The Letter at The End

"I was always in the Hospital Wing," said Harry Potter with a rueful laugh at the end of Servius' bed. "What with one thing and another."

"Five times, Harry," said Pomfrey primly, holding a tray of three goblets of Daught of Calor and handing one to Servius, who was sitting propped up against pillows. "And that was just when you were the patient."

"I don't want to be here!" objected Servius. "I'm fine!"

"I'll be the judge of that!" said Pomfrey, and handed the second goblet to Amelie, who was in the next bed.

"Will there be hot chocolate?" asked Wait for William, from the third bed, and accepting his draught.

"I'll bring you some later," said Sinistra with a tired smile and a wink. She, like Snape, wore a healing cloak wrapped tightly around her. They had declined bed rest, however, feeling shaky and exhausted but otherwise well, and had remained in the ward only on the insistence of the matron.

"I'll be glad when Diaphne gets back!" Pomfrey declared, balancing her tray as she collected the empty goblets. "She was so efficient with these sorts of things. I must say, I've noticed her absence. But I don't want to hurry her from Neville's bedside."

Snape and Sinistra exchanged looks and then looked at Potter, who rubbed his chin and said, "Um, Poppy, perhaps I could have a quiet word?"

As Potter led a rather alarmed looking Pomfrey into the Hospital's office, Servius said to Snape, "She doesn't know what happened to Nurse Diaphne?"

"Not yet," Snape replied. "And I advise all three of you to keep that information to yourselves for the time being. Mr Potter's Aurors will no doubt need to investigate that further."

The door to the wing banged open and McGonagall strode through, followed by Professor's Hellmann and Slughorn. She looked over the top of her spectacles at the three bedded children and said, "How are the patients? There, Benedict – Amelie appears fine, I expect Poppy will allow you to take her home."

Hellmann immediately went to Amelie's bedside, grasped her hand and spoke in subdued German. Slughorn went to William.

"Severus, Aurora – how are you both now?" McGonagall inquired. "Warmed up?"

Snape looked at Sinistra, who seemed pale and withdrawn. He said, "Personally, I am recovered. But I understand Aurora has been…under the weather lately. Perhaps a night under observation would be a good idea - ,"

"I just want my own bed," said Sinistra bluntly.

Snape's frown showed all the judgement of the proxy parent. "It was well below freezing out there, I think -,"

"The temperature was the least of my problems," muttered Sinistra, and removed her cloak. "Thank you Ma'am, I feel fine. I may retire now, though, if you don't mind."

McGonagall glanced from her to Snape and back again. "If Poppy thinks it appropriate to release you -,"

Sinistra straightened and said with a slightly bitter note, "I think I know what's best for me. I appreciate you're seeking a full report Ma'am, and I will prepare one tomorrow. I doubt there's anything I can tell you that Severus can't adequately provide, however I'll do as you ask. But right now I – I just need to…goodnight."

She turned on her heel and walked quickly to the Hospital door. Snape followed.

"Aurora -,"

She closed her eyes and paused, her hand on the door handle.

"I'll come and see you. As soon as I've finished here."

There was the barest tilt of her chin, and she then slipped through the door, shutting it behind her.

"Is she alright?" McGonagall asked as Snape returned and he opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment the door of the Hospital office opened and Pomfrey walked out, her hand to her mouth, looking shocked and fraught. Behind her came Potter, and he put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Ma'am!" said Pomfrey, spotting the Headmistress. "Nurse Diaphne! Oh!"

"I know, Poppy. Dreadful business. I'm so sorry."

"Who will tell her family? I don't know them. Aren't they in Hogsmeade?"

"I will," said Snape. "I believe I have acquaintances who can assist me, and I have…her wand to return."

After aiding Pomfrey into a visitor armchair, Potter turned to McGonagall and said in an undertone: "Professor, I need to be getting home. I don't think there's much more I can do here for now."

"Thank you Harry, of course."

"I've left two Aurors camped in Centaur territory, just to make sure. They'll leave in the morning. The emergency Healers have taken Rabastan to Mungos under armed escort. Unbelievably, he's still alive, but you won't be bothered by him for quite some time, I shouldn't think."

"There'll be a trial, I imagine?"

"If he survives, he's entitled to a fair hearing. And we still don't know what he wanted the Resurrection Stone for. Sounds as though my theory missed the mark," he added, looking at Snape.

"It was a sound theory, Potter," said Snape. "But history remains where it should for now."

"You'll come to the office about those charges, sir? The attempt on your own life, and that of Servius?"

"And the Centaurs?" asked McGonagall. "Will they be alright? I've been on the Floo network with the Prime Minister and he seemed to think there'll be some kind of inquiry into it. He wants to prevent an "inter-being incident' as he calls it. The Forest is on Hogwarts land, but the tomb or whatever it is has been inactive so long it doesn't register as belonging to the school or the Ministry. It's very upsetting. We've worked long and hard to make peace with the Centaurs."

Potter raised his brows apologetically, unable to help, and McGonagall issued a despairing sigh. "I have every expectation we'll be meeting again soon, Harry. Give my regards to Ginny and a kiss to those gorgeous boys."

Potter wished them both a good night and left the ward. Soon after, Hellmann and Amelie left as well, headed for home in the village. Pomfrey dimmed the lights and McGonagall and Slughorn quietly departed, and when sounds of snoring came from William's bed, Snape at last went to Servius.

"How are you feeling?" Snape asked in a low, deep voice, sitting at the end of the bed.

"Weird," replied Servius in a semi-whisper. "Nothing feels normal. Sick, like I want to throw up. And sad. But the pain has gone away."

"You've described us both, then," said Snape. "Madam Pomfrey will give you something to help you sleep. Show me your arm."

Servius held out his left, upturned arm, rolling up the pyjama sleeve to expose the mark on it, and Snape gently held the wrist in his own hand to examine it. "It must have hurt a great deal," he murmured.

"I think I passed out."

"This is not what I wanted for you, Servius. You're twelve. There's nothing glamorous about being branded."

"I didn't want it! Well, not the snake at least. Mum liked the moth."

"You're not to use it. We don't know what Rabastan's Marks can do. I felt your message, but who knows what other Death Eaters felt it too."

Servius quelled a little, fear darkening his eyes as he hurriedly rolled his sleeve back down. "Does it mean Rabastan can control me now? Like Professor Longbottom?"

"No. He can't control you, he won't be controlling anyone or anything for quite some time. If you feel it hurting, tell me, and be sure to let Madam Pomfrey know if you have any other symptoms. You've survived three Unforgivables and in one so young, remarkable as it is, I don't know what effect that may have. Maybe Rabastan's wand was defective somehow – I can't explain it…"

Servius remained tight-lipped briefly as he sat back against his pillows and then, purposely changing the subject, said, "Dad, Sluggy said that on Monday we'd find out if I'm expelled."

"We'll see."

"I'm glad that…everything…happened before I have to go."

"You did an amazing thing tonight."

Servius looked earnestly at Snape. "Mum said that I have an important job to do. That there's a letter I have to read but it's in the Faerie Call somewhere in the Ministry of Magic. How can I do that if I'm expelled and living in Trowbridge?"

Snape studied him closely, mystified. "There's a letter? In a Faerie Call?"

"The Call you gave to her – the one you showed me in the Pensieve. She hid a letter in it for me. The letter is from some Great Uncle who died just before I was born."

"What's in the letter?"

"It's about a job I have to do. A Warlock task. She said it was my destiny and I may be one of the greatest Warlocks who ever lived."

Snape was dumbstruck, thoughts racing…a chain, a weight, it drags on me… Then he said, "Did she need to tell you that? Was that why she couldn't rest?"

Servius nodded. "She also said that you would help me. …but how can I do anything stuck in Trowbridge?"

Snape's mind was pitched back to the Wicce, her Chronica. "Who was your Great Uncle?" Snape asked.

"James Athan, something like that. I can't remember."

The name meant nothing to Snape, but he was exhausted, wrung out, and wearily he patted Servius' leg beneath the blanket. "There is time enough to attend to that. Aut viam inveniam aut faciam. But for now, you need rest. Forget everything, and sleep."

Servius obediently wriggled a little further under the covers of the bed. It was quiet now, and dim but for the glow from the fireplace.

"Dad?" mumbled Servius, as Snape rose, preparing to leave. "If I can't stay at Hogwarts…will you come visit me sometimes? We can…hang out. There's an alright bookshop in Trowbridge."

Snape took a while to answer. There was much to be consulted on the matter, but when he finally did, it was with a solemn tone. "It is my intention," he said, "that we never be separated again."

Aurora admitted him to her quarters without a welcoming smile. She was in a belted, terry towel bathrobe, slippers, and smelled lightly of pleasant botanical ointments; Snape guessed she had been readying for bed. While he himself would probably collapse on his bed face down and sleep for a week, she sought the normality of daily routine. Yet she looked anything but normal.

"At last we talk," she said, indicating an armchair in her cosy living room. She had a penchant for snug furniture. The walls had been papered, and he liked the nebula pattern, especially in the firelight from the woodburner – it was all quite celestial. He sat on the chair she'd offered by the fire and when she suggested a pot of tea, he jumped up and insisted on making it.

"I'm pregnant, Severus, not an invalid," she retorted. "I'll make the tea; these are my rooms. For Merlin's sake, sit down."

He dared not argue and remained perched on the seat until she at last joined him with a service, placed it on a small table, and reclined in the chair opposite him with her feet tucked up. "I am tired though," she admitted, and rubbed the back of her neck. "Perhaps you could pour."

There was an uncomfortable silence while he made two cups, he deeply unsure how to broach a celebratory subject when she was so obviously exhausted and ill-humoured. It didn't help that he'd scarcely had a moment to entertain the news, despite it having flabbergasted him. But when he thought about it, in retrospect, there had been signs: the illness had obviously been morning sickness, she had tried to tell him several times. It simply hadn't crossed his mind – the chances were so improbable…and he then fleetingly wondered if it had been planned.

So he jumped, sloshing tea into his saucer, when her opening, businesslike words were: "I didn't plan for this, whatever you think. I admit, I wasn't particularly careful, I had long assumed that I was beyond the age of accidental pregnancy. But Severus, I have wanted to be a mother since I was knee-high. This…now…it feels almost -," she glanced away to search for the word, "…fated. In the stars, if you like. My eleventh hour."

He nodded, and attempted a smile, but she remained grim. "It's yours. In case you're wondering."

"I wasn't wondering."

"I'm quite conscious that there's nothing formal between us. So I imagine it crossed your mind."

He shook his head, feeling in trouble. "No. No, I didn't…think it was anyone…else's."

"And I intend to keep him or her. I…would hope you'd be interested, but I know…well I haven't presumed."

"Of course I'm interested."

"You don't seem very interested."

Snape cleared his throat. "You just…you're very…cross."

She held his eyes and then sighed deeply. "This hasn't been easy. Firstly, I've been really quite ill and tired. Secondly, every attempt I made to tell you has been thwarted. I can't believe how it came out. Thirdly, you told me to my face you didn't love me. Imagine how that made me feel, under the circumstances. And lastly, but by no means least, that bitch has cursed me. My baby has a curse on it, Severus. I'm sorry if I'm a bit gloomy."

Snape listened, and by the end of her sentence, he'd had the exact same sensation inside as the plummeting he felt when the lift at the Ministry's office hurtled downwards. But with it, a great sorrow and remorse. And now, in case he couldn't feel any worse, she had lifted her chin in a dignified way while great tears slipped silently down her cheeks. "I didn't plan to get pregnant, Severus. And I certainly didn't plan for things to go the way they did. But I can't change any of it now."

He put down his cup with as much control as he could muster and stood, then in two paces was by her chair. "Aurora I – I…will do everything…in my power, all that I can…anything you need, or want…I am at your disposal. Let me help. Let me make amends."

"Make amends?" she said. "You haven't injured me." She wiped the tears away with the heel of her hand.

"For, for neglecting you. I had no idea."

"Servius said that you'd -," she laughed cynically, "'got your end away' with Charity. And that he was the resulting mistake. I was stunned. You might have stupefied me."

"I didn't 'get my end away' with Charity. I was in love with her. You know what happened, Aurora."

"You're still in love with her," said Sinistra bitterly, and took a sudden, final sip of tea. "Whereas this baby – well, it is a mistake, isn't it?"

"Please don't say things like that," said Snape. He had come to her side intending to embrace her, but she remained stubbornly seated and now his gesture felt awkward. "Perhaps it wasn't planned, that doesn't mean it isn't wanted. That it won't be as loved and adored."

"Oh? As loved and adored as Servius was when you first found out about him?"

He remembered then, in her office. My life would be a great deal simpler without him in it.

"The truth of the matter," he said to her, "such as it is: I have often thought I would have liked to have known Servius as a baby. He seemed…very bonny. I wish I'd known."

She stood abruptly and dropped her cup and saucer on the tea tray, then swung to face him, her eyes ablaze. "Well you must be feeling quite pleased with yourself. Being so virile. All these progeny you sired unwittingly. The fact is, your flesh and blood has been cursed, Severus, cursed, and it's because of you. Hell hath no fury - do you know that Muggle expression? Like a woman scorned. Thanks to your end getting away with the school nurse, Diaphne punished me and the baby. Envy, enmity and revenge. A pain worse than death. Because of you!"

Snape stared at her. He'd never seen her like this, and her words were like barbed darts, their pain on impact only the beginning. He felt the toxin starting to run through his veins. He shook his head dumbly.

"And if Servius is expelled? Then what? Off to the midlands? 'Perhaps there are choices'? Such as? Conjugal visits once a month? And how am I supposed to keep my job as a single mother? Where do I put the baby, Severus? In the Room of Requirement?" she took a great, heaving breath and then the tears started to flow. "What if the curse hurts the baby? What do I do? What do I do?"

Snape, truthfully, had no idea. Nothing constructive was coming to him over the fluttering of panic in his chest. She was now openly sobbing, her huge fears having found an outlet: the worry, the trauma, the rejection all welling up like a geyser beneath and Snape felt frozen, knowing himself to be so rooted in the heart of it he thought he would look disingenuous if he tried now to show affection and concern. "You – you probably shouldn't have come into the Forest," he said.

Her sobs broke, her breath hitched and she stared at him. "That's your help? You want me to feel guilty on top?" A howl followed, and her hands over her face, she cried, "You should probably go."

"But…shouldn't you calm down?'

"Get out!" Sinistra picked up her wand and fired it at him. Her spell was non-verbal, but the wall behind his head was suddenly pockmarked with tiny, deep holes. He flinched. "Get out! I'm sorry, this is not what I wanted. But I'm too angry now. Get out."

He closed down. His expression was cold, shuttered, and he appraised her one last time with such remoteness, she gasped. Then he calmly went to her door, opened it and left.

She moved to the armchair and collapsed into it, aghast. "Charity - how did you do it?"

Snape used the moment of deflection to charge down the stairs of the now dark and empty castle to his own rooms in the dungeon. Thankfully an elf had lit a fire and put some leftovers in the kitchenette – no doubt McGonagall's thoughtfulness – but the silence of being alone after the day he'd had was more jarring than welcoming. Battles waged within him still.

With careful, reverential hands he brought out his wand from the pocket where he'd solicitously stored it. This was his first opportunity to examine it properly, and he pored over the rents and fissures in the wood as if it were an injured part of his own body. The core still worked, this he knew from the basic spells he'd cast with it since the long trek out of the Forbidden Forest, but he mourned the damage, and the notion that his wand had absorbed the force on his behalf, to protect him. Ollivanders. That was all there was to it. The wand must be repaired.

Later, in bed, he allowed himself to think about a baby with Sinistra and forced aside the confused tangle of feelings about her. He tossed and turned and after a few hours, eventually took some Dreamless Sleep, having very much the feeling that he was going to need a clear head for some days yet.

The following day, Saturday, Snape rose, dressed and then stood in his living room wondering whether he should go to Servius first, or Sinistra. Given her mood the previous evening, he thought it might be prudent to allow her some time and space, and so after locking his door, he headed directly for the Hospital Wing. As it turned out, Sinistra was already there, dressed for going out, but Servius had gone.

"Where -?" he asked, upon sighting the empty bed, the sheets already stripped.

"Horace has collected him. McGonagall's orders," replied Sinistra. She herself looked tired and subdued, her cheeks hollow, her eyelids heavy with fatigue. Her hair, normally fastened in a tidy knot, lay disheveled around her shoulders. "The decision is not till Monday and until then he remains suspended."

"He's with Horace," said Pomfrey, emerging from her office. "He was quite fit to go, so I released him. Headmistresses orders, Severus, I'm sorry if you didn't know."

"I needed to talk to him," muttered Snape, vexed. He turned to Sinistra and said in confidential tones: "I'm going to see the Wicce. I need to tell her about Diaphne. Did – would you like to join me? She may know…something."

But Sinistra shook her head. "No. No, I don't like Disapparating in my…at the moment. And, I think it would be a good idea if you and I take a little breathing room. You have things you need to think about Severus. I'm planning on taking the Knight Bus later this morning home for the weekend. I'll be back on Monday."

"Aurora," said Snape, his head bowed and almost in a whisper as Pomfrey was sitting at her table, not quite far enough away. "I am sorry…I feel terrible about our conversation last night."

Sinistra shook her head. "Another time. I've got to go." And with that she gathered her robe tight at the neck and waved at Pomfrey before marching away, without so much as a backward glance.

Pomfrey waited until she and Snape were quite alone, and she caught his eye. "I've been treating Aurora. She's been unwell lately."

"Uh, yes, I'm aware of that."

"Of course she's a patient and it's not my place to say but, Severus, if she's your friend, then now would be a good time to reassure her that you are the most loyal of companions. Even to the living ones."

She offered him a small, maternal smile and he acknowledged this with a single, hesitant nod; then he too left the Hospital.

The Infirmary, he noticed as he was guided along its corridors by a nurse, had a maternity wing. During his convalescence here, that section had barely scaled his consciousness, the plights – or joys – of pregnant witches being of singular disinterest to him, and being dimly aware that, as a wizard, he was also uninvited. The mothers, nurses and midwives made it a distinctly female oriented zone and he kept his distance. He guessed, having seldom seen any male partners visiting the wing, that the Infirmary's patients were those who didn't quite fit the bill of a new mother in a happy pairing with a planned and expected child, the kind who exited St Mungos in a huddle of smiling family, lineage and top Diagon babywear. Now, as he strode passed the entrance, the faint cries of a newborn reached his ears and he suddenly flushed and was then confused by this reaction and a resultant twinge in his heart.

He was shown through to the patient's lounge, a room he recalled being frequented by semi-permanent residents, often with a dour outlook and as embittered as their foul-smelling potions and cures. When he entered, he found there to be a contemplative scattering of patients, and amid them, the Wicce who was sitting with an old woman, likely a long-termer, with a very wrinkled face and a vacant gaze seemingly unaware of her company. The Wicce was dressed in white with gold trim – traditional Wizarding mourning colours – and when the old woman opened her toothless mouth and made a comment, the Wicce nodded and patted her arm but did not reply. When she spotted Snape, she indicated for him to join her by patting the seat of a spare chair beside her.

Snape obliged, and he assessed the old woman clinically, noting her mental absence, the cataract eyes, the shell of a life now only existing. "This is my sister," said the Wicce in a modulated voice. "She's only a hundred and thirty-two. She's Diaphne's grandmother. I'm trying to tell her about Diaphne, but she has no idea, no idea at all."

"Crone's Decline."

"Advanced. I talk to her everyday but the last time she remembered who I am was over twelve years ago. You've brought the potion?"

Snape gave a spare nod and, from within an inside pocket of his winter robe, brought out a small, stoppered bottle. "Wicce, this is untested, the formula is completely experimental -,"

"Of course. Are you concerned about side-effects? A second head?"

He ignored her quip and unrolled a small scroll with his scrawl all over it, which he also handed to her. "These are my notes: the ingredients, quantities, brewing times and temperatures. With more raven's brains I might have had the option of higher potency but -,"

"Thank you, Professor. I'll look them over. Well! Shall we try?"

The Wicce pulled the cork and, as she spooned the potion to her grunting and irascible sister, Snape withdrew the wand to hand over and said, "I am very sorry about Diaphne. How did you learn the news?"

"I saw it with my own eyes, Professor. I also saw her coldly murder half a dozen Centaurs."

"Saw it? You were there, then? As a raven?"

"Indeed, I saw it all and I have many thoughts on what happened. But above them all, perhaps it was for the best what happened to Diaphne. Horrible, undoubtedly. So young. She lost her way after you." She took the wand and pocketed it.

Snape sat silently, defensive words bubbling up but popping at the surface.

With care, the Wicce continued to dose her lip-smacking sister. "She made her choices. She must have taken some satisfaction out of revenge. That coven she entangled with, always dabbling in malevolent magic. Deformities. Accidents. Ruination."

"Her curse on Professor Sinistra –,"

"Your doing?"

"I'm sorry -?"

"The baby, Professor. Yours?"

Snape felt heat at the base of his neck. "Um, it would appear…yes."

She arched her brows and then suddenly swore under her breath when her sister spat out the most recent mouthful of potion. "Hm. Perhaps some sugar in it, Professor?" she muttered, blotting the stains on her robes. "Now listen closely, I have some harsh but necessary words for you. Disaster was narrowly averted last night. The abhumans were gathering, they were close, I could smell them. You cannot afford to be so reckless. You need to focus, to find a higher purpose. You must mentor James Servius and deliver him to this greatness in his future. Why are you impregnating your co-workers?"

Snape flushed deeply now and shifted in his seat. "Professor Sinistra is more than a co-worker -,"

"But she is a co-worker. And she may well be cursed, because, again, you meddled in the lives of women. If I'm not incorrect, that's now three young women who've met their end from having you in their association. Is Professor Sinistra to be the fourth?"

Appalled, it took a full minute for Snape to respond. "You blame me," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion as he dwelt on her words. "For Diaphne's death. It's not true. I didn't…hurt…any of the women I loved. Save them – I tried to save all of them -,"

The potion had finished and the Wicce replaced the stopper, then handed the bottle back to Snape. "If there's improvement, I'll know. I'll send word."

"Wicce – the curse on Professor Sinistra – can it be broken?"

She exhaled heavily. "I'm not a curse-breaker. I have a brother who is but he's presently away. He usually stops by here when he's back in Scotland, I can ask him if he'll look at the Professor."

"She's – we – are worried that the baby's been harmed."

"I have excellent midwives on staff. She is welcome to visit the Infirmary during her pregnancy, in fact I recommend it. The Professor and I have met, I trust her discretion."

Snape nodded, and his gaze rested on the view of the Minch through the feature window of the lounge, his thoughts tumbling like the foamy waves against the rocks.

"My son, Servius, has been told he has a task, as you said his name appeared in your book, do you know what it might signify?"

The Wicce stood and placed a warm shawl about the shoulders of her sister, who'd since nodded off.

"I saw a James Servius Snape act with both great courage and great foolishness. He's too headstrong; he needs to commandeer those impulses if he's going to accomplish his task. This girl he has bonded to – he cannot risk it; he can't be distracted by an adolescent fixation. He must be rid of that."

Snape theoretically agreed with everything she'd said. "Do you know of his task, Wicce?"

"Come on then. Let's consult the Chronica. Sometimes it knows, sometimes it doesn't."

With the Wicce leading, they mounted the creaking stairs up to her consultation rooms, and inside, while she lit the candle sconces, he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, cursorily interested in three wicker baskets that occupied a near corner, each filled with dozens of a different type of shrunken head.

"Sit," she said, gesturing her leather visitor's chair and she levitated the Chronica from its shelf down to her desktop. "So who told Servius he has a task?"

"Charity. She told him that there is a letter explaining it all that she hid for safekeeping. The letter was from her Uncle, who died just before Servius was born."

"Within the hour?" asked the Wicce sharply.

"I don't know."

"Who is the Uncle?"

"A James Athan or something similar."

"Another James. I see. I heard the Centaurs ask Servius if he were a Patron of Iakovos. Do you know much about Charity's family history, Professor?" she asked, lifting the heavy, bronze cover of the book.

"No – I – regrettably no. Our time together was too brief."

She didn't comment but retrieved a small pair of reading glasses from amongst the clutter on her desk and put them on. That done, she searched within the folds of her robe until she found her mandrake wand, which she brandished over the book and commenced the murmuring incantation she'd said the last time he'd watched this ritual. He heard the words James Athan spoken, and then Athanasios, and the pages riffled and flipped at tremendous speed.

Presently, once the Chronica came to rest at an open page and the letters had settled like disturbed autumn leaves, she peered in closely, and Snape rose, curious to see for himself. But she raised a palm. "Sorry Professor, you've already seen more than I'd normally be comfortable with. I trust you yet. Don't give me reason to change my mind."

"Wicce," he said, affronted. "I haven't spoken of you to anyone."

She returned her focus to the book. "James Ephriam Athan, died October twenty-sixth, nineteen ninety-four. Son of James…son of James…son of James Platon Athanasios – so the name was Anglicised – and then these go back generations…" She muttered more incantation and the words sprinkled once more, the emanating golden glow smoothing out her features. Her eyes darted about, absorbing the information. "This goes right back, Professor, to ancient Greece. There's over a hundred generations. It seems impossible. The genealogy branches off in thousands of directions, but there is this primary connecting line. It jags, it's not true, but it is nevertheless unbroken. With every generation the lineage is passed to a son named James. A firstborn son. It doesn't pass to a brother, it passes to another firstborn son."

"But there must have been some in the line who didn't bear sons, or even children -?"

"Yes. Like Charity's Great Uncle. He never bore children and so he has passed the line onto a familial firstborn son, who is named James. Uncle James must have died within the hour Servius was born and transferred the lineage through the first breath."

"Coincidence?"

The Wicce glanced at him over the top of her wire-rims and shook her head. "Much, much too improbable. And risky. I'd say Uncle James arranged it all. He must have had a powerful descent of magic to coordinate that."

"Who is he descended from?"

The Wicce squinted and frowned at the open page for some minutes, and then ran her open hand across it. Moments later she raised impressed brows. "Hold on to your seat, Professor. Your son has bloodlines that the Sacred Twenty-Eight can only dream about. He is a direct descendent of Iakovos: The Worthy Mage, the good one of the three Mages of Alexon. As you'll know being a teacher, the other two were Olysseus and then, of course, Typheous."

Snape's mouth dropped open and he stared, speechless.

"So the Centaurs were correct," said the Wicce. "He is a Patron. His presence at the tomb on the black moon may have been ordained."

"I don't believe it, Wicce," muttered Snape. "All he wants to do is eat and play football."

"And be a Warlock?"

"His mother was Muggleborn -,"

The Wicce snorted laughter. "Look what she was sitting on. A veritable volcano of magic."

"But what if Servius had been born a girl?"

"Then Uncle James would have sat tight until another boy had been born somewhere in the family. There's no point telling these ancient rituals to catch up with modern gender politics. It looks as though he liked the cut of Servius' gib and he undoubtedly decided that you were the right father to raise him – he probably knew something about you from Charity. It is entirely possible that your communion with her was ordained as well. There's little to be gained by theorizing on all the possibilities – you may as well accept that this is the truth."

Snape ran a confounded hand over his face, his tired, overwrought mind trying to scale the size and complexity of what he'd just learnt, but failing. "And…and…his task?"

The Wicce closed her book with a heavy thud. "I'm afraid the Chronica doesn't have that. It's likely only Servius himself is allowed to discover it."

"But…can he do that as a Muggle? In Trowbridge for Merlin's sake? There's a chance he'll be expelled."

A look of astonished consternation crossed the Wicce's face. "As a Muggle? No! Whatever duty he's been given, it will need magic, Professor, and I would anticipate a very great deal of it. If he's relegated to Muggledom, then he'll just carry on normally until such time as he's ready to die, and pass on to his own son, or the firstborn of another. I just hope that the task he's given can wait for the next generation. If not, I expect there'll be another descendent out there somewhere who'll need to step up."

Snape felt the frantic flutterings of urgency. "He needs to learn to be a Warlock. I need to stop the expulsion."

The Wicce sat back in her chair and steepled her fingers, looking rather cynical. "Expelled. Tsk. Well far be it for me to interfere with the workings of bureaucracy, Professor, as you know we make poor bedfellows, but…I would have thought raising and educating a young wizard who is directly descended from Iakovos in order to fulfil a destiny would…override any transgressions he committed. Yes, yes, I'm sure they were terribly serious. But more so is his legacy. Doesn't the school have some sort of…duty…to serve the wizarding world in this respect?"

Snape absorbed her words and uttered: "Potter. There's a protection clause."

The Wicce raised her brows again and smiled. "Ah. Yes. Maybe somebody in charge needs to know that Hogwarts is about to kick out the next Potter."

Servius pushed aside the loose board on the front door of the Shrieking Shack so that Amelie and Wait for William could enter. They both wore their winter cloaks, scarves and gloves – it was bitterly cold and just that morning there'd been a hoar frost that had turned the Forbidden Forest into an ice kingdom, snapping and crackling and crunching as the sun slowly rose.

"Come into the kitchen, I've lit a fire in the old oven," said Servius, leading them through, and the three sat on pea-straw bales and raised their frozen fingers to the small, twiggy fire burning in the pot-belly stove.

"What's been going on?" asked Servius. "I get nothing. Sluggy's gone off to the Three Broomsticks. He's annoyed because I keep pestering him for information."

Amelie and Wait for William looked at each other and then back at Servius. "Well the whole school knows that tomorrow there's a decision," said William. "And of course the Gryffindor tossers want you gone. But the Slytherins are saying you're a hero. You and your Dad. And us too," he added with a beaming grin.

"How'd they find out about it?"

"Find out about it? Ask any portrait! And Hagrid helped the Centaurs. Plus the Aurors met with the Headmistress this morning. All the Herbology classes are cancelled and, oh – and of course the House ghosts were all in a flap about the tomb."

"It's all anyone is talking about," added Amelie.

"And guess what!" said William. "Sluggy reckons Slytherin should get a whole bunch of House points for what we did! He says it's up to the Headmistress if she wants to allocate them."

Servius smiled. "That's cool. You guys saved my life. I owe you so much. I promise, even if I can't stay at Hogwarts, that I will repay you somehow."

Amelie reached out and took Servius' hand in her own, then squeezed it. "You don't need to repay us. We're a team. You connected us," she lifted her left arm and wriggled the wrist. "Anyway, I don't think you'll be expelled."

Servius looked at her quizzically, but William had delved into his cloak pocket and pulled out a paper bag filled with chocolate frogs. "C'mon. Who wants to eat some weird, jumping chocolate?"

"Are you still after that Harry Potter card?"

"We have a deal, mate. If you get the card, you give it to me."

"I've got three of the Dumbledore cards," said Amelie with a sigh. "Can't I swap any of them?"

There was an interlude of rustling noises and groans as the three opened their chocolate frogs and found yet more disappointing cards. But the chocolate went down quick.

"So you don't think I'll be expelled?" asked Servius hopefully to Amelie, around a mouthful.

"I can't believe you've spent the last six months doing nothing but trying to get yourself out of Hogwarts, and now you don't want to go," said William, rolling his eyes. "D'you remember talking about it on the Express? You said you were going to try swearing and fighting. Turns out, the answer was much more obvious. How about slicing up your Dad with a cutting curse? D'uh."

Servius paled and Amelie kicked William's ankle. "Ow! What?"

"That's not cool mate. I was gutted about it. I nearly killed him."

"Gutted, hah."

Servius jumped to his feet and pushed William backwards off the straw bale. William shouted, "What the fuck?"

"Exactly, man! Don't make bloody jokes about it! At least my Dad's here. At least he cares about me!"

"My Dad cares about me fine!" said William, hastily getting to his feet and dusting off the straw. "He's busy making money, that's all. He's going to get famous for his experiments, and I'm going to be in magazines and stuff."

"Cause you're the fuckin' experiment!" yelled Servius. "Say you're sorry!"

"Alright! Shit, man. Sorry, alright? Sorry! I was just making a joke. And don't say my Dad doesn't care about me."

"Cool, whatever."

"Will you two sit down and stop this stupid crap," said Amelie. "I only have ten minutes before my Dad starts looking for me. At least your Dad's leave you alone."

The two boys were seated again and opened a second round of chocolate frogs while Amelie threw a log on the fire.

"The reason I don't think you'll be expelled is because my Dad said to my Mum last night that your Dad talked to him about the Warlock club. He said your Dad was asking if my Dad could run special tutorials for you. My Dad said that he was looking for a champion to train. Of course, I am going to be the champion, but if he wants to train you as well, I don't mind."

"So…," said Servius thoughtfully, "he wouldn't ask your Dad, would he, if he thought I was going to be expelled?"

"Nein," said Amelie with a smile. "Genau."

Monday mid-morning, and as classrooms throughout Hogwarts closed their doors to commence lessons, there was a gathering in the Head's office. McGonagall had arranged the room into a small gallery, with herself seated at The Desk presiding, and behind that, Dumbledore watched solemnly. To the right of her was a seat for Dillard Credge, the investigator, and to the left of her, a seat for Servius, where he now sat, dressed smartly in uniform and gripping the edges of his chair, a sheen of perspiration across his brow. Before the desk, at a lower level, was a smattering of chairs and in these sat Snape, Sinistra, Slughorn, Cropper and Candace Peacock. They were silent and attentive.

"If we are all ready?" inquired McGonagall. She wore her pointed hat and had even foregone tea – a sign that she was giving these proceedings her full and professional attention. "Mr Credge, if you please. The investigation findings?"

Credge frowned and cleared his throat, while unravelling a scroll of parchment that was bound with brass rods at either end. "In my official capacity as Investigating Officer, and on behalf of Sir Bernard Byron, Chairman of the Board of Governors, who apologises he couldn't be here today, I am charged with dispensing the rationale and final decision regarding the allegations made against James Servius Snape, those being willful, reckless and illegal practice of the Dark Arts against an undefended wizard. The victim, as we know, suffered near-fatal wounds. The victim – Severus Snape – is an employee of Hogwarts and father of the accused.

"The investigation included interviews with all persons present at the incident, or who had knowledge of the events preceding the incident, could speak to the character of the perpetrator and to factors that may have contributed to the events as they occurred. This included the good staff at St Mungos who treated Professor Snape at the scene and afterwards.

"The investigation sought to understand all these contributory factors, motives and admissible as well ancillary evidence so as to make a determination about a fair and appropriate punition, if the allegations proved to be correct, or other reformative actions that may be necessary.

"The investigation did find the allegations to be true and correct. On the evening of tenth January, two thousand and seven, James Servius Snape did threaten to kill his father, on two occasions and before witnesses, and then, with malice aforethought, used his wand to cast a hex of such a dangerous and pernicious nature at his knowingly unarmed father that death was a likely and foreseeable consequence. The investigation found that had the hex struck any major artery or organ, Professor Snape may have died in mere minutes. Even so, dramatic life-saving procedures were necessary at the site.

"James Servius Snape is underage and unpracticed in the use of such Dark Arts. His acts were reckless and intended the cause the most possible harm, and born from an abiding hatred of his father -,"

"No," said Servius, shaking his head.

Credge flicked warning eyes from the boy back to his scroll. "- a hatred confirmed by several witnesses and motivated by a desire to escape Hogwarts and any ongoing relationship with this world or the people in it."

Credge paused and took a sip of water. With a slight change in tone, he then continued. "The investigation examined whether any mitigating or extenuating factors had a bearing on the outcome. The investigation found that the life and circumstances of James Snape had been under considerable duress prior to the incident; that he suffered at school and had only recently learned the existence of his father. The relationship was troubled. The report from his school counsellor paints a picture of a traumatized child on the brink of emotional and physical breakdown. The investigation found that the perpetrator's state of mind was in such passionate extreme that it was unlikely he would have been able to think rationally about his actions.

"Additionally, this particular hex was not one that James Snape had cast before. He did not know whether he could indeed even cast it. He states in his defence he only wished to scare his father and illustrate the depth of his pain and anguish, that he did not believe the hex would work, being, as he states, of 'average ability' in any form of charms or spellwork. His father, too, strongly maintained that James Servius acted impulsively, and not with true intent."

Servius looked at Snape, his wide, fearful eyes attempting to communicate his sincerity. His whole face was drained of colour and his over-long fringe stuck to his forehead in sections. Snape met his eyes but then dropped them, seemingly robbed of any measure of hope or care.

McGonagall said quietly, "And so, Mr Credge? What is the verdict?"

Credge replied to her alone. "The Board considered all the evidence and the findings. It drew a conclusion that it deemed only fair and reasonable in the circumstances, and with all the possible solutions that were open to it and in view that certain standards and values are sacred and must be upheld." Credge's eyes shifted to Servius. "The Board has decreed that James Servius Snape be expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with immediate effect."

Servius shut his eyes and hung his head, while those in the gallery gasped and made noises of shock and dismay. Snape alone was silent and stared at his son.

McGonagall called for order, and then said to Credge: "And what of his most recent deeds? Discovering and thwarting the plans of a true felon intent on massive destruction? Possibly saving thousands of lives? Hundreds of thousands – who can say? Do they count for nothing?"

"Ma'am," said Credge, "the investigation only considered the facts pertinent at the time. There is no means of cancelling out wrongs with a right. Had Professor Snape died, young Snape's good deeds posthumously would not bring the Professor back."

"I think it establishes his true character. Why would a lad who hated Hogwarts or the Wizarding world as much as he allegedly does, then place himself at great risk to save it? Why would his own father go to such extraordinary lengths to save him? I must say I disagree with the Board's decision!" Flags of colour rose to her cheek and her eyebrows arched so high they disappeared behind the brim of her hat. She turned to Servius. "I'm not wrong, am I Servius? It long seemed to me that you would be happier back among your Muggle friends and family, but I am reliably informed that you have had a change of heart. That perhaps the fear of losing your father was enough to make you appreciate what he in fact meant to you."

Servius gazed at her and nodded. "Yes, Professor. I want to stay at Hogwarts. With all my heart."

"I regret that you hold that position, Ma'am," interjected Credge, again quietening Servius with a warning frown. "But it is the Board's judgement to make. They view Master Snape as a menace to himself and the other students – in the truest definition, of course."

Candace Cropper got to her feet and cleared her throat. "I can testify to the changes Servius is trying to make. I have seen a dramatic change in his attitude, his regret and remorse are substantial – I don't believe he had any idea what he was doing -,"

"Thank you, Madam," said Credge, with his hand held up. "I didn't expect anyone to like the decision, I'm here merely to report it. But if the Board simply forgave every student who felt sorry after they'd done something, they'd be viewed as irresponsible. The Board has policy around disciplinary action for a reason and must act in accordance with its own policy. A child randomly hexing with a spell – which in my opinion should be classified as an Unforgivable – cannot and should not be sustained by a school like Hogwarts."

Credge stood very erect for a moment, then approached McGonagall's desk. She watched him warily and he placed the unrolled scroll on her desk. "Ma'am, I require your signature here….and here…signifying you have been informed the Board's decision and authorizing the expulsion procedure."

Servius jumped to his feet. "No, please don't!"

McGonagall glanced at him, her eyes now wide and reluctant, but she lifted her quill.

Snape stood abruptly, his chair dragging on the floor. His eyes glittered and his mouth was a grim, firm line. He looked hard at McGonagall and then Dumbledore, and without a word, turned and stormed from the office.

McGonagall, alarmed, swung round to look at Dumbledore. He was shaking his head. "The boy was distraught. You remember what Harry said."

"Outrageous!" said Nigellus.

"Ma'am," said Credge. "Whether you sign or not, the verdict has been made here in front of witnesses. It is the Board's ruling. Sir Byron himself expressed his personal regret since he knew Master Snape's mother well. But the Board has to think beyond a single student, an individual. It has to think of the school's greater responsibility and the welfare of all the students. So must you, as its Head. You took an oath, a duty, to protect them all. The parents trust you to do what's right."

"It's true, I did," whispered McGonagall, her fingers at her brooch.

And for a long, torturous moment, the room was still and silent but for the tinking of Dumbledore's contraptions, marking down time, energy, atoms in the Universe – who knew what? Then McGonagall lifted the quill and signed the form.

"Tāne? Tāne!" called Snape. The sun was setting and its slanted rays through the owlery pigeon-holes illuminated the thick dust and microscopic detritus in the air and Snape sneezed. He then lifted his boot and sighed impatiently at the huge gob of owl dropping now stuck to the bottom. "For Merlin's sake, where are you?" A dozen owls on their perches regarded him, but he needed Tāne for this task: a young, agile, long-distance flyer he could trust utterly. So he attempted Servius' three-note whistle, and with relief he saw the owl flying towards him across the treetops, then come to rest on a perch at the launch platform.

Snape had a letter which he rolled up and affixed to Tāne's leg with harnesses. The journey would be arduous, and he wanted Tāne to concentrate on flying, not carrying. "Take this," he said in low tones, "to Sir Byron at the Ministry of Magic in London. You must deliver, and to Sir Byron's hand only. Do not stop. Fly as quickly as you can. Then with a reply, return immediately. Bring the reply to me. Make haste, your master is depending on you."

Tāne's solemn yellow eyes gave the appearance of reassurance before he launched silent and swift into the dusk, but Snape thought he must have imagined it. Nevertheless, he'd developed an affection for the little owl, and watched the tiny dot of him disappear to the south before exiting the owlery as quickly as possible.

He went from there directly to Hogsmeade, and Apparated at the bottom of Slughorn's cul de sac. Wisps of woodsmoke issued from the chimney, and lights shone in the windows, and when he looked at the gabled, upper-storey bedroom window he saw the silhouette of Servius, who'd evidently spotted him in turn as he raised his hand in a wave and then quickly turned away. Snape strode up the short street and into Slughorn's front garden, but before he reached the stoop, the front door was flung open and Servius stood there, wide eyes filled with apprehension and hope. "Dad? Is there news?"

Snape shook his head, smiled and briefly ruffled Servius' hair. "Had some dinner?"

Slughorn, wearing slippers, a smoking jacket and a striped nightcap came to the door. "Severus! Do come in. Out of the cold – move aside Servius; come now, shut that door."

Snape was shown through to Slughorn's kitchen where the woodstove was burning and the slab-oak kitchen table was laden with books, papers and a collection of potion bottles. "Sit Severus, tell us, what is to become of the boy?"

While Slughorn fixed two whiskies, Snape said, "I have appealed the decision. I have written to Sir Byron and Tāne is en route. I'm hopeful we'll hear before the train leaves tomorrow."

"It doesn't leave until six pm," said Slughorn. "You still have most of the day even then. But why send the owl? Why not just Floo there yourself?"

"There is an appointment tomorrow I cannot miss. Tāne is a good owl, he'll be back in time."

"What if that doesn't work?" said Servius. "The appeal? What would change his mind?"

Slughorn sat at the head of the table and raised his tumbler in a sole salute.

"Servius, you're no ordinary student," said Snape. "You carry within you an extraordinary legacy. Hogwarts is the only place you can be. I am a man of my word; I won't let you down."

The next day, Snape could barely keep his eyes away from the sky. Any window, he watched, searching for a speck of an approaching owl, and morning classes in the viewless dungeons were torturous.

At exactly midday was his appointment, and he stealthily made his way to a small, locked tower in the hidden regions of the castle which he accessed using a key obtained from a hidden location, this intelligence having been granted by Dumbledore. The tower housed items of Hogwarts lore and history drawn from its very origins, and it was only the second encounter he'd had, the first permitted when he'd been Head. The provenance in the tower made him hold his breath as he set about his task, but with it, a renewed sense of the significance unfolding.

At three pm, the Hogwarts Express drew to a halt at Hogsmeade Station and delivered Candace Peacock with Mr and Mrs Burbage, their purpose being to take Servius back to Towbridge. Slughorn and Snape met them on the platform and escorted them to Hogwarts where, with jaws agape and eyes on stalks, they were taken through the castle to meet McGonagall in The Office. With Snape and Slughorn as audience, the unfortunate conversation was then had, the explanations made while the Burbages listened, shocked, and Snape stared out of McGonagall's tall, arched windows for any sign of Tāne.

Slughorn handed Servius' wand to Peacock, who put it away in a special locked case she carried with a sad shake of her head, and McGonagall stood, smoothed down her robe and led the dazed Burbages back to the Castle's front door. "A small party is convening on the platform," McGonagall told them. "We'd like to wish Servius all the best. We'll meet there at half-past five."

As the Burbage's stepped onto the forecourt, met by Hagrid and an equally despondent Fisk, Snape took a moment alone with Peacock and touched her arm lightly. "Have you come from the Ministry today?"

"I have, yes, why?"

"Sir Byron…do you happen to know if he was particularly busy? Perhaps in meetings?"

She looked surprised. "Sir Byron? Oh no, he's on holiday. He's in France."

Dawning horror rose on his features so that Peacock's expression echoed it. "What's the matter?"

"In France? Where? Do you know? Perhaps I can Portkey? Why is he having holidays now? In February? Why didn't he go at Christmas like everyone else? Why now?"

Peacock shook her head anxiously. "I – I don't know, I'm sorry Professor. You obviously need him urgently? An owl perhaps? A Patronus? Although I understand he can't create a Patronus of his own…"

"Candace?" came the querulous voice of Mrs Burbage. "This, uh, very large gentleman is offering to take us to a place called the Three Broomsticks…?"

"I'll be right there!" she turned back to Snape. "Is there anything I can do?"

Snape shook his head, distracted with mentally calculating Täne's flying time, even if only to the north of France, based on ten hours from the Highlands to Trowbridge. Could the little owl cross the Channel?

The gold and copper bells in the Clock Tower chimed the half hour past five, and Servius' farewell party departed Hogwarts into the blessedly clear evening, stars already shining, a frost tantalized by their warm breath and nipping at their noses. Snape was not among them. He'd gone early to be with Servius, which had been just as well, as he'd intercepted his son and Amelie in the Shrieking Shack lamely hatching an escape which appeared to take them as far as the road out of Hogsmeade but no further. The problem was, Servius didn't want to leave Hogwarts, and even with Amelie, there was nowhere else he could think to go.

"Son, it's time," said Snape, gathering up Servius' rucksack and Cerberus, his sole provisions for surviving an escape, apparently, being the meagre contents of this bag and his broom. A lump rose in his throat.

Amelie burst into noisy sobs and Servius awkwardly cuddled her.

"Not going," Servius choked out, as he patted Amelie's head where it was buried in his shoulder. "They'll have to drag me onto the train."

"Now is not the time to make trouble," said Snape, but he kept his voice soft, even. It hurt when his throat was aching. "Now's the time to think on your Warlock training. Show them the Wizard you are."

"They've taken my wand."

"Servius, you know even better than I that you don't need a wand to be a Warlock."

Amelie looked up then, her eyes brimming behind her slightly misted glasses, tendrils of hair stuck to her forehead and cheeks. "Sir, we can't be apart for long. It will hurt too much. We will wither and die."

Snape sighed heavily. He was remembering Charity as she prepared to leave for her Christmas holiday, how he'd stood at the gate feeling as though she were ripping them apart at a cellular level, as if he bled where the bond had torn, thinking he might crawl after her through the snow, begging. How he'd hated time. He'd loathed every second.

"Yes," he agreed. "It will hurt horribly. But it won't be forever."

"May I see him? Even if he's a Muggle, may I see him?"

"The Ministry -," he began, but the words died away as he beheld them both, so young, so very, very young, holding each other like fawns in a midsummer dream and gazing at him. "Yes," he muttered.

They held hands as Snape led the way to the train station, his eyes bent skyward. Could the owl have become distracted by twilight? His hunting instincts too powerful to resist? Their footfalls crunched on the cold, stony path and Amelie sniffed repeatedly, but no, Snape decided, Täne would not be distracted. He had just flown too far.

When Snape and Servius arrived at the station, they discovered on the platform, in a line, the people from Hogwarts that had found a home in Servius' heart. Mr and Mrs Burbage were further along the platform with Servius' trunk, watching, and Candace Peacock hovered between them. The train conductor was up near the first car, assisting some Hogsmeade passengers bound for London with their luggage.

All eyes were on Servius, who coloured deeply at the sight of the small group of friends and supporters he'd made. He looked at each of them in turn, emotion welling so profoundly he was grateful for the steadying hand of Snape on his shoulder.

McGonagall was at the head of the line and she stepped forward. "Servius, we each want to say goodbye. For now. Hogwarts is indebted to you, your tenacity and courage…I don't think this is the end. There is an old Scots proverb: Listen to the wind upon the hill till the waters abate. Your mother returned to us and, perhaps as a grown Wizard, you will too. Och, you'll be welcome. I had said to your father that, should anything happen to him, the school would close around you and he was not to worry. I believe that still."

Servius nodded and attempted a smile, but it wobbled.

Sinistra, standing next to McGonagall, bent and enveloped him in a hug, then kissed the top of his head. "Servius, I don't know what happens now but…you are an amazing, amazing boy. Will you promise you will think about us when you look at the stars? They'll be the same. I will send you a wish, every time I see a shooting star, and you send one to me. I'll come and see you, okay, soon, I promise."

Servius hugged her fiercely. "Thanks for being my mum."

"You have a mum, Sev, and she's right here, all the time, you know that."

"I – I kept your blanket. I hope that's okay?"

"Of course! It's yours…" and her voice cracked and she wiped a tear quickly. "Oh, look at you, you're a state. Have you even seen a comb today?"

Servius raked his fingers through his fringe. "I'll really miss you. You were my favourite teacher."

"We'll go for hot chocolate, I promise. Be good, okay?" Then she turned away, her hand over her mouth.

Slughorn, observing this, wiped a quick tear before extending his hand to give Servius' a hearty pumping. "You were one of seventy-seven Slytherins, Servius, and you made us proud. The others all wanted to be here, we had a House meeting and, well, they made you this." Slughorn handed him some folded fabric in glossy emerald, which, when Servius opened it, was a House banner, and on it, each student had written him a small message. Ackley Shrew, Michael Tattinger, Iona McGhee and Samuel Small came to his side to point out their message. Tattinger said, "Sluggy let us come. We wanted to say goodbye. I got you these for the trip," and he handed Servius a paper packet of Honeydukes sweets. "Just in case. I remembered the ones you liked from the train."

"We got two hundred House points for what you did," said Small. "Wait for William and Amelie got fifty each. Slytherin's second place now. I'm sorry we sent you to Coventry."

Servius shrugged. "I deserved it," he said. "I know that. But it was cool being in Slytherin. Slytherin's like tight."

"You'll always a Serpent, mate," said Shrew. "Doesn't matter where you are."

Iona McGhee started to cry, and too overcome for words, she simply threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. Amelie glowered, but didn't speak.

Wait for William gently prised Iona off a bewildered Servius and muttered, "All the Slytherin girls wanted me to ask if I could get a photo of you. I told them to fuck off. I said…I said you were taken," and flicked his eyes to Amelie.

"I'm gonna miss you so much, you plonker," said Servius, tears streaming now, and raised his fist for a bump. "I left my football in the dorm. Don't forget the club, okay?"

"Ninja Warlocks, alright?"

"Bruvvers."

"Brothers." They hugged for a long time, then Servius raised his packet of sweets. "If I get the Harry Potter card, I'll send it."

"Keep it. I'll come get it."

"Eyes on Amelie."

William scowled, but nodded. "She's got the moth."

The train whistle suddenly shrieked down the platform and the conductor stood beside the carriage door, watching. Snape searched the sky.

Hagrid, like Iona, was too overcome with childlike tears to say much, but he lifted Servius in a bearhug and said, "You're jus' like your Dad an' your Mum. You got the heart of a Hippogriff. I saw your magic shake the trees, an' the Centaurs tol' me what you did. You're proper special, Sev, you remind me of 'Arry. I reckon you'll be back."

Servius was deposited before Hellmann, who said with a cool smile as he extended his hand to Servius, "You have the makings of a very fine Warlock, Servius. I know you saved my daughter from the troll and your oath is reinstated. But if you break her heart, then it will be me you will face in a duel."

Behind him, Servius heard Snape chuckle.

"Dad!" said Amelie, glaring at him. She turned to Servius and stood close to him. From within the pocket of her winter cloak she withdrew one of her origami moths. It fluttered across the short space and when Servius caught it, it opened in his palm. The message was, I miss you. It was his handwriting, in his mother's ballpoint pen. "How?" he said, remembering the million specks.

"It's a witch thing," said Amelie casually. Then she leaned forward and kissed Servius softly on the lips.

It was Servius' first and he didn't know what to do even though he'd fantasized about this moment, and many other later moments, a thousand times, but he woke to it in the final two seconds and shut his eyes, felt her warm mouth on his, and those seconds were enough – enough to wet the dormant ground within him, like a desert bloom, her kiss would be with him for the rest of his life. And with it, an everlasting hunger for more.

The conductor blew his whistle. "Final call for boarding!" he shouted.

The Burbages had been shaking hands with the teachers and they, along with Peacock were now mounting the steps to their carriage. Servius glanced from them to Snape, shaking his head.

"I don't want to go."

"I know," was all Snape could say. They stood a little aside and Snape was glad of it. His eyes stung, but he couldn't cry.

Servius wiped his sleeve across his eyes. "I can't go, Dad. Where's Täne? You gave your word!"

"I need you to be somewhere safe while I figure something out. I'll come get you -,"

"But it won't be here!" said Servius, face contorting with the effort of not bursting into tears like a toddler. "I fucked up, Dad! I fucked up so bad and I'm so sorry!"

"Language," muttered Snape, and pressed his lips together hard. He touched some hair out his boy's eyes. "I see your mother in you all the time."

"She's here too. It's not fair! Everyone I love is here."

Snape's eyes roved Servius' face, his black-haired angel. "Everyone who loves you, are with you. Be brave. Fate twists and turns; this is not the end."

Servius scuffed at the ground, sniffed hard, then wiped his face again. "You'll come get me? You promise? You won't forget me again?"

Snape held his eyes and let the tears reveal themselves. "Real love leaves scars. Being broken is sometimes the proof that we let ourselves be hurt, that we opened ourselves, became vulnerable. Sometimes it's proof we defended ourselves or protected others or fought for what is right. Servius, I have that from you, that kind of scar, and I wouldn't change it for the world. You helped me remember everything I did right, and, like your mother, you made me a better man. How could I possibly forget you?"

And as Servius flung his arms around his father's middle, and pressed his head against his chest, Snape kissed his son's head, and it was his first time, the first time he inhaled the sweet, dusty scent of his child's hair and showed him how he loved him.

The whistle blew shrilly, insistently, and the conductor called, "We have to go. Sorry, we must leave now."

Servius looked one last time at Snape, then turned and ran for the train, his rucksack bouncing, carrying his Realm, then ran up the stairs and disappeared inside.

Hissing steam blew from the locomotive's brakes across the platform, sparkling on the frosty air. The conductor jumped onto his step and waved to the driver and the coupling rods on the Express began to roll forward. As the horn tooted, the party on the platform moved forward, keeping alongside the carriage where Servius had entered. He appeared at the window and shoved it up, but he didn't wave.

"Servius!" cried Amelie. "Oh!" and once again she was in floods of tears, drenching her father's jacket where he nestled her to him.

Snape frantically searched the sky. A sickle moon was rising.

The Express gained speed. The party raised their hands as the carriages swept past the platform, and they waved to Servius. They waved until the carriage that held him turned a bend and he was gone.

He was gone.

A little cloud of swiftly evaporating smoke from the stack was all that remained for Snape to stare at, and the pressure of the lump in his throat burned like fire. He felt a hand slip into his own and turned to find Sinistra, and she gazed up at him with raw, brimming eyes and he allowed her to fold him up in her arms there on the platform for all to see, and he didn't care. This woman was all he had, she and the life she carried, and she seemed to care. He didn't know why. He was just glad she did.

Fisk suddenly barked. And again. "C'mon, yer nutty hound, stop your daft barking," muttered Hagrid. "Iss just an owl."

An owl. Snape pulled away. "Where?" he asked, suddenly alert. "Where's the owl?"

"There -," said Hagrid, pointing to the far end of the platform, and everyone turned to look. An owl was indeed on the platform, hopping slowly and dragging its wings on the ground. "Looks hurt," said Hagrid, and he strode quickly across the space towards it, Snape hurrying after.

"Täne!" announced Snape as soon as he recognised the little short-ear, the exhausted, bedraggled bird all but collapsing into Hagrid's huge, cupped hands. "He can't fly…he's been a long way…"

"There's a let'er," said Hagrid, carefully removing it from the harnesses. "Is it fer you?"

McGonagall and the others gathered around. "Isn't that Servius' owl?" said William. "That's Täne!"

"Is he trying to chase Servius?" asked Shrew.

"No," said Snape, ripping open the envelope. "He's been to France and back."

"France!" exclaimed Sinistra. "There's been a storm for two days over the Channel, poor thing!"

Snape smiled at her. "He's a good owl."

"Why, Severus?" demanded McGonagall. "Why are you receiving mail now from this owl from France?"

"From Sir Byron," said Snape, opening the parchment and reading it rapidly. A broad smile broke out and everyone stared. For some, the first they'd seen on the Potion Professor's face. "He's withdrawn the explusion. Servius isn't expelled! He can come home!"

No one spoke. They stared at him, astonished.

"Ma'am, you reminded me of Hogwart's Custody Clause," explained Snape hurriedly, slipping free his wand. "I knew where it would be from the audit. Here." Attached to his letter was the page he'd copied from the Ordinance book in the Archives and handed it to McGonagall. She began to read aloud.

"Hogwarts School has a duty to protect and preserve any and all manner or form of ancient and classical magic, or magic of significance to the furtherance of magical heredity, be that through persons, practices, articles or goods, customs and covenants or any other conveyance, for the purpose of securing the future of said sorcery for future generations, and to further the understanding of traditional and historic disciplines in the application of modern day use."

"That's Servius," said Snape.

While the others looked at each other in stunned confusion, Snape waved his damaged wand, "Expecto Patronum!" But instead of his fox appearing, a stuttering light emitted and blinked out. Snape stared at it and swore. Another first. It had never let him down.

"How is that Servius?" asked McGonagall with an impatient frown.

"As you said, it's the same clause that protected Potter," said Snape. "Why the Ministry entrusted him to Hogwarts. Why Dumbledore turned a blind eye to so many things. Potter was protecting future generations, but Servius has ancient magic and magical heredity. That overrides the decision."

He closed his eyes and felt his wand in his hand. So familiar. "Expecto Patronum!"

"Are you trying to stop the train, Severus?" asked Sinistra hopefully and Snape nodded. But no fox appeared.

"My wand won't work," he muttered desperately. "It has to."

"What kind of ancient magic?!" said McGonagall in a more urgent pitch. "What in the Mother of Merlin are you talking about?"

"This," said Snape, hastily handing her a bound scroll from his cloak's inner pocket. Everybody watched with wide eyes. He raised his wand and said to it, Please. Please, one last time. One last time. Your core isn't broken.

"Expecto Patronum!" he commanded, and from his wand issued a shimmer of silvery light, and his fox bounded into the chilly air before them. Sinistra gasped and Snape made a noise of stifled relief.

"To the driver, the conductor: stop the train," said Snape to the fox after swallowing hard. "Stop the train and send back your passenger, Servius Snape. He is returning to Hogwarts. Hurry. Hurry!" And as everyone watched in excited amazement, the fox bounded away in the direction of the vanishing tracks.

McGonagall had nudged her spectacles to the top of her nose and had lit her wand to read the piece of parchment carefully. "This…" she said in awed tones, "…this is a list of names from the Book of Admittance. But it's feet long…"

"James Servius Snape," said Snape. "Next to his name. An S next to his name."

"S stands for Successio," said McGonagall.

"Meaning descendant. Go back. James Ephriam Athan. Never attended. His great uncle."

"An S," McGonagall murmured.

"Further. James Sampson Athan, also an S and then the first in Great Britain, James Platon Athanasios. With an S. From Greece. Descendant."

"Descendants of whom, Severus?"

Snape was staring down the platform, where his fox had disappeared, waiting. Hoping. "The Mages. The Worthy Mage of Alexon."

There was shocked silence. Then Ackley Shrew piped up, "We learnt about him in History!"

McGonagall said in a quiet, controlled voice, "He's descended from the Beginning? From the three Mages?"

"Are you questioning the Quill or the Book?"

"And what does that mean about you?" McGonagall asked, staring at him over the top of her spectacles. "Are you also a descendant?"

"No," smiled Snape. "The same half-blood Prince. But I am his father."

And then, from far into the darkness where the train tracks disappeared, came a sound, like a whooshing.

"Servius!" cried Amelie. "I feel him!"

Sure enough, moments later, Servius came hurtling back along the track line on his Cerberus Realm, too fast to stop, and with cheers all around he crash-landed on the far end of the platform, flipping over on to his back to the sounds of pounding feet and shouts and cries from the gathering.

Wait for William was first and leaned over him. "Mate! Holy shit! You're back! You're back!"

Servius grinned broadly and delved into the pocket of his pants, drawing out a card that he flicked to William. "Harry Potter. The Chosen One."

Snape stepped forward and hauled Servius to his feet. Servius grinned up at him. "Thanks, old man. What kept you?"

"Your owl. He's slow."

"Oof!" said Servius as Amelie crash-tackled him, and he laughed. "Does this mean I can stay? Forever?"

"Hogwarts is where you belong for now. Even though you hate it," said Snape.

"Not half as much as I hate you."

"I love you too," said Snape, chuckling, and opened his arms.

Later, in the sole light of a dying fire in the Slytherin Common room, Snape and Sinistra were stretched out tiredly on the leather sofa, their feet resting on the table, fingers entwined. All the young serpents were bedded in their dorm, all the other teachers were in their own houses and rooms, and at last, at last, everything seemed to be where it should be.

Snape, in the halting manner of someone unaccustomed to such emotional discourse, had explained everything to Sinistra, starting with his decision to undergo the Memorian Delens, and finishing with the legacy contained in the Book of Admittance, concluding, in drained tones, with his own confoundment in discovering it all. He told her that the Wicce had drawn a correlation (if not causation) to three dead women in his life, and his fears that he might somehow hurt her as well. Sinistra steeled herself and insisted he recount his post-war time at the infirmary. From beginning to end, it took hours to narrate and examine, and the fire had died down to ashes and the snake-adorned mantlepiece clock had chimed twice before Sinistra gave him a soft kiss on the cheek and quietly left him where he was.

In the settling of the hour, Snape opened the pocket of his coat and brought forth three items: the letter from Servius, the photo of Charity and the final folded piece of parchment. This was crumpled from having travelled far in the harness attached to Tane, stiff from rain and sea spray. He opened it and allowed himself to linger on the words from Sir Byron.

Dear Severus

I have consulted some Ministry officials and the members of the Board and it seems you have brought an incontrovertible truth to our attention; the Custody Clause and its principles are those upon which the very existence of Hogwarts lends its venerable origins. I have duly overturned the Board's adjudication, and the expulsion is withdrawn. Please ensure Master Snape remains safely ensconced within the hallowed halls.

We will require that Servius' lineage be mapped and his ancestry proved of course, I trust you understand the need for this and draw no offense or any unintended inference about my absolute trust in your claim.

On a personal note, I want to impart my great relief that your son remains on a solid footing in the Wizarding World. This is testimony to my exceptional regard and respect for Charity, since I know that were she here, she would urge me to endorse it. Her faith in you was inestimable, as is mine. She had brought to my attention, not long before her death, a Muggle quotation she'd encountered. I regret I don't recall it verbatim, but it referred to the importance of building strong children, to make foundations from them, to ensure their life experiences counteract or even atone for the damage done by earlier generations. She said this was her hope for Servius, that he would be among the children who would realise her vision of a better, united world. I know you would share this hope.

May the best of magic be with you, Severus. To you, Servius and all at Hogwarts.

Sir Byron

Snape smiled contentedly, and folded the parchment away once more, recalling the quote Malfoy had told him. Was it easier to build strong children? He didn't think so, nothing worthwhile was easy.

But he no longer felt like a broken man.

THE END

A/N: YAY YAY YAY! :0)

Epilogue to be posted next week.