The Sinistra Imperative

It was to be a day of owls. The first arrived at breakfast with the normal mail. With almost all the teachers now in attendance at breakfast (exceptions being those living in Hogsmeade rather than taking school residency, including Hooch and Cropper who apparently cohabited) the amount of mail in the morning increased dramatically, and there was a steady arrival of Post Owls bringing newspapers, letters, parcels and other correspondence to the table.

The bird that arrived for Snape, however, was no Postal Service worker. It was an eagle owl, and around its legs were gold brocade harnesses, used to securely strap valuable or unwieldy items, and which in themselves were not unusual except for the ostentatiousness of this particular variety. The owl was impeccably trained and therefore subtly announced its arrival, made a punctilious landing, and held up its scroll in its talons for Snape to remove without having to be chased or wrestled. The scroll was in immaculate condition and the owl did not beg for a treat or payment, simply turned to fly out of the Hall again on broad, magnificent, silent wings.

Classy, Snape thought, and had an immediate idea as to where this scroll had been sent from.

Hagrid was sitting next to him and had observed the delivery. "I reckon I know tha' owl," he said, watching as Snape broke the red seal. The MM stamped into the wax confirmed Snape's suspicions. "It used to bring mail for Draco. Or at least one exactly like it." He shoveled some bacon into his mouth and unsuccessfully tried to read the opened scroll over Snape's shoulder.

Dearest Severus

It seems a miracle.

There had been rumours circulating for years that you were still alive. I can't tell you how overjoyed Cissy and I were to open the Daily Prophet last week and see you on the front page.

I insist you join us at the Manor for dinner, this week if you are available. Would Friday suit?

In case you are concerned, far more water than perhaps you realise has passed under the bridge. Our invitation is strictly offered in friendship and in the greatest hopes of reestablishing old acquaintances. We have not forgotten what you did for Draco.

I look forward to your positive reply.

Lucius

Snape read the letter several times, and in so doing, missed his chance at a serve of bacon. He instead refilled his cup with coffee, and read it once more, triple checking for hidden messages or codes, subtle communications he would be expected to decipher. It was astonishing, even to him, how ingrained that Death Eater mentality had become. A single word from Malfoy, and here he was ready to burn after reading. Did 'miracle' denote something? Was 'water' or 'bridge' significant? Did 'reestablish old acquaintances' actually allude to a reformation of some kind, the reinstatement of an old order?

Or could Malfoy be taken at his word? He just genuinely wanted to catch up.

Snape's Dark Mark had, in all senses, faded into inconsequence over the years. It had once been blindingly black, constant in its agitation, burning, needling; and messages had come with it, mysterious commands and codes accompanying a flare on his left wrist. During the last year of the war, he'd all but walked around with it extended out in front of him like a compass, awaiting instruction. Now, when he looked at it, the reassuring paleness of it was like the point of realization that a dream had been but a dream, it was now no more than the trace of destroyed skin cells, a stain, a…a mistake.

Apparently, the indoctrination had its own means of lingering.

While he was prepared to suspect his own suspicions about Malfoy's letter, strong feeling about Malfoy himself were not aroused. He viewed the letter more as an artefact of the Malfoys' jealously protected upper middle-class upbringing than an authentic extension of brotherhood, or "joy" as he'd put it. Almost all of Malfoy's motivations originated from a deep wellspring of self-preservation, status quo and aggrandizement. He was a Slytherin amongst Slytherins, and with cunning instincts that made him act before he even knew what he needed to be cunning about, Malfoy mopped up every single overlooked opportunity or loose thread to ensure his – and those of his closest – were positioned squarely and securely.

But when Malfoy realized he'd backed the wrong horse in Voldemort, and before he'd attached to a new saviour, he'd been at his most vulnerable. He'd seen the inside of Azkaban. He'd been humiliated and degraded, used and abandoned and he'd almost lost his only son. Malfoy had been more broken than even Snape. It was perhaps this reason more than any other that intrigued him and eventually resolved him to accept the invitation.

He would write a reply later. Right now he had a pressing agenda: he wanted to talk to Sinistra.

He searched the faces at the breakfast table, but hers was not amongst them. The only other place she would likely be was the Astronomy Tower. He was about to down his coffee and depart when Hagrid said, "Was that Draco's owl? Was the le'er from Draco then?"

"Uh, in a manner, it was from Lucius."

Hagrid's face darkened. He and the Malfoys forever parted ways over the Buckbeak incident, but they barely tolerated each other before then. "Wazzee want then? Bored not having no one to pick on?"

"I'm not entirely sure," said Snape dismissively. His thoughts having been momentarily cast back to the battle, he asked: "Hagrid – whatever happened to Grawp?"

"Grawp?!" Hagrid face changed utterly. His eyebrows and beard were greying now, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes were like sunrays. "'E's gone back to the mountains, a hero is 'ee. 'E'll have no more grief from that lot. 'E was doin' too much damage to the Forest to stay permanent like. Bu' I'll goan see 'im from time to time, make sure 'e's alright."

"And what's this I hear about you learning rugby?"

The smile was retained. "Ah! Hentie! She's teachin' me the rules. Not to play, but so's she can have a body to talk to. She goes'n watches the matches in the Muggle pubs on the weekends. Then she comes back'n tells me who's winnin'. I s'pport Scotland. She's right though, the Springboks'll beat 'em."

Snape raised a single, skeptical brow. "And Drop Bears in the Forbidden Forest? Really Hagrid, are you still trying to convince people they're real?"

"'Gizzon! I swear'n me mother, if you walk about the Forest tonight, thar's a good chance one'll land square'n'ee's head."

Snape shook his head slightly, perplexed. "I missed a lot."

"You're doin' great, Sev'rus. S'not easy comin' home."

"You're right," said Snape, giving the wise old gamekeeper a ghost of a smile. "You can't go back."

"Jus' keep goin' forward."

From the breakfast table, Snape decided there was no time like the present and was just about to make a bee-line for the Astronomy Tower, when he heard an authoritative: "Severus?"

He knew straight away it was McGonagall and turned where he stood. "Ma'am?"

She was in her seat, the seat, he realized, which no longer felt like Dumbledore's, the association in his head was changing. It was her seat now. And in front of her, the ever-present tea pot.

"A moment, perchance?"

"Ma'am."

He came to her side and sat in the seat next to her. Many an informal meeting had been held thus. "I can't find Professor Binns," she said. "He wasn't here yesterday for the staff meeting, he's not in the classroom, not in the staffroom: he seems to have disappeared. We have, it appears, no History teacher. Do you think you could solve the puzzle for me?"

"Of course."

"And I received this today, from the Board of Governors. Recommended changes to the OWLs. Please read it and report back to me what they're proposing." She handed him a tube with scrolls in it.

"Ma'am." His second owl today.

"And lastly: I haven't heard further. What is happening with the Slytherin Common Room?"

"I don't know, Ma'am. Have you spoken to Horace?"

"Is he in charge of it?"

"I'll talk to him. He's Head of House."

"And engage Filius and Agatha – between the three of them, they should have that archive converted lickity –split."

"Yes Ma'am."

In Snape's head the list of chores and obligations was getting longer and longer. While he'd worked during his abscondment, the jobs had been wage-paying, mostly manual-based, the kind of thing that could be left behind at the end of the day, that didn't trouble anyone unduly when he gave a weeks' notice intending to move on again. He deliberately avoided responsibility or anything that required his attendance for more than a year, so finding himself as Deputy and starting to shoulder McGonagall's burden was drawing on almost retired parts of his organizational brain and stamina he wasn't sure he still had.

McGonagall sensed it. She placed a light hand on his forearm. "Are you alright, Severus? Are you coping?"

"Coping, Ma'am?" he replied curtly. It was one thing for him to wonder, quite another for his superior to question it. "Of course. I'll get on."

"Will you call me Minerva?"

He opened his mouth, closed it again then nodded once.

The walk to the Astronomy Tower gave Snape the chance to structure his list of chores and obligations mentally. Dimly he was aware that the normal background din of building and construction work was missing, which he interpreted as all of Fetherington's workers having been pulled off their normal works to focus on the dungeon.

He mounted the spiral staircase two at a time and stopped at the first level which was the Astronomy room and called for Sinistra. No response. He continued up the stairs until he reached the top, the observation deck, and again called for her.

No answer.

He cursed in his head. He didn't have time for this. Where would she be?

Just then came a clanking noise and floating up the stairs came the Bloody Baron. The ghost stopped abruptly at the sight of him, his chains giving rattle, and he said, "Holla Professor Snape!"

"Baron – how are you? I mean, how art thee?"

"Ah, Professor, I am unchanged, as thee wouldst expecteth, since I liveth in a temp'ral plane. I am m'rely going about mine own n'rmal haunting. What endues thee to the Toweth'r high-lone?"

"I was seeking Professor Sinistra. Did you encounter her in your passage?"

"Oh the lady hast gone out. We are not cater-cousins. I waiteth until the lady hath left afore I haunt."

"Do you know where she might have gone?"

"I do not. Thee might liketh to tryeth the p'rtraits. Since we art speaking, Professor, the work on the Slyth'rin Common Room by those blaggards - ow much longeth'r shallt it continueth? Tis intol'rable!"

"I will consult with the builders today, Baron. I have a question for thee. I seek your help also."

"Bid me thy question!"

"We cannot locate Professor Binns. Has he…has he finally passed over?"

The Baron floated thoughtfully and clinked his chains through his hands. "I knoweth not. I shall needeth to talketh to the oth'r ghosts."

"Can you let me know, Baron?"

The Baron inclined his head and floated back down through the floor of the Tower.

Snape himself descended the stairs and came to the castle's first floor, where he consulted the nearest portrait. The portraits discussed amongst themselves until the portrait of Hengist Rawkes was able to confirm that Sinistra was seen leaving via the front entrance only minutes earlier. Snape headed directly for the front door.

When Snape stepped out onto the courtyard, he searched the grounds and finally spotted the figure of Sinistra walking alone and down across the grassy bank towards the lake.

He immediately set off in pursuit. "Professor! Aurora!" he called, wondering where on earth she was going. Eventually having heard him, she paused and turned, then waited until he could catch up.

"Morning Severus," she said when he came to her side. "What's wrong? Do you need me for something?" She had continued her sedate walk. He noticed she carried a posy.

"There is a matter…you mentioned my headaches – but I'm interrupting," he indicated her flowers. "May I join you?"

"By all means."

"And you are headed…?"

"The White Tomb of course. I always miss the anniversary."

Of course indeed. He had only paid his respects once since the Battle of the Tower, during the year of 1998. It had been at night, alone, still moonless. He'd worn his cloak with the hood up, constantly alert for either of the Carrows in case they saw him. He had stood by the tomb for several minutes in the dark, his thoughts meandering, unpracticed as he was at formal mourning. Though he was at Dumbledore's resting place, his thoughts had turned to Lily because he was reminded again that he'd never been to her grave – he was considered unwelcome at the places his lost ones resided. If they themselves knew he was there, beside them, however, he didn't feel they would turn him away. Both would bid him welcome. He had placed a hand on the cold, white marble and said to Dumbledore in a whisper, "Sir, I miss our talks. I hope…I hope what I'm doing is right."

For the remainder of the distance to the tomb, he and Sinistra walked in silence, and then Snape halted and allowed Sinistra to approach the luminous sarcophagus in private. The waves of the lake could be heard lapping gently against the shore, and in the distance, far across the other side, were dusky blue mountains. A narrow path had been formed in the damp lawn, he noticed, by regular visitors to the tomb, and at its base were pots of flowering plants.

Sinistra placed her posy down beside the others and bowed her head for a moment, then straightened, turned back to Snape and came slowly towards him. "You know," she said, "The Astronomy Tower's been almost ruined for me. I am reminded every…single…day of what happened. It's been nine years, and still, whenever I go to the top of the Tower, I imagine him falling. I have leaned over the ramparts, where he fell from, and I try to imagine what it must have been like for him. But he was dead, wasn't he Severus. He was dead before he fell?"

He had hurtled back through time in his mind's eye, the same scattering of memories he had himself of that night, the anger he'd felt. He remembered Draco's face. He remembered Dumbledore's hair lifting slightly in the breeze, and his Headmaster's eyes – Snape was waiting for the look from him, the tiny nod, the slight uplift at the outer-corners of his eyes the merest, almost invisible signal that told him, Go ahead, Severus, as we agreed, I am ready. His heart had pounded so much Adrenalin through him his hands shook, his wand had tried to hold still, and he thought I can't, it won't work, and he thought, because I don't feel it, I don't feel it and when he'd first said the killing curse, he'd opened his mouth and only a croak came out, Yaxley had turned to look at him, and Dumbledore had slightly twitched his head, a question.

And then Snape had shut down everything.

"Yes. He was dead," muttered Snape and he didn't want to look at Sinistra and see the blame there.

"Have you forgiven yourself?" she asked him.

"No."

She held out a hand and took him behind his arm, then urged him gently towards the tomb. "Have you thought about asking him?"

"No."

She nodded, waited a moment, then said with her eyes resting in the middle distance: "It's between him and you. In some ways I envy him. There are so many horrible ways to die…but when you know it's time, and at the hands of a friend who did everything he could, and you know that friend won't let you suffer, and you know that friend will remember it, and you know that friend will not let it have been in vain… I think, Severus, he asked you the greatest honour he could think of. We don't choose our mothers who bring us into the world, but he got to choose who would take him out of it. And he chose you. Can you imagine anything else more profound?"

Snape didn't speak. He had almost forgotten why he came to see Sinistra in the first place, his eyes were fixed on the tomb and something inside him was quivering.

"He must have trusted you completely," murmured Sinistra. "You must have done something to earn that."

The tears that wanted to fall were like lava in his throat, he swallowed hard. As much as he wanted to grieve for Dumbledore, it was the things she saying about him that made his heart wrench. It was as though she were forgiving him when Dumbledore couldn't.

Then Sinistra turned to him with an appraising look. "Have you asked Charity for her forgiveness?"

Her words tolled in his ears, reverberated in his head like a grim, cold soul-bell and suddenly he looked at her and she stared back at him steadily. She wasn't smiling, she wasn't frowning.

"Charity?" was the only word to escape him.

"She has no tomb, Severus. No resting place. I wanted to say goodbye to her. She was my friend."

He remembered Charity on the dining table, Nagini sliding towards her, the great snake's reflection in the glossy surface of the wood.

"You were there when she died."

"How did you know?" he asked, his voice thick, breathing hoarse.

She shook her head. "I didn't." Her expression became bleak. "There were rumours…through the Order…people who knew people…An investigation by a journalist after the war."

His heart started to thump painfully. "I don't want Servius to know."

"Servius?"

"My…my son."

Her eyes cleared and her lips parted in a faintest of smiles. "The baby was yours? You said it wasn't - ,"

"He was."

"Oh Merlin. Where is he?"

"He's coming. He'll be on the Express." Snape reached into his pocket and withdrew the photo, handing it to Sinistra. She took it from him so lightly it almost seemed to float into her fingers and she examined the picture for several minutes.

"Papus save us. Severus, how could you let her die like that? She was the mother of your son!" Sinistra turned away from him, face lifted to the sky. "You were supposed to have loved her!"

"Was I?" he muttered, anguish and guilt like elemental forces within him, brewing a fierce Slytherin defensiveness. "WAS I? I DON'T REMEMBER! Where is the bottle Aurora? You were there! Where is it?"

She swung back round to face him, her eyes wide. "How do you -?" She read on his face that he had discovered everything. "Why do you want the bottle?"

"I have to put the memories back… I have to see them."

She stared at him for a long while, evaluating him it seemed, and he swallowed, forcing down the grief, the anger and shame, but held her gaze.

Then she nodded and handed him back his photo.

"You should. You should remember her, and you should not be spared knowing, for your son's sake, how you took a coward's way out."

A coward. He despised the word.

"I'm not a coward!" he shouted, and it was instinctive, unexpected. He didn't care who heard. He caught Sinistra off-guard a little, her choice of word, while deliberate, was not intentionally to provoke him. Then her eyes flared.

"If you could find the courage for Dumbledore, why couldn't you do it for her?"

Geese that had been paddling in the lake nearby took flight, a thundering of wings. They had been perturbed partly by the shouting, and partly by the great ripples that had formed without warning on the surface of the lake, rolling away from the point where Snape stood as his uncontrolled magic erupted.

He needed a minute for the blackout to subside, and Sinstra waited. He had no answer for her. No satisfactory answer, only excuses. She may not understand, she hadn't been there, she couldn't have known the extraordinary risk he was managing. But were they were all excuses? "I hadn't loved her then," he said.

"Then how are you going to feel when you see the memories?"

He looked down at the ground, exhausted. "I'll feel…what I deserve to feel. The memories are of my own making. Good or bad."

Sinistra paused, looking out across the lake. "She was waiting for you, did you know that?" Her voice was hard and condemning. "She came to the funeral. She asked me where you were."

"Please, Aurora…I can't bring her back…" His head was whirling, he'd had no warning any of this was coming. He followed her gaze over the lake, towards the mountains.

Then he heard her say in a tight voice, "Then why don't you cry?" And when he looked back at her, he saw that tears were openly flowing down her cheeks. "Nobody cried for her."

Snape had walked away, back the way they'd come, leaving Sinistra alone by the Tomb. He had been reeling, barely breathing, and when the castle came back to his consciousness, he couldn't face it. He cast his flying spell and lifted upwards, away, up to the height of the tallest trees in the forest. He soared the full length of the lake and towards the mountains. The speed, the intense, barely controlled motion overpowered everything else: it required his full concentration. He scared flocks of ducks off the water and swooped deftly to avoid them; when he passed pines growing close to the edge, they swayed in his wake. But it was draining, and he turned, covering the distance to return directly to the Astronomy Tower.

He landed on the observation deck and restored to normal form, but, finding the top of the Tower empty, he descended the spiral stairs to the rooms below. "Aurora?"

"Here."

She emerged from her office carrying two brass lanterns plated with deep red glass. These she placed on a table with half a dozen more. "Feel a bit better?" she asked in droll tones. "Worked it out of your system?"

He had come in peace, but apparently her own feelings on the matter were still simmering. He stood straight with his hands clasped behind his back.

"I – I didn't want to fight with you. You might be able to help me. Diaphne said you were present at the Memoriam Delens."

"For some of it, yes. The Wicce Obliviated my memory afterwards so I don't remember anything that went on during the ritual."

She was resting her hands on the table, looking at him and waiting.

"Why were you there?"

"You asked me if I knew anyone who could do it. Severus, as I'm sure you know, it's an extremely dangerous and highly illegal practice. I did know someone, but I didn't want my name associated with it in any way. Dumbledore would have sacked me quick as look at me. I asked for all traces of me to be eradicated. The Wicce is an old hand at this, she knew exactly what to do. I knew I went to help, and that's about all."

"Was it…I had been in the Hogs Head –?"

"Yes. I found you there and got you to the Hospital Wing. And there commenceth the headaches."

She offered him a satiric smile that didn't meet her eyes. She picked up a lantern, opened its little hinged door and removed that candle stub within.

"I can't find the bottle with my memories," Snape told her. "The migraines have become debilitating; I almost lost my sight. Do you know – did I destroy the bottle?"

She glanced up at him. "Lost your sight? I've heard there are side-effects -,"

"The Wicce says I might suffer less if I can restore the memories," he said.

"So you've been in touch with the Wicce since the ritual?" asked Sinistra, with a penetrating stare. "How did you find her?"

"She found me."

Sinistra put down the lantern and held his gaze steadily. "Leave my name out of it. You promised you would. You promised you'd never raise it with me again."

"My word is good. Did I destroy the bottle, Aurora? Or do you know where it is?"

There was a long pause. Sinistra swung the door of her lantern to and fro. "Your son..Servius…is he much like Charity?"

"I don't know. Physically he resembles me more."

She became vague, distant. "I remember meeting her when she was pregnant – I mean, she was quite along. She was glowing, she looked happy. I'm so stupid, I should have known it was yours the whole time. Her big master plan…it didn't save her."

"None of it…was her fault," said Snape, pushing down his impatience, his urgency.

"She should have just kept her stupid mouth shut. I bet the Prophet seduced her, flattered her. They just wanted column inches. She was naïve."

"Yes. Was she…like that? Naïve?"

Sinistra nodded. "Like a fairy to a Call."

His mind was feeling the compulsion to remember, and he tethered it tightly. "Aurora, please…what happened to the bottle?"

She raised her eyes to his. "I took the bottle, Severus. I took the bottle and put it away safely."

A wave of relief crashed through him. He shut his eyes and exhaled. "Thank Merlin."

"It was in your bag. You didn't know about it. I took it out and put it away."

"Where? Where is it?"

She seemed deflated suddenly, as if she had just surrendered defeat. "In the archive. I followed the instructions you wrote, but it's in my own lockbox, I only had my wand, not yours."

"Thank you," said Snape, heartfelt. "thank you for putting them away."

"I told you not to do it," she snapped at him, eyes flashing. "If you go blind, it's your own fault!"

He inclined his head once. He didn't mind her anger any more, he understood it came from her feelings of impotence about Charity, in fact in a small way he treasured having a person to share the loss with. "When…when can we retrieve them?"

"I won't get them, Severus!" the heat in her words was reflected on her face. "I won't get them until you swear to me, swear to me on Charity's name, that you will look after that boy and you will care for him as Charity would have."

He took a moment to answer, struck as he was by a blinding realization that this was second time in the Astronomy Tower he had sworn to protect a boy. He blinked at the strange, unexpected parallel, the ministrations of fate that had brought him here. "Aurora, he's my own son -,"

She laughed bitterly. "That doesn't convince me. Look how you treated Harry."

And Snape winced.

"And I want you to make me his godmother, so if anything happens to you, I can look after him."

"He has grand -,"

"Muggles!"

He frowned at her, uncertain, but saw the intensity in her eyes. She really meant it. He sensed she was a woman who'd have wanted children of her own. And she raised a good point, that Servius had no one else in the wizarding world but him. Godparents in this world had serious freight.

He inclined his head again. "Yes. I will do that. I agree."

"Tomorrow. Bring me your Will with the clause that he comes to me if you die. When I see you've made me Godmother, I'll give you the bottle."

He frowned, rather disconcerted by her words. It had the feel of an Unbreakable Vow. "Aurora, that's perilously close to blackmail -,"

"In which everybody wins? Servius has a guardian, you have a backstop and I have…I have peace of mind. For Charity."

Snape remembered how Potter had felt about Sirius Black, what had appeared as a nauseating affection and attachment he hadn't understood, didn't relate to. A masquerade on the part of Black. But the idea that Servius would have someone who would reach out to him, offer him a safe haven if couldn't be here, attempt to care for him and protect him as Sirius had tried to do…

He shifted uncomfortably. It was as if his history wasn't yet done with him. He was Scrooge with the Ghost of Christmas Past, tripping him up and forcing him to look again.

"I don't have a will…" he began, and Sinistra raised a brow at him.

"Well you have family now. What better time?"

The events of the morning should have been enough for one day; Snape certainly felt that as he trekked back from the Astronomy Tower towards the dungeon, wondering how to go about creating a Last Will and Testament. It should, realistically, be a matter of two or three lines: all my worldly possessions are to be transferred in full to – and the thought made his steps slow for a moment – to my son, to my son. And it occurred to him that what he had in the way of inheritance was paltry at best. There was a house, in Cokeworth, although modest would be a grandiose word to describe it. What was left of his savings after eight years of self-sufficient travel. A smattering of personal belongings. His expression was nothing less than foreboding as he descended Slughorn's Stairs to the dungeons, it having been brought home to him forcibly that for all his forty-five years on the earth, though action-packed, he had virtually nothing to show for it. A comprehensive knowledge of the Dark Arts he would take with him to the grave, his wand: useless to anyone else. The kindest, most generous thing he could leave in his Will, it appeared, would be the benefaction of a Godmother.

As he approached his office, the noise of building work became ever louder, and he decided to maintain his course and go directly to the end of the corridor where the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room was. It was open to allow free flow of builders carrying tools and equipment, but that was the least of the affronts to the most secret of Houses. Inside was a warren of scaffolding, netting, tarpaulin, bright gaslamps and pulleys, and in the air, faint traces of lime and gypsum. A fine coating of white powder was resting on almost every inert surface. Up towards the ceiling, standing on planks, were workmen and masons attending to the detailed stone between the glass, and below, more masons were hammering and chipping away at blocks of stone. Still more were using wands to work the stone on bed-moulds, carving grooves and designs.

As he stood in the doorway, feeling encouraged and dismayed in equal measure, Filch came towards him from where he'd been standing with a knot of builders near the fireplace. He had a dust mask over his face and removed it to talk to Snape as he approached. "Ah, Professor Snape, come to check on progress?"

"This is progress?"

"Slow but steady." Filch held up the dust mask. "We're reduced to Muggle technology, I'm afraid. The work's too detailed and risky to chance to magic. As good as these men are. Hope the Headmistress used a good strong barricadus charm?"

"I believe she would have used the strongest she knew."

Fetherington spied him and came over, thumbs hitched in the loopholes of his dungarees. "Nice to see you Professor. Checking in?"

"The Headmistress seeks a report. What is your estimation for a completion date?"

Fetherington glanced over at his builders and rolled his lips in contemplation. "Slow. It's slow. Another three or four weeks barring unforeseen an' all that."

Snape's shoulders slumped, as much as he tried to remain unreadable. "I see. The level of risk remains the same?"

"Worse I think," commented Fetherington amicably. "The crew reckon they've seen the giant squid and then another one, smaller. Youngster, I reckon. If those things are breeding, Merlin knows…have you ever thought about just getting everyone above ground?"

Leave the dungeon? Snape almost said out loud. Unthinkable. "I don't believe the squid – or whatever they are – present a problem. We've coexisted for hundreds of years with never an issue. But thank you for the report."

With that, Snape swirled around and walked away, briefly distracted by the idea of a growing population of massive cephalopods in the lake, and then discarded it, simply not having the mental space. He stopped by Slughorn's office.

"Severus, good to see you!"

Slughorn had opened the door to him, positioning his glasses in a hasty manner and straightening his cardigan. He gave the strong impression of someone who'd been asleep.

"Horace – I only have a minute, but I've just come from the Common Room and the builder advises at least four weeks before the room will be habitable again. Are you taking a lead on the archive conversion?"

"Oh, ah, um -," Slughorn's eyebrows rose and he glanced about him as if looking for the answer to this question.

"Could I enlist your assistance with this? I suggest you include Flitwick and Froggonmore. The Headmistress is keen for news on progress."

"Ah yes, alright – not strictly my expertise, but -,"

"Then have you decided on your venture as Emeritus?" Snape inquired, feigning politeness.

Slughorn blinked at him. "Got a few ideas I'm bandying about," he said momentarily with a cheery grin. "Plenty of time, though, plenty of time. Now see here, since you're about, I'm planning a retirement shindig over at the Broomsticks, probably the Friday before school starts. You in?"

Snape frowned at the impromptu change of topic, and then at the idea of an uncomfortable social gathering, but then leveled out and said, "Of course. I'd be delighted."

"Stirling. Good work, man. Um – bring a friend, open tab of course."

Slughorn removed his glasses and, smiling and nodding, indicated that he was closing the door to his office again, presumably his nap was calling him. Snape's eyes twitched a little, but he bade Slughorn a good morning and stepped back, the door shutting in his face. Cursing under his breath, he decided to search out Flitwick and Froggonmore himself, and from there, McGonagall.

He returned to Ground Floor and was about to traverse the Entrance Hall when there was a coarse, sharp screech above his head. He looked up and saw an owl perched on a stone corbel, and which flapped its wings when it had his attention. He held out his forearm and the owl half-flew, half simply dropped onto it and huffily folded its wings in that slightly disgruntled manner of owls who have decided that messaging is beneath them.

The black feathers around the vibrant yellow eyes was instantly recognizable. "Täne?" he said, and the owl chattered its beak, sinking its claws slightly into his arm.

A message had been folded up and attached to Täne's leg with an elastic band. How Servius had managed to get the owl to stay still long enough to twist the band several times it was impressive in itself. He pulled the message free, and discovered it written on blue-lined notepaper, the little rips from the spiral binding still intact, the words written in ball-point. It was a starkly contrasting intersect between Servius's Muggle world and his own.

Dear Mr Snape, began the message.

I am sending this letter to see if Täne can find you. If you get this, can you send him back with a letter from you telling me the date? I'm sending this on Monday 14th August and it's two pm. How long did it take him?

Hope your (sic) well. I am fine. Ma and Pa keep sneezing because I am hexing them.

From Servius.

Snape couldn't be sure, but he thought he detected a tone in the letter that was less hate-filled. Servius was looking for his help, his participation in a small experiment with the wizarding world in which his father resided, only accessible to him by owl. How far away is your world? the letter seemed to ask. Are you there? Servius then remembered his manners, this being a subject of some frequency between them, and then conspired with him over the hexing, their one small secret, the admission from Servius that not everything about Snape and Hogwarts completely "sucked". Snape imagined that Servius had only relinquished Täne with the greatest of hesitation, with an absolute leap of faith, and would be at home now, fretting, half persuaded that the owl would never return because the world of Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, hexing – it couldn't have been really real.

It was (Snape searched for a clock, despite being mere feet from the clock tower – he really needed a watch) a little after midday – so the owl had flown from Trowbridge in the south west of England and found him in ten hours. Not bad for a highly inexperienced bird on what was, no doubt, its maiden voyage.

Normally Snape would simply release an owl and it would find its own way to either the owlery or wherever they went. But this was Servius's pride and joy, it would be tired and hungry. He summoned an elf and told him to take Täne to the owlery, feed and water it like a prized racehorse, then he would send it away again first thing in the evening, after a rest and with a reply.

The letter, he kept. He put it in the same pocket he kept the photo. He had since magicked a seal to this pocket, not prepared to lose the picture again, and he resealed it now, the letter having acquired providential status.

The writing of a Will, he discovered later that day in his office, could be as simple or as complicated as you cared to make it, or as personal circumstances dictated. The library book he had consulted assured him that since he only had one dependent and that he owned all his possessions outright, the creation of a will for him was a relatively simple procedure, which he thus set about to prove on a fine piece of parchment, with his best quill and fresh ink, at his desk to the dim background noise of banging in the Common Room.

He had taken the significant step of having no will and no cares about his body or belongings after his death, to leaving the house at Spinners End to Servius, all his chattels and property to him as well. If Servius were under seventeen at the time of his death, his care was to be appointed to Aurora Sinistra if Servius chose to reside in the wizarding world, or to his grandparents if he preferred the Muggle one. Either way, Sinistra was to have unfettered access to oversee his care, health and happiness. He requested that he be buried with his wand but wasn't specific about where (he felt somewhere on the grounds of Hogwarts would be nice but didn't think that would be appropriate unless he ended up as some great Headmaster like Dumbledore). Lastly he appointed McGonagall to be the executor of his Will, and if not her, then Candace Peacock.

He was satisfied with the final document. He'd kept his handwriting as neat as possible, it was free of smudges or blots, and, far more importantly, it was gratifying to think that in some small way there would be someone to care for the few things he had valued, in such a way that he might be remembered. He'd authored many sound papers about potioneering, most having been published by recognized authorities, and he'd like them to be respected. He had a fine library of books, some antiques, and – while not to everyone's taste – his curation actually had worth and merit. He also had, now, a small treasury of Charity's belongings, and if on his death, Servius threw every last one of his papers, books and qualifications on the fire, he at least, surely, would cherish his mother's things. He would keep them safe this way. The name Servius meant, after all, to preserve.

He then took up a fresh piece of parchment and wrote to his son. His heart felt a little closer to the surface as he did so, a faint, pleasurable ache, he didn't know why.

With Servius's note on the desk beside him, he wrote:

Dear Servius

Täne did very well. He reached me in ten hours, perhaps the castle sooner. He called me to let me know he had arrived, and perched on my arm, so he did his job perfectly. Ten hours from where you are is a good time for a beginner owl. I thought I bought harnesses for his legs, so next time use those because I don't think elastic bands are good for owls.

As he has traveled a long way, I have let him rest in the owlery before sending him back to you. The time I will release him will be seven-thirty pm. I would be interested to know if he returns to you under ten hours.

As for the hexing, you clearly have an aptitude for it, but I suggest you stop now, it is unfair on your grandparents. Remember, the Ministry will know.

Soon you will be on the Hogwarts Express. I will be here and waiting for you. It will be strange at first, that is normal, but I will be watching over you, as will your mother, making sure you are alright.

Snape spent a long time deciding how best to sign off. It wasn't easy. He poured a snifter of whisky and hoped that would help. He set the letter aside and started reading the report from the Board of Governors about OWLs. He answered a Floo from McGonagall and then spent half an hour with Slughorn who had come to consult him about the archive conversion. When he came back to the letter, he was no clearer. He didn't think he yet loved his son, but what he felt was decidedly more than an acquaintance. He didn't want to overwhelm Servius with proclamations that didn't seem genuine yet wanted him to know that he already inhabited a part of him that none other did. Words did not yet exist.

Finally, inadequately, he took up his quill and wrote:

I am thinking of you.

Dad.

He rolled up the parchment and sealed it before he changed his mind. Writing the word Dad had felt foreign, peculiar and…wonderful.

Many times he'd wanted to tell Lily that he loved her but had balked. He'd thought, surely, his actions would say it clearly enough…she must have known. His instincts had warned him, however, what her response would be if he'd said the words out loud. He'd rather not know, delude himself, than go out in the open and have it confirmed. As events had transpired, he'd realized he'd interpreted her feelings correctly and she had not cultivated anything beyond affection. He'd gone about getting her answer in a different way, driven her in to the arms of another. She would have anyway, he understood now. He'd forced the point, given her an out. The whole situation had spared her the embarrassing, awkward moment when she'd have had to explain to him that she was going with James to the Yule Ball or no, she wasn't going to be in Cokeworth this summer. In some ways, as heartbreaking as it had been for him, the way fate had dealt it had made things easier.

But that shyness had manifested itself again with Servius, a simple fear of rejection. Calling himself Dad had insisted on something that Servius couldn't argue with. Go ahead and call me Mr Snape, he'd thought. I'm still your Dad.

One day, Servius would address him as Dad. He would see to it.

He had one last letter to write, and again took up his quill. He replied to Lucius, accepting the invitation. He kept it brief, reasonably formal, stated the time he would arrive. Then he sat back and finished his whisky. With a twinge he realized he'd spent almost the entire day attending to his own affairs, and hearing quiet emanating from down the corridor, calculated that the builders had gone for the day. With thoughts of McGonagall, he took out again the scroll from the Ministry and turned his mind to the matter of OWLs.