September 1995

In the early evening, four days after the meeting Florence and he didn't attend, Severus was in his office, grading the few essays of that first week of classes, working to finish it all quickly to go home to enjoy the weekend with his wife and their two younger children.

Bubotuber pus, he read in a fifth-year essay, is used for healing potions. Right. ...the plant's petrol stench discourages many to have it in their greenhouses. Right again.

He was about to read the next sentence but stopped – the sound of the door being opened and of steps on the stone floor let him know someone had entered his classroom, unannounced; and before he had raised his head to glare at whoever had dared to bothered him after hours, the sound of a throat being cleared had him wincing at the instant realisation of who they were.

Shit. Severus immediately recalled Florence saying that the toad-like woman was interested in making a husband out of him.

"Can I help you, Prof. Umbridge?" he asked, refusing to look at her.

"Yes, Prof. Snape," she said in a disgusting saccharine voice, "I hope I'm not being too forward with my question, but I'd like to know your plans for the weekend. And suggest that, perhaps, we could find something to do together."

Fucking hell. He slowly raised his head from the essays and nearly gagged at the sight in front of him: Umbridge had changed her usual pink tweed suit to a dress, a long-sleeved magenta dress that made her look like a balloon piñata at a little girl's party.

He had to control his sudden need to laugh at the mental picture of kids beating her up in the hope of getting candy.

"So?" she insisted, taking his prolonged silence as a positive reaction to her chosen attire, "Are you staying in the castle?"

He looked back down at his essays and replied coolly: "No. I have plans."

"Couldn't they be postponed so that we could, you know, enjoy some time getting acquainted?" she said, coyly.

He felt his afternoon tea try to make its way back up to his mouth a second time.

"No," he drawled, and if he tried to sound any drier, he'd be spitting sand, "I have plans that can't be postponed," he paused before adding: "But if it's company you're looking for, I'm sure Prof. Flitwick would be happy to provide it, professor."

Umbridge walked closer to him in a clear attempt of sexiness that had him jumping up from his chair in disgust, looking down at her, and speaking with his most authoritative classroom voice:

"Prof. Umbridge. I must ask you to leave my office. I want to lock it for the weekend."

She was about to reply when she glanced at his chair and frowned.

He followed her gaze and found a lilac jumper hanging from the back of his chair.

Florence's jumper.

He saw Umbridge's face change from attempted-seduction to restrained-fury as she quickly realised with whom he was going to spend the weekend.

"I see," she pressed her lips in a thin line of disapproval, "There seem to be one thing I must do before we can enjoy some time together."

Severus stopped himself from smiling, knowing she'd be going after Florence – and he couldn't wait to see his wife crushing that pink toad.


Second week of classes

Florence was getting ready to leave the hospital wing after a calm Thursday afternoon, when someone entered the infirmary.

"Hermione?" she walked towards the girl, "Do you need anything? Are you hurt?"

The Gryffindor girl shook her head, seeming nervous, "No, Ma'am. It's just-"

Florence inhaled sharply as she read Hermione's hesitancy as embarrassment.

"Don't tell me you need a pregnancy test!" she whispered, adding mentally: I'm not ready to be a grandma! And Severus will kill James!

"What?" Hermione blushed, stammering: "No! No, I haven't... it's not that! It's Harry. He's hurt and refuses to come here."

"Hurt? Hurt how?" Florence frowned, "An open wound, a broken bone or is he bleeding to death?"

"Open wound. Ugly and bleeding."

"Alright. But why were you so hesitant about that?" Florence asked as she picked up some potions from the storage room, "Nearly gave me a heart attack."

Hermione let out a heavy sigh, "I'm breaking my friend's trust, coming here. I... I don't feel comfortable doing that. But he's being an idiot."

"You're being a good friend, Hermione. Where's Harry now?"

"In our common room."

Florence nodded and walked out of the infirmary, going up to the Gryffindor Tower. On the way, Hermione explained to her what was happening.


Gryffindor Common Room

Harry was sitting in front of the fireplace; his classmates were all keeping their distances and looking at him as if he had some sort of plague.

Only Ron and Hermione still talked to him.

He looked down at his left hand, staring at the deformed letters etched onto his skin; it throbbed, some scabs had formed after the detention the previous night, closing his wound, but he knew it would be bleeding in a couple of hours again – for he had another detention after dinner that night.

Suddenly the common room door was opened and everyone went silent.

Harry looked up to see Hermione and Madam Delacour and his blood boiled at the sight of the them. He opened his mouth, ready to scold his friend for getting the mediwitch there.

"Don't," Florence said authoritatively, her wand pointing at him, effectively shutting him up. Then she turned to the others, "Clear the room! Get to your dormitories, go to the corridor, skinny-dip in the Black Lake. I don't care. Just vanish!"

And the Gryffindors moved at once, gathering their books, pencils, notebooks, and leaving the common room within seconds.

Harry watched Florence cast some spells around the room before sitting beside him on the sofa.

She reached out her open hand for him and said: "Your hand."

He hid his hand behind his back like a child caught stealing cookies and shook his head, "I don't-"

"Harry," Florence said firmly, "Your hand."

He glared at Hermione as he slowly reached out his hand to the mediwitch.

"Sodding toad!" Florence exclaimed as she saw the wound, "I'm going to kill her."

Harry frowned at her words; she had spoken with such conviction he wouldn't be surprised if Umbridge didn't show up for dinner later – he actually hoped she didn't.

"This is unacceptable!" Florence hissed as she cleaned his wound.

"You can't heal it!" Harry tried to pry his hand away from her, "She'll know I went looking for help and..."

"She won't know," Florence angrily replied.

"Of course she will!" he huffed, looking at his hand, "You healed it!" the pain was gone and so was the wound, nothing but a light pink hue remained where there were scabs before.

"Why did you do it?" he shouted angrily.

"Because I care about you," Florence simply said, knowing a full teenage-tantrum was about to ensue.

"I don't need you to care!" Harry growled, getting up from the sofa, "No one cared about me all summer! No one cared to protect me from Quirrell! No one cared while I battled a basilisk! No one cared that Pettigrew could've killed me in my sleep for three years!" he closed his eyes and some tears fell.

"No one cared when the dementors attacked me last month!" he furiously wiped the tears that had fallen, purposely failing to mention the TriWizard Tournament for he remembered she had cared for him then. "And no one but Sirius cared when I was alone at Grimmauld Place, isolated from everyone!" he looked at her, expecting her to shout at him, call him ungrateful and tell him he was overreacting.

But Florence didn't say anything.

So he went on: "Why would anyone care now? Umbridge is doing this on purpose! And if I can't handle her small attempt to hurt me without asking for help, how will I be able to take on Voldemort by myself?"

He was panting, looking at Florence and expecting the mediwitch to shout at him and tell him the names of all the people that claimed to care for him.

But she didn't do that, her voice wasn't even angry when she spoke next:

"You don't have to, Harry. You don't have to take on Voldemort by yourself. And I'm sorry if you feel like you have to," Florence sighed, wanting to tell him so many things, but she couldn't.

"I warned Dumbledore about Quirrell," she looked at the fire in the fireplace, "And I was furious about the basilisk. I could hear him too," she whispered to him, and he looked at her with surprise in his eyes – Lily's eyes.

"I knew there was something lurking around the castle-" she stopped herself from saying: 'and so did Dumbledore', for she couldn't break the boy's trust on the old man – no matter how much she felt it was undeserving.

"And about Pettigrew," Florence hated saying his name, "I'll deal with him when the time comes – you can be sure of that."

Harry sat beside her on the sofa again, no longer as angry as before – actually he wasn't angry at all anymore. Her unexpected logical response to his emotional outburst had grounded and calmed him somehow.

Florence continued: "The night the dementors attacked you, I apparated to Little Whinging the moment Dumbledore told me what had happened."

"The Order members-"

She shook her head, "No. I was there before Moody and the others appeared," she held his right hand and looked into his eyes, "I'm sorry I failed to protect you, Harry, but I tried."

Harry looked back at her in deep thought, "The night I ran from the Dursleys'," he seemed to suddenly remember, "You were at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Yes," Florence chuckled, "I was there at the park before the Knight Bus appeared too. I actually called the Bus for you. You weren't alone."

"Why?" he looked at her, knowing there were a lot more she wasn't telling him.

"One day you'll know," she touched his hair, "Now, about this," she picked up his left hand again and looked at the irregular pink line, drumming her fingers on his skin.

Harry watched as the wound reappeared but the pain didn't. He moved his hand, surprised at what he was seeing – looked like a realistic tattoo!

"I have detention tonight again; will this survive some new scratches?"

"Hm," Florence frowned, picking up her wand and casting some other spells on his hand. The letters shimmered and stopped, "How good an actor are you, Harry?"

He frowned at her question, "What? Why?"

"Because you'll have to pretend it hurts, for you won't feel a thing now."

He looked from his hand to her face, surprised, "For real?"

Hermione spoke for the first time since arriving with Florence: "You're a staff member. Should you be doing this?"

Florence arched an eyebrow at the girl, chuckling, "That's the most Gryffindor-ish question one could make right now," she looked back at Harry, "And the fact that you didn't think to ask me that tells me something about you."

Harry whispered, blushing a little: "The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin."

Hermione gasped.

Florence chuckled, "Did it now? It would certainly have made things easy if it had. Why didn't it?"

"I asked it not to. Ron had said Slytherin was bad."

Then Florence laughed, "Well, I'd love to see your father's face hearing that you almost ended up in Slytherin," she looked at his hand once more, "This will still bleed, so I'll teach Hermione a healing spell to help with that, you just have to remember to pretend it hurts."

"I will," Harry seemed impressed that she had helped him, "Thank you, Madam Delacour. For everything," he added, feeling that she had done a lot that he didn't know about.

"Don't mention it, dear," she replied, "Ask for help. You don't have to do this alone."

"I will consider it."

"That's a Slytherin answer if I ever heard one," said Florence, teasingly, "Maybe I should get you transferred."

Harry seemed worried, "Is that possible?"

"Nope. But if it were, I'd certainly do it," she smiled, picking up a vial from inside the bag she had taken with her, "Now, I brought you this."

"Dreamless Potion," he said excitedly, recognising the vial.

"Yes. Drink it once you're already in bed."

He took it from her and held it against his chest – keeping it close as if it were his most valuable possession, breaking her heart a little.

Then he said: "I'll take it upstairs and go to the Great Hall for dinner."

Hermione then said: "I'll wait for you here, Harry."

"Thank you again," he smiled at Florence and she nodded, removing the spells she had put on the common room, and watching him go to his dormitory.

"That was pretty impressive," Hermione said, "The way you got him to calm down so fast. Usually when Harry gets that worked up, he shouts at everyone who tries to get close to him."

"I raised James, Hermione," Florence reminded her, "Harry's tantrum was nothing compared to what my firstborn used to do."

Hermione blushed at the mention of him, "He gave me an awesome book."

"I know," Florence sighed, it was clear Hermione was enamoured with her son, so she felt like warning her: "It's just, James can be... a lot."

Before Hermione could say anything, they heard:

"Who's James?" Harry asked getting close to them.

"My son," Florence said as she watched Hermione turn bright red.

Harry looked at her, surprised, "You named your son after my dad?"

"No," Florence smiled, "I named him after my grandfather, but your father did like to say it was in his honour," she gathered her things, "I'll be going now, tell your classmates that they can have their common room back," then she left.

"She's awesome, isn't she?" Hermione said after the Fat Lady's portrait closed behind Florence.

"Yes. She has a terrible taste in man, though," he winced.

Hermione laughed.

And Harry looked at her with a raised eyebrow: "So Snape's son gave you a book, Mione?"

"What? I-I have no idea what you're talking about!" and she left the common room as fast as she had blushed.


Hogwarts dungeons

Third week of classes

Severus had just left the shower, a white towel wrapped around his hips, and was pouring himself a glass of firewhisky to rest in front of his fireplace in his quarters when his Mark burned.

"Dammit," he muttered, taking his glass and tipping its contents down his throat.

He sent Dumbledore a Patronus, letting him know he'd been summoned and hesitated about sending one to Florence.

She'll only worry.

However, if he ended up dead, she'd be furious.

But if that happens, I'll be safe in death from her wrath.

So he decided against warning her about his summoning; he just got dressed and flooed from his quarters to the Hog's Head Pub.

He walked quietly out of the empty pub, feeling the cool air of Hogsmeade in his face as he looked around the deserted village.

In the distance he could see his home; Florence and their younger kids were in there; his best memories were connected to that place and to the people that lived there – his family.

He took one good look at it and used occlumency to block part of his thoughts.

Then he disapparated to Little Hangleton.


Little Hangleton

Voldemort stood in front of the fireplace in the large meeting room of his house, pondering what he'd do with Severus Snape.

The Potions Master had remained one of his few loyal servants during all the years he'd been gone. But was that enough to forgive him putting his half-blood hands on Florence?

I warned her what would happen if she ever got back with him.

"M-my Lord, sir?" It was Pettigrew at the door, "Snape is h-here."

"Send him in," Voldemort ordered.

And the door opened wider and Severus Snape walked into the room, under the Lord's watchful eyes. As usual Snape's stance and calmness impressed him; his steps exuded a confidence not even Malfoys and Blacks demonstrated in his presence – and Voldemort admired that in the man.

Severus stopped in front of the Dark Lord and fell onto one knee, greeting him: "You summoned me, my Lord."

"Severus, Severus," Voldemort softly spoke, "You asked for a private audience to discuss some family matter. Let's sit at the table and hear what you have to say."

Severus stood up an followed the pale ophidian man to the long table.

Voldemort sat at the head of the long table and motioned to a chair on his left, which Severus pulled out and sat.

"Speak, Severus."

"My Lord. What I have to discuss involves your daughter, Florence-"

Voldemort leaned forward unexpectedly, interrupting him, "The daughter no one can speak about, for there is a punishment in the form of a curse for those who talk about her in connection to who I've become."

He stopped, looking at the other man, intimidatingly, "Tell me, Severus, how can you talk about her and call her my daughter without facing any consequences?"

Severus didn't even blink, "I can only guess the Enchantment protects me from that curse, my Lord."

That caught Voldemort's attention, "Ah. Blessed by the Enchantment, just like her mother wanted," he murmured, eyeing the other man with some admiration but also lingering suspicion.

"You know, Severus... I learned you were involved with Florence, many years ago," he used magic to have a tray fly from a sideboard cabinet to the table, and he poured two glasses of firewhisky, giving Severus one, "However, you didn't approach me then – so I concluded you didn't know she was my daughter. And I now know I was right."

Voldemort drank from his glass, before adding: "And that ignorance was what saved you then, Severus. You see, I didn't want my daughter marrying someone like you – a half-blood. I even threatened to kill you, if Florence ever got back together with you," he smiled, finishing all the contents of his glass.

"Permission to speak, my Lord?"

"Sure. It's your funeral," Voldemort said, laughingly.

Severus didn't let the man's words affect him, his voice firm as he spoke: "Florence was against all that we stand for when I first met her, however I've gradually made her change her mind. And I've married her, through blood magic."

"Have you now?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"So you're saying my daughter doesn't mind that her husband is a Death Eater?"

"No, my Lord, she doesn't."

"And tell me, Severus, is she an obedient wife?"

That sounded like a trick question, so Severus answered as truthfully as he could: "Yes, my Lord. Well, most of the time."

"Now that sounds like my daughter!" Voldemort chuckled, "If you had tried to convince me that Florence bows to your every wish, I'd have known you're lying!"

"Overall, she's a very good and obedient wife, my Lord," added Severus, finishing his glass of firewhisky.

Voldemort searched the man's mind, looking for some deceit. But, as always, he couldn't find any. He smirked, pouring himself another shot of firewhisky.

"The things good sex can do, my loyal servant," he raised his glass, drinking all its content at once.

"Now," continued Voldemort, "regarding what to do with you," he fixed his green eyes on Severus, amazed once more at how he couldn't see an inch of fear in the man, nothing but poise and respect, "You know, Severus, killing you would give me an enemy that I'm not sure I can afford to have," he paused, "Who else knows about your marriage?"

"Dumbledore, Pomfrey and my mother. However there are rumours all over the wizarding world about us having a relationship."

"I don't care for those; rumours are just rumours. Wait, you said Pomfrey. The mediwitch?" then he realised why they would need a doctor: "Do you have children, Severus?"

"Yes, my Lord. Two boys, they are sixteen years old."

Voldemort's green eyes – eerily similar to Florence's – seemed to sparkle, "Very good. So I have grandsons. Excellent! Where do they study? Not Hogwarts, I reckon."

"No. Durmstrang."

"Perfect! Now, let's keep all of this between us, shall we?"

"My Lord?" Severus didn't understand.

"I've decided to keep Florence as my secret weapon, you see. I shall need her when we take over the Ministry. A beautiful, well-educated mediwitch will be easily accepted by society as Minister of Magic."

"Of course, my Lord."

"You know, Severus. If it weren't for your blood-status, you'd have been the perfect son-in-law right from the beginning. But your brilliant mind, your abilities and your loyalty make up for it a thousand times. That being said, you have my full blessing."

"Thank you, My Lord. That's all we've ever hoped for."

Voldemort seemed pleased, "You can go now."

Severus stood up, bowed in deference and left the room. As the door closed behind him, he took a moment to breathe and looked around the house.

Florence grew up here. He realised. This was home for her. He walked slowly around the ground floor, towards the front door.

There was a beautiful staircase right in front of him, to the left of it he could see a large kitchen, and to his right the corridor went on and there were two more doors on the left.

He walked to the living room, where everything looked brand new. The money Florence had paid through the years to keep that mansion was certainly well-spent. The place looked brand new.

Severus opened the front door and left, apparating to Hogwarts as soon as he had walked through the front gates.