A/N: I don't own Harry Potter. The wonderful Ms. Rowling has that under control.

I could have set this in England, but I decided not to for several reasons. First off, it's meant to poke fun at fics in which Snape has a 'surprise' kid. Usually they're a teenage girl with oh so dark secrets, she's 'goth', and she's amazingly talented. Secondly, it's a writing exercise on imagery and the like. I live in Lima Ohio and have traveled pretty well across Ohio and part of the Midwest, so I know my way around that area.

My last note, any Glee fanatics will notice that there are no similarities between Glee's Lima Ohio and my hometown of Lima Ohio. That's because there's not.

Summary: Killed prematurely by an overzealous minion of Herr Tod, Snape must return as spirit and fulfill his fatherly duties for a slacker in the American Midwest.

Chapter One

He boarded the train when it pulled up to the station. As soon as it pulled up, actually. He was not entirely sure where he was and he'd been standing around…well, it seemed like awhile, but he wasn't sure of how long or where he was. In fact, he wasn't sure of anything as far as the whole thing went. He ought to have a ticket if he was boarding a train, but boarding seemed like the right thing to do, even without a ticket.

Settling down into a cushy compartment, left completely alone, Severus Snape thought that he remembered Nagini striking his neck, gushing blood all over the front of his robes, green, silver…green eyes, silver substance…Potter's eyes and memories.

He'd expected to die, but he hadn't expected he would not be able to speak to Potter beforehand. Hopefully the boy figured everything out. Somehow, though, it mattered very little here and even the thought of Potter couldn't anger him. He only felt tired when he thought about Potter or Black or anyone, really.

The cushions were very cozy, he decided. It seemed that his soul was not as damaged as feared; otherwise he wouldn't be enjoying his afterlife with relative luxury. Snape wondered if the atoning he had tried so hard for in his first life meant much here, if it had made a difference. He liked to think it had, but like the war he'd left behind, that didn't feel as if it mattered much.

There was a sudden clatter down the hall and he bolted up, feeling his heart pounding despite a lazy whisper's insistence that he was fine; there was nothing in his own afterlife to hurt him. Not when he deserved to be here and had a whole soul. He sank back into the cushions.

There had been others on the train platform. Ghosts of his past. Everyone he'd ever known. They had said nothing and hadn't even looked at him, as if he weren't there to begin with. They talked among themselves, passing judgment on him in whispers he couldn't hear and with faces he cared not to remember. They had stayed, though, as the train left. They didn't even seem to notice the train.

It was odd, some of the people there. His school mates, Housemates, enemies, allies, a few friends, colleagues…everyone huddled together in groups as he remembered them. The Death Eaters together, the Order, Lily with a few men and women he vaguely recognized as adults of children he'd once considered friends. Dumbledore and Potter were conspiring by the ticket booth, a large sign that said Be Back in Ten Minutes hanging crookedly in the empty window and the blinds half drawn.

He had even recognized a woman he'd had a weekend with. She had red hair and wonderful green eyes. She was standing by herself, no real connection to anyone else in his life. She passed her judgment alone, it seemed.

Then the train had come and he clambered aboard in his haste to get away. The sign in the window surely was a lie, because it felt like longer than ten minutes that he'd been weaving in and out of the groups, waiting.

Another clatter brought him from his thoughts along with a sudden voice. Snape couldn't hear what it was saying, but he stood again and turned his back to the window and faced the compartment door. He locked it and wished he had a wand. None appeared, which was surprising considering his preferred clothes had appeared from nowhere when he'd woken up naked on the platform.

The clattering sound came rhythmically and, finally, he heard what the voice was saying.

"Ticket?-" a pause- "thanks. Good ride to you."

Plunging his hand into his pants pocket, Snape fished around for a ticket and wished for it more fervently than a wand. It only took a second for his fingers to clasp a small piece of paper, which he pulled out just as the door slid open as if he hadn't locked it. Sirius Black stood in front of him, dressed as a ticket taker and his hat jauntily tilted at an angle.

"Ticket?"

Snape said nothing and handed over the paper from his pocket. Sirius looked at it and frowned.

"What are you playing at, Snape?"

"That's my ticket, Black. What else would it be?"

"This ticket's not finished. Funny prank, but we're on a tight schedule and I need your real ticket."

Black shoved it back at him and stood there, tapping his foot impatiently. Snape shoved his hands in both pants pockets and pulled them out. There was nothing in them. He checked his back pockets and there was nothing.

"It looks like you don't have a ticket, Snape. We're already off and running, so I'll have to call my supervisor and see what to do."

After waiting a few minutes, Snape wanted to ask him how exactly he planned to call his supervisor if he was just going to stand there with his arms across his chest. Just as he opened his mouth, the train lurched and he grabbed the doorframe.

"Oh. He's not very pleased," Sirius said idly, scratching the bridge of his nose as he leaned against a wall. "I see him coming now."

"Black, this had better be important!"

Snape couldn't quite place the voice. It was only a tenor and, despite the anger, he was not frightened of it.

Suddenly, a tall figure appeared dressed in the same outfit as Sirius. His had a tasteful amount of silver braid and he was obviously a supervisor of some sort. He had thick, brown hair under his silver trimmed cap, a thick mustache, and muttonchops.

"I didn't figure you'd be pleased, George, but Snape here doesn't have a finished ticket."

George blinked and frowned. "A finished ticket? I'm sure you're just being stupid, Black. Some people don't have tickets, but I've never heard of half a ticket."

"See, it's more like three-fourths," Sirius said unhelpfully.

Snape obligingly gave it to him and watched his eyebrows furrow together. After a few minutes, he swore and shoved the ticket back at Snape. He took off his cap and ran his hand through his hair with a grimace.

"We're going to have to see Herr Tod about this. It's the right ticket, Black. See the numbers right here? 0109195905021998 - 16.

"If it's the right ticket, why does it matter?" Snape interrupted.

"There's a bloke up the train who has an eighth of a ticket," George said absently. "We keep kicking him off. We don't have his full registration number. Idiot's gone and mutilated his ticket; don't see why the hell he did. You can't stay on the train without a full ticket."

Snape thought of Dumbledore's face, the pleading, the plan, Potter, the Astronomy Tower, Draco Malfoy's face, green light--

"Come on, then," George said. "Herr Tod has to hear about Mr. Eighth-of-a-Ticket. It's the seventh time he's gone and tried to board with a bad ticket. I'm sure yours is just a funny mix-up, Mr. Snape. The bloke with the bad ticket went and tore his up. You can see the jagged edges and all, but yours is smooth like it's just been printed wrong. Herr Tod will know what to do."

Snape followed George down the corridor, aware that while the compartments had all been empty when he boarded, there were now blurry figures behind the distorted glass that were watching curiously as he passed with George. They were all dark shadows and he couldn't identify any of them.

After walking for what felt like hours past countless compartments, Snape finally asked, "how much longer?"

"Herr Tod is only a few compartments away," George said. With his question asked and answered, Snape was quiet again and relished the peace this place gave him.

George stopped suddenly, throwing out his arm and catching Snape's midriff. He knocked on the glass and received a curt, "enter, Westerson."

Snape reluctantly followed George into the compartment, which was non-descript except for the desk, bookcase, and cabinets bolted to the floor. A very thin old man was scribbling something onto a sheet of paper, but he quickly filed it away when they entered. His walrus mustache (much grander and bushier than George's) extended past either side of his face and was a brilliant white along with his hair. His outfit matched Sirius's and George's, but his braid was gold and much less tastefully adorned on his sleeves and shoulders than George's silver.

"What's the problem?" he demanded, waving his arms around in some kind of gesture. "Plenty of work already, Westerson."

"That fellow keeps trying to get on," George said. "His ticket's still invalid though. Mutilated."

"I think he'll try once more," Herr Tod said, stroking his mustache. "Then he won't have even an eighth of a ticket left, I don't believe. No claim to be on here at all, then, and we can kick him off in the middle of nowhere like the others. They never find their way back to platform after that. Who's this fellow here?"

"Severus Snape," Snape said, holding out his hand half-heartedly and almost hoping Herr Tod wouldn't take it.

"Severus Alan Snape," Herr Tod said, standing up and shaking his hand. He stood up and turned, searching through some piles. "Otto Tod, at your service. I just put your file somewhere. You'll be here about a funny ticket, then?"

"Yes," Snape said. As soon as he pulled the ticket from his pocket, Herr Tod plucked it from his fingers and inspected it; pulling out a monocle and tapping his finger on the frame every so often, until the lense finally pressed against the ticket. After a moment, he pulled the monocle off and threw it over his shoulder, waving the ticket as he did so.

"This is a genuine ticket, dear boy," he said. He was practically yelling, as though they were hard of hearing or, Snape thought, perhaps the thick hair sprouting from his ears impeded his own hearing. "I'm positive. Did they give it to you like this?"

"It was in my pocket," Snape said. Herr Tod tsked and shook his head. He found a file he was looking for and opened it, spilling out numerous pictures of Snape.

"There's been a mistake, Mr. Snape," he said, reading. "Says here that you weren't to die. We're terribly sorry for the mix-up. It happens when we get a rookie down in the lower levels. They get excited and go bounding about without a sensible thought between their ears."

Snape rubbed his temples. Didn't that just figure? He hadn't expected to survive, but he'd made himself a nice hideaway on the off chance he survived and could go live in solitude, in peace from everyone who had ever irritated him.

"I don't suppose there's a fix for this?" he asked. Herr Tod sighed and sadly shook his head.

"Unfortunately, there's simply no bringing you back from the dead," he said. "Well, we could, but that mucks with the living domain and, frankly, after that disaster a few centuries ago, we really would prefer not to-"

"Understandable," Snape said. "So what of my ticket?"

"We can't take your ticket as is, Mr. Snape. We simply can't. We can't fix it either, you're the only one who can do that. Oh dear-" he turned to George- "Westerson, I'm afraid you're going to have to take care of all those details while I explain to Severus what needs done. We haven't had one of these mistakes in centuries and that's with that other mess."

"Are you sure, Herr Tod?" George asked. "I s'pose he has to finish his ticket, but-"

"He has to, Westerson. He's never going to be able to stay on-board if he doesn't and he'll just endlessly board, get kicked off, and re-board. I'm going to strangle that rookie. His name is Wesley Robards. When we have our layover, find him and make him help you set things up-"

"Settle, sir, settle. I'll get everything taken care of as best I can." George looked reluctant, but he patted Herr Tod lightly on the shoulder. "I have no clue what the codeword is for this, so be a good sport and let me know and I'll know what procedures to do-"

"Codeword is Felverhalten. Page 264 of the Manual. Our layover is coming up. Perfect."

Herr Tod was wringing his hands together and smiling in relief as George disappeared.

I can't even have a normal death, Snape thought. Who knew bureaucracy was so integrated with dying of all things?

"I know, Mr. Snape," Herr Tod said. "It used to be so simple. Granted, I got terribly behind during the plague or that nasty bout of flu in 1918, but eventually I couldn't do it anymore. Had to make myself a company with your kind's population explosion. You're lucky I was here, you know. The train's my favorite place, but I'm usually stuck at the office-"

Snape rubbed his temples briefly, and then surreptitiously prodded himself in the stomach. He rubbed it and avoided scowling. It was true. He was conscious, this was quite life-like, and he might never escape a chatty minion of Death.

Wasn't Death supposed to be silent, peaceful, and unencumbered by those who wouldn't just be quiet?

"I do like to chat," Herr Tod said. "My dear wife-"

Snape closed his eyes tightly. When he opened the again, he was still chattering away.

"Of course, it's not my fault I had to go after her. Dear Helga, such a temper, but I do love her so."

Snape nodded slowly, wondering if it was the right thing to do. Herr Tod beamed at him and wandered out from behind the desk as the train slowed. With Severus's folder under his arm, he patted him on the head.

"You're a dear boy," he said. "Now, off to the platform."

Snape kept his mouth closed and did not dignify the pat with recognition. He followed Herr Tod as the train lurched to a stop. He jumped from the compartment and Snape carefully went down the stairs.

He looked around the platform. Vaguely, he was reminded of something Mediterranean with the architecture and flora. Herr Tod chose a scuffed-up, forlorn wooden table with two chairs and settled at it, humming as he sorted through the papers in Snape's folder.

While he looked through the folder, Snape studied the train. He knew it was a train, but he couldn't say why or how. There was nothing there. He thought of the shapeless figures behind compartment glass and wondered where they were. As soon as they had no need of it, it disappeared.

"Oh dear."

He turned to Herr Tod and saw him scratching his nose with the corner of a photograph, intently reading something. After a moment, he looked up to see Snape watching him. He put the photo down (Snape recognized it as one of the disastrous Occlumency lessons with Potter and briefly wondered about its origins) and rubbed his chin.

"I have good news for you, Mr. Snape. We can fix this problem."

"So what is the bad news? I assume there is some."

"It depends on how you view it. You'll have to return to tie up the loose ends of your life. You weren't supposed to die until 2016, but no matter."

"What loose ends?" Snape demanded. He had taken care of everything. He had no inheritor, so the modest bank account and shabby house would wait fifteen years (in case of a sudden heir), as per the Ministry's laws, before becoming absorbed into Hogwarts's account. All the waiting was for the convenience of illegitimate offspring to potentially claim it. Unlike their Muggle counterparts, the aristocracy of the Wizarding World preferred inheritances to go to any child/family.

As if I had anyone to claim my property, Snape thought, lifting his lip in a familiar, comforting sneer.

"It seems as though you would have taken a trip to America in 2000 for a Potions conference held in Cleveland," Herr Tod said, looking down at the papers. "You were attracted to a city called Lima when you traveled towards Indianapolis for a Defense conference. You had sex with a woman from there, did you not? In November 1989, this says."

"What of it?" Snape asked, dimly remembering the red-haired, green-eyed Muggle who had been in London on holiday. Her companion took ill, leaving her along for the weekend they'd spent together.

"Well, you see…you were to run into her after an accident. She was your nurse. From that, she told you about your son. A boy named Alan."

"Oh, that loose end," Snape said, "I didn't--- did you just say I had a son?"

"Quite," Herr Tod said, shaking his head sadly. "You ran into them at just the right time. It says you moved there and trained him as a wizard, so he could have proper tutelage and attend Muggle school. He became a Healer, and…oh dear. I was afraid of something like this."

University, move, Healer, Alan, Muggle school, wizard, training…Snape blinked hard and took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Afraid of what?" Snape asked, wondering if one could get headaches in their afterlife. Wasn't it supposed to be peaceful?

"Your son did something rather important and it may not get done now."

"Couldn't you just pass it off to someone else?"

"I wish I could, Mr. Snape. But then we get the Destiny sisters involved and that's more of a mess than getting the living domain involved."

"What does he do that's so bloody important?"

Herr Tod clucked with a shake of the head, closing Snape's folder. "That's confidential information. It'll be in his folder and I simply can't release that information without his consent."

Snape wondered if it were possible to strangle Herr Tod.

"So I have a son," he said, changing the subject for a moment. Herr Tod beamed at him again, practically bouncing in his seat.

"It's a shame you were killed early," he said. "You two had a lovely relationship, it seems. Children are wonderful. Helga and I always wanted a small family, but we couldn't agree on anything. There was a delightful baby boy here awhile ago. Green eyes and the most untidy black hair. He had a wonderful smile. Unfortunately, he was only here briefly and then was called back, as happens on rare occasions-"

George Westerson appeared, looking a bit more frazzled than he had been. He had a bag in one hand and a thick book in the other.

"I just got done chatting with Mother Living," he said, tossing the bag and book on the table. A third chair appeared which he took with a relieved sigh. "She refused to let him back fully, but she's agreed that he can spend about four hours a day alive."

"I'll spend some of my time dead and some alive?" Snape asked, the image of himself falling over in a crowd of Muggles burned into his eyelids. They would cut him up or something right as he was awakening.

"Oh, no, Mr. Snape," Herr Tod said. "Mostly you'll be in a spirit form. I'd be careful of being alive though. Be mighty messy if you did something like fathered a child twelve years after you're supposed to be dead, wouldn't it? Or ended up dead again, although I make sure to send out a memo. Especially to Wesley Robards. Hopefully we can avoid a repeat of this and the next time I see you, you'll have a full ticket."

Herr Tod stood up and started to pace. Snape pulled out the ticket and inspected it. It was brilliant silver, the registration numbers printed in a stark black. He guessed that it would be four inches when it was fully developed. Besides the numbers, the only printing was in the middle where it read, Herr Tod Inc. Railways.

"She says her part will be done in a mo'," George said. "We're free to send him back whenever we need to."

Clapping his hands together, Herr Tod beckoned for Snape to stand and follow. Squashing down his nervousness, Snape did. They stood at the edge of the platform and everything grew hazy, even George heading towards them with his bag and book back in hand. Herr Tod clasped his hands behind his back and rocked back and forth, observing the vast nothingness before him.

"You've got to guide him, Mr. Snape," he said. "Train him up as a wizard. For that-" Herr Tod reached into his jacket- "you'll need this. Tuck it away safely."

He pulled out a slender, ebony wand and handed it off to Snape. He took it reverently, feeling the familiar tingle in his arm and shoulder, not even noticing Herr Tod rolling up his sleeves and stretching behind him. As he wished for a wand holster, one appeared and he tied it to his wrist, securing his wand in its safety.

Suddenly, hands touched his shoulder blades and with a single push, Snape felt himself teetering forward. He flailed his arms inelegantly and still fell. Even though he was sure he should have crashed onto the ground, he tumbled through the nothingness and heard Herr Tod yell down to him, "have a good journey, Mr. Snape! Keep an eye on your ticket!"