The Malfoys
Two owls were sent south on the Tuesday evening.
On Wednesday morning, Snape met McGonagall in her office and advised her about his Will. She was seated at The Desk, portrait Dumbledore behind her dozing, her gramophone playing but at a subdued level so as not to disrupt her carefully constructed ambience of calm. Before her was a pyramid of parchment, and where she held her quill, the tips of her fingers were stained almost black with ink. When he'd entered, her glasses had slipped down to the very tip of her nose, and she pushed them back with a knuckle.
"A Will, Severus? I do hope this is because you've been reading books on responsible parenting, and not because you have some foolish idea in mind?"
"No, Ma'am, neither, I was…tactfully reminded that now Servius is present in my life that creating one would be timely."
"Well I agree. But if you want to ask about writing an effective Will, perhaps Dumbledore is your man."
"My Will is – rightly or wrongly – a good deal simpler. I do actually own everything I hope to leave to him. Ma'am, if you'd consent to be executor, the whole business – should it come to pass in your lifetime - would trouble you less than fifteen minutes."
"Of course, Severus," said McGonagall, frowning slightly at this and putting out her hand to receive the document. He handed it to her and she unrolled it, reading the entire contents in the space it took for one track to change to another on her gramophone.
"Professor Sinistra?" she asked abruptly, glancing at him.
"She has requested it. She and Charity were close friends."
McGonagall's eyebrows peaked. "Yes, that's true, I remember them together. I transfigured a few gowns for Charity; it was Aurora's idea. But still – does she have any experience or references on which you base your decision?"
"As many, if not more, than anyone else I can think of."
"Well she's certainly no worse than an escaped convict if we're thinking on Godparents. You do appreciate, Severus, that if anything should happen to you, the school would close around Servius. He would not be deserted."
He gave a slight, hesitant nod. "Thank you Ma'am. I am glad to know that."
"So where would you like me to sign?"
Once she had signed and applied her seal to his Will, he rolled it up again and then briefed her on his progress with Professor Binns (still none the wiser), the Board's OWL improvements (a means for students to aggregate credit by proving competent across a selection if the curriculum were divided into composite parts rather than as whole subjects) and the progress of the Slytherin Common Room.
"Hmm. So the archive conversion is underway?"
"I shall be checking on it presently."
"I'd like to see it once it's finished. Do let me know, Severus."
"Of course."
"Oh – and another thing – Horace is holding a retirement function at the Broomsticks on first September. I've offered to say a few words and I would like it if you would as well – you know, Slytherin related, Slug Club, his prowess at potions, that kind of thing."
"Certainly. It would be an honour."
She smiled at him, and she looked very tired indeed. "Thank you. How are your headaches?"
He paused and noticed that she shut her eyes for a moment, resting them. "Don't concern yourself about them, Ma'am. Have you perhaps seen Madam Pomfrey yourself?"
She looked startled. "I'm sorry?"
Dumbledore had roused having heard Snape's voice. He said, "You see Minerva? Let Poppy give you something for the insomnia."
McGonagall pressed her lips together and scowled from Dumbledore to Snape. "Mind your own business, the pair of you."
All across the castle and its grounds, teachers were in their offices and classrooms, their towers, workshops and glasshouses, preparing for the arrival of the students. The kitchen elves were unpacking and stocking vast quantities of food, the perishables in stone larders beneath the ground. House elves were in the dormitories, making beds and cleaning bathrooms. New books for the library were being catalogued, the new sand for the Quidditch pitch was being laid, Longbottom was composting and Hagrid was burying fresh gold for the Nifflers to find. Even the ghosts were busy undoing the damage Peeves was gleefully wreaking, inspired as he was by industry and effort.
Only Snape was distracted. He abandoned his recent delivery of potion ingredients and additives in a corner of his office in favour of once more seeking out Sinistra. He rationalised that this was less about his own feverish need to fix broken places in his head, and more about ensuring he would be fitter and more reliable for the classroom.
He discovered her in the Astronomy Room, lying on her back upon a table, wand raised towards the ceiling and firing short bursts of magic. She was muttering and cursing.
"Professor?" he enquired, and she jumped, which triggered a fresher bout of profanity.
"Severus! Look what you made me do! Now Saturn's rings are rotating the wrong way!" She sat up on the table and glared at him.
"My apologies. Allow me," said Snape, and Sinistra swung her legs off the table and stood aside while he muttered an incantation and cast a spell at the animated solar system displayed across the ceiling cavity.
"The rings aren't purple. We're not in nursery school."
"What colour are they?"
"Well it depends. But it's safest if you colour them a sort of dusky pink, and grey and light brown."
He frowned at her and she returned it with a defiant lift of her chin.
"So separate rings?"
"Yes. Six distinct ones, at uneven intervals please."
"This is a wand, Aurora, not a paintbrush." But he attempted the task and did an adequate job of it. The rings were now also orbiting counter-clockwise.
She let her gaze drop from the ceiling to Snape and a grudging smile came to her lips. "Well you're no Michelangelo, but its fit for purpose. I take it you have a Will for me?"
"And a way, I hope." He held out the scroll to her.
She unravelled it and scanned the clauses quickly. Then she lowered it to look at him. "I'll be honest – I didn't think you'd do that."
He cocked his head, puzzled. "Why not?"
"I didn't think you had a high enough opinion of me. Or is this all a ploy to get the bottle?"
Snape gathered his robe behind him and straightened. "My opinion of you is sufficiently high that I trust you with my son; as Charity evidently held you in high regard, she is the best human credential any person could possibly have with respects to the care of her child. I know of none other than her parents, whom you have pointed out, are Muggles. So the decision was one of common sense rather than personal. In answer to your second question – obtaining the bottle is a means to an end. That is, the second objective will, I hope, cancel out the need for the first. I would rather not end up dead or so incapacitated that I cannot care for Servius myself."
Sinistra listened to this wide-eyed and with a small smile. "My, Severus, you'll need to watch that silver tongue of yours. I'm so flattered that common sense was the chief factor in your decision to appoint me Godparent."
"As far as Servius's future welfare is concerned, I would think you'd agree that it should be perhaps the only factor in making a sound decision. Other than your own approach of using blackmail, of course. Perhaps you would rather I selected someone based on the random availability of seats on the Hogwarts Express?"
"I beg your pardon?" said Sinistra, completely confused.
"When you consider it, the nomination of Sirius Black by the Potters could be attributed to the fact that they encountered each other on the Hogwarts Express."
She laughed out loud. "I think there was a bit more than that going on. They were friends for years."
"Given the lack of any other obvious character strength or virtue, perhaps it rests easier with me that Black was selected – by James - on the basis of random opportunism. It reflects better on Lily that way." But Snape was smiling, enjoying the absurdist argument. "At any rate: you would be doing me an honour if you would be Godparent to Servius and see to his care if…if I should die."
"I thought you'd never ask." She was smiling broadly herself now, and Snape nodded once.
"Can you put this away somewhere easier to find than the Archive lockbox?" she suggested.
"My desk drawer. Obvious enough? And speaking of lockboxes…"
Without further ado, they went together from the Astronomy Tower across to the far east of the castle to the archive. When they entered, Snape had that familiar feeling of coming home, of this being a place he had once belonged. He wondered again, as he lit sconces and lamps, whether a trace of Charity somehow endured here.
Sinistra had waited until there was adequate light and until Snape had finished blasting a couple of startled, and unfortunate, mice, and then took a moment to absorb her surroundings. "Charity told me that archive project she was given took two years. She sometimes had an elf to help her and that was it. Can you imagine?"
"Two years?" repeated Snape, certain that this was something Charity would have told him herself, but she was still, yet, a mere silhouette.
"She liked it down here with you though," she grinned. "Your little bolt-hole together during the audit. Merlin knows what you got up to."
Snape frowned heavily. Conjecture was the extent of it, but it still felt personal and private. The fact that his own mind had jumped to the exact same speculation was neither here nor there.
Sinistra turned directly towards the cupboard doors at the western end of the room and stopped abruptly. "Oh. There's a box on the floor – whose…?"
Snape looked to where her gaze fell and saw the same box and remembered instantly that it was his own, the night he'd opened it, the raging frustration he'd felt. The box had fallen barely in his notice, and then, literally blinded, he'd left it unattended. He quickly went to it and crouched down to retrieve it, noting with relief the lid had sealed shut again. But as he lifted it, there was an absence of weight – nothing shifted about inside.
Hastily slipping his wand into his hand he murmured "Cistem aperio," and tapped the box lightly. The lid appeared and he raised it, and as he'd half feared, the box was empty.
"There were – there were…books in here -," Snape quickly glanced about him, hoping that somehow the diaries had fallen out and were simply misplaced. "Two books…"
"The box is yours? Did you come looking for the bottle?"
"Yes. This is my box. I dropped it – there were books…" He'd risen to his feet, scanning about the floor with urgency. "Can you see them?"
Sinistra started looking about her as well. "How did you know to look in the lockboxes?"
"I didn't. It was a hunch…I'd put these books in the boxes…"
"What kind of books?"
He was irritated having to answer her. "Diaries. Dragonhide diaries. If you see them just tell me -,"
The pair spent five minutes or more searching the entire floor space, table tops and other likely places, but there was no sign of the diaries. Sinistra helpfully said, "I don't think they're here, Severus."
She, having put into words his great anxiety, compelled him to repeat the scene of earlier and he swore vehemently, except at a slightly higher pitch, a vocal measure of the intensity of his annoyance, vexation, the sense of being continuously and unrelentingly thwarted. A few moments later he remembered he was not alone, and paused, slightly out of breath, and saw Sinistra standing still and staring at him in bemusement.
"Sorry," he uttered, but he felt outraged at the stress of it and turned his gaze once more to the box. "I just can't believe…perhaps Diaphne?"
"I don't know," said Sinistra, with a reproving lift of her brow. "I'll leave you to sort out that mystery, I have a ceiling to get back to. Shall I get you your bottle?"
"Please," he muttered.
Finding Sinistra's lockbox was relatively simple, it being stored in the same row as his own and only a couple of boxes along. Since he was putting his own away, he retrieved hers, and when he handed it to her she carried it over to the mahogany table, Snape standing by to watch. With her own wand, she tapped the box to reveal the lid, then her eyes lifted to meet with Snape. "Ready?"
He nodded briefly.
She raised the lid and smiled. "There it is."
Sinistra had gone to some trouble. The bottle was lightly covered in a gauze and embedded in a cushion of silk cloth. She delicately set the gauze aside before lifting the bottle out of its little padded mausoleum and carefully handed it to Snape.
The clay bottle was still perfectly sealed, the wax as preserved as the day it had been applied twelve years earlier, and the note of instructions was still attached with string. He lifted it and read:
These memories have been secured and will remain so for an indeterminate amount of time. The container must not be opened by any person until such time as peace reigns between wizards and Muggles, or until Severus Snape, or Charity Burbage, are deceased. Place in the lockbox of Severus Snape in the Hogwarts Archive. The box is uniquely calibrated to the wand of Severus Snape and Cistem Aperio charm.
Aut viam inveniam aut faciam
His thinking then had clearly been in the interests of nullifying any association between himself and Charity during wartime. This, he understood, was to protect her, unless by virtue of death, the matter was rendered moot. The reference to Muggles he couldn't explain. I shall either find a way or make one: a note for himself. It was something he said to himself often, a phrase he'd learnt as a child, to strengthen his resolve. To have written it at the time, to his future self or someone else, signalled duress, an extreme point, a path becoming increasingly difficult. It hinted that he hadn't taken the course of action lightly or willingly.
Several moments had passed in silence while Snape meditated on the bottle and instructions, and Sinistra's question, though softly spoken, was nevertheless jarring. "How do you view them? In a Pensieve?"
"I…?" Snape shook his head almost imperceptibly. "I presume…is there any other way?"
"I've never used a Pensieve," she replied. "Do you just sort of pour the whole lot in at once? Do you sort of stick your head in and watch the memories like they're fish in a bowl? How does it work?"
"I shall need the Hogwarts Pensieve."
"Just remember, Severus – these aren't memories extracted the normal way. If you lose them somehow, they're gone forever. I would talk to the Wicce if I were you. Do you know how to reach her?"
Snape tore his eyes away from the bottle to look at her. Her advice was sound. "Through Diaphne. I think you're right."
From the archive he took the bottle in both hands and carried it directly to his quarters and placed it in the storage trunk left behind from Slughorn that now held his Charity treasures. He was assiduous in separating the bottle from anything that might inadvertently break it. He felt strangely energised with relief, with hope and with, he realised, anticipation.
From there he hurried to the Hospital Wing, and found Diaphne occupied with Madam Pomfrey in some sort of tutorial. Pomfrey acknowledged him with a sharp look, not breaking off from her teachings, but Snape could not make himself leave. He instead paced up and down at the far end of the ward, his wand tapping against his thigh when he wasn't manoeuvring it about in his fingers absent-mindedly.
Presently he heard an irritated "Yes?" from Pomfrey, and Snape requested an audience with Diaphne.
She rose and briskly crossed the floor to him, looking cross. "What is it, Professor? I'm in a lesson."
"I have the witch's bottle, the memories," he informed her. Her eyes widened at this, the anger completely dissolving away. "Professor Sinistra had them. I need to talk to the Wicce. I need to know how to restore the memories. Can you arrange a meeting with her?"
Diaphne nodded her head, a little distracted. "Yes, yes – I'll send her a Patronus when I'm free. Don't do anything to the bottle until you've consulted her. Meet me at dinner and I'll tell you what I find out."
"Good. Good, thank you." He held her attention, and continued in a low voice: "I was down in the archive to get the bottle from Professor Sinistra's lockbox. My own – it was there, where I'd dropped it that time you came to get me. There had been books in there – they've gone missing. Did you pick up some books when you were down there?"
She gave a small shake of her head and frowned. "No…no, the only thing I did down there was attend to you. I don't even know what the lockbox is."
Frustration flared again, making him glance up above her head and glare about him for a moment while he wrestled with it.
"What kind of books?" she asked, sensitive to his moods. "Perhaps someone took them to the library?"
"No," he muttered, "not that kind of book. It is a matter I'll…leave it be."
She paused, glanced back at Pomfrey and said, "In that case I'd better return to my lesson. I'll speak to you at dinner."
He nodded curtly, then once at Pomfrey before turning on his heel and departing.
As he was descending the main staircase intending for the dungeon, Slughorn emerged from his namesake stairs and, seeing Snape, raised his arm, partly in greeting and partly to detain him.
"There you are!" he declared. "Join me, if you might. There has been progress made on the Common Room conversion. Filius and Agatha are there in the archive now making some final adjustments."
"I see. Lead the way."
Moments later, Slughorn was showing Snape through the oak door he'd exited barely an hour earlier.
The extent of the conversion was astonishing. Using a combination of Flitwick's architectural sorcery and Froggonmore's transfiguration talents, the entire archive had been reconfigured to resemble as close as practically possible the original Slytherin Common Room. It lacked only the lake-view windows. Walls, floor and structural elements such as the fireplace, columns, archways and lintels had been replicated, and decorative elements such as rugs, sofas, chairs and other furniture had also been recreated. Here and there were serpent ornamentations and the room was lit with gas lamps and candelabras.
As Snape stood there, gazing about and vainly trying to appear phlegmatic, Froggonmore conjured a bookcase and then levitated it to stand beside the door which, in the original, would lead to the boys' dormitory. "The books are merely decorative, I fear," she said. "The whole room is an illusion."
"Temporary," added Flitwick, and with a wave of his wand and charms being incanted, he cast a spell towards the east end of the room and Snape watched as great blocks of stone that formed the wall began to move and revolve and recompose until an arched doorway materialised. Froggonmore waited until the stone was still, then transfigured some archived books into a door, which fitted itself neatly into the space Flitwick had created.
Slughorn said, "We've made a lot of constructive use of the things that were down here; Agatha's turned them into other things. It will all be restored once the dungeon is safe again."
The cupboard full of lockboxes had, predictably, vanished, and wherever Snape's diaries were, they could not be found in the archive any longer. With a great wave of relief, he thought about his Witch's Bottle safe in his quarters.
"You've done remarkable work," Snape said truthfully, thinking it had been an unexpected opportunity to witness Froggonmore's talents for himself. To go with her height, she had an unusually long, thin wand that had been carved to look like entwined rope. He wasn't sure what to make of her.
"The dorms will be on the same level," said Flitwick. "In Ravenclaw and Gryffindor the children go upstairs to bed, but even I have to acknowledge some restraints: gravity for instance. The rooms on other side of the archive have been appropriated for sleeping quarters, and they'll be a bit snug, but as I said, it's all temporary."
"This will be more than adequate," Snape allowed. "The Headmistress will be delighted. Horace, I shall leave it with you to give her a tour when you're ready."
"Thank you, Severus. I'll report in when it's completed."
At the door on his way out, Snape looked back once more. While the Slytherin Common Room had always held positive associations for him, he would be reassured when the archive was reinstated. He would miss the curious atmosphere, the serenity he found here, the inexplicable contentment.
Then he turned and left.
When the various teachers and staff who were dining at Hogwarts that evening began to move off, Snape caught Diaphne's eye where she was seated at the diagonal opposite end of the table. He got up from his place and went to her side, pointedly ignoring Longbottom seated crosswise from her. She had risen also, and said, "Perhaps a walk, Professor?"
Snape could feel Longbottom's eyes on him as he stepped aside and let Diaphne lead the way out of the Great Hall and into the Entrance Hall. It was barely dusk, and she said "A stroll outside? It's not too cold yet."
"Certainly. A pleasant evening."
Together they wandered across the uneven paving of the courtyard to its far end. The late summer eve dazzled off the ripples from the lake below and, unseen by them, a million translucent wings of mayflies that were hatching from the surface, taking to the air, forming columns of silent, shimmery etherealness.
"Professor, I am so glad you found the Witch's Bottle," said Diaphne. "Professor Sinistra somehow obtained it from you?"
"Before I was even aware of its existence. She followed the instructions I had prepared before the ritual. They've been stored safely in the archive for these past twelve years, untouched, it would seem, even by the war."
"My aunt said the memories should be still fresh and useable. I sent her a Patronus this afternoon and she responded almost immediately. She said we are to see her as soon as she can, that she will obtain a special Pensieve that is used for the restoration of memories permanently. She said to allow for several hours."
Snape nodded and allowed his eyes to linger on her as she spoke. She noticed this and glanced away, then back again. "Perhaps Friday evening? Would that suit you?"
"Yes – no. No, I have, unbelievably I have a prior engagement." As desperately as he wanted to, he couldn't decline the dinner at Malfoy Manor this late. "It will need to be Saturday."
"Oh, ah - it will need to be during the day," said Diaphne. "I have…an engagement also…on Saturday evening."
She looked down, suddenly preoccupied by the weeds growing between the pavers.
"Oh. In that case, we should make arrangements for the daytime. Do you need to be back for your…engagement…at any particular hour?"
"I would prefer to be back by five."
Snape shifted his weight from one foot to the other and said coolly: "Well then perhaps you can let the Wicce know we will join her at midday."
"Yes."
Diaphne then turned her gaze to the lake and Snape perused her features. "Once term starts," he stated, "You'll be considered a student for all intents and purposes."
She looked up at him, confused. "Why are you telling me that?"
"There is a strict policy around student, teacher relations."
"But I will still be a mediwitch, a nurse for Madam Pomfrey – I'm an employee first and foremost."
"Will it be an issue?"
A frown appeared. "What are you asking me, Professor?"
"Is your appointment on Saturday…who is it with?" He hadn't intended it, but an edge had crept into his voice and she picked up on it.
"Why is it any concern of yours? You have told me that we are to conduct ourselves as professionals."
"I am Deputy. I am to ensure compliance with school rules and regulations. Is it Neville Longbottom?"
"Professor, the teacher student relations policy didn't seem to concern you a couple of weeks ago!"
Snape's jaw ticked and heat ebbed through him at the recollection of being in her bedroom. "You weren't enrolled then. So it is. Professor Longbottom – taking you to dinner is he?"
Scarlet suffused her cheeks. "I think this conversation is over, Professor."
"And Slughorn's retirement function…is he taking you to that?"
Her eyes flashed. She didn't reply but she didn't deny it either. Snape's heart thumped hard.
"I will speak to him," he said, perfunctory, and turned to leave. "He's out of line."
"No - ," said Diaphne impulsively, and reached out to hold his arm. "Please, Professor. He has been very kind to me. I don't want him to get in trouble."
"Well I am assuming nothing has yet happened? There is no breach?"
"No, no nothing. Saturday was to be…"
"In that case, a quite caution should be enough." Once more Snape prepared to leave and again, Diaphne held his arm.
"Let me talk to him," she said. "Please let me explain it to him. I am a grown woman."
Snape had rather relished the idea of puncturing Neville Longbottom's little balloon of amorous arrogance but he relented.
"Very well. As you wish. You must invite him to see me personally if he objects."
And Snape had every expectation that Longbottom would.
Friday had been cloudy, and as the last days of summer drew to a close, the sun stood high and seemed to pulse an exhausted heat as if emptying itself. The hills surrounding Hogwarts now had a burnished appearance, the tips of the grass crisped, the bracken dried and withered. As Snape descended the path from the castle to the gates that evening, the moon hanging impotently in an indigo sky, he felt rather than saw the movement of creatures and beings in the Forbidden Forest, venturing out of their cool enclave to drink at the lake, or crop the greener grass on the verge.
He Disapparated to Malfoy Manor in something of a mood. The visit with the Malfoys had played on his mind all day and he rather regretted having accepted the invitation. As he had unpacked his delivery of potion ingredients and stored them away, the normal pleasure he derived from this task was sullied by thoughts and presumptions about what the occasion could possibly signify.
His point of Apparition was outside the gates of the Manor and, expecting him, they opened as he approached. It was still a grand pile: whatever condition the Malfoy's themselves had been in at the end of the war, their abode projected the pride, wealth and status the name was known for. The lawns, hedges, fountains – beautifully maintained. Crunching his way up the gravel drive, Snape couldn't help a flicker of envy, the modest accumulations in his own Will still smarting a little, and he wondered at the motivations of Malfoy being so prepared to risk it all in his associations with Voldemort and the Death Eaters. His belief must have been so powerful that he had imagined victory would bring him more spoils, yet Snape's assessment was that under a reign of Voldemort, the Malfoys were far more likely to lose it all. A totalitarian regime was rarely shared.
Something had announced his arrival. The double front doors were opened and, backlit by the bright interior, stood Narcissa. "Severus," she said with a wide smile. She was wearing a form-fitting, floor-length white gown, a complex Celtic-design necklace, and her hair was pinned up in an elegant knot. She reached out her arms and coolly embraced him with a continental kiss to each cheek, then took his cloak. "It is wonderful to see you, so wonderful that you are alive and well. Come in, come in – Lucius is just on his way down. I know Draco would have wanted to be here but he's away with..with Astoria. You know you missed their wedding?"
"Draco is married?!" retorted Snape, stunned. It perhaps reflected on Snape's latent paternal instincts towards Draco that that this news had surprised him in ways it hadn't with Potter. In his head, the blond-haired boy was forever fourteen, even when he'd been older, shoved into maturity, Snape had difficulty moving that waypoint in his head. Over the many years of association with the Malfoys, he'd watched Draco grow from a babe in arms, been there closely during his adolescence, and then – crashingly, behind his back – he'd become a married adult.
"About to bring their first into the world," continued Narcissa. "Astoria is in her last month. She's not been very well and so she and Draco are staying with her parents for a few weeks during her confinement."
Snape dumbly processed this staggering information as he followed Narcissa through into the foyer which had been tiled with white marble, as was the staircase, and all the walls had been painted white. An enormous, bright chandelier that must have held two-hundred candles was suspended from the ceiling. Snape allowed his eyes to wander, trying to match in his head what he was now seeing and his memories of the Manor during his youth and the war. He may as well have entered a completely different building. While the fundamental layout was the same, the place had been utterly redecorated.
"Severus!" came an exclamation from the upper landing, and looking up he saw Lucius. Clean shaven, his long platinum hair pulled back, Lucius was dressed all in white as well, including shoes. He hastened down the stairs, looking, Snape observed, full of vigour, and when he reached the floor he also pulled Snape into a brief, back-slapping hug.
"Look at you!" said Lucius, standing back to scan him up and down. "You are the same. What's this – some grey? That is the trouble with black, Severus, it shows the grey. Ah, I can't believe it. I can't believe you survived." A wide grin revealed perfectly white teeth against the tanned skin.
"Lucius – you seem…extraordinarily well." Snape was stunned, bewildered. He hadn't been sure to expect, but this was not amongst the scenarios he'd imagined. Was Lucius wearing some kind of cheesecloth smock? Did becoming a grandparent do this?
"I am completely vegetarian now," Lucius stated, and patted his stomach that was, for a man of his age, remarkably flat.
Narcissa glided over – she'd always had incredible grace. She had put his cloak away somewhere and now brought three glasses of champagne in crystal glasses. "Before anything else, Severus," she said, "A toast to your incredible endurance, your health and your longevity. We're delighted you could join us."
"Thank you for having me," said Snape demurely and raised his glass along with theirs, rapidly re-setting antecedents in his head. "And to your health too. And your amazing news - congratulations."
Lucius laughed aloud. "Ah, the baby, yes," and ushered him through to the sumptuous sitting room, in the opposite direction of the drawing room. Snape was relieved. He hadn't been sure what he would have done if there'd been an expectation of sitting at the dining table.
The lounge was also completely white. From the shag-pile carpet to the heavy brocade drapes, to the domed ceiling, everything was in shades and layers of white, ivory and silver or glass. The only colour in the room was the fire that had been lit in the 6-foot marble fireplace. Snape worried about tracking anything in on his boots and discreetly checked his footsteps on the dense carpet.
"Make yourself comfortable Severus," said Narcissa, indicating one of the wide, white upholstered armchairs. Then she took his glass and disappeared again while Lucius took a seat in the armchair opposite.
"Was it a surprise to get my letter?" Lucius asked, still smiling. "Did you think I would have cut ties with you after learning what you did?"
"Very much so. I admit, I wasn't sure where my stocks were with you after…after my duties in the war were publicly revealed. I didn't presume to think that you had denounced your own loyalties."
Lucius laughed again. "Thought we'd cut you loose? I admit, during the campaign it crossed my mind several times whether you were…what you said you were. They knew too much. You knew too much. Bellatrix suspected you outright. I admit, I vacillated. I thought it would be impossible for the Lord not to know if there were an agent in his midst. Merlin, how did you manage it Severus?"
"It took a great toll."
"But…you did things…there must have been some part of you that was…going along with it?"
Snape frowned a little at the dubious truth of the question. "I couldn't afford to have a true north. I had to navigate using a constellation of way-points. Some sacrifices were necessary. Some compromises had to be accepted. Almost every decision had ramifications for one side or another."
Malfoy nodded slowly, and then smiled at his wife as Narcissa had re-entered and handed out topped up champagne glasses before seating herself on the very end of a six-seater sofa. She listened quietly.
"I'm sorry to launch into the subject so crudely, I apologise Severus, that's no way to treat a guest," said Lucius, relaxing into his seat. "And yet…I hope you understand…to pretend otherwise would have been false pretence. You understand? I couldn't very well sit opposite you – the first Death Eater to cross the threshold in almost a decade – and make chit chat about the weather."
Snape nodded stiffly and took quite a long drink of the champagne. He was perched on the edge of the chair and felt unaccountably nervous – the Lucius of old was in there somewhere, but right now, he was talking to a virtual stranger.
"The last time I saw you," continued Lucius, "was in the middle of the battle. The Dark Lord wanted you, I saw you striding off towards – I don't know I presume the Shrieking Shack – next thing I hear is that you're dead. The whole time - wasn't it Cissy? - so-and-so's down, Dolohov's dead, Avery's dead. Then Bellatrix. We couldn't find Draco until…until Cissy found out. But -," he had turned inward, and then he paused and lifted his eyes to Snape, frowning. "But then, somehow you survived…? How? The others said there was blood all over the Shack. Mulciber said the Dark Lord had fed you to Nagini – the rumours afterwards, so many rumours. Indulge us with the truth, Severus, or we shall have to slip some veritaserum into your champagne!" He laughed again, and Snape felt Narcissa's eyes boring into him. When he glanced at her, she wasn't smiling.
"Uh -," said Snape, wondering if he was meant to lean up against the fireplace and tell the story like a raconteur while swirling a brandy. "I was rescued - ,"
"By who?"
"That's confidential."
"A Death Eater?"
"No."
"Not Harry Potter?"
"No. No, not Potter."
"Oh thank Merlin, that was one of the rumours. After the war, he insisted so hard that you had died some people started to wonder. It was that either he'd killed you himself believing you to be a traitor – or had rescued you, which was the version I was inclined to believe. What I thought was that you struck a bargain with the Lord and faked your death, then did a runner. So which was it?"
"None of the above. The Dark Lord intended to kill me using Nagini, but I was rescued by persons I can't name."
Narcissa looked horrified. "Did he try to feed you to that snake?"
Charity flashed into Snape's mind, the way Nagini had curled around the torso.
"No..no..the venom..."
"But if he wanted to murder you, why not just the Killing Curse?" asked Lucius.
"I don't know," said Snape, all but sighing.
"Was it about that fucking wand?" asked Lucius suddenly, his face hard like carved alabaster. Narcissa jumped a little, and then shut her eyes, pained.
Snape's eyes widened a fraction. He had seen Lucius under some intense, dire situations but honestly couldn't recall the man ever using profanity.
"He was obsessed," spat Lucius, and glared at the glass-topped white-stone coffee table. "I'm not sure I buy that Deathly Hallows nonsense even now."
Narcissa nodded at this and murmured a footnote: "Dray-Dray never liked those stories as a child."
"About seventy-thousand theories were circulating about those fucking wands, including Draco's, and in the end I put down the paper – didn't I darling? – and said: I don't want another word about it in this house! We gave enough! Get Draco a new wand, get us all new wands and we will start afresh." He paused reflectively. "It wasn't a very pleasant experience in Ollivanders, was it Cissy?"
Narcissa had turned to Lucius and placed a soothing hand on the side of his face. She looked into his eyes. "My darling, have you had…?"
"Yes. Yes," he hissed irritably to her. "The whole lot at two o'clock. I'm fine."
Snape frowned, more to himself, and murmured, "I don't dwell on it too much…"
"Quite a few of the old regiment showed up here years after the battle," said Lucius, and Narcissa nodded. "The injured, the ones on the run. They knew you were after them. They didn't know that I'd talked like a drugged parrot, or that Cissy lied to the Lord." Then he laughed again, and this time Snape saw that the humour didn't quite reach his eyes. "The names they called you brought a blush to my cheeks, I'll be honest. We gave them Polyjuice potion and money and sent them on their way. If they stayed on the grounds I'd pretend not to know about it. But I didn't want them in the house anymore."
"We were mourning," added Narcissa. "We sustained losses. And Delphini was here, very young."
Snape listened and nodded but did not speak. Much of this was news to him and he was beginning to find the situation uncomfortable. Old instincts were rising up, old covers and personas seemed to come lurking out from shut-away places, masks he had needed to wear. He didn't want to know about Delphini, the very prospect of her made him want to gag.
Lucius was quiet and studied him a moment and appeared to sense Snape's discomfort for he said with disconcerting levity, "There is plenty of time to ponder over those old ghosts. The important thing is that we are all here now and that much water has gone beneath that bridge of continuance. Severus, I want you to feel comfortable here. I think we've known each other long enough, and we've all made choices, and we all have crosses to bear. But we've heralded a new era, here, and I for one am doing my best to forgive and forget, as per the teachings of Osen."
Snape was reeling. "Er…quite…" he scanned his mind for the name Osen and drew a blank.
"Champagne!" said Narcissa, with her wide smile, and once more stood to collect their glasses. Snape obediently gave her his, and then watched in shock as she took all three and smashed the lot into the firebox. The fire itself flared and spat. Even Lucius seemed surprised. "It's symbolic," she explained to the wordless men. "New glasses, new beginnings."
Lucius glanced at Snape then barked out his laugh. "Lovely, Cissy, I approve. In fact, bring out our best – the diamond ones, you know the ones."
Narcissa glided away and Lucius turned back to Snape, grinning. "I have been blessed with Cissy." He paused. "Draco…"
"How is he?" asked Snape.
The cool eyes went midfield again. "Oh, well enough. Taller than me! I'm sure he'll make a good father."
Snape wanted to know about Draco's wellbeing. The boy had seen things unfit for a child, carried a terrible burden, endured much from Lucius… but he didn't know how to ask. He remembered Draco's face clearly up at the Astronomy Tower, an amalgam of fear, bravado and triumph – until Snape had appeared. And then the eyes turned dark, and resentment burned there. He hadn't had time to deal with Draco's spite – he had the Headmaster's life to end, and then had to get the boy, Greyback and the others out of the castle as fast as possible: to save and be saved, to protect and defend. Draco had yet enough youth and innocence that the strain of unfolding events showed on his features, though he walked with the purpose of a man who knows he has to leave. Snape had followed behind, down the stairs and through the corridors, as cold and hard as the stone around him. A terrible passage.
"Fatherhood will be a stabilising influence on him I imagine.."
"Draco? I suppose you mean compared to Potter?"
"Uh…no…" Snape wasn't sure where that comment had come from. Malfoy had perhaps concluded that since Snape had settled his loyalties with Dumbledore, this meant, by extension, to Potter, in spite of the years Snape had dedicated to Draco's welfare.
"It will be good for him to be…occupied."
"Narcissa said he married – was it Astoria? One of the Greengrass sisters?"
"Yes. Astoria Greengrass." Lucius's expression was fixed, and the flinty blue eyes had gone blank.
Snape cleared his throat, and into the awkward silence Narcissa reappeared, this time bearing a silver tray, atop which was borne three filled champagne glasses with precision cut stems. She handed the tray first to Snape, who took a glass, then Lucius and then setting the tray down she resumed her place on the sofa, holding aloft her flute. "I really shouldn't," said Lucius with a hollow laugh. "Not good for the diet. But thank you my darling. Take a look, Severus – the stems are cut diamond. I never served these to the Dark Lord – just as well, he probably would have turned them into horcruxes, ha ha!"
It was ghastly. Every time Lucius made a slight about Voldemort, Snape impulsively flinched.
"A toast!" declared Narcissa. "New beginnings!" They each raised their glasses then Snape watched as Narcissa downed hers in one draught. He hastily took a drink of his own before they noticed.
As he swallowed an acidic, fizzy gulp he waved his hand around the room and strangled out: "You've really…changed the place. It's so…clean."
"Ah. I think you mean white. It's very white," said Narcissa following Snape's eyes. She looked anything but impressed with it.
"Pure," remarked Lucius. "It's calming."
There were a scattering of family photos on the mantelpiece, but the artwork the manor had been famous for seemed to have disappeared. "Where are all the portraits?"
"Toxic Black crap," said Lucius bitterly, and Narcissa looked away and scowled – which for her comprised the merest of creases between her brows. "We've put them away and closed off several wings. The place is so large with just the two of us. Oh, and the elves of course. Mustn't forget them. Free and all that."
"Mmm," said Snape around a mouthful of champagne. "I've had dealings with the elves at Hogwarts."
Naming the school seemed to bring Lucius out of a wallow. He smiled widely again and said, "Hogwarts! How is the old place? You know, I refuse to donate anything while that arse Byron is Chair, but as soon as he's gone – in fact, do you think I should run again?"
Out of respect to McGonagall, Snape needed to deflect this as best he could. "Uh, well I've been away, Lucius, but from what I've heard, the Ministry is very much changed - ,"
"That's the understatement of the century, isn't it Cissy!" retorted Lucius, almost gaily. "I've been blacklisted of course, and Shacklebolt just does whatever Potter tells him."
"Or the Granger girl," added Narcissa. "Draco would describe to us what she was like when they were at school. I know it's safe to say it to you, Severus, but I would go so far as to say she was a bit of a bully."
Snape's eyebrows shot up. This was new, and ironic, coming from a Malfoy. "Well she struck Draco, of course. We didn't know about it at the time or I would have come to the school, mark my words. Assault is still assault, doesn't matter if it's a girl or a boy doing the hitting. And she was always insisting on doing things her way, and she would badger until she got it. She still does. You can't say it out loud these days of course, her being a mud - her being Muggle-born, and the whole Ministry has just bent over backwards for them." She looked at her empty glass forlornly.
"She, uh, she certainly knew her own mind," replied Snape diplomatically.
"I heard," said Lucius, more to Narcissa, "that when the Longbottom boy left the Aura office, there were over four-hundred applications. Can you believe it! There must have been some Muggles among them!"
"Four hundred? That can't be right…" murmured Narcissa.
"It's just zealots wanting to work with Potter," said Lucius, with a downturned mouth. "I don't understand the appeal myself. I always thought he was a bit wet. An odd combination, isn't it? Spineless combined with the ego of the century."
Snape thought back to the Potter he'd had lunch with. He didn't think either word described the man he'd met. "McGonagall told me that there was a fiendfyre during the battle -,"
"Well, they do say that the meek will inherit, don't they," continued Lucius determinedly, Draco's rescue either ignored or embargoed. "Draco told us how you would try to keep Potter's rampant vanity under control. I'll never forget how he challenged me outside Dumbledore's office about the blasted elf."
Narcissa rolled her eyes extravagantly. "Oh don't go there again, darling."
"Dobby was a pest the minute he set foot in this house!" Lucius snarled, and then quickly glanced towards the doors on the alert, Snape presumed, for their current house elves. "One of the worst elves that ever worked here, and I can tell you, we've been through a few. Incompetent! Every day I had to think of some kind of punishment – thank Merlin he started doing them to himself."
"Darling," said Narcissa consolingly, "whatever your opinion, he's dead now -,"
"And don't we all know it! Made a hero! A symbol! His greatest talent was making a bloody nuisance of himself. He attacked me! Down the stairs!" He set his jaw, then added under his breath contemptuously: "The current lot all have attitudes a mile-wide because of him."
"You never mentioned that he saved Potter," said Snape. "When I was Headmaster."
"Shameful episode," murmured Lucius shaking his head and Narcissa looked equally downcast. "I could barely walk for a week, could I Cissy, after the Lord shared his displeasure. If Bella hadn't got him, I think I would have fought the Lord himself to get my hands around his scrawny elf throat." He drained his glass. "Still, probably all for the best. Got Ollivander and the Lovegood girl out of the cellar – I loathed having the prisoners down there."
"And that awful Pettigrew," said Narcissa. "There was something wrong with him."
Snape was beginning to form the impression that the Malfoys didn't much like anyone. He was possibly one of the few they could count on one hand. Indeed, the conversation seemed to have carried on perfectly well without him, and he had the strong sensation that this pair had had variations on this theme many times before.
A bell tinkled and Narcissa sat upright. "Ah. Dinner's ready. We'll just eat in the round dining room if that's alright Severus? The Drawing Room takes hours to warm."
In contrast to the number of suppers Snape had eaten off an aluminium tray in his lap, a choice of dining rooms was certainly no object. They proceeded through another door off the lounge, along a short white corridor, and into a room that must have been a converted turret for it was circular, and in the middle was a round dining table, which was glass-topped and reinforced with silver. The chairs were draped with white covers, and the walls above the wood panelling were painted a cream colour. The white drapes were tied back to reveal the lattice windows behind which overlooked the expanse of gravel drive, lawns and topiary gardens. The room was still lit with a candle chandelier, but smaller, and gave a more intimate lighting.
On a French whitewashed sideboard was a large, minimalist white vase which supported an enormous bouquet of lilies, the scent of which was almost overpowering in the room. Surely a coincidence?
Lucius held out a chair for Narcissa, and once she was seated, Snape also sat but Lucius said, "Forgive me a moment, I just want to visit the cellar." Then he laughed again and said, "For wine! Not prisoners, ha ha. Just for wine…" then he wandered away.
The minute they were alone, Narcissa reached across the table for Snape's hand, which he offered uncomfortably, but she seemed quite desperate all of a sudden. "Severus, please be…be patient with him. He's…he hasn't been himself for some years. After the war there was more time in Azkaban – not long, only seven weeks while the trials were underway but – I think that was it for him. He came out…defeated in so many ways. They interrogated Draco, stripped him, held him in a cell in isolation for days, I was beside myself. We almost didn't make it." Tears stood in her eyes, and she glanced at the door, fidgeting with her other hand.
"Please, Narcissa – whatever it is, have I not helped you in the past? I can do so again."
"I wanted you to come tonight because Lucius needs…a friend, someone he can relate to. The others are dead or locked up, they don't trust each other now. And he -," her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard and Snape panicked a little, thinking Lucius would walk in and find them holding hands and she crying…
But Narcissa pulled herself together and dabbed her eyes with her napkin. "He is trying so hard to change. We went…we went to France for a year, and then he heard about a man, a wizard in Greece, one of the islands…there were some ruins on the island that they were restoring, just volunteers, Lucius wanted to go…you know how he loves antiques, collectibles…."
Narcissa leaned back just as the door opened and Lucius stepped through, carrying no less than three bottles of wine, "Here we are," he said, and stopped short, staring. Snape's eyes widened, about to prepare for the worst, when Lucius said, "Still no food? Outrageous! Severus, my sincere apologies – I'll be back in less than a minute!" He placed the wine on the sideboard then left again.
Narcissa stood and went to a drawer on the sideboard from which she took out a corkscrew and commenced spiralling it into the nearest bottle's cork. Snape noticed the fine collection of dust on one side of the bottle – clearly Lucius had selected something decently aged. Narcissa expertly withdrew the cork and continued her story as she did so.
"We went to this island, in the Cyclades group, the name of it was Eriopis and it was tiny, private, you could walk the perimeter in a day almost. Beautiful beaches, deserted. It was apparently a burial place of some ancient Greek wizard. There was this little settlement on the island of volunteers working on this ruin, led by the man. His name was Osen Etgisi. I don't know if that's his real name. Severus, I didn't trust him."
She poured him a glass of Hermitage syrah, then an enormous one for herself. At that moment, Lucius reappeared and behind him an elf carrying a tray of plates, behind him another elf with a massive porcelain tureen, and a third carrying a hammered silver bowl full of steaming mixed vegetables. The food was swiftly placed on the table by the elves as Lucius re-seated and began unfolding his linen napkin. "That looks delicious," said Lucius. "Do you mind if it's vegetarian, Severus? I occasionally eat some white fish, but otherwise we haven't had meat in…how long now, Cissy?"
The elves melted away as Narcissa dismissed them, preferring to serve herself. "Well since we went to Eriopsis, darling. I was just telling Severus about it."
"Well then that must be six or seven years, Papus save us, it doesn't seem that long. I allow a bit of meat on the menu when Draco comes home because he does insist on it."
Snape was in fact very hungry and while he could have happily sunk his teeth into a rare steak, the food before him was gratefully received. Even the mound of vegetables, which jarred with the lovely syrah, but he wasn't going to be fussy.
There was a lapse in conversation as the three concentrated on eating for a minute or two, then Snape said to Lucius, "Narcissa was telling me about your time in Greece."
"Eriopsis, yes," Lucius enthused. "What an amazing experience. I am intending to return next year. Perhaps you could join me Severus? Draco refuses to come and I don't think I could convince Cissy again. It will change your life, it really will."
"They must be close to finishing the restoration now, darling?" asked Narcissa, with a slightly strained pitch to her voice.
"Osen thinks one or two more years. They're so short of funds. Merlin knows what happens to the money I send – I'm sure those corrupt officials at the border are taking it. Osen sent me a Patronus, did I tell you Cissy?"
"No dear."
"Indeed; he said they had a volunteer who deserted during the night taking the money box with him. They just don't appreciate what Osen's trying to do."
Narcissa lifted her eyes to Snape's and held them while Lucius continued earnestly.
"Such terrible luck. Apparently before that, the owl showed up but the package with the money in it was gone."
"I spent a great deal of time in Europe after the war. I'm not sure I came across the name of Osen Etgisi," murmured Snape, being careful to omit his scepticism. "What kind of wizard is he?"
"He doesn't like to mix with traditional wizarding communities," said Lucius matter-of-factly. "He's self-styled. Pureblood. He describes himself as a classicist which, I think you'll agree, is a lovely, evocative term. I think you'd like him, Severus."
"Why do you think that?"
"A freethinker. Revisionist." Then Lucius laughed his odd laugh and said, "But you'd have to lose that old clobber. Only white on Eriopsis. Cleansing, d'you see? Like the stone in Greece. And no meat is allowed on the island. And you have to give Osen your wand while you're there: a wand should not be a weapon."
Narcissa's eyes had widened meaningfully and Snape gave her a tiny nod. "Well I'm always open to ideas, Lucius, but I'm afraid my ability to travel is about to be curtailed."
Lucius was spearing food onto his fork and didn't look up. "Back at work you mean?"
"Yes…and…other developments."
Narcissa gasped and stared at him. "You've met someone?! Oh no, you're not married?!"
Lucius also looked shocked and sat back in his chair.
"No, not married," said Snape, and Lucius declared:
"Well I should think not! Not without inviting us to the wedding!"
Snape cleared his throat. "The fact of the matter is: I have a son."
Abrupt silence. Narcissa and Lucius stared at him, then looked at each other, then stared at him again. Finally Narcissa said, "A son? A child? A real one?"
"Cissy!"
"His name is Servius. He starts Hogwarts in a week."
"He's eleven?!"
"I was unaware of him until I came back from…until I came back."
Lucius's mouth was agape, but then he stood up abruptly and leaned across the table with his hand extended. "Congratulations! Smashing!" He pumped Snape's arm. "I'm delighted for you. Having Draco gave everything purpose -,"
"Really?" said Narcissa smartly, turning to him. "You seemed to forget that when you were on Eriopsis."
"He's a grown man now, Cissy, with his own life. Severus's journey is just beginning. Tell us! Tell us all about him."
And so for the next half hour Snape described Servius to them: the first meeting him, the trip to Diagon Alley, his wand and owl and the sneezing hex. The part he refused to elaborate on, despite hints and prompts and pleading, was Charity. If any reference were necessary, he simply called her Servius's mother, and that she had died. Narcissa's eyes narrowed at any mention of the female responsible for bringing Servius into the world, burning with that curiosity that women have for gossip, particularly when a long-standing bachelor has been conquered. It seemed to incense her only further that Snape was obtuse to the point of protective about her, for she deduced from this that Servius was not necessarily accidental - her first and immediate presumption. Snape could almost see the ticker-tape of possible women being scanned through her head, and a most unsatisfying line being crossed though each of them.
"Is she the same person who rescued you in the Shrieking Shack?" she asked, and when Snape shook her head, she murmured, "So many secrets, Severus."
His primary reason for safeguarding her name was to avoid the inevitable path it would lead to: the events that had occurred in this very building only metres away, her imprisonment only metres below them, and the fact that he had, apart from her death, no memories of her. It was simply too much at this meeting, which had – save for a slight inebriation – overwhelmed him.
What he wasn't sure of was whether Draco had mentioned anything to them. Potter and his friends had evidently uncovered the relationship, there was no reason why Draco shouldn't – in fact, the disgruntled, neglected Slytherins had perhaps more than any other group questioned what had distracted their Head of House so unpredictably during that time. If Draco had communicated anything back to his parents, he expected that now would be the time when it was raised.
His narrative carried them through a sorbet dessert and then chocolate, cheese and brandy back in the lounge, and then a choice selection of stories from Narcissa and Lucius about Draco's first years at Hogwarts and what Snape could look forward to. But there was no mention of Charity.
By the time Snape was just starting to slur his words and become drowsy before the fire, Narcissa swayed a little in her seat (Snape estimated that Narcissa had drunk at least one bottle of wine herself, not including the champagne) and said, "My darling Severus, we are having a gathering over Christmas – you must come with Servius."
Snape started to shake his head, but she landed her hand firmly down on the seat beside her. "Don't argue with me, young man. We can't have him spend Christmas in that gloomy castle. Come to the Manor – you'll virtually have a wing to yourself. Christmas is so much better with children about."
"Hear, hear," said Lucius, upending the last of a Bordeaux. "Draco will be here with Astoria and the baby, and I expect he and Servius will have a hundred Slytherin stories to share. I simply insist, Severus."
"I was going to take him to Cokeworth -,"
"Oh – why?" said Narcissa, too tipsy to remember her manners. "Come to ours! Servius can use the Quidditch pitch and there's sledding and the woods has all Draco's old forts and treehouses. Draco will look after him, I imagine he'll do anything to get out of nappy duty."
"Perhaps we could drop by for lunch one day -,"
"No. Stay. Stay for a week. Including Christmas Day. We'll show Servius what a wizarding Christmas is like."
"I insist, Severus," said Lucius, but he was quite drunk and rubbing his eyes.
"I promise I'll think about it," said Snape, feeling the beginnings of some heartburn. All the rich sauces that had dressed the vegetarian food did not agree with him, apparently. "I should go, I've kept you late."
"Ohhh, really?" said Narcissa, sounding almost like a teenager and Snape found himself smiling.
"Thank you, dinner was marvellous."
"You are welcome any time at all," said Lucius, rising. His expression had turned rather brooding and his ice-chip eyes no longer sparked with good cheer. He opened the door through to the foyer and Snape followed him through. Narcissa then came behind, having collected his cloak from somewhere.
"So it's settled," said Narcissa. "I'll send an owl with all the details." As Lucius wandered off towards the front doors, she sought Snape's eyes and said quietly for his ears only, "You'd be doing me a huge favour."
It was probably the wine, he thought later, but caught up as he was in the earnestness of her eyes, her slightly dishevelled hair, a sudden waft of her perfume, he found himself nodding dumbly. He remembered, as if yesterday, being in this manor not far from where he now stood, when she had descended the stairs so elegantly, holding in her arms the swaddled Draco. Lucius had stood at the foot of the stairs, beside his father Abraxas, and his pride was palpable, his chest visibly swelled at the sight of them. Snape, then still dreadfully wet behind the ears, had stared and wondered. Wondered if he'd ever be in the same position one day. Had Charity swaddled Servius like that?
An extremely uncomfortable trip back to the castle later (how many times had Snape told himself not to drink and Apparate?) and a swagger up the path from the gates to the front doors, Snape decided that, on the whole, the evening had been odd, but not bad. He realised, belatedly, that he had enjoyed telling them about Servius, enjoyed the extemporary conversational gate that he'd been permitted through, that of parenthood, the laughter and eye-rolling and groans that accompanied the awful pre-teen behaviour, even Lucius's little tip: "Look at him while he's sleeping. However monstrous he's been all day, visit him when he's asleep and he'll be an angel. An absolute black-haired angel, I guarantee it."
As Snape drew up the covers of his bed, his head still whirling but the oblivion of sleep like an irresistible vortex, he thought of Servius, at home on his own pillow, like a black-haired angel.