In Memory of Becky

Epilogue: 5 Years Later

The lab door opened, shut. I felt the chill of cold air up my back and looked up from my workbench. A pair of warm brown eyes was observing me quite earnestly.

"Dad."

I blinked. When had 'Dad' come into usage? It used to be 'Daddy', a title of which I was quite fond. Second, of course, only to 'Dada', my son's first word. No doubt about it; Brady was getting older. He was five (and almost three quarters, he pointedly told everyone). Another five years, and an Ilvermorny owl would swoop down and deliver a certain letter. How, exactly, was it possible for Time to do this to me?

"Yes?"

"Mum says we need to go," Brady announced, impatiently pushing a lock of curly dark hair from his forehead.

'Mum', not 'Mummy'. I wondered if Hermione had noticed the change in her status as well.

"I don't want to be late," my son continued. "Coach said he needs everyone there on time."

He emphasized the final two words, making it perfectly clear that not only had he paid close attention to the coach, he had inherited Hermione's high regard for rules and regulations as well.

"I'll be right there," I assured him.

"Okay!" Brady scampered out the door and back outside, leaving me to close up the lab. Couldn't keep the coach waiting, could I?

I had known, deep in my soul, that at some point the child would most likely become Quidditch-obsessed. At least that was something I understood.

But ice hockey?

Who knew that Hermione and I would trundle our child to Trapper's Bay with a gear bag as tall as he was, then sit shivering in an unheated empty warehouse with a flooded, frozen floor to watch him try to slap a puck around with a dozen other youngsters who could barely stand up on skates? The Pee-Wee hockey games were more entertainment that competition, each child so well padded that the plentiful comic spills didn't hurt anyone. I'm sure that some truly good hockey players emerge from the local youth teams that dot the Canadian landscape, but my son was not likely to be one of them. Neither his mother nor I have an athletic bone in our bodies, and so far it appeared that Brady was carrying on the family tradition. Brady's enthusiasm outweighed his abilities, it seemed to me, but he always gave it a hundred percent and had a good time with the friends he'd made.

A week ago, he'd announced that he wanted to go to school in town come September. This was a low blow for Hermione, who had been teaching him at home thus far and enjoying it thoroughly. Brady was a bright little boy, and it wouldn't have surprised me if he was already beyond the level of the other children his age. Still, I wanted him to develop his social skills; we couldn't keep him home forever.

Brady was already displaying signs of magic, which necessitated The Talk, the one wizarding parents in Muggle territory are forced to give at some point in a young child's life. The one about why we don't brag about magic to children who don't have that talent. The one about why we don't tell people that brooms do more than sweep the dust out of corners. The one about how no, your father will not transform a birch log into a parrot just so your little friends can watch it fly around the house. Brady seemed to take the lectures to heart, and I sincerely hoped that there would be a minimum of awkward damage control in our futures.

Hermione and I had chosen not to add to our family. While we both loved our son to pieces, each of us had come to the conclusion that he was enough. Like his mother and father, Brady Snow would be an only child. We could have afforded more, had we chosen to; Bug-Away was a best-seller year-round, marketed in both northern and southern hemispheres, and I continued to receive hefty checks anytime a new combination potion wanted to hit the market using my patented processing method. We could have expanded our cabin or replaced the secondhand furnishings Hermione had bought, but we chose not to do that either. As with Brady, what we had was more than enough.

"Severus!" There was another wave of cold air as Hermione poked her head into the lab door. "We really need to go!"

"On my way." With a wave of my hand, I lowered the flame under the cauldron where I was experimenting on a more effective Essence of Murtlap. Hopefully, that would become a money-maker somewhere down the road as well.

I threw on my coat and locked the door of the lab behind me. Brady was already waiting at the car, hopping up and down in excitement, Hermione telling him to settle down.

Yes, we had bought a car a few years earlier. While Apparating to the outskirts of town had been easy enough B.B - before Brady - driving into town made avoiding nosy questions about how we got there with a small child much easier. And when parked at the makeshift ice arena, the used Jeep had the effect of making us blend in with everyone else as we unloaded our son's hockey gear. I wondered what both Albus Dumbledore and the Dark Lord would have made of that, their former lap dog eager to appear to live as a Muggle. It was enough to make me grin.

As was the sight of Hermione, an old Gryffindor scarf wrapped around her neck and Brady, sporting a Slytherin scarf grudgingly gifted to him by his Uncle Harry.

"You could have started the car, you know," I pointed out.

"We just wanted to wait for you, love," Hermione said.

I thought about the ways my life had changed, and it all seemed to boil down to this: when Hermione had arrived in the North Woods, I had learned to smile; when Brady arrived, I had learned to laugh.

"Hop in, family," I said.

Car doors opened, slammed shut. I turned the key in the ignition, and we headed for town.

The End

A/N: Several things…

While I don't normally care for songfics, I neglected to mention years ago that when writing 'Into the North' that the song "God Bless the Broken Road" seemed a perfect fit. Still does. Check it out if you're not familiar with it. Better late than never.

And as I indicated with 'Into the North', some of my information re: Ojibwa culture comes from the website of the For Better or For Worse comic strip (my fave). And apologies to any Canadians and Native Americans for anything I've accidentally gotten wrong.

Most importantly, I dedicated "Due North" to Becky Morton Benson, a devoted Severus/Hermione shipper and extreme Alan Rickman fan. Becky was a kind and gentle woman, who had drawn several lovely illustrations for "Into the North". She encouraged me to write a sequel way back when. I only wish I had gotten it in gear and written this story sooner, because Becky passed away in 2015. Whenever new reviews pop up, I'll always wish that one was from her. Rest peacefully, dear Becky.