Resurgence of Remembranceby Avatar Arkmage and Nigel Tatsuya
Chapter Four: The Unborn Sentinel
Roused by urgent pounding at the door to her private quarters, Nurse Poppy Pomfrey rolled sleepily onto her back. She had retired less than four hours before, after deciding that Harry Potter's condition, poor, though it was, was at least stable. The headmaster had also assured her that he and the currently lupine Remus Lupin would watch over the boy, and would alert her should his condition worsen.
Poppy emerged from her quarters, clad in her nightwear and dishevelled hair. She gaped at Headmaster Dumbledore, whose white beard was stained with random patches of crimson. Standing beside him was Hagrid, who held a very bizarrely clad, and very battered Professor Severus Snape in his arms.
"Get him to the triage area immediately," ordered the nurse, as she ran from cabinet to cabinet gathering the supplies she thought would be needed. Once again, she was grateful for Snape's almost obsessive nature as she found her potion cabinet fully restocked with healing potions.
It was ironic that she would be using them on their own brewer.
Hagrid deposited Professor Severus Snape on an empty triage bed. Having assisted Madam Pomfrey in tending Severus a number of times before, both Albus Dumbledore and Hagrid picked up pairs of charmed shears and began divesting him of his tattered clothes. The shears cut neatly through the fabric, and even cut the chains on Snape's jeans, but they were charmed specifically not to cut flesh; which was a good thing, since Hagrid's hand slipped when he saw the extensive bruising along Snape's ribs.
"Take care not to injure me further!" the now conscious Professor Snape chided. Severus then turned to Dumbledore, who was cutting through the other leg of his jeans. "Headmaster, the Dark Lord's forces will attack within the next two days, they'll be using ..."
"Professor Dumbledore!" Madam Pomfrey scolded as she placed more implements on the table with a loud clatter. "What have I told you about asking questions whilst the patient is still in need of treatment? Your spy, though he might be, Severus is still my patient, and I must ask you not to exhaust him further!"
The Headmaster was about to protest that he hadn't asked the potions master anything, when Severus waved his hand and produced a scroll, which he floated over to Dumbledore. "All the details are in there."
"We'll be waitin' outside." Hagrid said, with tears in his eyes as he watched Severus's laboured breathing.
"Headmaster," Snape continued as Poppy began her work, "it would be prudent to exercise caution whilst YEAAOWOOOOCH! THAT BLOODY HURT, POPPY!"
"Well it wouldn't hurt as much if you would hold still, and do as you're instructed. And you will stop trying to sit up!" Madam Pomfrey countered as she gently pushed him back onto the bed.
"We can discuss this at length when you are in better condition, Severus," the Headmaster then walked out of the hospital wing.
Harry, who was still enjoying his newfound freedom as a spirit, was at the same time deeply shaken by what he had just witnessed. Domestic violence was a matter that hehad read about in the newspapers, and heard discussed on the news programmes over the years. He had even experienced it at the hands of the Dursleys.
Apparently, not even the wizarding world was immune to its heavy, and indiscriminate hand.
Presently, the bloody floret on pavement was all that remained of his future potion master. Harry had watched in horror as Snape's father had beaten him, and threatened to employ the lash.
It had never occurred to Harry that anything could have frightened his potion's professor so much. Sure, Harry had seen Snape afraid before. During his third year, when Severus Snape had seen Remus Lupin and Sirius Black together with Harry, Hermione and Ron, the dour man had been horror-struck. However, the horror he had seen on Snape's face when Lucien Snape removed his belt was different.
From within the cupboard under the stairs, Harry had often heard random bits from whatever programme Dudley, Petunia or Vernon Dursley happened to watching on the telly. He vaguely recalled documentaries on several historical tyrants, and though they each terrorised different populations with varying degrees of cruelty, they all shared similar childhoods. Each of them had been abused by those who were charged with caring for them.
Harry's mind returned once more to Professor Severus Snape. To be sure, there were times he that he presided over his potions classes like a power mad dictator. He routinely instilled fear into the very students he should have been instructing; as though he believed that belittling and terrorising were an acceptable means to assure his lesson plans would remain in the minds of the 'dunderheaded' students.
Yet, to Professor Snape's credit, he excelled at potion brewing. Dictators and tyrants were often only as good as the thugs who carried out their shifty deeds. Without their "minions," many tyrants could barely survive, but Professor Snape did not seem to need minions, and could make a splendid living as a potion brewer by his own proficiency.
"How did you become so good at what you do?" Harry caught himself asking aloud, and regretted it immediately when his surroundings dissolved about him like a mandala's sand in a hurricane.
Harry knew he was back in the Snape family home once more, only this time, he found himself standing amid tall marble shelves stocked with jars and packages of potion ingredients. As though pulled by an unseen tether, Harry passed through the shelves, and emerged just behind a small, black-haired boy. The boy was dressed in white laboratory robes so oversized, that Harry guessed they belonged to one of the boy's adult guardians. Upon closer observation, Harry deduced that the boy was a very young Severus Snape. He had lanky black hair that was showing the first signs of greasiness, almost sickly pale flesh, and a nose that appeared too large for his tiny face.
The boy seemed almost familiar now. Not only because Harry knew this to be his future despised potions professor, but because Harry had seen this boy before in a dream; a dream Harry had had whilst nearly drowning in the Dursley's bathtub just a few days ago. In the dream, the boy had been held under very hot water by his own father.
Harry observed the young Severus Snape, who looked to be no more than seven or eight years old, work at a caldron on a long polished wood table. The cauldron was so large that little Severus had to stand on two wooden chairs stacked one on top of the other to either stir, or add ingredients to it. When Severus had to add a large bowl of ground herbs to the brew, he clambered onto the table and leaned over the rim of the cauldron as he did so.
From what Harry could discern, the potion was quite complex, and would greatly challenge even a sixth or seventh year potions student. Even Hermione might struggle with it. Yet here was young Severus, counting his strokes with the long wooden stirrer whilst he recited a very long incantation, as though this were something he did almost every day.
Finally Severus decanted some of the potion into a small phial and scampered out of the room. Harry had no choice but to follow. As young Severus made his way up the stairs, Harry floated up through two floors until he was standing at the foot of a large, four-poster bed.
"Here mummy, take this," the little boy said in an urgent voice.
Harry gasped. Severus's Snape's mother was barely conscious, and looked as though she had been the victim of a brutal assault very recently. She wore only a dirty, tattered skirt, covered randomly with patches of drying blood. Her nearly skeletal upper body was bruised, and bandaged tightly, as though to set her ribs in place. There was also a magical cold pack bound to her head.
"Sevvie?" Mervidith Snape queried hoarsely. Her black eyes remained closed, and Harry guessed it was because they were too swollen to be opened. "You haven't been brewing potions again have you?"
"You need them," replied Severus. He held the phial to his mother's lips until she weakly swallowed the potion.
Both Harry and Severus watched with interest for the next few minutes, as the swelling around Mervidith's eyes abated enough for her to open them and turn to her son. Her breathing also became a little less laboured.
"Thank you, you're such a thoughtful boy." Mervidith reached across, and patted Severus on the head, "but you know your father does not permit you in his laboratory. Please, don't do anything to anger him, my son."
Little Severus did not seem to hear. "Go back to sleep now, you need your rest, or your ribs won't knit properly. I'll bring you more potions in about two hours."
"Sevvie!" Mervidith rasped, attempting to sit up. "I forbid you to make any more potions. If your father catches you at this, he is likely to..."
She stopped when Severus lowered his head and obscured his face with his tiny hands.
"I already know what he'll do!"
"My son, I know you're not doing this purely out of defiance," Mervidith whispered, pulling Severus closer and wrapping an arm around his narrow shoulders. She winced as a new wave of pain tore through her body.
"Mother," Severus was obviously trying to look stronger than he felt. His lower lip trembled, and his black eyes grew watery, "you're hurt, you are not supposed to move about. Your bones won't heal properly."
"And you won't grow properly, as you've not eaten since this morning," Mervidith said, glancing at the clock. "Do not worry, I will go gently. Let me prepare some food."
"You don't need to, mother! I've already eaten a lot of bread," lied young Severus, just before his stomach growled loudly.
"Evidently not enough," Mervidith said, regarding him suspiciously.
Harry was amazed. Either Mervidith Snape had an abnormally high pain threshold, or the child Snape could brew exceptionally potent healing potions. With apparently minimal discomfort, Mervidith pulled on a blouse, rose from her bed and hobbled quickly downstairs toward the kitchen.
Young Severus sighed and headed back toward the laboratory in at the lowest level of the house, dragging the spirit Harry along with him. "I should have added a sedative to the healing potions," the boy mumbled to himself, and Harry quietly agreed.
They were still on the first level of Snape Manor when a loud thud resounded from the direction of the front entrance. "Oh no," Harry heard the child Severus mumble, a fraction of a second before running outside to investigate.
"Father!" Severus screamed. Lucien Snape was sprawled face-down on the porch. A Death Eater Mask lay cracked on the boards beside the unconscious man, and his white clothes and hair were randomly stained in red.
With remarkable strength for one so young, Severus rolled his father onto his back, quickly assessed the damage, and carefully dragged him into the manor. "Oh father, what's happened to you?" Severus asked.
Judging from the era, Harry guessed that Lucien Snape had been injured at one of the many Death Eater, or Knights of Walpurgis, raids. Little Severus would learn of this much later, when he became a Death Eater himself.
"Father? Father!" Lucien remained non-responsive, even as Severus put his head on his father's chest. "You're not breathing! Go on, father draw a breath!" Severus's frantic cries became sobs. "Please, I don't want you to die, father!
Little Severus dragged his sire into one of the washrooms and began filling the bath. The boy then ran back to the laboratory, pulled one of the cauldrons into the washroom and emptied it into the bath. Without delay, Severus deposited his father, soiled robes and all, into the potion-enriched water.
"Please," Severus whimpered, then hid his face against the side of the bath.
Exposed heavily to the vapours from the potion-laden waters, Lucien drew a long, raspy breath.
Severus quickly rose and left once again, and Harry assumed it was because he did not want to be around when his father fully regained consciousness, but the boy soon returned with three phials of freshly decanted potions. Severus applied the contents from two of the phials directly to the worst of Lucien's injuries, and poured the contents of the third into the unconscious man's mouth.
Lucien gagged, and his grey eyes opened wide.
Harry was about to tell Severus to run away, but the boy was already fleeing. Lucien dove from the bath and caught Severus by the hair. He examined one of the phials briefly, then cast it in front of the boy's face. "I did not brew these potions!"
Severus only stared at the phial in terror.
"What have I told you about brewing potions?"
Young Severus winced as Lucien pulled harder on his hair.
"Answer me!" ordered Lucien. "What have I told you about brewing potions?"
"You told me not to," whimpered little Severus.
"So you've disobeyed me yet again." Lucien's voice had dropped a few decibels. Ironically, it was even more frightening than if he were yelling, causing even spirit Harry to shiver. "I've forbidden you from even entering my laboratory, yet you've even gone so far as experiment with new concoctions. You understand the consequences, do you not?"
Severus's eyes filled with tears anew. Even Harry feared for him.
"Lucien!" Mervidith entered the washroom whilst wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. "Let him go!"
"Get out!" Lucien shouted, dragging Severus out of the washroom along with him.
"Your clothes are drenched, Lucien! Have your bath and leave Sevvie alone!"
Without warning, Lucien slapped his wife hard across the face. "Stand aside!"
"Lucien, he's just a baby!" Mervidith screamed, pushing Lucien so fiercely that he fell backwards on the wet floor. "You will not beat him again!"
The elder Snape then turned his fury onto his wife. Within moments, Mervidith was on the floor, only feebly attempting to defend herself from the fierce blows.
"No, father!" Severus wailed. "No more hurting mummy."
"You dare tell me what I may, or may not do to my wife?"
"You've already hurt her today!" Severus shouted back, trying to stand between his parents even while Lucien held his hair tightly. "If this continues, she'll die!"
Lucien kicked Severus out of the way, and dragged Mervidith to their bedroom. Severus hobbled after them, screaming that he did not want to see his mother dead. Harry could not bear to watch, yet at the same time, he could not turn away.
"Get out of here, Severus! You've already earned yourself a beating, now leave before I'll have to administer an additional punishment. Wait in your room, I'll get to you as soon as I'm done with your mother."
Harry covered his ears as the woman's screams resonated from behind the closed door. He was very concerned for the young Severus in this time, and he soon found himself seated on a child's bed in what must have been young Severus's room. Severus entered the room moments later, looking horrified with tears streaming from his cheeks. Each time he heard his mother scream, he mouthed "stop" or "no more, father!"
"I haven't brewed those potions to defy you," wept Severus to the apparently empty room, "if I hadn't learned you'd both be..."
Harry vaguely remembered the dream he had had once more, where he had seen a very young Severus being forced into a tub of very hot water. He then realized that hadn't been a dream. Why had he connected with Snape's memories that time? Could it be a residual effect of Occlumency? Or something more?
The child Severus joined Harry on the bed and began to sniffle fearfully. More than anything, Harry wanted to help this boy, to save him, to protect him from his father, anything but allow him to be beaten. Harry sighed, knowing that he was a spirit and could do nothing in this time. All these events had already happened. Not knowing why he did so, Harry wrapped an arm around the crying child and kissed him on the forehead.
To Harry's bewilderment, the child Severus turned in his direction and rubbed the area on his forehead that Harry had just kissed. "Mother told me there were guardian angels," Severus said, looking hopefully in Harry's direction. "Are you mine?"
How Harry wished he could be heard at this moment.
"Please don't let father kill mum!" Severus assumed a classic position employed by children praying for supernatural intervention; he knelt and folded his hands. Harry gasped, he had never expected Snape to be praying to him. "Father says he will kill mother one day. I don't want him to kill her, please don't let her die...and...and I don't want him to die either. I just want him to not beat us anymore."
Just then, the elder Snape burst into the room with his belt in hand. The man roughly grabbed Severus by the wrist and threw him against the wall.
"Take your whipping like a man!"
Harry turned away. This he could not watch, and could almost feel the lash upon his own back when he heard the little boy start screaming as the belt struck him. The beating continued with a steady, violent pulse.
"Lucien, STOP!"came the Mervidith Snape's voice again.
Harry turned to see Snape's mother run into the room and cover her little boy's body with her own.
"Get out, woman!" Lucien yelled. "You're only teaching him to hide behind his mother's skirts. We don't need a coward for a son, now move!"
"He's only a baby!" the woman shouted back. "He's my baby!"
Harry trembled as he watched the man haul his wife off of the boy and bash her with his bare fists, not caring that little Severus was watching.
Harry could bear no more, and the violent scene at Snape Manor faded around him.
Had Severus Snape, and his mother Mervidith Snape, truly endured this kind of treatment until the moment Harry saw them escape many years later?
Harry then wondered how Snape's mother had fared away from their family home, and instantly, the sweet smell of grapes filled the air around him..
Harry found himself standing centimetres away from a bunch of ripe grapes. When he pulled back, he saw rows of grapes in every direction, and heard the sounds of workers singing as they harvested them. Harry recognised one voice, the only one who singing in English, and when he turned in that direction, he saw Mervidith Snape...but she looked nothing like Harry remembered. She had filled out somewhat, and bore a faint golden colour to her rosy cheeks, which no longer bore the signs of abuse. On her back, was a very large wicker basket which she was tossing bunches of grapes into, just like the other workers in the vicinity were doing.
"This is Snape's mum, not my mum!" Harry reprimanded himself when he realised he was revelling in the woman's happiness, but the strange feeling of comfort at seeing her content in her new life only increased as time wore on.
The scene changed, and Harry was soon standing amid shelves in what appeared to be a muggle health store. At the counter near the deli, mixing freshly squeezed fruit juices and herbs was none other than Snape's mum, regarding the food processor before her the same way Harry had seen Arthur Weasley regard most muggle artifacts. Mervidith Snape seemed to jump for joy whenever a customer ordered a health drink, and fully relished any task requiring the use of the food processor.
Harry overheard a very important appearing customer telling the proprietor of the establishment that the drinks were outstanding, and if they would be interested in expanding the marketing of the drinks to a chain of grocery stores all over Europe. Harry looked back at Mervidith Snape, who was gleefully preparing potion ingredients with the noisy food processor during a brief ebb in the constant line of customers ordering health drinks. Harry realized that Severus must have inherited his love of potion brewing from his mother.
"Madam!" A customer called her attention. "I'd like to order another one of your special herbal anti-inflammatory brews. And flavour it with guava juice, please?"
The scene changed abruptly, and Harry found himself standing in a small, brightly-illuminated living room. The second-hand furniture made the room look very lived in, and comforting. Otherwise, the home was furnished rather oddly. There were several food processors and blenders on the bookshelves, tables and counter tops. The door to the kitchen was open, and Harry saw three blenders lined up side by side on the counter.
In the middle of the room, seated on a leather chair was Mervidith Snape...watching Mach Go Go (Speed Racer) on a black and white television. Harry watched in wonder as Mervidith knitted with incredible efficiently, whilst never looking away from the television. The only times she ever stopped knitting, was to cheer Go Mifune on.
As the sun began to set, Mervidith put aside her knitting to prepare dinner, making use of no less than four separate blenders. She kept running to the window and looking up the road, as though expecting some one to arrive. Harry watched her at work, and realized that he had been deprived of a true home cooked meal prepared by a loving blood relative. No matter how intricate or complex the meals at Hogwarts were, he heard it said time and again that there were few pleasures greater than a dinner prepared at home by one's mother, father, an aunt or uncle, or grandparent, or some other loving relative. Harry had been forced to do much of the cooking in the Dursley's house, so he knew the taste of home cooked meals, but never the comfort of having them prepared by someone who loved him. Harry then began to feel a twinge of jealousy toward Snape, but not much.
Harry sat at the table in silence, watching the woman work. Although he was a spirit, his mouth watered as he sensed the delicious smells of pureed chowder and roast; a roast that had its accompanying vegetables cut too small, since Mervidith had accidentally turned the processor on to "mince" instead of "chop."
After Mervidith ran to the window and then back again, she began to prepare a peach pie. Having rarely been allowed to watch Aunt Petunia prepare a dessert before, Harry watched Snape's mother prepare the ingredients with the same surgical precision he had seen Snape use on potions ingredients. So mesmerized was Harry, that when a peach rolled off the counter, he jumped off of the chair, picked it up, and handed it back.
To Harry's surprise, Mervidith Snape looked a bit startled at first, but showed no further signs of fear. It was as though she had been able to see him, if only for the slightest moment. How had he managed to interact with something in the physical world?
"I know who you are," Mervidith said as she looked directly at Harry with the peach still in her hand. There was nothing but the purest adoration in her eyes. "You are a preborn soul! You're what some muggles think of as an angel!" Although Mervidith appeared to not be able to see Harry anymore, she kept her gaze in his direction as though hoping for another glimpse. "Beautiful, green-eyed child. So very much like Sevvie.. You must be Sevvie and Lily's son." The older woman smiled lovingly. "My precious grandson, soon to walk this Earth with us. Please get here soon. Grandmother can hardly wait for you."
Harry knew he should be shocked, or that he should at least be thinking that this woman was insane, but he felt a connection with her that seemed as fathomless as infinite space and time. This woman was his grandmother. She had to be. In his heart, Harry knew that only one's true grandmother could reach across time in this way. The logical part of him said that this was Severus Snape's mother, so this could not be possible.
His heart refused to concur.
A soft pop from outside the house drew Mervidith Snape's attention, and she smiled as she continued to prepare the peach pie.
A few minutes later, an adult Severus Snape, clad in university robes, walked through the door and greeted his mother.
After dinner the two retired to the living room. Mervidith returned to her leather chair, while Severus walked over to the sofa.
"YAAH!" Snape shouted as he sat down. He pulled a pair of knitting needles from under him, and was about to toss them into his mother's sewing basket when he stopped cold. On the end of the needles, was a baby-sized blue wool hat! Severus looked at the basket next to his mother's chair, and saw it filled with baby jumpers, infant sized booties and mittens.
"Mother," Severus choked uncharacteristically, "you've not been in Alsace that long...you...you're not... " His voice dropped to utter silence, but even Harry could see that Snape had mouthed the word "baby."
The dark-haired woman burst out laughing so hard that Harry was sure she would fall out of her chair and go rolling on the floor. "No silly, I'm not pregnant! I'd have needed to master the science of parthenogenesis for that to happen any time soon!"
Severus developed the same expression on his face, that a pet snake would wear if one tried to teach it arithmancy or Quidditch.
"Sevvie, these are for YOUR baby!"
"WHAT BABY?" Severus said, his eyes going larger than Harry thought normal eyes could probably go.
"You're still dating that Evans girl right?" Mervidith took the knitting needles from Severus and resumed work on the hat.
"Yes, yes of course," Snape said, his tone becoming less sure of himself. "But she's not...well...you know...expecting. She's said nothing of the sort to me.."
Harry did the not hear the next few minutes of the conversation. If it were possible for spirits to faint, that was exactly what he must have done. He could not believe that his mother, Lily Evans, would ever date such a morose person like Severus Snape. Hadn't he called her a mudblood in their fifth year?
'This simply could not be!' Harry decided. 'He must have been in the midst of a bizarre dream, or utterly insane! Lily Evans had nothing in common with Severus Snape! He grew up to be a greasy git, an intolerant teacher...'
Then again, the Snape before him was not the same dour man that he remembered from his own present.
When Harry made himself pay attention to the conversation again, he noticed that Severus was leaning forward in the sofa as though very interested now. Mervidith Snape was knitting very rapidly and talking at about the same speed.
"Sevvie, you yourself may have been unplanned, but not unwanted." Mervidith said fondly. "I was only fifteen when you were conceived, yet you brought me the happiest years of my life. And I don't just mean this year, but all 19 of your years. You and Lily are not much older than I was..."
"Mother," Severus said, absently throwing a ball of yarn back and forth in his hands. "Why are you so sure that the baby will arrive soon. How do you know he or she won't arrive ten or fifteen years from now?"
"Sevvie dear, are you familiar with the phenomenon of angels or preborn spirits?"
Severus sneered, but the expression lacked any shadow of malice or true distaste. "There's little evidence to support..."
"Not any we can measure with conventional methods, son." Mervidith stood from her chair and joined Severus on the sofa. Harry, wondering if he would be detected again, joined them. Mervidith turned in Harry's direction and smiled briefly before turning back to Severus. "But Sevvie, when I was fifteen, I began to have recurring dreams of a beautiful little boy with eyes the colour of the night sky. I'd dream of him every night, during the days and once I even thought that I saw his reflection in the mirror as I brushed my hair. Within the year, you were born, and when the mediwitch placed you in my arms, I recognized your face as that little angel who meandered into my dreams. About a month ago, I began to see another child. A beautiful boy with black hair, and eyes the colour of the first leaves of spring. I see him every time I fall asleep, and this afternoon, he appeared in the kitchen before me."
Harry gaped, while Severus scoffed, this time with conviction.
"Doubt me if you will," Mervidith said sadly, "but do not delay, Sevvie. Talk to Lily when you return to London tonight. If my premonitions are correct, dear Lily might be either about to conceive, or already with your child."
Harry glanced at the magical calendar on the wall, and saw that the date was November 5, 1979.' After a quick calculation, Harry realized since he had been born on July 31, 1980, it was likely that he had just been conceived.
"Very well, mother, I will talk to Lils tonight." Severus rose, hugged the older woman, and then departed.
Harry was about to leave also. More than anything else, he wanted to talk to his own mother now. Surely there was no possibility that she would ever find a git like Snape even remotely attractive enough to date, and much less conceive a child with.
Or was there a possibility?
Harry shook the thoughts back out of his mind. There was no way Snape would ever date, or make children with a muggle born. The teenaged Severus Snape had called Lily Evans a mudblood, so surely...
Or were those things Harry heard said in the Pensieve merely said out of anger?
Then again, if this woman was not Harry's grandmother, he'd be absolutely broken-hearted. He had never felt such a deep connection before, nor had he felt this form of love from anyone...love just for him.
Just then, there was another pop just beyond Mervidith Snape's yard, and at first, Harry thought Snape had returned. Mervidith must have thought the same thing, because she ran to the door with a grin on her face that rivalled the one that Harry had seen Molly Weasley sport quite often toward her own children.
Harry froze when he saw not Severus Snape, but Lucien Snape staring at his estranged wife with a look of pure loathing.
End Part Four
