NOTE

Warning: parts of this chapter will take place in a hospital and an orphanage. The conditions are not bad, but I know these locations may be upsetting to some readers.

57. Phoebe

It was mid-June already, and Severus had been unable to read any more deeply into Andromeda's mind than he had on the first night. Cool summer rain dripped down the windows of the hospital wing on the morning Poppy suggested that Andromeda be moved to St. Mungo's.

"She needs proper care," said Poppy, sitting tiredly. "And I won't be able to keep this up once the school year starts."

Severus was reluctant, but we all knew by then that Andromeda's state was unlikely to change. Not soon, at least. I had spent many evenings crying, full of doubt that she would ever wake up. All that Severus knew for sure was that she was still alive, and that her mind was intact, if not consciously awake to what was happening now. If she ever did wake, there would be a dark black space between the night of the attack and the day she awoke.

"In hospital she'll be more comfortable. And though it won't be as easy to see her… I believe it's the most secure place."

Poppy got her way. She arranged for a bed for Andromeda at St. Mungo's, and Severus and I agreed to go down to London to deliver her.

"The best way would be to transport her in a matchbox," Minerva said matter-of-factly, when she heard about the plan. I pinched the bridge of my nose. After nine years in the Wizarding world, I had developed a tolerance to statements like these. But still, the thought of having to carry one of my closest friends and mother figures in my pocket through the streets of London was not exactly appealing. Minerva was right, however. There was no floo access to the hospital, and we couldn't exactly apparate into London with an unconscious woman. Even to cast the Disillusionment charm on her would do no good–it would be obvious to the surrounding muggles that we were up to something strange, supporting a seemingly heavy nothingness between us. So, the matchbox it was.

On the day we were to leave, Minerva took me aside.

"There is a visit I would like you to make while you're in London," she began, "Though it is of a sensitive nature, and I will understand if you decline to go." I nodded, and she went on. "There is a young muggle-born witch living in a children's home in Chelsea. Her name is Phoebe Elson. Of course, her situation prevents us from sending her a letter–and she is unlikely to know anything at all about our world."

I nodded. The situation sounded very similar to my own, before Dumbledore had come and enlightened me. Minerva was aware of this, of course.

"Would you be the one to go and speak to her?" she asked. "To tell her about Hogwarts, and invite her to attend in the autumn?"

I looked at my head of house in surprise for a moment. This was a significant task, and her willingness to entrust me with it made me feel honoured. My first instinct was to tell her I wasn't the right person for it. But after further thought I realised that I was. I knew the pain of it, the confusion, of knowing you are different but being unable to explain how. Unable to control the seemingly excess energy and power inside of you. Surely the young witch needed guidance–and I wanted to give it to her.

"I would be honoured," I said to Minerva. She smiled and handed me the address on a small slip of parchment.

"I've already scheduled an appointment for ten o'clock tomorrow morning. Tell them your name is Wilma Walter, and that you teach early modern history at Elm Hill School for Girls. I'm sure you'll have no aversion to spending the night at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place."

I shook my head, smiling. This was just what I had needed after Teddy's removal. Though I felt daunted by the prospect of representing Hogwarts, I was also very excited.

It was almost time to travel to London. I stood outside of the hospital wing while Minerva and Severus cast the necessary spells to confine Andromeda to a small green matchbox. Minerva, Severus and Poppy emerged some minutes later, Severus carrying the matchbox carefully in his hand. I stared at it.

"Would you prefer to hold her?" he asked.

"Yes, please," I said. I knew I would be constantly anxious about accidentally crushing or losing her, but that would be better than worrying that Severus would do the same.

"Good luck," Minerva said, and gave me a confidential nod as we started down the stairs.

The trees locked inside the black gates of the city squares were in full green leaf, but seemed exhausted; quite unlike the trees which grew in the cool, clean air of the forests around Hogwarts. Severus had a deep scowl on his face from the moment of our arrival. He seemed to hate London almost as much as he hated first years. What with the raised voices of tourists and the fumes from the muggle cars and buses, I felt that I could understand. It did not help that the late afternoon sun was very hot.

At least I had worn a short sleeved button up and plus-fours. Severus was clad in his usual muggle trousers and turtleneck. "You're going to burn up," I said.

He winced dismissively–or perhaps he was only narrowing his eyes against the sun. "Follow," he said shortly, and began walking.

The hand in which I clutched the matchbox was sweaty. I held it close to my body, afraid that it would be accidentally crushed by one of the passersby. I walked as quickly as I could, wanting Andromeda to be let out as soon as possible.

Soon we escaped the chaos of the crowded street, and things quieted down a bit. I could breathe more easily, and our steps slowed slightly. I looked around me at the shops and the windows, a gathering of pigeons at the foot of a statue. A tall, thin man turned a corner nearby.

My breath caught in my throat with a startled sound, and I stopped in my tracks. I'd glimpsed him through a group of young muggles–but there had been a flash of tweed, a slight limp.

"What?" Severus said.

I shook my head to clear it. Of course it hadn't been Remus. I looked away from the corner around which the man had disappeared, hiding my face from Severus's inquisitive gaze, and tried to banish the image of him. His shabby tweed jacket. The poultice I'd made to help the hip that was always aching.

My heartbeat slowed. Back to normal. Back to him being gone.

The look in Severus's eyes had grown harder, and he looked once towards the corner I'd been staring at. I knew he suspected what I'd imagined, but I shook my head again. "It was nothing," I said, and kept walking.

We stopped two minutes later in front of a red-brick department store. The names Purge and Dowse above the windows. I had been here only once before; to visit Arthur after he'd been attacked by Voldemort's snake.

Severus approached a white mannequin and spoke to it. "Severus and Wilma Snape to deliver Andromeda Tonks."

I felt a lump in my throat at the sound of my legal name on his lips. His name.

The mannequin nodded subtly, and then Severus stepped forward through the glass. I swallowed the strange feeling in my throat before following him.

It would have been a relief to enter the coolness of St. Mungo's, if it hadn't been for the oppressive air of hospital which naturally filled the place. A mediwitch wearing a mint green uniform greeted us. I saw a distinct flicker of greedy curiosity in her eyes as she looked from Severus to me, but it concealed itself quickly.

"Right this way," she said, when we had explained that the patient was contained inside of the matchbox. Severus and I followed her into a small room. She called one of the doctors inside with us. I stood back while Severus and the doctor worked to undo the spells which had been placed upon Andromeda. Soon she was restored to her normal size, and placed upon a stretcher. Then the doctor called two nurses, who carried the stretcher onto the lift.

"Fourth floor," he instructed them, and then Andromeda was gone.

It was all very sudden, and I stood under the cold lights, feeling lost. "Excuse me?" I said, approaching the mediwitch who had welcomed us. "How often are visitors allowed?"

She smiled. "You're allowed to visit once weekly, except in the case of an emergency with the patient, and you must write ahead one day."

I nodded my head. Perhaps I could make a habit of visiting Andromeda on the days when I went to the Burrow to see my family and Teddy. "Thank you," I said.

The witch unexpectedly touched my shoulder, and lowered her voice. "I hate to pry, but does this mean the little boy will no longer be at Hogwarts as well?"

I felt myself flush with resentment. I wanted to retort, but I couldn't find the words. Severus seemed to appear out of nowhere. His hand closed around my forearm, and he shot the witch a contemptuous sneer before pulling me towards the exit.

We did not speak for many minutes, both of us in a sour mood from the stress of the heat, and the interaction with the meddlesome mediwitch. I finally broke the silence, realising that Severus was leading us back to the place where we'd apparated.

"I'm going to stay the night here. Minerva asked me to do something for her tomorrow."

"What was it?"

"To invite an orphan to come to the school." He walked silently at my side. "You can go back if you like. I'll just go to the old headquarters on my own."

"No," he said. "I have purchases to make in Diagon Alley. I will stay, if that's alright."

I knew that Severus would never willingly spend a night in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. I knew that the story about Diagon Alley was unlikely. He was doing this so that I wouldn't have to be alone. I could have tried to convince him that I would be alright by myself, but decided against it. "Alright," I said, and led the way to the old house.

The street was quiet and empty. Three children were playing in the garden square, and their guardian seemed immersed in a book. We deemed it safe to quickly make ourselves known to the magical house and slip through the door.

I stepped in first, and held the door open for Severus to come afterward. He entered the front hallway with a certain amount of suspicion. I closed and bolted the door, watching him. He had been here many times before, but it had been years since he'd been invited to enter. I assumed it was this which made him hesitant to precede me into the house.

I recalled how Severus has been the one to suggest that Remus and I renovate the place, after the first full moon of our marriage. My curiosity led me to the back garden, where Remus's original winter flowers had given way to beautiful honeysuckle and butterfly bushes. I spotted three butterflies resting in the shade of the heavy blossoms; one small and white, one calm blue, one fiery orange.

I turned around to see Severus standing stiffly in the entryway to the kitchen, looking in. He looked just as austere and sad as the house had once been, and I realised that his childhood, at its painful core, hadn't been terribly different from Sirius Black's. I thought about the history between Severus and this house–how he had come here to give information to the Order during the war; how he had found me here, struggling, on the night of my miscarriage, and after my flight from the Malfoy Manor. This place held a complicated and layered trauma for him, just as it did for me.

I wondered if there was any place in the world that didn't hold some pain which made it difficult for one or the other of us to be there. There was an answer, of course. The cottage. I thought to myself that we ought to try to spend more time there together.

But for the moment we were here, and I would endeavour to help Severus to feel as comfortable as it was possible for him to be. "I'll make some tea," I said.

It was already late evening, and the fading light made the trees in the square deep black. We were both exhausted from the heat and the journey through the city, and after sitting silently for tea in the back garden, I climbed the stairs to take a bath.

When I emerged, after dressing, I wandered into one of the upstairs bedrooms and looked down at the street from the tall window. Severus was there, walking over the cobblestones, away from the house. I figured he had decided that he didn't want to stay here after all, and had chosen to slip away quietly rather than offend me by causing a ruckus with the floo powder. The thought of him out in the darkness of London made me nervous, though I knew it shouldn't have. He could manage in the darkness. If I knew anything about him, I knew that.

After nightfall I settled into a chair downstairs and read from one of the old books by lamplight. I was in this state when Severus returned. I stood up, startled.

"I thought you'd gone," I said, as he locked the door.

"Only a walk," he told me.

I found this a bit odd, but understood that he probably found the air of this house difficult to breathe. "You really, really don't have to stay," I said.

There was no answer, and he behaved as though he hadn't heard me–which I took to mean that he had decided upon staying, and there was nothing I could say now to change his mind.

"Let me show you where you can sleep," I said.

I put out the lamp and led the way up the stairs. On the landing, I quickly chose to offer him the guest room where I had slept throughout my time here with Remus. Something about the idea of Severus sleeping in the other room, in the bed where Remus and I had had sex, felt wrong.

I sensed that he was wary about entering the room, but knew not to say anything. If I did, he would deny it.

"Good night," I said to him, and then went to my room and closed the door.

I had brought one vial of dark purple dreamless sleep with me for the night, and drank half of it before burrowing under the covers. Taking half would ensure my sleep was dreamless, but would keep me from sleeping in too late. It also meant that sleep did not arrive as quickly as it would have done had I drunk the whole vial.

I lay awake for some time. The light of a streetlamp was swimming eerily through the window curtains. I might have drifted off, had I not overheard the sound of Severus's footsteps on the landing, and then going down the stairs. I could tell he was trying to be quiet about it. I listened closely, and soon the footsteps were back, coming up the stairs again. He closed his door softly. What was that about?

I told myself he'd likely gone down to get a glass of water, but I could feel his sleeplessness through the walls. With a restless body I threw back the covers and stood from the bed. I went into the hallway and knocked on his door. "Severus?" I whispered. "Are you awake?"

But I knew he was, and I gently pushed the door inward. He was sitting up in a chair beside the bed, reading by wandlight. So he'd gone downstairs for a book. Had he been planning to stay awake all night?

His eyes were very dark in the light of his wand, and when they looked up at me they appeared completely black. He set the book down on his leg. He said nothing.

"Would you like the rest of my dreamless sleep?" I asked.

He still didn't answer. It seemed as though he was unable. He'd hardly spoken since we'd arrived, and I again felt guilty. "I'm alright alone," I said. "I really am. You should go and spend the night where you can sleep."

His quietness made me nervous. I wanted to say something–to somehow apologise about Sirius, about James. All of the pain Severus had been put through in school. But it somehow felt inappropriate. A barrier still existed between the two of us, which shouldn't have been there, but existed nonetheless. I needed to stop holding so tightly to the narratives I'd believed in throughout the war, as everyone had done, just to keep myself sane. I needed to understand that people could be good and have done wrong things at the same time.

As I stepped into the room, I felt the years between us more deeply than I usually did. The air was heavy with our differences, and it took a strange kind of bravery to offer him the half-vial of purple potion.

"Will you take this?" I asked.

His dark eyes seemed to scrutinise it, and then he took it from my hand. I watched him uncork the vial and swallow the potion. I held out my hand and he set the empty vial and the cork into my palm. A single drop of the potion crawled down my heart line.

"Good night," I said, after a tense moment, and turned to go.

"Good night," he said in return. I looked back at him, but in the same moment he put out his wand, casting himself into darkness. I closed the door with a creak.

I woke up with my heart beating softly, and looked at the clock. Half past seven. With an exhale of relief that I hadn't overslept, I pulled my body out of bed. I washed my face and hands in the loo, braiding my hair before going downstairs.

Severus was in the kitchen making breakfast. I stood in the doorway, looking in as though upon some odd ritual. I never would have expected this. For a moment I was painfully reminded of how Remus had made breakfast, but I put the memory away forcibly. Stop thinking about him. Pay attention to who you have.

"Good morning," I said, to announce my presence. Good night. Good morning. How odd.

I sat down at the table when he gestured for me to do so, and he placed a mug of tea and a plate before me.

"Did you manage to sleep well enough?" I asked.

He nodded.

I couldn't help but feel how weird my heart felt in my chest–like my old one had been stolen in the night, and replaced. We sat in silence for a while, having breakfast. Then it was time to leave for Chelsea.

"I should be back before noon," I told him.

"So should I," he said.

He followed me to the door, where I'd left my black leather shoes. I stepped into them one by one, and as I did, Severus collected a stray lock of hair which I must have missed earlier, and tucked it into my braid. Heat rose to my cheeks unwarranted, but he did not seem to see it. He knelt to the floor and began to buckle my shoes. I watched him breathlessly.

What was all of this? Making me breakfast? Putting my hair up? Buckling my shoes? Part of me–the same part where my fear lived–felt defensive. I didn't want him to see me as weak or childlike. These were all things I could do for myself. Especially the hair and the shoes.

"Thanks," I said, when he'd regained his full height. I couldn't help that my feelings of reservation seeped into my voice. I quickly reached for the doorknob, and realised that I'd done so in fear that he would reach for it first, and hold the door open for me.

I was being ridiculous. Who was I, to feel so threatened by his little acts of love? I knew deep down that's what they were. Yet I remained ridiculous; remained resistant.

"Be safe," he said.

I kept my eyes down. My heartbeat rushed in my ears. "I will," I replied, and hurried out the door.

The girls' home was a white townhouse with a black door. It looked no different from the other houses in the crescent, but for the dark plaque beside the door, announcing the purpose it served. The sight of the word HOME sent a very old shiver through my bones. No place which was a true home needed to be labelled as such.

I climbed the stairs and pressed the bell, remembering how Minerva had instructed me to introduce myself.

An old woman came to the door down the wood-panelled hallway, and opened it just enough to look out at me. She wore a very stiff looking shirt, and her hair was done up even more tightly than Minerva's. I was now very glad that Severus had fixed my hair.

"Hello," I said, in response to her sharp look. "I'm Wilma Walter, from Elm Hill School for Girls? To see Miss Phoebe Elson?"

The woman gave me a shrewd look, perhaps because I was–woefully–underdressed, or because of how I'd introduced myself in the form of a question rather than a statement. For a moment I was terrified that she would not let me in. But then the door opened, and I was allowed to step inside.

"Miss Elson has been with us for a fortnight," the woman said, as she brusquely led me down the hallway, her hard shoes giving her footsteps a threatening sound against the floor. I deduced from her posture and those footsteps that she was the matron, and bit back a shiver. "Our establishment only provides the girls with temporary lodgings. She will be leaving us in the beginning of September."

"Perfect," I said, gaining confidence. "Term begins on the first of September."

The matron turned and eyed me once again as she led me through a wooden door. "What is it you teach?"

"Early modern history."

"You should have enough to discuss with her," the matron said, without further explanation. "She's a voracious reader."

I followed her down a narrower corridor, which ended in a door with a pane of jade glass. She opened it, keeping her back to me. "Elson!" she said in a loud voice.

I lifted myself onto my toes to look into the room. There were ten or so girls sitting within, most of them watching the television, and two having a quiet conversation. One girl sat off on her own in the corner, reading a book, from which she unburied herself at the sound of the matron's voice. I knew at once from the look of her–the depth in the eyes, the guardedness of the face. She was most definitely a witch.

"There's someone here to see you," said the matron.

The wariness in the girl's eyes was plain. It was difficult to believe that she was only eleven years old. She closed her book and carried it with her as she stood and crossed the room. Once in the doorway she looked at me, and I struggled to move my mouth into a smile. Her expression did not change.

The matron left the two of us in a small locked room with no windows. The girl was still holding her large book as the door was closed behind us and the matron's footsteps faded.

"What's that you're reading?" I asked.

She took a moment before responding, and I sensed it was not out of nervousness or thoughtfulness, but out of a need to prove that she could. I knew from that moment forward that I was going to like her.

"The collected works of Shakespeare," she said. "So, who are you and why did you want to see me?"

"I had to lie in order to get in here," I began.

Phoebe looked sceptical.

I would never forget the way Dumbledore had put it to me when I'd first met him. I leaned forward, momentarily feeling his presence in the room as I began to speak. "Phoebe… Have you ever found yourself making strange things happen without meaning to? Making things change?"

A sudden anger entered her face. "I'm not crazy," she said

"I know you are not," I said calmly. "Now, have you?"

Her eyes searched my face. "Yes," she answered gruffly.

I recalled some of my own magical incidents, before I'd understood what they meant. A girl who'd been bullying me suddenly tripped over nothing and smashed her nose. Desperation to win a footrace on the orphanage lawn had led my feet to remain off the ground for just slightly too long with every stride, as though I were half-flying in a dream.

My wand–which had, up until now, been hidden in the waistband of my trousers–sent a hopeful twinge into my bloodstream. Heeding its call, I withdrew it. The girl's face tensed.

I cast the simple wingardium leviosa charm aloud, making the heavy book hover out of her hands and into the air. I let it hang there for a moment, and then it descended carefully to rest on her lap again.

She looked at me in shock, burst into tears, and then very suddenly began to laugh with joy. The tough exterior had completely melted away and what was revealed was something akin to a ghost of my younger self.

"Do it again!" she said, crying and laughing at once.

I showed her another spell, casting "Engorgio" on the book, and then restoring it to its previous size. She was gasping with excitement.

"But I can't do–" she said, after the initial thrill had expired. "I don't know–"

"You will," I assured her. "That's what Hogwarts is for."

I relished the look of wonder in her eyes as I explained about the school which was meant for people just like her. Where magic was not a threat or a danger, but something to be celebrated and developed. Where her abilities would be praised and helped to improve. "That is, if you choose to attend."

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "Yes!"

"Then you will receive a letter from the headmistress of the school, and someone will be sent to ensure that you have all of your needed supplies."

"Like one of those? A… wand?"

I nodded my head. "A wand."

The eagerness in the girl's eyes was clear, as well as the desperation–threatening to tip at any moment into disbelief.

I conjured a quill and parchment, and wrote a simple note for the girl. Something to hold onto for the rest of the summer. In the month between Dumbledore's visit and Hagrid's arrival to deliver me to the Hogwarts Express, everything that had come out of Dumbledore's mouth had begun to feel like a joke–a wicked lie. I didn't want Phoebe to feel that way.

I finished writing, and handed the parchment to her.

For Miss Elson, from Wilma Weasley. It is real.

"Hold onto that," I advised. And she nodded, her eyes wide. I couldn't help the warmth that blossomed inside of me. "You'll fit right in," I promised her. She appeared to hold back tears.

"Will I see you again?" she asked, when the matron's footsteps sounded in the hallway once more.

"Of course you will," I said, with a smile. "I'm a teacher."

I left the orphanage a minute later, Phoebe grinning and biting her nails behind the matron's back as I stepped out the door.

As I walked to a safe place to apparate, I allowed contrasting emotions to storm inside of me. On the one hand, I was excited by what had happened. The joy in the young witch's eyes when she'd seen magic performed properly had made me think that maybe, just maybe, I would turn out to be a good teacher. On the other hand, I was deeply concerned for the girl. The thought of her remaining in that place upset me. I remembered how the Weasleys had so quickly taken me in and raised me as their own. I'd never had to return to an orphanage again. Phoebe, however, would likely have to go back every summer.

I wondered if that had been Remus's experience, or if Harry's grandparents had taken him in as they had done for Sirius Black.

If my position as a teacher had not made it entirely inappropriate, I would have written a letter to Molly at once, pleading with her to take the girl in–even if it was only for the rest of the summer. But I restrained these urges. Phoebe Elson would simply have to wait until the end of August. And in the meantime, at least she would have my note.

I returned to Number Twelve before Severus, and was alone in the house when an owl arrived, tapping on the window of the sitting room. It was an owl I recognised as Percy's old Hermes, which he had taken to leaving behind at the Burrow after his final year at Hogwarts.

I unlatched the window and let the bird in. It had a very different demeanour than Errol, and swiftly took off into the sky once more the moment I'd untied the letter from its leg.

Wilma,

We will be holding our meeting the day after next, at home. We will start officially at one after noon. Please do come. It is important that you are there, and if Severus could join us as well, he would, as I have said, be welcome.

P.S. Nothing has happened to Errol, he's just resting.

Molly

I had forgotten until now to extend Molly's previous invitation to Severus. I worried that perhaps he would be less inclined to agree, now that we had spent a night in this house.

Again I recalled how he had come to this place for the Order meetings in the summer before my sixth year. By us non-members he'd gone mostly unseen, slipping in and out of the house as quickly as he could, never staying to socialise afterwards. I had been so unforgiving of him back then–along with Fred and George and everyone else. Suspicious of him, and downright mean. It had been so easy to make fun of him and then go down to our warm dinner full of friendship and laughter, and forget he had ever been there. Now I was full of guilt, knowing the coldness and danger which had greeted him once he had stepped outside the door.

I heard the door downstairs, and folded the letter as I went down to meet him.

This time, it would be different. This time, he would be fully accepted. He would stay for dinner, and be warmed.

NOTE

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