.
Severus lifted his hands to rest upon the lifted lid of the casket.
"Well, father, your wayward son has come to pay his last respects." With that, Severus slammed the lid of the coffin shut.
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For all of you who have never studied a Romance language....
perdonami = forgive me
tuo padre = your father
sfortunato = unfortunately, unluckily
Everything was as time had left it five years earlier. Shadows whispered across the floor and door columns seemed to lean in as one walked through them. Not an item of furniture had been moved or a wall repapered. The complete absence of change made Severus wonder, cynically, if five years had really passed or if he would always be a skittish eighteen year- old whenever he entered this house.
His mother led him to his old room.
"I've put out fresh linens for you. And had the house elf dust a little."
Severus stepped forward, looking around, but not really taking anything in knew it all already.
He placed his valise on the bed. The clasps gave a dry click as he opened it.
"Your father... is in the drawing room. His wake will be held tomorrow."
Severus still said nothing. He stared intently at the handle of his valise.
"Severus—"
"Mama, perdonami." The Italian tasted awkward on his tongue, but he new that saying it in her language would have the desired effect.
Constanza Snape raised her eyes to meet her son's. She held back for a moment, then outstretched both arms towards her son. Severus stepped forward and, stiffly, embraced her.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Constanza and her son had tea together in the kitchen. It was a luxury that had been denied to them while Aegerus was alive, but was now reclaimed in his death. Aegerus had forbidden dining in the kitchen as it was where the house elves worked and ate themselves. It was also a way for the late tyrant to intervene in the mother-son trysting. Constanza was a great cook—or at least she had been before her husband had told her she was no longer allowed to perform "servant chores." She had grown up in a household that treated the hearth as the center of the home and food as the sustenance of the soul. When Constanza came to England as the sixteen year- old bride of the heir to an affluent pureblood family, she never fully adjusted to the blandness of English food.
Severus' lips twitched at the layout before him. His mother's interpretation of "tea" was a mountain of biscotti on a platter, a bowl of olives, capelletti, some breed of Italian soup, and, for good measure, zuccotto cake. The teapot was filled with latte macchiato, which was a mild coffee that Severus had favored since he was a small child. He was satisfied to see that his mother had returned to the kitchen after his father's death.
They ate in silence and Severus wondered whether or not he should tell his mother right away about the child. Constanza ruptured the silence first.
"He is going to be buried in the cemetery the day after tomorrow." Severus knew which cemetery she spoke of. It was the family one at the edge of the estate, beyond the gardens.
"Sent out the invitations?" he inquired mildly. His mother flinched, but Severus relished in having a freedom of tongue he had not possessed before. He had always had to be so careful about what he said when his father was alive.
"It will be a private affair."
"That makes sense. He put most of his friends in Azkaban," he said silkily.
Constanza lowered her teacup and frowned at it. "He was your father, Severus. Tuo padre."
"Sfortunato. And sfortunato he was your husband too. But he is neither of those anymore." Severus didn't know whether to be gentle with his mother, and persuade her gradually to see the situation for what it was, or to be blunt and harsh. He was aware that he was having much difficulty keeping the sarcasm out of his voice.
Constanza sighed and hid her face in her hands.
Severus regretted his harshness. He stood and left the kitchen by himself.
He found himself walking faster and faster as his rage built up. He realized he was heading towards the drawing room.
He burst through the double doors of the drawing room with so much force they swung back and hit the walls. At the far side of the room the coffin was propped open, candles all around. A large portrait of Aegerus hung overhead but it hadn't begun to move and speak of its own accord yet. It often took several weeks after the model's death for that to happen. Severus made his way over to the coffin.
His father was no less austere in death, but he seemed to have shrunken since Severus had seen him last. He had been ill for a long time.
The features were the same, naturally. But the high, wide forehead, the downcurving lips, the thin cheeks, all had a waxen translucence to them in death. The prominent, beaklike nose was the feature Severus despised the most. He often found himself rubbing the bridge of his own version of that nose when he thought of his father, just as he was doing now.
He loathed that nose. It made him see his father every time he saw it in the mirror.
Severus lifted his hands to rest upon the lifted lid of the casket.
"Well, father, your wayward son has come to pay his last respects." With that, Severus slammed the lid of the coffin shut.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
For all of you who have never studied a Romance language....
perdonami = forgive me
tuo padre = your father
sfortunato = unfortunately, unluckily