The Dysorientation

Week one at Hogwarts is orientation for the laden, weary first-years. In addition to the miles they covered walking around and outside the castle, the sheer volume and intensity of the information they were required to process left them dazed and fatigued.

The care of first-years during orientation was shared between each of the four House Heads and Prefects, with Concetta Cropper scheduling multiple private sessions for those who seemed to be having trouble adapting. Actual classes didn't start until Wednesday; the Monday and Tuesday were set aside for navigating, team-building, and establishment of rules, regulations and timetables. McGonagall presided over one special orientation assembly in the Great Hall in which she explained the history and hierarchy of the school, from the Four Founders down through the Governors, educators, students and pointedly finishing at the bottom with themselves: the new arrivals. Various portraits and ghosts were employed to share this task, dramatically expatiating on historical events as they recalled it and each taking far too long. At the end, McGonagall encouraged the students to read Hogwarts: A History (2001, updated edition).

The students were issued with their own Hogwarts Dossier in which they were to keep notes on all the important information they found out. These enchanted notebooks could only be opened by their owner and never ran out of pages, but the book was empowered to report to the Head of House any information placed in there which was contrary to House Rules or the Code of Conduct. Within the opening pages could be found the class timetable, a map and floorplan of the castle, the names of their teachers, where to go for various emergencies, care of owls, library use conditions, Filch's rules, the points system, House Cup and similar. The extendable blank pages were meant for the owner to add all the other news and important stuff they worried might spill out of their ears as their heads brimmed to overflow.

Snape only glimpsed Servius twice over the next two days. It seemed every minute of the first-years' time had been accounted for, and the one occasion Snape had passed the group in transit, along a corridor on fourth floor, and his eyes met with Servius's walking in the opposite direction, Snape had almost halted the group. He wanted to talk to the boy. But the group had, on this occasion, been escorted by Neville Longbottom, and the Herbology Professor had given Snape the dead eye as they crossed paths, and so Snape had merely given Servius the slightest of nods.

The next occasion was early Wednesday morning in the Entrance Hall. Professor Oosthuizen had at some point, Snape discovered, started a running club which met most mornings at 6.30am in the courtyard. Awkwardly attired in a yellow tracksuit (she preferred yellow above almost every other colour), Oosthuizen marshalled students with brisk, shouty encouragements as they convened in their running shorts and House emblazoned sweaters, their coltish legs goosebumping in the cold morning air, and they would set off on either of two main circuits – one that followed the length of the cleared lake edge, or the other that aligned with the perimeter of the castle and took advantage of the many hills. By the time the run was over, she was invariably the last to arrive back, puffing and panting, her ample bosom heaving, her permanent smile bright against the rosy balls of her cheeks from the exertion. "Awesome run, guys!" she would cry as the students stood gamely waiting for her.

Snape had seen Servius embark on just such a run that Wednesday and watched the progress of the group from various convenient vantage points. On their return, as Oosthuizen was ushering the runners back inside for showers, Snape intercepted. "Servius?"

Servius stopped short and beheld him silently.

"A minute please. I need you to come with me," said Snape, flicking dismissive eyes at the curious glances of the other runners.

"Why?"

Snape set his jaw momentarily, then replied, "I have matters I need to discuss. With you."

Servius shrugged. "Fine," then allowed Snape to lead him away in the direction of the dungeon stairs.

An attempt at conversation with stiltedly placed questions about the first few days at orientation was returned with monosyllables, and so Snape lapsed into silence as he took Servius down the dungeon steps and along the empty corridor to his quarters. The Potions classroom and office had been visited on day two, and so it wasn't Servius's first trip to this level, but a faint frown marked his brow as Snape bypassed those rooms. As Snape produced his wand to unlock the door, he said, "These are my quarters. Now you know where they are, you can visit me whenever you wish."

He opened the door and invited Servius to enter. The boy did so with an expression of extreme distrust, as if alert to a trap. He looked about him as he walked slowly inside, not speaking.

"That's the living area…uh, kitchen…my bed is through there," explained Snape, a little discomfited. "I could arrange an extra chair; you see, it's normally just me…"

Servius stood in the middle of what constituted the living room: before the fire, and next to Snape's armchair – the two component parts. He seemed unusually tall, all of a sudden, his eyes even darker in contrast to the flush still staining his cheeks. His expression, while unreadable, did not imply a high regard. "Is this where you live all the time?"

"No," said Snape quickly. "Just during term. I have mentioned my house in the midlands."

Servius looked at him while Snape imparted this information but didn't react. "What am I supposed to do if I come here?"

"Well -," Snape glanced about. "I could help you with homework. Or we could…talk, perhaps…after all, we hardly know each other."

Servius snorted a rebuff, and Snape became irritated. "Servius, how would it seem if I hadn't told you where my quarters are? You are my son, and while I don't particularly wish you to disturb me, if you need to, this is where you can find me."

"Fine. Good. Now I know," and Servius made quick steps towards the door again, brushing deliberately past his father.

"Wait!" said Snape and took a deep, steadying breath. He said to the floor: "There's one more thing."

Servius stopped and threw his head back a little, baldly suppressing his impatience.

"Your mother. We haven't discussed her."

"I don't want to talk about her with you."

"I presumed that. Then don't feel obliged to speak. There's something I want to show you."

Snape went to the chest containing his possessions of Charity, crouched down and opened the lid, but Servius remained standing where he was. Given the proportions of the room, it was unnecessary to move anyway since all of the quarters could be seen from that single point.

"I keep things of hers, that belonged to her, in here," said Snape. "I have little, I'm afraid. I loved – I love – your mother without question however our time together was…regrettably very brief."

No response.

"Your mother was a scholar," he pressed on, trying for an inspirational tone. "She did a great deal of research. You've seen the Muggle Studies text…" He brought forth the files containing Charity's papers and manuscripts. "One day you might like to read these?"

Servius glanced at them but shrugged. "Will they tell me what happened to her?" Then he looked flatly at Snape.

Avada Kedavra, Snape heard Voldemort say at his left. The green light. Charity's body fell heavily to the table...Dinner, Nagini.

"No," said Snape. In his head, as was his custom, he seized the memory and slammed it into the most secure mental locker he had, afraid that Servius might somehow be able to see it in his eyes. He kept his attention on the bundle of files and thumbed through them. "No, they won't tell you that."

He put the files back in the chest and after a moment said, "I have these quills and pens that belonged to her. I wondered….if you might like them?"

Servius hesitated, then came to Snape's side and took the quills. "Did she write with these?"

Encouraged, Snape nodded. "Yes. She preferred Muggle pens. She used a typewriter… I have it at my home."

Snape bent once more to look through the chest. Behind him he heard:

"I have a dress that belonged to Mum."

"A dress?"

"A blue one. Ma said it was a party dress. Did she wear it to the Christmas party you took her to?"

The question was open, genuine. Snape turned to Servius with a half-smile, the unconscious offer of a connection was reciprocated with Snape's obvious fondness at the recollection. "Yes. She wore a blue gown. She looked…breathtaking."

Servius frowned a little and glanced away, back at the quills. "Did you get a photo?"

Snape sighed out his deep regret. "No…no I didn't but…I have memories."

"Well I can't look at those."

"Yes. In fact you can."

This time, Servius looked up sharply at his father. "How?"

"We have ways…here. I can show them to you."

Revealing too much interest would compromise his defenses, so Servius didn't comment and Snape didn't elaborate. In one part of his mind he was thinking about using the Hogwarts Pensieve, and bent back down to his chest and withdrew from it the scroll of parchment with the ribbon. Absently he slipped off the ribbon and unrolled the scroll, more out of distracted habit rather than with any intention of showing it to Servius. "Your sister, Holly, perhaps she showed you a Faerie Call - ?" he trailed off.

Behind him, Servius was replying, but Snape didn't hear him. He was transfixed by the scroll of parchment. Having unrolled it, he expected to see the same message that had been there the last time he'd opened it, but instead that message had cleared, and the only word now on the parchment, in Charity's handwriting, was: Severus?

Severus?

Snape stared at it. He heard Servius move behind him but he couldn't drag his eyes away. The single word was printed in the middle of the parchment, nothing else was visible. This had been written since the last time he'd opened it; he was sure of it.

"What's that?" Servius asked, as if from a great distance.

"Oh -," Snape quickly rolled it back up. "Nothing. Nothing. That's just a work thing."

"So when can you show me the memories?"

"Soon. For a while I will be acting as Headmaster and then would be conducive as there is a Pensieve in the Head's office."

"A what?"

"I'll explain another time." Snape had reluctantly returned the parchment and dropped down the lid of the chest. He stood fully upright and turned to Servius. The boy was almost at his shoulder.

"So you're in Slytherin." If words, tones could be distilled, pride would have risen to the surface on this statement.

"Yeah. Whatever."

"I think it is a good match for you. But heed your attitude – the Slytherins can be intolerant."

"I like them."

Snape was surprised by the statement but elected not to repeat it. He folded his arms. "Thought you wanted to be in Gryffindor."

Servius's eyes darted about the room. "You said you could keep an eye on me if I was in Slytherin."

There was a fraction of a second when Snape's mouth almost dropped open, but he caught it and then feigned indifference, even though inside something was rejoicing. He had expected Servius to retaliate with a Hat decision contrary to his heartfelt desire, but no, Slytherin had been the boy's choice as well.

"As I said in my letter, I will be watching out for you. As is…as is…your mother - ,"

This no longer seemed like the slightly sentimental if throwaway comment it had been when he first wrote it. Now, having seen the parchment, perhaps…

"So what do you teach again?"

Snape frowned, thinking Servius should know this, and wondered if he was fabricating his ignorance.

"Potions. Friday."

"Right. Potions."

"Meaning?"

"Well. You know. It's not like Dark Arts is it?"

Merlin, was the boy his pre-teen Doppleganger? Even as he'd excelled at potions, he thought he might have said the exact same words himself as an eleven-year-old. He bristled slightly at this source of amusement for his cruel gods who yet again had a laugh at his expense. They'd dangled the Dark Arts mirage for years, and now they gifted the sport to his son.

"You'd be surprised what you can do with a potion," he countered, with some of that immature defensiveness that lurks in every adult.

"Okay. Then I guess I'll find out on Friday."

Annoyance and resentment flared through Snape's body as he held the barbed stare of his son, and his jaw ticked with the effort to keep his composure. Finally he said, "I believe it's time for breakfast. You need to get changed and get to the Hall as quickly as possible."

Servius nodded his head in an exaggerated way and gave Snape a thumbs up. "Gotcha. Bye."

And with that, he turned and loped out of Snape's rooms, slamming the door behind him.

It was impossible for Snape to teach all his scheduled Potions classes as well History of Magic. McGonagall's solution to eking out time was to cancel the History classes for First through Third years during Orientation week, and then contracting Snape's double-potions classes to single theory classes so that he could fit in four or five single-period History classes with the senior school. "It's either that, or I get a Time-Turner," she drily advised him from The Chair later that morning in her office, handing him her revised Master Schedule, now liberally marked with crosses and strikethroughs. "Let's hope Binns makes a reappearance soon."

"I confess Ma'am, I'll be more supervising than teaching the History classes. I haven't time to familiarize myself with the curriculum, and Merlin knows if Binns has a lesson plan. If he doesn't return next week, I urge you to consider a new appointment."

"I don't disagree, Severus," rejoined McGonagall briskly, straightening papers on her desk. "But as you are aware, I am due in London for a week right at the time when recruitment should commence. Perhaps I can leave that with you…?"

Snape folded his schedule to a knife-like edge as he said, "Ma'am."

"Please call me Minerva."

"Yes, Ma'am."

She sighed and compressed her lips and tapped the tip of her wand into her left palm. "How is Servius settling in?"

"He tells me he likes his House mates. He has joined the running club. Other than that, I haven't seen him."

She studied him as though he were a crooked and poorly placed painting. "Perhaps you should think about relocating to Hogsmeade? Take a home like the Hellmanns? Then you can spend time with him."

His first instinct was to discredit that idea immediately. But just before it became apparent on his features, he forced a stiff nod and replied, "Yes. Perhaps."

"Slughorn tells me there are seventy-seven Slytherins this year. Because it was so alliterative, he believes it to be a good omen. Between that and the hat-stall, you must be expecting big things from Servius?" McGonagall offered a smile as she rose from her chair and poured herself and Snape a fresh cup of tea from the pot on her desk.

"I prefer to abide by what he actually does rather than his potential."

She seemed amused as she handed him his cup. "Yes, well don't go getting all bleeding-heart and sentimental on me Severus. You know, you are allowed a soft-spot where your own children are concerned."

He nodded.

"Horace has told me he plans on a holiday in a couple of weeks. As you can imagine, since he is retired, I can't very well deny him. But he tells me you've agreed to mind the Slytherins?"

Snape took a long draught of his tea, it helped to settle his nerves somewhat. A part of his brain had lit up like a fireworks display after seeing the parchment with his name on it, excited and frenetic over the possible implications. After Servius had left his rooms, he'd immediately withdrawn it from the chest and checked it once more, then tried the Revelio charm, but without effect. "Charity?" he'd said aloud to the room, his voice cracking under the strain of the sudden massive portent the inquiry held. "Are you there?" He watched the parchment, but saw no change, and then set about the search for his own half.

"Ah yes, I have agreed to watch them. I, for my sins, enjoy Head of House."

"You're not taking on too much are you?"

"I expect this is just a patch. I shall do my best not to drop the ball."

She looked perplexed at his choice of idiom, the likelihood of any kind of ball being dropped in the Wizarding world almost unheard of. "You're at your best when you're busy," acknowledged McGonagall. She paused a moment, then with a quick glance at the dozing Dumbledore, she held her hand out flat before her for Snape to see. The fingers were discernibly trembling. "It started after the war," she murmured. "I don't know if it's just fatigue or something else. I fear I am not who I was, Severus."

She watched her own shaking hand a second longer, then lifted her eyes to his and offered a weak smile. He put down his cup and took a step towards her. "Ma'am – you must -,"

"Shh!" she said, glancing at Dumbledore again. "He nags me incessantly."

He conceded with an impatient exhalation. "Then will you permit me to supply you a potion? I can treat you with utmost confidentiality."

"Severus, you do my nerves good just being here. I don't want potions. But…well, make sure you organize that portrait painter – here is his name, he resides in Godric's Hollow, Dumbledore knew him," she handed him a slip of parchment from her desktop.

"Why are you making arrangements, Minerva?" he asked gently.

"I know what that trembling can mean, Severus," she sat down again. "But at my age, you don't fear it. I have someone waiting for me. I would almost welcome it – the thought of all that sleep - ,"

"It may simply be tiredness -," said Snape. "You needn't get melodramatic."

"I'm just talking about retiring, Severus," she laughed, but it was slightly bitter, recriminating. "I don't plan on dying just yet." Her smile faltered somewhat as Snape stared at her with a deep frown. "On your way, my dear, I have much to do."

He lingered a moment, not lifting his gaze. Then he said, "Ma'am," and exited the Office.

The day was proving relentless. After his meeting with McGonagall, Snape had two single Potions classes back to back, both subjected to the background din of builders in the Slytherin Common Room. If it had just been the sound of tools on masonry, he might not have minded so much, but the builders had taken up the habit of tuning into a wireless at full volume, and the vicinity was filled with the ambient noise of lackluster Wizarding music and talkback shows.

A mild confrontation with Fetherington during recess about the noise had Snape's hackles rising, but he was placated somewhat when the mason told him that the repair work had an end in sight.

"Now what do you say to that, Mister Snape?" Fetherington said with a sweeping hand in the direction of the Common Room windows, at the foot of which sat three overall-donned builders – one of which was Jacob - on upturned crates eating sandwiches. "Don't they look lovely? As good as new they look."

"That is true enough. They look perfectly well. Although the necessary repair was more an issue of their integrity…"

"I reckon one more week should do it."

"You do?"

"Ayuh. Course, helps if the lads are motivated and a spot of music here and there helps pass the time -,"

"Can you just manage the volume? I am trying to teach - ,"

"I heard you Professor; we'll keep it down."

Snape folded his arms and nodded. "Since we have a due date, I shall advise the Headmistress of the good news. Although we may need to meet with the Ministry soon about the funding."

"Oh yes?" Fetherington's straw-coloured eyebrows hiked quickly. "In that case I'll organize an invoice now."

"You'll be paid."

"It's not so much me, Professor, it's the lads you understand -,"

"You'll be paid."

"Righto." Fetherington gave him a cool look and Snape returned it, then turned and left.

During lunch, instead of taking his place in the Great Hall, Snape locked himself in his office to search for his half of the enchanted parchment. At worst, he could simply create a new one and hope that it worked, but his fervent desire was that he could locate his own, and that it's provenance might be the key to opening correspondence with Charity.

His bookcase and filing cabinet were possible locations, but knowing himself, he would have put it in the hidden drawer of his office desk where he put all manner of orphaned articles that had no obvious place of residence. His habit was to drop items in it, lock the drawer and then immediately forget about them. The key – a Muggle contrivance that Snape felt oddly nostalgic about - was stuck to the underside of the desk and when he felt for it, he was pleasantly surprised to find it still there. With Slughorn having used the Office for years, he'd imagined that this would have been a fairly obvious place to look and that Slughorn would have appropriated the drawer for his own purposes, which he certainly did with the others that had been open. But apparently the hidden drawer had been unused for over eight years.

He was just about to slot the key in, when there was a knock at the office door. He uttered a growl of impatience under his breath and then barked: "Who is it?"

"Severus? It's Aurora."

If it had been anyone else he would have sent them away, but Sinistra…she had entered his inner sanctum. For years and years they'd worked together as simply co-existing staff members – and then, suddenly, without him seemingly noticing, she'd dropped his guards and moved in, just like Charity had. He could count on one hand the people who'd managed it.

Taking up his wand, he promptly unlocked the door and she stepped inside the room.

He had opened up the drawer and was rummaging around the interior, pulling out any random pieces of parchment he could find in there – and there were a lot.

"Severus – hi, uh – what are you doing?" asked Sinistra, glancing briefly about her as she approached the desk. She was trying to remember the last time she'd been in this office.

"Looking for something."

"You're always looking for something."

"I know…"

"I came looking for you. You weren't at lunch."

"And well? You've found me."

He was very distracted. With each piece of parchment he uncovered, he would open it and check before discarding it on the floor. He'd scarcely looked at her.

"I came to talk about Servius," she attempted.

"Yes?"

"Severus, stop it!" Sinistra had come to a standstill before his desk, and with a flick of her wand she snapped shut the hidden drawer, just missing his fingertips. "You're being very rude."

He glared at her, anger scudding across his face and she held her breath for a moment, but then it dissipated, and he sat back in his chair. "Sorry. Servius. You were saying?"

"Can you please introduce us tonight? I don't want to be his teacher for months before you remember to tell him I'm also his Godmother. The first year Slytherins and Gryffindors have Astronomy tomorrow."

"Tonight? You mean after dinner?"

"Yes. When they have free time. Bring him up to the Astronomy Tower."

Snape had about five hundred things he needed to do after dinner, including some semblance of a plan for his first History class and his first seventh-year Potions class with Diaphne in it. He'd also had vague hopes of researching McGonagall's condition, and that was if he couldn't make progress with the Charity mystery.

But he said, "Of course. I will bring him then."

"Tell him to rug up. It can get cold up there in the evening." Sinistra was smiling at him, her eyes danced a little. "Merlin, Severus, I'm a bit nervous! Were you nervous when you first met him?"

He brought to mind the meeting at The Leaky Cauldron. "Yes. Very."

"Are you happy he's in Slytherin? He seemed popular with the other kids, didn't he – they seemed really happy when he went to their table."

"He tells me he likes them."

"And he's a handsome lad!" she enthused. "You never said that; you said –," she stopped suddenly, realization too late dawning on her face.

Snape smiled in spite of himself. "I said he resembled me."

Aghast at her faux par she uttered, "I didn't mean -,"

"It's alright."

"But I think you are handsome," declared Sinistra stoutly, then her eyes widened, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.

Snape didn't know what to say or do and simply sat there, staring hard at the table before him. Well - there was a turn-up. This was information so unexpected it stopped traffic in his head, landing with all the eloquence of an up-ended lorry. Exclamation points began to fire. He cleared his throat.

"I'll…just go…" mumbled Sinistra, pointing at the door.

"Oh, uh, yes -,"

"Sorry. Um, so, after dinner…"

"…yes. After dinner."

She turned, and her motion caused the elongated sleeve of her gown to knock over a tall, narrow flask on his desk of nightshade essence, the purple contents spilling along the edge of his desk and dripping to the floor. "Dragon's balls!" she exclaimed, "Merlin, I'm sorry!"

"It's alright -," Snape said quickly, and when she looked up at him with mortified eyes, he held them for a beat. "It's…" He promptly scourgified the spill. "No harm done."

A blush had tinged her cheeks. She looked at him again but couldn't sustain the gaze and with a tiny shake of her head she turned and rushed out of his office.

The fever with which he'd been energised earlier had seeped away, and it took some moments of repose, replaying the scene in his head, before he recommenced his search inside the hidden drawer. But even though Charity was in the front of his mind, she wasn't entirely alone.

The list of extra-curricular clubs had been published on brightly coloured posters and were displayed on noticeboards in each Common Room. The notice informed students that they were to make their way to the Great Hall from 3:30pm on Friday for sign-up and an opportunity to talk to the teacher or Prefect who would be running each club. Quidditch was excluded – team trials were to be run separately.

As Servius and William entered the Slytherin Common Room on Thursday afternoon, the congregation of students who had gathered around the noticeboard turned to look, and fourth-year Lewis Blake said distinctly: "Look out! here's Wait For William."

The epithet had gained wildfire traction over the past two days. Wait For William was the proud owner of the first nickname in his year. When he'd first encountered it – at dinner, from a passing kid in Hufflepuff - he'd turned to Servius immediately after with painfully red ears and cheeks and said "Oh shit. It's cause of what I said at the Sorting Ceremony."

A chortle had escaped Servius before he'd had a chance to suppress it. "It could be worse," he said quietly, wrestling his lips out of a grin. "Pass the pumpkin juice."

"Wait For William? It's like something out of Famous Five!" said William mournfully.

"That's Just William isn't it? Ma read them to me."

"Whatever. But it's lame. They're taking the piss."

"Nah. It just means you got their attention. Everyone knows who you are now. Not bad after only two days."

As a giant bowl of spaghetti had been passed down the table towards them, William's attention was diverted and he mumbled, "S'pose..." and then it wasn't raised again.

Now, at Lewis Blake's comment in the Common Room, William merely grinned and raised a debonair hand for a high-five with Lewis, who met it congenially. "What's all this then?" He and Servius tried to find a gap between the bodies they could sneak through.

"Clubs," informed third-year Polly Kelly who had bedecked the cover of her Dossier with a hundred stickers of horses. "I'm doing gardening again. Oh Pipe, remember when Professor Longbottom got that smudge of soil across his forehead…"

She and Piper Davis, the friend to whom she'd been biologically cleaved as far as Servius could tell, hung their tongues out and swooned.

"He's a Gryffindor!" retorted fifth-year Reggie Chiverton. "You'll get Griffin pox." Reggie reportedly had plans to have his two front teeth stained green when Slytherin made it to the Quidditch final.

"I'd take anything off Professor Longbottom," sighed Piper.

"Lamebottom," snickered William, and Piper, having scalded him with her glare, said, "SUCH a first-year thing to say." And the pair of girls wandered off arm in arm.

"It says Dueling's being taken by Professor Hellmann this year," remarked Josiah Walker, a sixth-year with sandy hair and a face so freckled it was hard to make out his eyes. "Flitwick's out. Huh. What's Hellmann like?"

"Ah hud him fur DADA oan Monday," replied Ben McGregor in a strong regional accent. The braces on his teeth belied a Muggle upbringing. "German, fae Durmstrang. He's git a black wand. Pure strict."

"Durmstrang won the European Under-Sixteen Dueling Championships for three years in a row," said Reggie. "There was that kid…what was his name?"

"Niels Brockhaus," said a voice from the leather sofa. The Slytherins all turned to look and saw Amelie Hellmann sitting there, her feet up on the table, not looking at them but twirling her wand between her fingers as if it were a baton. Her long grey and green socks were pulled up over her knees.

"Yeah…," agreed Reggie, but absently. "It was Neils Brockhaus. How do you know?"

"My father taught him," she answered, with a finishing flourish of her baton-twirling which involved flicking the wand into the air and catching it.

"Her Dad's Professor Hellmann," explained William.

The gaggle of students all stared at her. Then abruptly, like a tide-turning, Josiah said, "I am so doing dueling,"

"Me tae," said Ben.

"We should get the Great Hall early, so we don't miss out," said Reggie.

Servius felt an elbow in his ribs. "Let's do dueling!" said William with much spirited nodding. "That is going to be the club this year."

"You don't even know what dueling is!"

"Well it's like fighting with wands isn't it?" William had taken out his portly redwood wand and waggled it about.

"Yeah…I dunno. Is there a football club?"

"Football?" scoffed Reggie. "Go back to Muggleville. Think Quidditch."

"Why can't you play football?"

"There's no magic!"

"Well…so? It's still cool."

Ben, a Prefect, and trying to be helpful, said: "Yeh need tae play Junior Quidditch. Thass whit first and seicont-years are inta. Then by th'rd year, ye'll be duin fur senior Quidditch."

Servius looked highly dubious.

"C'mon, let's take dueling," urged William. "You said your Dad was good at hexing. You'll be a natural."

The other boys looked at him. Josiah said generally to the gathering: "I heard Slughorn say to some first-years that Professor Snape didn't do Dark Arts anymore."

"He so does!" snapped William heatedly. "I bet you didn't know that Professor Snape fought vampires in Romania!"

Servius stared at him, mystified. "What?"

The other boys made deeply sceptical noises.

"And he's got a black wand too!" added William. "That's why he's always wearing black. Because of…cause he can do Dark Arts."

"Then maybe he should duel my father," said Amelie, looking sidelong at Servius from the sofa. "Then we'll all know."

The others turned from Amelie to Servius, as though at a tennis match.

"What? Nah…" said Servius, waving a dismissive hand. He was remembering the conversation between his father and Garrick Ollivander: …and since you've taken it into battle. "He does…you know…potions."

"That's an awesome idea," said Lewis Blake, glancing excitedly at the others. "A teacher duel!"

"But if you want to get your Dad off, that's fine," said Amelie, with a small shrug and tilt of her head.

"You are joking? 'Course he could beat your Dad. He's just…really busy," muttered Servius.

"If we give him loads of warning so he can fit it in?" suggested Lewis. "D'you reckon he'd beat Professor Hellmann?"

"Sure. No problem." Servius shook hair out of his eyes and swallowed.

"I'm putting my odds on Hellmann," declared Josiah. "Double or nothing."

"Then make your money here!" yelled Lewis, pulling up a chair and standing on it. He waved his Dossier in the air. "Give me your odds: Professor Hellmann versus Professor Snape!"

Servius watched appalled as the Slytherins gathered round Lewis and placed bets. As more students arrived in the Common Room, they joined the throng and the excitement mounted.

Servius backed away and went to the sofa where he stood in front of Amelie, plaiting her hair. "You gotta call this off. I can't get my Dad to fight a duel."

"I didn't start it. But anyway, why not? Or are you afraid he'll lose?" And she made some chicken clucking sounds before she gave him a smug smile.

The rolled-up piece of parchment was at the very back of Snape's hidden drawer, bound by a slip of Hogwarts ribbon, and bearing a rather inelegant ink thumbprint on its outside. The quill was not far away from it. Snape unrolled the parchment with shaking fingers as relief and excitement surged through him, not entirely different from the way he used to open them when the parchment was originally employed. The paper was blank, however, which more disappointed him than surprised him. This half was meant for his words.

He had only five minutes to spare before his next two classes, but he took up the quill anyway, dipped it in ink and immediately wrote on the parchment: Charity – I am here, are you receiving this?

He looked at it critically a moment, then added: my love?

And then wondered how she would take that, if she did indeed read it. Considering the last time they'd been in a room together, there was the trifling matter of him impassively watching her die. Would she still appreciate being called by his love-name for her?

Should he apologise now? And how to phrase that rather delicate disputation? Oh yes, sorry about that whole Malfoy Manor thing…

"Convey," he said quickly with a wand tap as the guilt and regret made his heart hammer and mouth dry. And then as he watched the words disappear he said desperately, "No, wait, Finite Incantatum –" but the words had vanished. And now nerves were added to the potent mix flooding his system.

He sat in his desk chair, holding the parchment in both hands before him, conscious of time ticking away but unable to make himself move. Her side of the parchment was also on the desktop in its resting state of loosely rolled, and with a deep breath, he placed down his own and let his trembling fingers lift open hers.

The word Severus? had disappeared.

But it was blank. He could see the tiny flecks of cellulose in the paper, a crease here and there.

He waited. Staring at the parchment, he waited the remaining two minutes he had left. And then he dropped it and shoved his chair back.

He was deeply confused. It sunk him into a reverie, a dark mood. His thwarted hopes beat their wings like caged birds against the bars, and, a few minutes later, as he stormed into his third-year Potions class to a room of disconcerted students, he was like the Snape of old.

When Snape entered the Slytherin Common Room / Archive that evening, he paused in the doorway and looked around him.

He didn't know what he was looking for. A manifestation of Charity was the closest words he could put to it and then, with a sweet irony, his eyes fell on Servius.

His son, squashed up on the sofa with half a dozen other students, had glanced towards him when the Prefects in the room stood up straight on his arrival and said, "Sir". It was after dinner, and the students at this hour had free time before bed. Many had gathered in the Common Room to talk, play games, share homework and write letters. This was the time when the Muggle-raised amongst them complained bitterly about the lack of television or computers in spite of a literal world of magic before them.

"Professor Slughorn's in the dorms -," began Tattinger, but Snape shook his head.

"Servius? Please, a moment."

Servius looked away, as if he hadn't just heard the summons. William nudged him. "Go on."

Snape stood waiting silently as Servius got to his feet with as much reluctance and unwillingness as was possible to physically demonstrate. He took so long, Tattinger eventually came towards him and gave him a little push. "Show some respect," hissed the Prefect.

Servius scowled and grudgingly went through the door Snape held open, then Snape followed behind, the door shutting with a clang as they left up the archive steps.

"Where are we going?" Servius asked as they marched along the corridor.

"Astronomy Tower," responded Snape.

"Why are we going there? Gunna push me off?"

Snape stopped where he was and when Servius came to a surprise halt as well and turned to face his father, Snape was dark and narrow-eyed. "Don't…even…joke."

"Geez, alright, keep your hair on."

"You have no idea," grunted Snape, resuming his walk.

The Entrance Hall was empty and networked with shadow and moonlight as they crossed it towards the stairs to the Tower. "So why are we going here?" asked Servius, looking around him, heart lifting at the prospect of the castle at night. He couldn't explain the appeal, but he had always been drawn to the heavens when the sun had finally slipped below the horizon, and balming dark of an evening sky drew over with its pinpricks of stars. He had often frustrated his grandparents at dinnertime, trying to find him, when he had snuck out the back door to sit outside and gaze upwards.

"Someone you need to meet," replied Snape. "And you will be on your best behaviour." They had commenced the trudge up the spiral stairs, and about halfway, Snape called: "Professor Sinistra?"

Sinistra's face appeared at the top of the stairs, leaning over the balustrade. "Hi, come on up."

"I've already been up here," said Servius. "We came on Monday; part of orientation."

Snape ignored him until they had reached the landing of the observation deck where Sinistra was waiting for them, dressed warmly in her winter cloak against the chilly, persistent breeze and Snape realised he'd forgotten to tell Servius to wrap up. The deck was lit with red-fronted gaslamps and the pearly glow of a full, bright harvest moon. Sinistra was smiling at Servius with such focused attention it made him frown and withdraw.

"Servius," said Snape, standing adjacent to them both. He held a palm up in Sinistra's direction and waited until Servius looked at him. "This is Professor Sinistra. She is three things. She is your Astronomy Professor. She is a friend of mine and your mother's. And she is your Godmother."

Servius turned his eyes from his father to Sinistra and stared. Then he glanced back unsurely, then to Sinistra again. The task of comprehending was visible.

"I'm so pleased to meet you at last, Servius," said Sinistra, maintaining a steady beam. Snape saw her hand start to raise as if she had thought about offering a handshake, but then it relaxed again.

Servius turned his attention back to Snape. "How come I didn't know I had a Godmother? Ma never said anything,"

"I asked your father," said Sinistra before Snape could speak. "I didn't know about you until a few weeks ago. But I was very good friends with your Mum and I wanted her to have peace knowing you would always have someone you could trust if…if you needed it."

Servius looked unconvinced and communicated his discomfort with a half-shrug and averted eyes.

"We need to get to know each other!" announced Sinistra after exchanging a disconcerted glance with Snape. "Here! Do you like hot chocolate? There's marshmallows…" With her wand she levitated two mugs with spill caps on them. Servius slowly accepted the cheerful looking mug that hovered near him with little hummingbird-like dips.

The boy looked unusually flummoxed as he took a sip of the warm, sweet brew and licked his top lip.

"So we both love hot chocolate. Well that's a start!"

Silence descended while Servius considered this and, having no obvious path on what to do next, continued to frown and dunk his marshmallows.

"Do you like looking at the moon?" Sinistra asked with a slightly desperate top note. "Look at the beauty I organized specially for you."

Servius actually smiled, as did Snape, and Sinistra's grin in response was as radiant as the orb in question.

"You have your first Astronomy class tomorrow, but that's during the day. We are so lucky the moon is up this early – I think since you're here we should take advantage of it. She's at perigee, and if you look through my primary telescope you should see all the best topographical features easily. Viewing conditions are spectacular."

She gently guided him to her largest telescope and helped set him up for a viewing. He had been unresisting and Snape suspected the night sky was something he was drawn to – a stargazer like his mother. Sinistra showed him how to adjust the lenses and how to locate certain features, and very subtly closed the personal space between his body and hers, not enough to be imposing or intimidating, but in such a way as to communicate in that physical subtext that she was one who was content to be near him, that his proximity was welcome and that she could be trusted.

Servius became absorbed with the exercise and rarely spoke but for observations or questions, but Sinistra noticed that he was shivering and his teeth chattered a little. "You didn't bring your cloak or a jacket?" she asked presently.

"I neglected to mention it," confessed Snape. "Here, give him mine," and he had begun to shrug off his cloak but Aurora said, "No, wait, I have just the thing." Then she disappeared down the stairs.

In the interlude, across the wide space between them, Servius said to Snape: "Were Professor Sinistra and my Mum friends when Mum was a teacher here?"

"Yes. Your mother and Professor Sinistra had some things in common."

Servius fiddled with the eyepiece for a moment, then said, not looking at Snape: "Would she know what happened to Mum?"

The second time today he'd asked. Images, snatches of conversation flashed through Snape's mind. I don't want my son to know! And Sinistra: you should not be spared knowing how you took the coward's way out.

She didn't know it all, she didn't know everything – only the people who'd been in the room that evening knew the whole truth. Many of them were now dead – in some ways he wished he'd taken the truth with him to the grave himself. He wouldn't have to keep lying to his son now.

"No, Servius. She won't know. I told you: your mother died…in the war. She was killed by the enemy, fighting for tolerance -,"

Servius's eyes flashed at him and he opened his mouth to speak but Sinistra arrived back. She was unfolding a blanket she carried; it was soft, black with silver specks on it, which Snape realised later were tiny stars.

"Here you are!" she said gaily, and draped the blanket over Servius's shoulders. He stiffened, his eyes still glittering, but Sinistra didn't notice and lifted her wand and murmured an incantation and the blanket gave a little shimmery pulse, fitting itself snugly around Servius's upper half and arms. "How's that? You should feel nice and warm."

Servius mumbled his thanks. He lifted furious eyes to Snape once more then turned back to the telescope.

After perhaps half an hour, Snape rose from his seat where he had subsided into a meditation. He had been musing on how events would play out if he did tell Servius the truth, how he could possibly word it in some way, shape or form didn't reveal his terrible betrayal, his awful dereliction, without it appearing to absolve himself. Could an eleven-year-old comprehend the immeasurable complexity of the circumstances and consequences? And even if he could grasp it in abstract, could he divorce it from the death of his beloved mother? Did he have the maturity to forgive a Death Eater? Could he do it if the Death Eater was his own father?

The irony that Snape couldn't ignore was that as he watched his son with Sinistra, here at the top of the Astronomy Tower, the scene was only possible as a result of his unyielding, unbreakable dedication to fighting for victory. Had he leapt to the assistance of Charity in that room in Malfoy Manor, he would almost certainly be dead. And so would she. And then the chain-like links of fate and destiny in which he played his part would have been broken – to what inevitable conclusion there was no way of knowing. Servius would have been orphaned and probably ostracized from a life in this world – the very situation Charity was desperate to avoid.

His actions and decisions now afforded Servius this freedom, these choices. Generation after generation the baton of an improved existence was passed forward. Take it, bear it well, said the parent to the child. Cherish it and adore it, and then pass it on to your own - just greater, make it greater. For we that got broken, we did so in efforts to pass this on, so that yours had a chance to be better.

"Servius, it's time to go, it's bed time," said Snape softly, standing and approaching the pair who were now at a telescope each.

"Aw! Sir, but - !"

"No buts."

Sinistra left her telescope and smiled at Snape, obviously delighted that Servius was inclined towards her own, first love. "He already knows so much," she said subtly. "Where did he learn it all?"

"I don't know," admitted Snape, watching as Servius fitted the cap back on the eyepiece. "I think it must be self-taught."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Servius," said Sinistra, and patted Servius lightly on the shoulder. She couldn't help it; much as she would have loved to hug him, she didn't want to overwhelm and she had to curb her own impulses.

"Make a head start," said Snape to his son, who'd shoved his cold hands in his pockets. "I'll be along in a minute."

When they heard Servius's feet clattering down the steps, Snape turned to Sinistra. "Thank you – this was a good idea. You…and he…there seemed to be a connection -,"

"Severus, I want to apologise for earlier today…I didn't mean – I just didn't want you to think I thought -," she blurted, staring at his shoulder, the warm blush of embarrassment stealing into her cheeks.

"You don't need to -,"

"I know that with Servius here, and just getting your memories back -,"

"It's alright, Aurora, really, I - I was flattered."

She finally allowed herself to look at him, meet his eyes. Moonlight reflected off them. They were looking at her rather intensely. And then just as her heart started to beat a little faster, he said, "I might come and talk to you soon. I think…I know how this must sound but…I might have found a way to reach Charity."

The effect of these words was like a wet sandbag on Sinistra's tiny flame. She literally took a step back and tried to keep her expression neutral as dismay, jealousy and shame wrestled for dominance. On top of that was confusion about what Snape was implying.

"Wh- what? You mean like a séance?"

"No," he shook his head quickly, impatiently. "A letter. When she was alive – we had occasion to write. She has, I think, written again on the same parchment."

Her earlier feelings forgotten, Sinistra's brow contracted while her eyes widened in amazement, trying to process what he was saying. "She's written you a letter?"

"Not a letter, a word…look, perhaps I should bring it with me…but I must go, I want to make sure Servius -,"

"Of course, of course," uttered Sinistra, shaking her head distractedly. "Perhaps tomorrow?'

"Yes…"

But Snape was already walking away, a flurry of cloak as he commenced down the spiral stairs.

At the bottom of the stairs, awaiting him, was Servius. Snape was somewhat surprised, having assumed the boy would have taken advantage of his freedom and gone off wandering. But, unaware Snape was watching, Servius was keeping himself occupied by attempting to levitate a dry, brown oak leaf that had blown in through the Entrance Door. "Wingardium LeviOSA," Snape heard him mutter, the emphasis a touch strenuous. The leaf twitched.

Snape continued to the bottom of the stairs, allowing himself to be heard and Servius hurriedly put his wand in his back pocket. He carried Sinistra's blanket under his other arm – she had presumably told him he could keep it.

"It's good that you're practicing," Snape murmured. "Charms?"

Servius merely flicked his eyes at him and fell into step as Snape strode eastwards across the Entrance Hall.

"Potions tomorrow," Snape remarked. No response. "Astronomy."

"Yeah. That'll be good. And club sign-ups."

"Indeed. And which clubs interest you?"

"Stargazers. Maybe Junior Quidditch. Dueling."

"Mmhm."

They had reached the corridor that led to the archive steps. The heels of their boots rang out on the stone and, out of habit, Snape lit his wand, springing their shadows into life along the wall.

"Sir, Professor, can I ask you something?"

"You can call me Dad."

Servius pointedly ignored this. "I was wondering…You know Professor Hellmann?"

"Obviously."

"Is he…is he good at dueling?"

Snape snuck a sideways look. "Well he's teaching the club so I expect he would have a degree of proficiency."

"Apparently he's taught some kid who won some dueling championship…"

"Is that so?" said Snape coolly, well aware of how rumours worked.

"Can teachers duel with each other?"

"Why are you asking, Servius?"

"No reason….just some of the kids were saying…"

"The best teacher I know for dueling is Professor Flitwick."

"Really?"

"He is exceptional. At least he was. It's been some time since I've seen him."

They were heading down the steps.

"Wait," said Servius, and Snape paused and turned. Servius stared at the wall. "So…if you got into a duel with Professor Hellmann, who…who do you think would win?"

Snape clamped down hard on a smile. "Almost certainly Professor Hellmann."

"Why?" shot back Servius, eyes flaring.

"I barely know the man. I would presume him to be superior to myself."

"Well then how do you know you're not better than him?"

"Perhaps it would depend on what we were dueling about. If it is a matter of honour, if he had grievously offended me or someone I loved, then perhaps I would win."

Servius pondered this. "So you would duel him if…he had offended me?"

"No. Why are you trying to provoke me into a duel with Professor Hellmann?"

"Is that cause you don't love me or because you just wouldn't duel with him?"

"I – I just wouldn't duel with him. Now what's this about?"

"Nothing," grunted Servius, and shoved passed Snape as he said the password and entered the archive, the door slamming shut behind him.

A/N: A great many thanks to those who have commented and reviewed – it is much appreciated and very motivating.