Prologue - Look at Me
The red-haired lummox of a sidekick was there. Hovering. Gawking. The insufferable know-it- all also; she handed Potter a vial to catch the silvery filaments that dribbled over her Professor's skin.
Snape, however, didn't have time for either of the gnats intruding on his peripheral. Not with his blood spilling out so quickly. Not with his breaths so dearly numbered.
"Look...at...me," Severus whispered, and for once, the boy was compliant.
You have your mother's eyes. Severus didn't have the voice left to say it out loud, but the eyes in question softened as they met his gaze, so perhaps Lily's son heard him after all.
A trickle of darkness began to encroach on his vision, hazing in from the edges. Gentle. Relentless. The darkness seemed to pull him backward, as though he were falling down a long tunnel.
Not yet. Just a few more moments...Lily…please.
Lily didn't hear him. Or perhaps she did? Perhaps he was meant to find her somewhere in the darkness. Or, maybe he was meant to look forever. Lost and hopeless. Alone. Either way, he supposed he was ready to let go. He'd kept his promises. Fulfilled his purpose.
And there is nothing left for you here.
Had it been enough for absolution? Would she forgive me now?
Perhaps, after everything, his life was finally worth enough to pay the debt, so he relinquished it willingly and welcomed the darkness...
One - A Bit of a Shock
Severus felt his senses prickle and snap. The darkness faded. Light assaulted him. Blinking rapidly, his features contorted into the habitual lines of a grimace. There were pleasant, familiar smells in the air - fried things, and - coffee?
I suppose even the Shrieking Shack must have a kitchen...
The mad little speculation flitted through his mind, but he snatched at it quickly, crushing it under the bootheel of Rational Thought. Stop ya chattin', boyo, his father's voice cut in. Not that he wasn't entitled to a bit of delirium, he supposed, given his recent blood loss...
A sudden bellow was the only warning before something hit him hard in the gut, driving the air from his lungs. Severus flailed for his wand, disoriented by the unexpected assault. A cloud of dark curls filled his blurry vision, and his brain screamed WEREWOLF! And then promptly refused to do anything about it. Because werewolves were terrifying, and sufficient cause for completely freezing like a startled prey item - especially, when one couldn't locate one's wand.
A wicked pair of dark eyes came into sudden, sharp focus. The creature grinned, displaying pointed little canines and a gaping hole where one would normally expect to find incisors.
It was - probably - not a werewolf. Nor was it a giant snake, for that matter; Severus found himself recoiling nonetheless.
"Rosalind Jean!" Came an imperious little voice from somewhere off to the right, drawing the man's attention.
Like the thing in his lap, the owner of the voice was also in possession of dark curls, though glossy, and neatly plaited. Wide, dark eyes. A delicate, pointed little face with pale, rosy cheeks and a sprinkle of freckles. A girl. His mind supplied, helpfully.
Severus glanced back down at his lap-full of mad hair. Not a werewolf. Possibly also a girl, though his galleons were on demon-spawn.
"You were specifically not supposed to wake daddy up by jumping on him!"
Daddy? Er.
"Oops! Ehehehe," came the unrepentant noises of the small wriggling creature as it continued to grin up at him with feral malice. "Sorry, daddy?" It tilted it's bushy head, not looking the least bit contrite.
With a hard swallow, Severus found his voice at last. "What. Is. Happening." His hands came up of their own volition to clutch at the writhing mass of warm limbs and outrageous hair. It attempted to climb higher up his torso.
A small hand squeezed his bicep, drawing his attention back to the girl standing beside him. "Breakfast is ready, mummy made scones," she informed him with solemnity. "She sent us up to get you, but she told Rosie not to jump on you." This last bit was said with no small amount of exasperation.
"Nargles will kiss it better," growled the thing compressing his lungs, and he found a soft, unpleasantly sticky, object being thrust into his face.
"No one wants to kiss your nasty teddy!" Protested the very correct girl clutching at Severus's arm. "It's terribly unhygienic!"
"Can you take it away?" He found himself begging this small, sensible ally, even as he shifted the demon-spawn toward her.
The girl nodded in response and fished around under the bush of hair - which was still attempting to scale him - until a small, pudgy hand was located. "Come along, Rosie, I shall help you butter your scone." She met his eyes and pursed her lips. "Don't be too long, mummy's already poured your coffee and you'll be cross if it gets cold."
Bossy little chit, he noted idly, but found himself unwilling to complain out loud as the chit in question hauled his attacker out the door - presumably on a mission to butter a scone.
Severus peeled himself up off of his back, attempting to sit, and wondering why it was so effortless. Being able to sit up easily should not be possible. He clutched at his neck, finding it unblemished, then examined his hand. No blood. No blood.
"Am I dreaming?" He murmured. Do dead men dream?
Perhaps this was hell. Old Tobias always did say his ungrateful, unnatural son would find a way there.
Severus glanced about him. A bedchamber. Presumably his. Does one get one's own bedchamber in hell? He wondered, taking in the muted cream and blue décor that seemed to suggest an air of practical comfort. No. Likely it was shared with this 'mummy'. He frowned, uncertain if middle-class fatherhood with a wife that made scones and poured him coffee in the morning truly qualified as hell - demons notwithstanding.
Glancing down he noted his bare feet sticking out of pyjama bottoms. Slytherin green, with little muggle footballs. Not one shred of blood soaked black wool to be seen anywhere in this tidy ode to genteel suburbia. He rose, half expecting his legs to buckle. They did not.
A pair of slippers and a dressing gown were located near the bedside. Both in a charcoal grey that coordinated tastefully with his football-themed jarmies. He wondered idly if he was having some sort of hysterical fit. Perhaps Granger had taken it into her head to try and save him after he passed out, and he was laying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack hallucinating to his heart's content?
Severus checked himself and the bedroom furniture for his wand. Nothing. Given that this wasn't reality, however, he supposed he might not even have a wand.
Perhaps 'mummy' would know for certain?
Like the bedroom, the hall was sunlit and painted in muted colours. There were tall windows, neutral curtains, and a very robust looking monstera deliciosa in a wicker pot. The air smelled of citrus and freshly-vacuumed carpet, and was like no place he had ever lived.
Three large, framed, muggle photographs took the place of honour on the wall next to the staircase, each one featuring a pale, lightly freckled, chubby-cheeked baby with dark curls and wide-set black eyes. The only difference between them appeared to be their clothing and positioning - why three photographs of the same child were necessary in one spot was utterly beyond reckoning.
"Severus!" Called a distinctly female voice from below. A distinctly adult female voice. "Your coffee is getting cold!"
"Coming, mummy," he muttered, glaring at no one.
"I did tell him it would," came the voice of the bossy chit, in reply.
Severus descended the stairs trying to decide if he would rather this be some sort of bizarre purgatory, or a hallucination. Did shock induce hallucinations? He supposed it could be caused by the snake venom. Or perhaps the cocktail of potions Granger would, no doubt, be pouring down his mangled throat to try and save him.
It would have to be Granger, he decided, that much was certain; Potter's crisis response was to shout expelliarmus at everyone, while Weasley bellowed like an erumpent. Certainly the Dark Lord wouldn't skitter on back with an "oopsie!" and attempt a patch-up job.
Severus hit the bottom of the stairs, and followed the sounds and smells until he found his way into a cheerful kitchen done up in white and antique wood, with accents of brick and copper. Large windows overlooked a generously sized garden, and filled the room with sunlight. It was nauseatingly charming.
Three pale little faces looked up at him as he entered. Rosy cheeks. A sprinkle of freckles across the nose. Black curls. Wide, dark eyes.
Merlin, they're multiplying.
Suddenly, the trio of pictures in the upstairs hall made a bit more sense. Someone's genetics had certainly staged a hostile takeover. Severus smirked. Even if they were hallucinated offspring, it was hard not to be smug about it.
The bossy chit met his gaze and pointed silently to a large mug that proclaimed 'This dad is a chemist; I have all the solutions!' Severus obediently wrapped his fingers around the beverage and sat down. From across the table, the demon-spawn grinned at him around a mouthful of partially masticated scone. He nodded cordially to it and sipped his coffee. Tepid, at best.
"How is it, daddy?" Asked the bossy chit, lifting her chin. She was now demoted to snot-nosed harridan.
"Delightful, thank you," he replied, refusing to give her the satisfaction.
Severus turned his attention to the third occupant at the table, who was shirtless and sitting in a high chair. Clearly the little beast was marginally older than an infant, but not quite old enough to be trusted with a regular chair. Or much else, given that it was covered in some sort of purple mush. "Do you manage to get any of that into your mouth?" He asked it, conversationally. "Presuming, of course, that it is food."
The snot-nosed harridan snorted. The demon-spawn cackled. The shirtless beast replied with a gummy smile, flashing Severus's own dimples at him. From within the bowels of what looked like a pantry, the 'mummy' voice called out: "Margaret, I found your chia seeds!"
The snot-nosed harridan perked up. "They're terribly good for your digestive system," she informed the table at large. Even though no one had asked.
The demon-spawn growled - apparently not a fan of chia seeds, or their benefits. Noticing Severus's regard, it casually reached over to drop a chunk of buttery scone into an abandoned tea cup. He took a careful sip of his lukewarm beverage and held the creature's shark-like gaze. It grinned at him, completely unrepentant.
Serves the tea-drinker right for the state of my coffee.
"Okay, here we are!" A woman swept out of the pantry on a cloud of mad hair, wearing the tiniest pair of shorts he'd ever seen in his life. They had smiling cupcakes on them. And little hearts.
Severus lurched to his feet, spilling barely drinkable coffee all over his hand.
The woman set something on the counter and bent over to root about in a lower cupboard. A lush, golden-skinned, peach-shaped bum hinted at escaping from the bottom of the tiny shorts.
Severus nearly regretted letting the demon-spawn put scone in her tea.
Feeling blood rush hurriedly south, he twitched his dressing gown closed and dropped back into his seat. Sweet Circe and all her undulating veela handmaidens - was this golden, tiny-shorts wearing creature his hallucinated wife? He felt like his subconscious might be punching above its weight with that one.
The woman turned around to deliver bowls of chia seed covered glop to her offspring. Her nipples were pert and demanding attention from beneath the flimsy material of her camisole - it was positively indecent.
"Aren't you cold?" He snarled at her lovely breasts.
Hallucination-wife snorted and rubbed a hand idly over belly, drawing his attention away from her fabulous bosom. The firm swell of a mid-term pregnancy was obvious beneath her wildly inappropriate garments. "Not with this little hot potato in the oven." She shot him a cheeky wink. "I'd walk around naked if I thought I could get away with it."
"Mummy!" Gasped the snot-nosed harridan, appropriately scandalised. Perhaps the girl was sensible enough to be promoted to simply 'harridan'.
Severus took another hearty sip of tepid coffee, and set his face to a neutral glare while he processed the woman, adjusting himself discreetly beneath the table; beyond the obvious troubling factors of the peachy bum and lovely breasts, there was something distressingly familiar about her.
Large whisky-brown eyes and a serviceable nose. Heart-shaped face and a rather ordinary mouth. There was a hint of freckling, which explained where the children came by it - all in all, a plain personage, really, but next to himself? Even with the deranged hair, she was Helen of Troy.
Does that make me Menelaus? He snorted. I'm certainly not Paris...
"Oh!" The woman exclaimed, "Rosalind, you incorrigible little monster! Did you put scone in my tea?"
The monster in question said something that sounded suspiciously like: "hur hur hur!"
"Perhaps you ought not leave your beverage unattended within reach of a feral beast," he snarked, attempting to regain his equilibrium.
Helen of Troy ignored the suggestion and pointed at something on the table near his left hand. "Sweetheart, pass the butter please."
Was she speaking to him? Was he - 'sweetheart'? He stared at her.
"Severus," she snapped her fingers, seemingly exasperated, "the butter?"
Apparently he was. How unsettling.
The clap of a door sent Severus shooting to his feet, slopping unpalatable liquid over his fingers. Again.
"Grandad's here!" A man's voice announced.
The wife huffed and crawled herself across the table to snatch the butter dish. "We're in the kitchen, dad!" She yelled, shooting Severus a glare. Probably butter related.
'Grandad' was tall and lean, with sandy-grey curls that were in need of a trim, and an outrageous pair of sideburns to match. He swept into the kitchen in a rumpled button down and brown trousers, grinning like a loon and wishing them all a good morning.
Severus immediately disliked the fellow.
"There's coffee, dad," Helen of Troy smiled, "and fresh scones."
"Scones?" The man gasped. Unnecessarily enthusiastic, in Severus's opinion. "Cinnamon, my favourite! Ah, you're a treasure, Hermione."
Hermione.
...Hermione.
"You alright, son?" Came the loon's voice. The man had, apparently, made it across the kitchen and helped himself to the coffee. "You're looking a trifle peaky this morning," the fellow added, lifting a mug to his lips. There was steam coming out of that mug. Severus wasn't certain what his face was doing, but 'grandad' was staring at him with a mixture of concern and apprehension.
"Oh bother, look at the time!" Hermione huffed. "I've got disclosure with Reynolds in an hour!" She launched to her feet and sailed around the table.
Severus propelled himself after her, grasping her elbow and whirling her around to face him. Yes. Yes. He could see it now. It was hidden under a layer of - something. The something that defined the boundaries between an 18 year old girl, and a woman in her 30s.
Hermione insufferable know-it-all Granger. What. The. Fuck.
"Miss Granger?" He demanded, trying desperately not to shake her.
The woman's eyebrows shot up and she snorted. "Oh, it's Miss Granger, is it, Professor Snape? Is this your way of telling me you want a bit of roleplay later?" She waggled her eyebrows at him. Rather suggestively. Severus released her immediately and took a step back.
He attempted to stare at her down the arch of his nose. "Where is my wand, Miss Granger?" His voice was doing something odd. He cleared his throat.
"Your wand?" She blinked, then her eyes flicked down to the general area below his navel. "I really don't have time to look for your wand right now, Se-"
"I'm afraid I am going to have to insist!" He hissed at her, belting his dressing gown just a little bit tighter.
The tip of her tongue darted out, taking a swipe at her bottom lip. "Well, alright, but I'm in a bit of a rush, so we'll have to look for it in the shower." There was something predatory about her smile.
Severus blinked. What an odd place to keep a wand.
"And, you'll have to wash my hair for me while I'm searching for your wand." Quick as the snake that had ripped out his throat less than an hour ago, this older version of Miss Granger - with the slightly more interesting backside and tits - darted in and planted a firm peck on his mouth, then spun around and scampered off up the stairs.
The general area below his navel began to make a bit of a ruckus. I say, old chap! That delightful young woman would like you to 'accompany her to the shower' so that she can 'search for your wand' while you 'wash her hair'...
Parts of his brain that he hadn't properly used since his 20s brushed off the rust and discreetly offered a list of alternative meanings for her offer. No wonder they had nearly four hallucinated brats.
Severus Snape made a beeline for the front door.