Chapter 18 - Mum, Part 1

That evening in the library, sleepy from eating too much and feeling unusually secure now that he wasn't hunted, curiosity overcame Harry's better sense. "Can I ask you something?" he said to Snape.

"Only if you do not insist upon an answer."

"Is your mum still alive?"

Snape looked up from the ledger he was filling in. "Yes."

When nothing else was forthcoming, Harry asked, "Where does she live?"

"Quite a distance from here," came the level reply that sounded unwelcoming of further inquiry.

Harry put his book aside and considered whether this was worth the struggle. He sighed lightly and asked, "Do you see her at all?"

"Not in ten years," Snape replied and this time gave the very distinct impression that the topic had grown unsavory.

Harry sat back and considered that. "I can't imagine," he commented. Snape put his quill down and gave Harry a long look. "Ron said he didn't speak to his dad all Easter break. I can't even imagine that," Harry marveled. The very thought gave him a stab of jealousy that only faded reluctantly.

"You are thinking you would like to meet her, I assume," Snape said evenly if not a touch darkly.

Harry shrugged. "I hadn't thought of it until your dad showed up yesterday."

Snape closed the ledger and pushed it aside. "She lives in an autonomous coven in the eastern part of the country."

"I don't know what that is," Harry pointed out.

"It is a women-only community. A Muggle might call it a cooperative or even a cult, I suppose."

After thinking that over, Harry said slowly, "That sorta implies that your dad didn't treat her very well." When Snape didn't respond, Harry asked, "I'm out of line, aren't I?"

"No. Not if he is not here," he added dryly.

"So how long has your dad been remarried?" Harry asked, feeling emboldened.

"Almost ten years, to the extreme displeasure of my mother." Snape sat back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. "My mother is not exactly pleased with me, either."

"A son who's a teacher doesn't seem that bad," Harry opined.

"I think she saw only malicious intent in that."

Harry gave him a startled look. "Huh," he said, then remembered that he himself had only seen malicious intent in Snape at one point. After a long pause Harry said, "You really don't think she'd like to see you again?"

"And I am accused of being blunt," Snape commented as an aside. "I really do not know," he added with a hint of impatience.

"Ten years is a long time," Harry observed.

"I suppose it is not unreasonable to write her," Snape stated quietly.

"It is up to you, sir."

"I think you are oversimplifying the situation, but perhaps that is to be expected in your case." He sounded a little tired as he said this.

Harry got up from the lounger to depart for his room, partly because he was tired too and partly to give Snape a chance to write.

Snape's voice halted him in the doorway. "Franklin is away on another errand. May I borrow your owl?"

Harry brought Hedwig downstairs and perched her on the back of Snape's chair, where she proceeded to preen her wings. "Goodnight, sir," Harry said as he stepped out again.

Snape pulled a sheet of correspondence parchment out of the bottom drawer of the desk. It had a pleasant faint blue sheen, rather than a yellowed one. Trying hard to hold Potter's simple notion of familial loyalty in his mind rather than the memory of their last difficult meeting, he wrote out the salutation in neat script.

Each line required lengthy deliberation, especially because he did not want it to seem as if it did. Eventually, he wrote, I hope this letter finds you well and that you have made a home for yourself at the coven. I assume you have heard of the Dark Lord's final demise. This has freed me to consider the future more broadly than I have previously been able. At the beginning of August I adopted a son who, as I expect all orphans do, obsesses over issues of family. He is very interested in meeting you, if you are amenable. I as well am curious how you are faring.

He read that over, surprised to find that he was truly curious how she was. Potter was correct, perhaps, that ten years was a long time. He signed with a standard closure imploring a reply, finding that easier than asking for one outright. By the time he had the letter sealed in an envelope and addressed, Hedwig had her head under her wing. She perked up immediately at the sound of her name and took the letter in her claw. Snape stood up, intending to open the window wider, but the white owl swooped cleanly through the narrow opening before he could reach it. He watched her ghostlike form flit away over the trees before turning back to the warm, lamplit room.

- 888 -

Hedwig returned at the end of lunch the next day, a huge, Hogwarts kind of midday meal that made Harry again eat more than he could really fit in his stomach. Snape took the letter from her and she flapped up to Harry's shoulder and nipped his ear.

Harry looked at her and gave her a strip of chicken. "Long flight, I guess," he commented. She finished that piece and bobbed her head to request another. Harry fed her a choicer strip. Snape stood with the letter in hand and left the dining room.

In the drawing room he closed the door and opened the letter while sitting at the desk. The first thing he noticed was that the salutation was just his name. It was rather surprising to find this marvelous white owl delivering a letter from you. First off, let me assure you that I have indeed made a home here at Dreveshire, odd for you to question that might not be true. Snape flinched and put the letter down. He had forgotten how aggravating her penchant for misunderstanding could be.

He rubbed his temple and continued. I have to remind myself that eleven years is a long time and people can change in unlikely ways. Something has apparently changed with you—the Severus I knew would not have had the slightest inclination toward parenting. I suppose he is the child of an associate of yours, many of whom were killed recently I am told. I am being advised by my Covenelder, against my instinct I might add, to give you another chance. One which you do not deserve but, in the interests of satisfying the curiosity of this boy, and my own, I will grant.

Old arguments and bitter feelings rose up in Snape's mind much clearer now than they had yesterday when he agreed to pen his letter. They made him feel more angry than he had in a very long time.

Harry sat alone at the table, feeling pensive. Hedwig sat on the chair back beside him, fluffing herself and preening occasionally. He was starting to regret his suggestion. The dinner plates disappeared. After a while, Winky appeared. She wore a different tea towel now, but still a very bright, clean one.

"Master Harry is liking pudding?" she asked.

"Is it chocolate?"

She thought a moment. "It could be if Master Harry wishes."

"Yes, I'd like that."

Winky returned with a large tray containing one small plate with a slice of chocolate cake. She placed this before Harry and snapped her fingers, sending the tray away somewhere. Her magic amazed him; she did much more than Tidgy ever seemed to, without thought.

"Master is not being happy," she said, clasping her hands before her and leaning toward him.

"Huh?" Harry uttered. He wasn't accustomed to getting concern from this quarter. Then with a chill, he realized that she was referring to Snape. Harry frowned and put his fork down, deeply regretting his interference.

"Winky can . . . calm Master, but does not know. Winky not instructed."

He remembered now how she had kept the Death Eater Barty Junior under her power for years. "No, don't do that. Master Severus wouldn't want that."

She frowned and dropped her eyes. "Is Master being violent when he very angry? Winky is not allowing anyone to be hurt . . . "

"No," Harry replied, his heart sinking. He hadn't heard anything and wondered what she had seen. Maybe she just sensed things like that. He was starting to realize that he knew nothing about house-elves and maybe nothing about Snape. "It's all right, Winky. I don't think you need to do anything."

She started to turn away. "Winky will return if needed, Master Harry."

"Thank you, Winky," Harry said with forced calm.

Harry poked his fork into his cake and made himself take a bite. The chocolate would make him feel better, he assumed. He did not feel he could move. If he went up to his room, Snape might think he had given up on him. Of course, Snape could not know what Winky just came and told him, either.

Harry was saved from making a decision by Snape's return. As he took his seat, a fresh hot plate of food appeared before him. He stared at it a moment in a kind of surprised annoyance before he took up his fork.

"I'm sorry, sir. I shou-" Harry started to say.

Snape cut him off. "Don't, Potter. You apologize too much. It is one of your more annoying habits," he snapped.

Harry felt like some kind of spell had passed through his flesh. He waited in silent stillness for what might come next.

Snape rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. "I'm sorry, Harry; I should not have said that, at least not in that manner." His eyes roamed over the plate in front of him, unsettled.

"It's all right, sir," Harry insisted. Compared to things Snape had said in the past, that was nothing. But the meanings of things had changed; he had let them change, in fact. Harry longed to say something to undo everything, then wondered what it was about him that made him always wish for that. He took a small bite of cake just for an excuse to move.

"You are too concessionary," Snape said in a rambling way. "You need not be so careful around me. I am concerned you do this because you fear that if you displease me you could be sent away." In a harder tone, as though this were an old argument he wanted settled, Snape went on. "That won't happen. You cannot be sent away."

Searching for a response, Harry stared at his guardian with a pained expression. He had never seen this side of Snape before, had not even thought it existed. The letter had clearly undermined him. "I do appreciate that," Harry finally said. "And at the risk of conceding, I can certainly get by without meeting your mum."

Snape pushed his plate away. It disappeared an instant later. "She did agree to see us."

Harry blinked at that. Clearly this wasn't something he was going to understand anytime soon. "You told her about me?"

"I knew it was the only way to get her to even consider it."

"Gee, Mum, Harry Potter and I would like to drop by . . ." Harry said flippantly.

Snape laughed strangely. "She does not know it is Harry Potter," he said a little mischievously. "I did not feel I could use you in that way. If the mere fact of my adopting did not pique her curiosity . . . "

The landscape was becoming a little clearer now. Snape's tone and mannerisms were giving Harry a sense of underlying damage that was usually kept well masked. Snape was remasking it even as he spoke. Harry hoped this meeting went well, or he was going to have one more thing to deeply regret.

- 888 -

Four days later, they took the Floo from the Shrewsthorpe train station to a pub in a very small village in the East Midlands countryside. They walked from the quiet pub—where no one had paid them any attention when they arrived in the hearth—down a narrow lane that once had been paved with river stone, but now was mostly dirt and dust. A mile along, a gate formed of an elaborate rose bush appeared in the stone wall along the road. Harry marveled at the way the rose wood wound around itself as it met in the middle.

"I believe they practice a bit of Druidic magic," Snape said as Harry continued to study it. He pulled a cord beside the gate and a rusty bell at the top rang dully.

They waited. Eventually, a bent-over old witch appeared beyond the flowered arch. She uttered a spell and gestured for them to enter. "We are here to see-"

"Anita, yes, yes," the old woman interrupted. "This way," she said pleasantly, gesturing with her long walking stick. She waited for them to pass, then muttered something at the rose gate. She smiled mildly at them and started to lead the way, then stopped with a startled expression. She stepped up to Harry and gazed quizzically at him.

"Hmm, no more poppy tea before noon, me thinks," she muttered as she started up the brick path that meandered through a rampant garden. At the first low building, they entered. "Wait here, dears," she said and went out the far door.

Harry wandered around the room. Books lined low, roughhewn shelves along two walls. Crowded paintings of widely varying skill hung above. The furniture was all composed of antler and bone with needlework pillows. He had to admit, the decor didn't appeal to him much. He stepped back over to the window and looked out over the garden and the roses forming the entrance.

"Severus," an unfamiliar voice said with mixed emotion. Harry turned slowly and watched as a thin woman with a strong jaw line and short grey hair came in the door on the far side. The old woman who had met them at the gate stepped in before her as though on guard. Anita reached out and brushed Snape's sleeve. "You have literally not changed at all," she said in surprise. She collected herself. "Anastasia, this is my son, Severus."

Snape shook the old witch's hand. "I have heard quite a lot about you," she said as though challenging him to try anything.

"Clearly," Snape said dryly.

Anita took a deep breath and glanced around their side of the room. "Did you bring your son?" she asked.

Snape turned to Harry, gesturing with his arm, and Harry realized it must seem strange, him rooted to this spot way over here. Harry forced his feet to move. He carefully navigated around the prongs of the furniture as he went over to them.

"Ma'am," Harry said in greeting when he reached them.

She was more than surprised when she recognized him; she appeared to fall into a trance for a long moment. "This is your son?" she breathed. She turned to Snape. "You adopted Harry Potter?"

Snape bowed his head, sending his hair forward. "Yes."

She put her fingertips to her forehead in a very familiar gesture. "I can't believe they allowed you to do that. I assumed you had adopted one of your fellow Death Eaters' children."

Harry searched in vain for a response since the adoption had taken a bit of arguing on that exact point. Left hanging by the silence, Anita said dazedly, "Well, have a seat." She moved to one of the antler rocking chairs and gestured for them to take the couch. Snape and Harry sat there. The old witch sat to the side on a stool, her staff between her knees. Harry wondered if the whole thing wasn't a wand of some kind and how that would work if it were. Their eyes met and, after a moment, she nodded. Harry was certain she was answering his unspoken question. Used to Legilimency, Harry nodded in return and looked back at Anita.

"I need a moment to take this in," she said, staring at Harry perplexedly. She took a deep breath and asked, "So, you are living in the house in Shrewsthorpe?"

Harry answered, "For a few more days until classes begin at Hogwarts." He wasn't feeling very generous toward her. He kept remembering what her letter had done to Snape.

She clasped and unclasped her hands as though distressed. "You wanted this?" she asked him.

"To visit? Yes."

"I mean, to be adopted," she clarified.

"Yes," Harry replied evenly. "Very much so."

She turned to Snape who gave her a look as though, you were saying? "You believe you can find atonement this way?" she asked him bluntly. Snape's eyes narrowed.

Harry made a noise like a suppressed laugh. "You didn't tell me your parents were so much alike," he said.

"What?" Anita asked, very sharply.

"Shazor accused him of adopting me to protect himself from the Ministry. Actually, I should say, congratulated. You accuse him of having some kind of internal retribution to pay. Neither of you assumes he has altruistic motives." He could see she did not expect this much from him.

"You imagine he does?" she returned in a mocking tone.

Harry looked at her and thought, if you had seen him stopping me from going after Pettigrew, you wouldn't doubt it. The old witch cleared her throat, attracting Anita's attention. She gave Anita a solemn nod. Harry took a deep breath and Occluded his mind. He then intentionally waited for the old witch to look his way. She tilted her head to the side as if to say, ah, well.

"So, three weeks into this, you are still happy?" she asked Harry.

In a purely curious tone Harry said, "May I ask why you are asking me?"

A little uncomfortably, she replied, "Anastasia, my Covenelder, is helping me."

"I cannot read either of them now. The boy is as good as he is at hiding his mind once he realizes he needs to."

Anita looked at Harry a little suspiciously. "He taught you that?"

"Yes."

"You have something to hide?" Anita asked him.

Harry shrugged lightly. "I think you should trust people and what they tell you voluntarily. Everyone has things they would like to keep to themself. Even from a Covenelder living in the middle of nowhere."

"Old wounds they would like to continue nursing, for example," Anastasia said airily.

Harry pushed his glasses up and gave her a long look. She gave him an innocent one in return. "For example," Harry acknowledged grudgingly.

(continued)