The News
After dabbing away the traces of scones and cream from her fingers, McGonagall tipped her head a little at Snape and affected fiddling with an earring, eyes askance. "And did you travel…alone, Severus?"
"Yes," he detected her inquisitive tone and added, "I am still single, if that's what you're asking."
"Well of course it's none of my business…," she huffed. "I was more thinking about whether you'd be taking your old quarters back -,"
"If Professor Slughorn no longer has use of them…"
"Professor Slughorn looks to take accommodation in Hogsmeade, in fact. Interestingly, we have a new Professor of DADA commencing this year, and he brings a small family with him."
"Indeed? I had wondered about the Dark Arts post." It was still Snape's first love and preference, but the vacancy was in Potions and so Potions it would be.
"Did you research that as well on your travels?" asked Dumbledore.
"Only in passing." There was a lot in passing. On top of what he'd already been taught as a Death Eater, there was an abundance he'd acquired from his time at the infirmary, under the tutelage of the Wicce. She'd have given Voldemort a run for his money. And what he'd learnt in Hungary and Czechoslovakia rendered him barely legal back on British soil. It made sectumsempra look like something you'd learn off a Chocolate Frog card.
"Well Professor Hellmann is coming from Germany. Durmstrang. He's highly qualified, I'm sure you'll get along famously with him," said McGonagall, noting Snape's heavy frown.
"I shall be glad to make his acquaintance," replied Snape stiffly, his countenance suggesting the complete opposite.
"There's been a few changes in staff since you were here," went on McGonagall, very much in Headmistress mode. "Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration and, of course, Muggle Studies."
"Perfectly normal in the space of eight years."
McGonagall waited to see some kind of reaction to the mention of Muggle Studies, but there was no change of expression. She ploughed on.
"We've adopted in full a new curriculum for Muggle Studies, thanks to the work done by Charity. And Sir Byron has been tireless since the war ended. Professor Hellmann was his recommendation."
Snape's eyes twitched a little. "After the way Carrow butchered Muggle Studies, it certainly needed review."
McGonagall glanced at Dumbledore, whose brow dented a little but he didn't speak. Snape saw the exchange and frowned a little himself. "Is something the matter?"
McGonagall cleared her throat nervously. "Well…we know that you…were fond of Charity…and it must have been terrible for you when she died. I never got a chance to tell you how sorry I was, what with you being with…the moment just never came up," she said in a rush, being careful not to look at him too pointedly.
Snape looked entirely confused. "Well her death was certainly shocking but…"
Once again McGonagall looked at Dumbledore, and this time Snape straightened a little in his chair. "What's going on?"
"Whatever do you mean, Severus?" asked Dumbledore.
"You keep looking at each other."
"Well, uh, it's just that -," began McGonagall, shifting through the papers on The Desk to find the enrolment list.
"Why did you say I was fond of her?" said Snape, eyes piercing, thinking back on the fateful, awful night at Malfoy Manor. The strange way the suspended Burbage woman had kept earnestly saying his name, as if she were trying to communicate something. Draco's uncharacteristic reaction at the sight of her, he was normally so affectedly composed. Quite apart from the absolute horror of listening to that monstrous snake consuming a colleague somewhere on the floor behind him, was enduring the impotence he felt, the inability to do anything about it; the whole affair had harrowed him ever since; he often startled awake in a cold sweat from nightmares. "That was an odd choice of word."
Dumbledore coughed loudly, and given it obviously had nothing to do with anything in his throat, it could only be a signal to McGonagall.
The Headmistress lifted the enrolment list and pointed out the name James Servius Burbage. "You see – she had a bairn at the time of her death, who this year is due to start at Hogwarts -,"
"She had a child?!" repeated Snape, appalled. He closed his eyes and shook his head.
"Two, in fact," said McGonagall. "Her daughter Holly has just graduated. Bright young thing. A bit – a bit prickly – but under the circumstances…"
Snape suddenly felt cold. That room, those people around the table, the way she had slowly rotated…there had been two children somewhere, two young children missing their mother…that never occurred to him.
Dumbledore noted the way Snape had paled. "It was a war, Severus, there are casualties. There was nothing you could have done."
"I didn't have time," said Snape, cast back to the night in question. "I was trying to think of something but…he - Voldemort - was trying to entrap me, it was a test, and she would have been killed whatever I'd attempted, he wanted her place for Alecto -," he raised his eyes again slowly and refocussed. "But – why did you say I was fond of her?"
McGonagall swallowed with difficulty. "I really just wanted to warn you in case…young Burbage here…he may have heard things, you know, The Prophet does love to hash things up so."
"Papus save us," said Snape, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips. "It will be like Potter all over again. He's not a chosen one is he?"
"Eleven is an impressionable age," commented Dumbledore. "I don't doubt he'll have questions if he's aware."
"His father? Wizarding or Muggle?" asked Snape with a pained expression.
Yet again, McGonagall and Dumbledore exchanged fleeting looks. Snape was beyond perplexed now, and stared at them, agitated. "What – why do you keep doing that?"
"Uh…a Wizard, I believe…" said McGonagall, eyes trained on the list. "But…not around…"
"Please don't tell me he was orphaned!"
"Um…aye…"
"Is our understanding!" interceded Dumbledore hastily. "Hopefully we've got our facts wrong about that."
Snape studied them both, part confused and part suspicious – his Sneakoscope radar was in full spin. Something was not being said. "Are you suggesting that the timing of my return is not opportune?"
"Of course not," retorted McGonagall stoutly. "I never would have invited you here if it was as straightforward as that."
Snape's brain was whirring and he held off speaking for a moment to let them fill in the gaps themselves. But they had lapsed into a strained silence. He got to his feet, preferring the sense of control it gave him, and let his wand slip into his hand from his sleeve so that he could tap it against his thigh.
"I am very grateful that you have welcomed me back to Hogwarts," he said, "and after so long away I may have been remiss in some duties or responsibilities that arose in my absence. For that I am sorry, I wish it could be otherwise. I honestly did not expect that I would return. And yet I find myself…at ease...with the idea of resuming my post." He paused and frowned. "But I get the strong – actually, overwhelming – impression that there is something I should know about the Burbage matter. If letting things lie for the moment is the best solution to this problem, then perhaps we should consider that. I do not wish my return to add to the burden of this child or anyone else."
Snape's heart had elevated a little with this speech and he concentrated on evening his breathing as he let the pronouncement hang in the air. McGonagall was looking at him almost sadly, and one last time, at his concluding statement, she looked to Dumbledore.
The old wizard gazed at Snape thoughtfully and then Nigellus spoke. "Tell him for Merlin's sake. It's not as if he hasn't earned a bit of honesty."
"Tell me what?" Snape barked instantly. His heartbeat quickened again.
McGonagall sighed, rose with deliberation and came around The Desk to put her hand on Snape's arm. She was disquieted and looked straight at him. "Severus, all we have is…a possibility…that is all…"
"What are you talking about?" Snape was worried now.
"Perhaps a mead?" said Dumbledore.
"It's not even midday, Albus!"
"Tell me!" exclaimed Snape, beginning to get frantic.
"Sit down. I hadn't planned on this," said McGonagall, wondering why she'd rejected the idea of mead. She could have used one. She went back to her chair while Snape sat, perched like stone on the edge of his. His brows were drawn so close his eyes glittered through the shadow.
"Severus," began McGonagall, picking up her wand and fiddling with it as she spoke. "I shall get to the point. There is a chance that James Servius is your son."
She glanced up and Snape felt Dumbledore's eyes boring into him, but all he could do was wait…wait for the bit that made sense. Wait for the bit that was serious, the bit that had induced this intense anxiety. Because the idea that he had a son was completely preposterous.
When, after a full minute, she didn't offer anything further he said: "Is that it? Well that's patently ridiculous. Is this some idea of joke?"
"No," she said simply. "It is indeed puzzling, but not a joke."
"Why on earth would you think he's my son?"
Her face revealed some misgiving. "I don't pretend to know young Charity that well, but…to give her the benefit of the doubt…you and she had that very intense relationship the year of Sirius Black -,"
"What?" gasped Snape, astounded. "What? What on earth…? I had barely a thing to do with Charity Burbage!"
"Severus!" exclaimed Dumbledore. "Do you remember nothing? I saw it all! Many of us did."
"Remember? No! An intense relationship? Absolutely not - I barely said good morning to her!" Snape had reached actual distress now. His eyes were blazing.
"Severus – I'm sorry, but you proposed to her!"
McGonagall's eyes almost popped out of her head at that, and she stared first at Dumbledore and then to Snape.
"You've got this wrong!" snapped Snape, getting to his feet, anger hot on the heels of his consternation. "You've confused me with someone else. This is all wrong."
"I wish that were so…," said Dumbledore, then arched his brows. "Actually, no I don't. Snape, you loved her profoundly, and deservedly so. I am glad it happened, glad for you, glad for you both. This child, if he is yours, was the outcome of true love. And as you know, I am a fan of love."
There was such conviction, such resolution in Dumbledore's voice that Snape was forced to stop and listen, and for a moment, a split second, believed what he heard. He was so well trained to trust Dumbledore that there would be split seconds when night might be day, and black might be white and evil might be good. He had learnt to trust Dumbledore's judgement above his own, and largely because he couldn't point to a time when Dumbledore had been mistaken or flawed. Even when he had called Dumbledore out: "…you have used me…" even then, it eventuated that no, it was all part of a larger plan, a plan so great even Snape couldn't see it: Potter wouldn't die, even if he had to die. Because of love. So why – why would Dumbledore be so wrong about this?
"But - ?" said Snape, confounded. Too confounded to speak. He looked to the portrait.
"Your memory is gone," said Dumbledore, deciding Snape was genuine. "I am not confused. But you – you have no memory of one of the most passionate experiences of your life. Something happened."
"Obliviated?" suggested McGonagall, looking quite piqued, flags of colour in her cheeks.
"No…" said Dumbledore, "You can obliviate single, short experiences but not months' worth of complex, integrated memory."
"Amnesia?" said McGonagall, looking questioningly at Snape.
"I'm no healer," said Dumbledore, "but I don't think amnesia is that selective."
"Over-active imaginations?" offered Snape caustically. "So far not a shred of evidence, other than the fact that I am absolutely certain I had no relationship with Charity Burbage – or any other woman for that matter at that time – and yet you ask me to accept the possibility of a son I've never heard of?"
"There is evidence of a relationship," replied Dumbledore, looking at him levelly. "There's testimony. My own, and Minerva's. And you are welcome to ask Hagrid and Flitwick. They will all attest to it."
"I too," said Nigellus brazenly. "I remember the argument in this very office. A few in fact. Dumbledore sent you and the Burbage lady to his cottage to sort it out. She ultimately left." There rumbles of assent from some of the other portraits.
Snape's jaw dropped open in a very rare display of utter incomprehension. He wasn't processing this at all well and was beginning to feel cornered.
"I don't know what happened to your memory," continued Dumbledore. "But I suspect it was before Charity was killed. Knowing how you felt about her, I don't think you would have let it happen the way it did, even if it would have cost you fatally."
McGonagall nodded in agreement.
Shock seeped through Snape from the feet up. Gravity suddenly becoming too much, he sat heavily back on his chair and loosened the buttons and cravat at his throat.
"Severus, are you alright?" asked McGonagall, rising. "This is an awful lot to take in."
"Whisky?" muttered Snape. "I don't feel very well."
McGonagall hastened to the liquor cabinet, the hour unimportant now. This counted as medicinal. Snape's face had drained completely of colour, and his eyes were unusually wide and aroused looking. A quick pour from the decanter and she brought a finger of firewhisky to him which he knocked back in a single gulp.
"If…if it is indeed true…," murmured Snape, shaking his head slightly, "wouldn't she have told me herself?"
And then, explosively, he remembered the Patronus. A moth. We have a healthy son… It had flown in through the window of his office, one afternoon while he was marking homework. He had never seen a moth Patronus before and he watched with utter surprise. The moth had imparted its message, and while the voice had sounded vaguely familiar, the message was too brief for him place it. And when he heard the words, his assumption, immediately, was that in some never-before-known way, the Patronus had gotten it wrong. Or the sender had. A woman was obviously trying to reach her partner to announce tremendous news, but for some reason, it had ended up in his office. He had actually said to the moth "I'm sorry, that message is not for me." And the moth had fluttered – in retrospect, did it seem to flutter in an almost frustrated manner? – and then disappeared.
For a couple of hours after the moth had gone he was troubled in a solicitous sort of way that a father somewhere wasn't getting important news, and then he became intellectually curious about whether Patronus's could confuse their audience or destination, because if that was indeed possible, he would need to be aware of that when he dispensed them to the Order of the Phoenix. He found no such information, nothing had been written describing lost or confused Patronii. His final conclusion, before dismissing the whole thing entirely from his head, was that it wasn't a Patronus at all, but some other new manifestation, as yet unannounced, probably because it was still faulty.
Head swimming, he raised his eyes to Dumbledore. "Did Charity Burbage have a corporeal Patronus?"
"Oh, um…?" Dumbledore seemed to scour his magic memory. "Yes. Yes she did. I never saw it, I remember she mentioned it. Now what was it?"
"A moth?" Snape asked dully.
"Yes! In fact that does sound familiar. Unusual you see, to have an insect."
"Why Severus?" asked McGonagall. "Had she tried to reach you?"
"I did receive a Patronus, a moth…" he sighed shakily, staring vacantly at the floor. "I didn't recognise it. I swear I'd never seen it before."
"What did it say?"
"It said…we have a son, a healthy son…"
"Oh Severus!" said McGonagall, half dismayed, half delighted.
"I ignored it!" said Snape. "I thought it was a mistake."
"When did the moth arrive, Severus?" asked Dumbledore.
"I don't know, years and years ago…" he shook his head again. "I only remember it now because I've half-wondered ever since if a Patronus could get lost. And given the message had been clearly important…"
They were all silent for a minute or two; Snape massaged his head and eyes, conscious of the beginnings of a migraine. He'd never had them until the year of the Triwizard Cup. He had woken one morning in a room in the Hogs Head Inn after what must have been a blinder of a night, barely able to open his eyes for the flashing and dazzles, as sick as a dog and head in a vice. He didn't remember the night before – presumably due to blackout or obliviation, he wasn't sure – but by some strange fortune Aurora Sinistra had been in the main street of Hogsmeade when he came tumbling out and she had arranged for him to get to Madam Pomfrey. Ever since then he'd been prone to the headaches – he'd had a lot of them in the infirmary.
"I'm afraid I am going to need to lie down," he murmured presently. "Perhaps I might go to the Hospital Wing? I think Madam Pomfrey has something for migraines."
McGonagall stood making very sympathetic noises and offered to walk down with him, but he assured her he remembered the way. And then abruptly he turned and left the office, slipping his wand away as he went, ignoring the concerned comments by Dumbledore.