Chapter 18
January, 1977

Statute of Secrecy and Restriction of Underaged Wizardry notwithstanding, Severus immediately flipped his wand into his hand and jumped back to his feet. The club had, naturally, been thrust into chaos; the black smoke was rapidly spreading from its apparent origin near the bar, and the hundred-plus members of the audience had started to press, tripping over one another, towards the single obvious exit.

Lily had also stumbled; he lifted her upright by the shoulders and, after glancing at her body and probing the uppermost level of her mind—it was an emergency—determined that she was unhurt, if frightened. McKinnon, being inebriated, seemed to have lost her balance enough to have fallen directly onto the floor and was bruised, but otherwise uninjured. Severus grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her to her feet; he pulled the two witches out of the path of the stampeding crowd and into the shelter of the enormous speaker.

Screams rang out anew as those still inside the club realised that the bar was, in fact, on fire. Given the amount of alcohol—

They needed to leave immediately.

"Shit," McKinnon was saying, "shit, shit, shit…"

"How do we get out of here?" Lily asked. "Marlene. Marlene. Can you Apparate us?"

Severus sharply gestured for them to be silent. "I wish neither to be splinched nor to be party to a grave violation of the Statute," he snapped. "We aren't invisible." He took in the room, from the crowd funnelling poorly out of the exit to the spreading fire to the empty stage—

"The stage is empty," Severus said aloud. "The musicians escaped. There's a back exit." He ran around their speaker-shelter, jumped up onto the stage, and held out a hand to help Lily up. She joined him; McKinnon, who was sufficiently tall, declined his offer of assistance and leapt up wobbily beside him. He headed for the back of the stage and paced the width of it until the absence of smoke alerted him to what did, in fact, turn out to be an exit, lurking behind a curtain; the band had left the door open. With one last glance behind him to be sure that he was being followed only by Lily and McKinnon, he ducked behind the curtain, out the door, and into a narrow back street.

A second explosion echoed from within the building. Severus grabbed Lily by the hand and took off at a run. When they had put enough distance between themselves and the burning club—or so Severus hoped—they turned off the street and into a small alley. He indicated for Lily and McKinnon—who seemed rather likely to vomit—to sit down on the kerb and stood peering back towards the street.

"If," McKinnon said, panting, "you'd hit me with—a Sobering Charm—we could've Apparated the hell out of there."

"A Sobering Charm would immediately have rendered you dehydrated and in a not negligible amount of pain. Apparition still would have been ill-advised," Severus remarked, his attention remaining on the direction of the bar. No one had followed them; the alley was deserted.

"You could've given me a hangover remedy," McKinnon said sullenly.

"I don't carry a laboratory on my bloody person," Severus spat. "And I would have been an underaged wizard in a room full of Muggles regardless."

At that, Lily gripped Severus' ankle tightly. He glanced down; her eyes were wide. "Muggles," she said. "Sheridan's husband. They were standing by the bar before the explosion."

Severus felt, suddenly, simultaneously very tired and extremely irritated with bloody stupid Cadogan and her stupid Muggle husband. "Damn," he said aloud. There was nothing for it; he'd have to make sure his inept employee had escaped, with or without her tolerable husband, or else be forced to find a replacement shopkeeper.

"Wait here," he instructed Lily. "If I do not return within twenty minutes, cast the Sobering Charm on Miss McKinnon and have her Apparate you home."

"Like hell," Lily retorted. "I'm not leaving, and frankly I think I should go with you." McKinnon's head snapped up, "Gryffindor Ready for a Fight" practically written on her face.

"Certainly not," Severus said emphatically. "Stay here with Miss McKinnon and keep her from drunkenly wounding herself. Miss Cadogan is my responsibility." Seeing the stubborn set of Lily's jaw, he knelt and quietly added, "If I run into trouble, I'll Disapparate—Statute and Restriction be damned."

Lily, though frowning, nodded. Severus pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, stood, and set off at a jog back towards the bar.

The explosion had several possible explanations; it was either an accident, or a planned attack. If it was an accident, it could have been fireworks set off in a misguided, drunken attempt at celebration, or it could have been an electrical malfunction or any number of other Muggle mishaps. If it was an attack, it could very well have been Irish separatists or violent misanthropes who opposed the use of the triangle in modern music.

But Severus was fairly certain it was, in fact, a blood purist attack.

When he heard footsteps, dove behind an alley bin, and watched Evan Rosier run up the street in the opposite direction from the club, he was rather certain.

Unfortunately, the relief Severus had felt at having warning enough to conceal himself before he'd reached the crossroads—which would have put him right in his former classmate's path—soon turned to dread when Rosier came to a stop and was shortly joined by Martinius Wilkes. Rosier looked triumphant; Wilkes, annoyed.

"Cast it," Rosier said, breathing heavily.

"Cast what?" Wilkes replied coldly.

"His Mark," Rosier replied. "I checked, like you said—at least two Muggles died for sure. So we should—"

"Don't be stupid," Wilkes interrupted. "Do you really think He wants to be credited for a half-assed explosion? For the deaths of a few worthless Muggles?"

Rosier's expression quickly turned to a scowl. "You said this would help me—"

"And it will," Wilkes said smoothly. "He will doubtlessly be pleased that you've taken the initiative to teach these blood-traitors a lesson. That does not mean He meant for your sorry excuse for an attack to be the public debut of His glorious Mark."

"Then who—"

"Someone who will have followed the Dark Lord's orders and killed a prominent Mudblood or blood-traitor, I'm sure," Wilkes said. "Your little plot was enough to show Him your dedication. Leave it at that, Rosier, and remember your place."

Rosier muttered something Severus couldn't quite make out, at which Wilkes snorted. "Chin up, Rosier. Maybe a Mudblood died, too."

Rosier smiled wryly and nodded. Wilkes rotated his index finger counter-clockwise and, in accordance with the signal, they both Disapparated.

Severus waited a full minute on the chance they should reappear, and then he set off once more toward the bar, darkly amused by the fact that although Wilkes and Rosier had bothered to use the hand signals he remembered from his own time as a Death Eater, they apparently couldn't be bothered to not to use each other's names. Marty Wilkes, especially, should have known better.

Had this happened originally? Had Lily attended a concert in Manchester that Rosier, in an effort to impress the Dark Lord, had targeted with an explosion?

Rosier had been rather full of himself when he'd returned from Christmas hols that year, dropping dark hints about the Dark Lord and saying what a pity it was that Severus wasn't yet of age. It was not at all unlikely that he had, in fact, had a hand in wreaking havoc on a mixed Magic and Muggle gathering that night.

But had Lily...? If she had, how had she and the drunken McKinnon escaped unscathed?

Maybe it was Severus' presence that had inspired McKinnon to start drinking, and when it had been only McKinnon and Lily present, she had been sober enough to safely Apparate them both to safety.

Or maybe Lily hadn't spent New Year's with McKinnon at all, and had instead rung in 1977 with her best friend, Mary Macdonald, who would not have been driven away by a choice and a boyfriend that Lily had never made and never had.

Severus chose not to consider any messy-haired, Pureblooded possibilities, as they, too, had been stricken from his current timeline.

He soon arrived at the stage door, which someone—presumably Rosier—had closed, most likely as he exited. Severus paused; Rosier surely couldn't be so clueless as to fail to lock—

The door's handle turned. Severus opened the door and slipped inside.

He could barely believe Rosier had ever been so ineffective at killing Muggles.

Severus made his way out from behind the curtains and did his best to survey the club. The smoke had gotten thicker, but the crowd had thinned somewhat; the small crush of people still attempting to exit through the front door was no longer a desperate trampling of humanity. There were still screams, though, and more than one instance of hysterical sobbing, as a smattering of the injured and—as Rosier had claimed—dead littered the floor, and the bar was still dangerously aflame. As Severus looked around, sirens and flashing lights began to arrive outside of the club. He had no doubt that Ministry officials—the DMLE, and a few Obliviators for good measure—wouldn't be far behind, and the allegiance of those wizards was anyone's guess.

He must be hasty.

The club was dark, and full of smoke, and he had no idea if Cadogan and her Muggle husband were inside. He closed his eyes and, fighting the temptation to inhale deeply in order to steady his breath, recalled the woman he'd worked next to for nigh on six months, whose mind he had looked into on more than one occasion—

She was still inside the club.

He opened his eyes. There, in the far corner—fortunately out of the path of the flames and, hopefully, the arriving rescue crews—was Cadogan, white-faced and shaking, kneeling next to her husband's prone form.

Severus' heart sank and rose in turn, as he realised that Cadogan was extremely frightened, but not desolate—and that Graves was, in fact, holding her hand and speaking.

Severus put aside the irrational desire to strike the man for appearing dead, however briefly, and instead crossed the room to join Cadogan at his side.

"Snape!" Cadogan exclaimed breathlessly when he reached her. "You—the explosion, were you? Are you? Is what's—Lily, is she—I guess she is—how do you get out of here? Can you help us?"

"Calm down," Severus said. "I can't help you if you can't tell me why you are still in this room."

"Right," Cadogan said, shaking her head. "Sorry. It's Gordon. He was thrown by the first explosion, and the second knocked a barrel onto him. I got the barrel off and—and I don't think anyone saw, but I think his leg is broken and—and you know me with healing." She fell silent, her hands still visibly trembling.

"And to think we left Ulster," Graves said, his habitual good-natured smile rather marred by his clear expression of pain.

"I can't heal a broken limb," Severus said. "I certainly can't here and now. Can you walk?"

Graves shifted slightly and, alarmingly, seemed to choke back vomit. "I don't think I can properly stand," he said, "but needs must. Lend me a hand." Unbelievably, he reached up to Severus and prepared to rise.

Severus turned from the crazy Muggle to his wife. "Apparate him to St. Mungo's," he instructed.

"Are you out of your bloody mind?" Cadogan retorted. "He'll go to—" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "—Muggle hospital if he goes at all. I'll not have him around any more blood purist terrorists."

"Cast a Featherweight, then," Severus snapped. "We have to leave now."

Severus blocked her from view; Cadogan drew a deep breath and cast the charm on her husband. On Severus' direction, she immobilised his leg; Severus muttered a quick apology and picked him up, swung him over his shoulder, and headed once more for the back exit, Cadogan following closely behind. They crossed the stage, ducked behind the curtain, and exited to the back street.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Cadogan asked, jogging alongside him. "It was blood purists?"

"Yes," Severus said shortly. "I believe so."

"How do you think—"

"This is not," Severus said, "the place to discuss it, madam."

"Right," Cadogan said. "Of course."

They travelled in silence all the way down the street and into the alley. As he drew near the spot where he had left Lily and McKinnon, he was gratified to see that they were still there, though McKinnon seemed to have fallen asleep with her head in Lily's lap.

"Oh my God," Lily said as Severus reached her. "Is he—"

"He's fine," Severus said."His leg is broken."

"It's better now it's not moving," Cadogan's husband added. "Though I must admit this isn't my favourite way to be transported."

McKinnon, without seeming to wake, blearily commented, "I don't think Snape is strong enough to be doing that."

"Yes, thank you," Severus replied. "Madam, I believe we're far enough away from prying eyes for you to take your husband to hospital."

Cadogan nodded and Severus, no longer needing to create the impression of carrying a body rather heavier than his own, manoeuvred Graves' lightened body into a cradled position in Cadogan's outstretched arms.

By the bemused look on her face, Severus gathered she'd never carried a Featherweight person before. Hopefully, she'd not need to again.

"You're fine to Apparate?" Severus verified.

"Yes," Cadogan said, "but I don't know any hospital well enough to—"

"You keep a Muggle residence?" Severus asked. When Cadogan nodded, he continued, "Might I suggest returning home and contacting an ambulance from there? Perhaps your husband was attempting to move a bookshelf, and it fell on him. You will, of course, want to spell away the smell of smoke."

"I'm sure you're right," replied Cadogan, who was, after all, a reasonably intelligent human being. "I will." She swallowed. "I—I can't say enough—"

"Then don't," Severus replied flatly. "Take your husband home, madam."

Cadogan took a deep breath and nodded. "Hold on, Gordon."

Her husband, wincing in anticipation, tightened his grip around her neck. "All right," he said. "Let's get it over with."

"Feel better," Lily called quietly.

Graves smiled. "Thanks, redheaded lady friend."

"Go," Severus bit out.

"Okay, okay," Cadogan said. She drew a deep breath and Disapparated with a sharp pop.

Severus turned to Lily. "I trust nothing untoward occurred during my absence?"

Lily shook her head. "Marlene drooled on my skirt, but other than that—"

"I didn't," McKinnon sleepily refuted.

Severus snorted. "Lovely," he said. He extended a hand to Lily and said, "We should leave. Rescue workers have already started to arrive."

Lily gently shook McKinnon until the older girl sat up, blinked, and muttered, "If I'd had my Beater's bat I could've stopped it."

Lily grimaced. "You're sure you shouldn't cast a Sobering Charm?"

Severus helped Lily to her feet. "As tempting as the offer is," he replied, "I've no desire to be caught casting in a Muggle neighbourhood that's just seen a magical explosion."

Lily's eyebrows shot up. "You definitely think it was magical?"

Severus paused for only the briefest second before replying, "I've never seen a Muggle fire emit such dark, black smoke, have you?"

"I suppose not," Lily said. She paused before adding, "What… what was it like? In there?"

Severus shrugged. "Flames. Smoke. There were still people trying to leave."

"Did—was anybody…?" Lily trailed off.

"Yes," Severus said softly, "but…nobody I recognised. I believe there were only Muggles left inside."

Lily blinked, and Severus was horrified to realise that her eyes were rapidly filling with tears. She flung her arms around his ribcage and buried her face against his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said, muffled, "I'm just—what if something had happened when you went back? You could have—"

"Nothing happened," said Severus, alarmed.

"I know, I know," Lily said. "Just…give me a minute." Severus obligingly wrapped his arms around her; after a moment, she withdrew slightly and said, "Next time, you take me with you."

Absolutely not. "Certainly," Severus replied.

"Okay," McKinnon said, "now I am going to vomit."

Lily laughed, rolled her eyes, and reached down and grabbed McKinnon by the arm. "Up you get, captain. Time to go home."

McKinnon stood, took a deep breath, and said, "To be clear, I only had two beers. I'm just sleepy."

"You had at least four that I saw," Lily clarified. "But it doesn't matter. We're getting a taxi back to my house and you can both Apparate back to London in the morning."

Severus swallowed. "I'd thought to escort you home and then return to—"

"Nope," Lily said. "Are there really Portkeys running now? No? I didn't think so. Marlene has to get back to Diagon Alley tomorrow anyway. She'll take you."

"But your parents—"

"Aren't home yet, and you can Disapparate straight from upstairs in the morning," Lily finished. She stuck a finger in his face and announced, "I don't want you running around Manchester by yourself any more than you want me to. D'you understand?"

McKinnon groaned. "If you're both so bloody worried about each other why are we still standing here in this dodgy alley?" She pointed enthusiastically in the general direction of what Severus gathered was meant to be the busier thoroughfares and said, "Let's get a taxi, then."

Severus quirked an eyebrow at Lily, who gamely smiled. "Lead the way," she said, and the two of them followed McKinnon in what, hopefully, would turn out to be a crossroads rife with taxis.

One hour and an obscene quantity of pounds later—which Lily, to Severus' chagrin, had paid, as he hadn't thought to exchange sufficient Galleons—Severus found himself lying chastely on the floor next to Lily's childhood bed, not giving a single damn that he was gradually losing the feeling in the hand that reached up to hold Lily's as she slept.

Hello Snape,

I owe you an apology for the mess I left by the back door of your shop. I guess I was more hung over than I thought, cos I didn't expect that to happen when we Apparated. I should have cleaned it up but honestly, you deserved it after smirking at me and you really could have offered me a hangover remedy.

Anyway, you're an all right sort and Lily's over the moon for you (not that she'd want me to tell you so, but I get the feeling you're well aware) so I hope you'll forgive my fit of spite. Mates?

Happy New Year,

MM

A week later, Severus was rather surprised to be awakened by the sound of talons rapping at his bedroom's small window. It was only a few minutes before his customary rising time, so he sat up and allowed the bird—which he quickly recognised as Lily's—to enter and perch atop his headboard.

He frowned; he and Lily had been keeping in contact via her clever notebooks, from which he had learned that the return train to Hogwarts had been uneventful, that McKinnon was still thoroughly embarrassed at having vomited on his doorstep, and that James Potter hadn't even merited a mention. What possible purpose…?

He reached up to untie the parcel attached to the animal's talons; it was, remarkably, a largeish, flat, Muggle-style envelope. He opened the envelope; inside was a black-and-white notebook, nearly identical to the one Lily had given him on Christmas, along with what seemed to be a rather lengthy letter.

Of course. It was, after all, his birthday.

"Wait here," Severus instructed the owl. After retrieving an owl treat from the kitchen and sending the animal on her way, he sat back down on his bed and read:

Dear Severus,

Happy birthday! You're probably thinking "Another notebook?" Here's the story:

I wanted to give you something useful, but not boring like a new set of robes. And it had to be good, of course—you only come of age once! So towards the end of last term, I asked Professor McGonagall what a useful, good gift for a young scholar would be. (She guessed it was you. She says hello and that she hopes you're behaving yourself.)

So I took Professor McGonagall's advice and I went to Professor Flitwick, who helped me with the charm work. (He also says hello. Clearly Professor Slughorn is an old gossip. At least Prof Flitwick didn't offer any behaviour advice.) So what you hold in your hands is a Self-Indexing Research Journal. I won't bore you with the details (though come to think of it that's the kind of thing you like so let me know if you want to see my notes) but basically it pays attention to key words in your notes and then it indexes them together in the back. The idea is that you won't have to organise your notes, you can just write them down in whatever order, because the notebook organises them for you. In any case Professor Flitwick said he'd wished he'd had something like this when he was an apprentice so I figure that's a good sign.

(And yes, I used what I learned to make this to make your Christmas present, which was really kind of a selfish gift on my part just because I want to talk to you all the time. So really it was your Christmas gift that was "another" notebook, so if you are disappointed with either you should be disappointed with that one. Not that I hope you're disappointed.)

I hope you like it, and that it's useful, and that you are at least half as happy today as you've made me in the last few months. (Which I should probably specify is really happy.)

Thinking of you as always, with love,

Your Lily

Severus smiled, rolled his eyes, and snorted in turn before he opened the Christmas notebook and, after a moment of hesitation, scrawled: How could I possibly be disappointed by either of your admirably-designed gifts? I find the research journal, like this notebook, nearly as brilliant as the witch who made it. Thank you. Then he closed the notebook and, after a quick shower and quicker breakfast, headed downstairs to open the shop.

Oh his way to unlock the front door, he found himself stopping short in front of the counter, upon which rested a small, innocuous-looking box wrapped in plain brown paper.

Several diagnostic spells later, Severus cautiously reached for the evidently uncursed box. He carefully slid his fingers beneath the paper, peeling it back to reveal a hinged wooden box and a small square of parchment, which read:

Mr Snape:

Congratulations on reaching your majority. Horace Slughorn, also, sends his regards.

A. Jigger

Severus opened the box. Inside was a watch.

The item in question was—as befitting a potioneer—of the pocket, rather than wrist-worn, variety. Severus removed it from the box and pressed the small button at the top, revealing its face; upon seeing it, he involuntarily took a sharp intake of breath. It was truly a potioneer's watch, with multiple dials, each one able to be set with vocal commands, down to the millisecond, so that the brewer might orchestrate the timing of even the most intricate draughts.

Severus had once owned such a watch. He'd bought it for himself from a second-hand shop in Knockturn Alley sometime during his twenty-fifth year.

He closed the watch and, feeling rather foolish, flipped it over in his palm. It was, as he had not quite allowed himself to imagine, engraved; the inscription was a simple S. Snape.

He stared at the watch for a full minute before he became aware of a knocking at the shop's front window. He glanced over; a harried-looking, youngish wizard—certainly older than Severus was currently, but no older than he had once been—was peering anxiously into the shop.

Severus lifted a hand in greeting, and then, firmly Occluded, he hastened to unlock and open the door, allowing the customer to slip inside.

"So sorry," the man said as Severus switched the shop's sign to Open, "but I've got just enough time to pick up a few things before I catch my Portkey, and I saw you standing there, so…"

"My apologies for the wait," Severus said smoothly. "Please let me know how I might be of assistance."

The wizard nodded and pulled a scrap of parchment out of his pocket—the inevitable shopping list, it seemed—but stopped short of handing it to Severus. "I say," he said instead, "that's a nice watch."

Severus glanced down. He was still holding it. "I—it's new," he said.

"Is it one of Osterman's?" the man asked, finally handing Severus his shopping list.

Severus slipped the watch into his pocket, where it resided with a reassuring weight, and accepted the parchment. "I'm not sure," he said. "It was…a gift." He quickly scanned the list.

"You're not seventeen?" the man said, and then, glancing back at the discarded box on the counter, asked, "It's not your birthday today?"

"It… is," Severus said. "The beetle eyes, would those be whole or ground?"

"Well!" The man, alarmingly, clapped Severus on the shoulder. "Many happy returns of the day, then."

"Thank you," Severus said shortly. "The beetle eyes…?"

"You must have a nightmare of a boss," the wizard continued, oblivious, "making you work on your seventeenth birthday of all—"

"I don't, actually," Severus interrupted. "And is that whole or ground beetle eyes, sir?"

The man blinked. "Ah, ground," he said at last.

"Very good," Severus replied, and then he set about filling the idiot's order.

Severus presented himself to the Department of Magical Transportation promptly at nine o'clock the next morning, just as a plump, frizzy-haired woman was opening the office door. She glanced at him, started, and said, "I'm sorry, the Being Division is on the fourth floor."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I've a nine o'clock appointment with the Apparition Test Centre."

The woman, who had been in the midst of inexplicably tightening her scarf, blinked. "You don't—you aren't—ah." She smiled nervously and patted ineffectually at her hair. "Of course, love. Come right this way. You'll want the second door on the left, there."

Severus nodded, said "thank you," and ignored her irrationally given advice that he try to "get a little more sun, love."

The exam, unsurprisingly, was extremely simple for a person who'd been Apparating regularly for the better part of twenty years, and Severus shortly found himself standing in front of a young witch with a camera, having his photograph taken for his license.

The witch took his picture, immersed the film into the developing solution, and visibly flinched. "Ah," she said, "would you like to take another photograph?"

Severus, expecting the girl to have bungled the photography, scowled and looked at the developed picture. It was like every other Wizarding photograph of himself he'd ever seen, which is to say that it was unattractive, unpleasant, and likely to make rude gestures at the viewer. "That one's fine," he said shortly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Ten minutes later, license finally in hand, he quickly descended the two flights of stairs to the Atrium. He weaved his way through the queues of witches and wizards waiting for the lifts, noticed Lucius Malfoy among them, attempted to turn around and head back into the stairway—

And was spotted.

"Snape," Malfoy drawled, taking a step towards him, "and here I thought term had surely started back at Hogwarts. What ever brings you to the Ministry? Surely not more tests?"

Severus, glossing quite over Malfoy's continued misassumption, affected a rueful half-smile. "Just the Apparition test. Now I've had my birthday, I don't want to have to wait until March when everyone else takes it."

"Understandable, understandable," Malfoy murmured. "And did you succeed?"

Severus held up his license in response. The small, moving, black-and-white photo raised an eyebrow at him, sneered, and turned away.

Merlin, his nose did nearly take up the whole frame.

"Lovely," Malfoy said. "Well. Do tell Horace—that is, Professor Slughorn—I'll see him at the next governors' meeting. Did you know I've replaced Father on the board?"

"I didn't," Severus replied. "Congratulations."

Malfoy waved a hand in dismissal. "Father's only too happy to have me take over some of the responsibilities of the Malfoy family, and I'm quite pleased to be doing so at Hogwarts. Education is so very important, as I've always said."

Malfoy had always been fond of waxing idiotic. "Certainly," Severus replied.

The lift arrived, and Malfoy smiled. "Enjoy the rest of your holiday," he said, walking towards it, and Severus, relieved, turned and headed for the Atrium's designated Disapparation point.

In an admittedly ridiculous fit of immaturity, Severus briefly considered Apparating down into the laboratory in the morning. (He didn't, because it was ridiculous, and also because Master Jigger would undoubtedly hex him.) So, as was usual, he headed downstairs shortly at half past nine o'clock, and as such was surprised to see that Cadogan was already there, hanging up her cloak at the foot of the stairs.

"You're already here?" Severus asked.

Cadogan rolled her eyes. "It's not like I'm usually late, you know," she retorted.

"Hmm." Severus raised an eyebrow. "How is Mr Graves?"

"Better," Cadogan replied. "He's gotten better used to the cast, and he thinks he'll be up to going back into rehearsal tomorrow."

"That must be welcome," Severus said.

Cadogan nodded. "I think we're both quite relieved that it wasn't his hand that was broken." She bit her lower lip, and added, "And I know you don't want me to bring it up, but we're both so grateful—"

Fortunately, Master Jigger chose that moment to arrive. He stepped in through the back door, blinked at the two of them, and proceeded to remove his cloak.

"Good morning," Cadogan said, cutting into the sudden silence.

"Ms Cadogan," Jigger acknowledged, "Mr Snape. I trust your weekend passed in a satisfactory manner?"

"Yes," Severus replied and, inelegantly, added, "Sir, I can't express how pleased I was with—"

"There's really no need, Mr Snape," Jigger interrupted, his discomfort obvious despite his Occlusion. "It was Horace's idea, I assure you." Then he scowled and quickly added, "But you're welcome," before he turned in a swirl of robes and headed for the laboratory, calling out "Don't dither all morning" as he closed the door behind him.

Cadogan turned back to Severus. "What was that all about? What was Horace's—Slughorn's?—idea?"

Severus swallowed. "They gave me a watch."

"What?" Cadogan exclaimed. "They—why?"

"It…was my birthday," Severus said, heading slowly towards the laboratory stairs.

"What?" Cadogan exclaimed again, following him. "It was your birthday?"

Severus scowled. "That is what I said, yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Cadogan demanded.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I fail to see how that would have been a relevant topic of conversation."

"You're unbelievable," Cadogan said flatly. "Go downstairs."

Severus shrugged and heeded the crazy woman's instructions, ignoring her muttered comment of "I'm going to knit you a scarf and you're going to like it" as he started down the stairs.

In the laboratory, Jigger merely gestured at the list of shop potions that needed brewing; Severus nodded and began arranging his work surface. As he did, he spared a glance into the cauldron containing Lily's simmering birthday present; barring an unforeseen accident, it would be ready well within the necessary three weeks.

The weight of his watch rested reassuringly in his pocket as he crossed the room to gather supplies for yet another batch of Pepper-Up.

Dear Lily,

I wish I could be with you today as you celebrate another year of your life. In my absence, I hope you will accept this, the smallest token of my affection for you. I hope it brings you the greatest luck.

Sincerely yours,

Severus

[Enclosed: One bottle of Felix Felicis.]

A/N: It is sorely tempting to just write a series of "Severus Terrorizes the Citizens of Diagon Alley" stories. Alas! This is not, quite, that story.

Thank you for all of your reviews, both those posted here and elsewhere on the internet. They are much appreciated, and even when I am unable to reply to each one, I promise that I am reading, enjoying, and thinking about them all.

Coming up: Valentine's Day and other activities, none of which include Madam Puddifoot's.