This is the second chapter today. Make sure you've not missed the previous one!
Epilogue: Hogwarts to Cokeworth
On Monday afternoon, Severus went home.
Spinner's End was as he'd left it: sediment on the bottom of the bottle. He unpacked his things in the bedroom, marking how the sheets were worn thread-thin, how he needed new ones—every time, he told himself he'd go out and get them, and then he didn't. In the wardrobe, he found his favourite jumper that could no longer be worn outside the house, and a funnel from a moth in the sleeve.
He'd moved into his parents' master years ago; his childhood bedroom was a place for boxes of memories and gathering dust. He went there next. His nose tickled as he took it all in: the dirt kicked into corners, the peeling wallpaper, the creaking mattress. How could he ever have thought to bring a child here?
But it was inescapable: he saw him now in every corner, running down the rickety stairs, straining to wrench open the door to the fridge, laughing awkwardly when told you had to shove at the TV to turn it on. The shame of it followed Severus into room after room. The deficiencies of the house had always registered, but never ached; he could barely sit still now, among this proof of inadequacy.
Shortly after lunch, which Severus made but forgot to eat, the Floo blazed purple. It had to be Albus—who else—but Albus never came to Severus. Severus came to him; this was how things were.
It was Albus. He sat him down in the study, the only room furnished in the last decade, and brewed him a pot of tea, grateful to have found two cups without chipped edges even if they hadn't come from the same set. He dug through the kitchen cabinets, too, until he'd located a cheap box of chocolates he'd half-forgotten; they'd grown over with white coating and lost their sheen, but it was too dark in the study to tell.
If the boy were here, Severus would have chocolate in his kitchen bought in this century.
'Thank you, Severus.'
He gave a sharp nod.
They had barely spoken over the past few weeks. Severus had supposed they would continue in this manner until the beginning of the school year, or possibly longer than. Until he died of shame, maybe.
'Harry seems to be doing well.'
No preamble, then.
'Hm.'
'Molly Weasley tells me he's been spending most of his time catching up on quidditch. No broken bones yet.'
Severus had a chocolate. It was nougat; it tasted better than it looked.
'In other news,' Albus pressed on, tone painfully easy, 'the final seat on the committee has been filled. I suppose the delay was due to Lucius—he fought for it quite voraciously. But eventually, he had to be denied due to his, ah—history.'
A spasm of tension shot through Severus's left arm. 'Who is it then?' he asked, though he didn't really care.
'Quentin Lamotte.'
Severus snorted. Albus caught his eye, his face alit with amusement as though this was a joke they shared. Severus felt immediately the compulsion to explain himself, to allow him in on it.
'Well, that won't be much of an issue,' he said shortly. 'He'll bore of it within the month.'
Albus nodded. He kept his gaze on him. 'How are you faring, Severus?'
Severus looked away.
'How do you expect?' he asked, voice tight with mockery.
'You have failed,' Albus said gravely, as though Severus had any need for a reminder. 'It is a natural consequence of trying. And may I say that you have not failed entirely. You have assured that Harry does not return to live with a family who treat him poorly. He is spending his summer with his friends instead, flying his broom, playing, eating Molly's hearty cooking. And when he eventually returns to Hogwarts, he will do so knowing he has a powerful ally in his corner.'
'I have not achieved what I set out to achieve. If that is not textbook failure, I can't think what is.' Severus hand tightened on the cup. It nearly slipped free of his grasp, a few drops striking bursts of burn into his lap. 'Anything else gained is at best incidental.'
'But it is something, isn't it?'
He had nothing to say to that.
This was a burying of the hatchet, he realised instead. He wasn't sure he was ready for it.
They sipped their teas for a while. Severus shifted on the cushions, hyper-aware he'd dragged the sofa in from the attic, that the cushions were clean but tired. He imagined Harry sitting here, reading or working on his summer essays, or just bored and wanting to be underfoot—the sofa should have been larger, so he could stretch his legs out properly.
This was much like being haunted, he thought. He disliked it intensely.
Once Albus had finished his tea, he rose. He watched Severus as if he were considering something, the silence an awkward stretch of tension between them.
'We both of us could have handled this better,' he said at last. 'And so, we have both failed. We shall have to work on that, shan't we?'
It was perhaps rude to stay seated. Severus stood up, then nodded, a swell of visceral hope in his chest.
'I should leave you to enjoy your rest. I must admit that you've managed to surprise me this summer, Severus. I hope it does not offend you if I say I find myself feeling quite proud of you.'
It did not offend him. It did something else to him, too big to name.
After, Severus brewed more tea, and sketched mindlessly, and tried reading, but soon found he had too much nervous energy in him for either. He cleaned up the kitchen instead, then the study. He'd need to buy a new sofa: this one could not be saved. He had nothing much to do this afternoon, he could easily fit in a shopping trip. Perhaps he'd get fresh paint for the walls, too, something warmer: a deep auburn, maybe, or a dark green.
He'd dressed to go out, but sat first, knowing this was a thing he'd procrastinate on otherwise, and drafted a short letter to Lupin. Matters were too fresh, interactions too strained, to risk getting Harry that delayed birthday present and hope for a positive reaction; he feared it would be a step over the invisible line. But he could send him the promised photographs instead. Surely, the boy couldn't misconstrue that as offense.
A natural consequence of trying, he thought. It wasn't a surprise, then, that he'd failed: he had never been good at agency. Perhaps it was like growing a new muscle.
But this, what he was only now realising he was going to do next—the future an uncertain, shimmering thing but the choice now sharp and immediate—this was a thing he could do, a thing Severus Snape was already exceedingly good at.
Now that he knows what he wants, he is never letting go.
THE END.
And this is it.
It's been an enormous joy to share this story with you. Thank you to all those who've reviewed, followed or favourited this story. It's been snowing heavily for almost a week where I am, and you have all been my mug of hot chocolate.
I am currently working on a longer fic for another fandom and it's been slow-going; since I'm unlikely to write much of anything else until that's done, it might be a while before I dive back into the Severitus pool - but I'd like to! If any of you happen to be Hannibal fans, you can find me on ao3 under the same username, where I'll be posting my next story. As for everyone else, I'd love to hear what sort of story you'd like to see from me next! Would that be a sequel to Time, or is there a trope or setting you don't see a lot in Harry & Snape fics that you'd like me to explore? Feel free to hit me up here or on tumblr; I make no promises to follow through on any prompts, but it'll be fun to hear from you!
So long,
gzdacz
I am to periodically update this final entry with replies to any guest reviews, so this is the place to check!
