(I am still accepting scene requests. Also, sorry this is late, yesterday was nuts.)
The pop reverberated through his house at Spinner's End as he appeared out of thin air. He quickly checked to make sure he was alone, listening for breathing, footsteps, creaking floors, and of course heartbeats. Hearing none he relaxed slightly and went about making sure there wouldn't be any to hear unless he wanted.
The first thing he did was raise and strengthen the anti apparition wards. Then he set about raising the general anti magic wards in the walls, windows, and doors. Minerva wouldn't transfigure part of this house into an irate avian. He then threw up a blanket unseeable ward, meaning no one would be able to cast a spell to find out he was here. He spent fifteen minutes raising wards, strengthening spells, and casting new ones before he was satisfied. They wouldn't prevent a truly determined wizard, but it would take enough time to dismantle them that he'd be long gone by the time they got inside.
He nodded in satisfaction and headed to his chair in the sitting room. Reaching over it to a stack of books on one of the shelves he took the top one to reveal a container in the center of the pile. He put three of the vials of blood in there along with the full vial of the boy's blood. He replaced the top book, muttered a locking spell, and then attempted to summon the vials.
It didn't work. The books didn't even shake.
Satisfied he sat down into the worn chair. He was not tired per say, but it had been quite the eventful month or so, and the past two days were exceedingly stressful. He thought back on this most recent escape from the castle. His 'conversation' with Minerva and their past that had led up to this point.
Their relationship was… complicated. Their start was decidedly rocky. He had needed to 'dig for information' for the Dark Lord on possible weaknesses at the school. That meant reaching out to other teachers at least a little. He had needed to be seen making something of an attempt at bettering himself by the courts after his absolution. Then later he needed to remain distant and seemingly unhappy at his lot for when the Dark Lord returned. He also couldn't let too much information slip about his allegiances, but had to make sure each side trusted him. It was, as always, complicated.
Of course he had also had to go to someone for teaching advice. When he started he had no idea how to set up a request for supplies. Had no idea how to organize a curriculum. He knew what he needed to teach and how, but an official proposal? He had no idea he'd need to show the board of governors that he did actually need what he did, then scrape and claw and for half the supplies anyway.
Indoctrinating new staff fell to the Deputy Headmistress. The woman was more than displeased. An unpleasant start for a year, but the woman had every reason to doubt him. Hate him. Their tete-a-tete started when he irately asked her why he shouldn't teach time released healing potions? She asked why they should and he had countered that during a fight one often didn't have time to drink a blood replenisher. An antidote after was not as difficult.
She had acerbically said that he'd know all about that, wouldn't he? Why would he want to help the children when they might end up fighting against him? He had sneered and said he rather hoped that the blatant bullying and separatism that hid under the banality of 'friendly house rivalry' at Hogwarts didn't fling more students into the waiting clutches of cults.
She had almost come to wands, he to teeth. He hadn't perfected his potion yet after all. His lotions were easy; once he had the ingredients he had them done within days. The meal potion, not so much. He was irritable at the best of times, back then he had been even worse.
She had come down the next day and apologized for her comment. He had not, but offered an olive branch in conceding that intravenous time release potions were most likely too advanced for third years.
The tension had dissipated slightly after that and their next tete-a-tete came only a day after term started. He was told he could not dock points for poor spelling, accidental magic, talking loudly in the halls, or tripping and falling into him. He had agreed and said next time he'd hand out detentions instead. Perhaps McGonagall would volunteer to help teach the uncoordinated 11 year old how to tie his shoes during it as well. The annoyed huff he got had been quite satisfying.
Their third confrontation was quite different. Before the term started he had 'taken his meals' in his quarters. When term started he had no longer been able to. He had pretended, ate as little as possible and moved the rest around his plate and vanished what he could. He sat with a pained look as his stomach revolted and as soon as he could leave went down to his rooms and vomited.
Everyone else either didn't notice or ignored it. Whether it was to mind their own business, to have tact, or complete disinterest in his health and wellbeing he didn't know. But Minerva was head of Gryffindor for a reason. After two weeks she had burst into his potions lab, summoned her elf, had it bring a steak and water, and told him to eat it. He had point blank refused.
She said if he didn't she was within her right as Deputy Headmistress to send him to Poppy for a check up if she had reason to believe he was unsound. He had refused, saying he was perfectly fine. She hadn't left. She made it very clear she wasn't going to until he ate. He had figured if he ate she would leave so he could at least get on with his night. So he had eaten, everything. More than he had in years. But she hadn't left. She stood there watching him brew for ten minutes. He eventually couldn't hold it back and ran to the nearest empty cauldron and violently reintroduced the food to the environment, near completely undigested as usual. He had retched for a good minute and the woman had had full time to see the contents of his stomach and its peculiar state.
She had left quickly. Mainly because he had yelled and sent numerous porcupine quills at her when she had hesitated. He had sat down that night, abandoning his brewing, and worked on enchanting utensils to vanish food. No such luck, the spell was rather ostentatious and he had been unable to perform it wandlessly. It would be noticed at dinner as much as him bringing his own utensils would be.
He managed to drink pumpkin juice the next day. And that was it. He had confronted Minerva that evening and said he had been unable to keep most food down for years. He had a nutritional potion that served him well enough alongside an energizing draught. She had left him alone for a while, but concern filled her eyes whenever she saw him. He had however started asking the house elves for barely cooked meat. Seared on the outside just to give the appearance of being cooked. He was able to keep that down. Longer. Unless it was raw or made with blood he couldn't keep it down and even then if it wasn't made with blood for the purpose of vampiric consumption it sat like lead in his stomach until he reintroduced it to the world. But he could keep it down. He started eating slightly more at meals and that seemed to placate her.
Their next altercation had been accidental. He had returned from a 'meeting'. He knew before going to that evening's meeting it was going to be bad. He had given purposefully incorrect information about the whereabouts of members of the Order at their last gathering, and for that he had been punished that night. Severely. A lacerated arm, many broken bones, and three torn muscles from fifteen minutes of cruciatus. It's not like they could torture him to death.
He had landed at four in the morning and slowly limped back to his rooms. By the time he got to the castle the visible laceration was gone, however, his foot… was still obviously broken. Given that it was backwards and all. He had been far too tired and far too hungry to fix it. He needed his potion to concentrate on setting the foot to rights.
He had covered it well enough when the woman appeared before him. However his awkward gate was not so easily dismissed. She had cornered him, asked why he was out late. He had dismissed her as being a nosy cat and made to move away from the tempting sound of her heart. He was going to heal slowly if he didn't get a meal. His potion would help, but it wasn't as good as what he was supposed to eat, which was standing before him.
She had dismissed his insult and said that such nighttime perambulations did nothing to increase people's trust in him. He had countered that his ability to sleep and get a twisted ankle from a nighttime wandering was none of her concern. She had looked skeptical as he passed and his gait got steadily worse. Her voiced concern was scoffed at with a point that if she hadn't cared while he was a student, there was no reason to start now.
She had gone silent and then quickly said she would make sure not to. He had made it to his chambers and righted his foot and ankle before passing out.
Yes, their initial interactions were ones that rather teetered on the head of a pin. He kept to himself during that time mostly, busy with jobs from Dumbledore and the Dark Lord, trying to keep Lily, and other members of the Order, alive. He had barely any time to spare between that and researching his medallions and his lessons. The summer was 'quiet' compared to those two months of teaching. Those two months before his world imploded.
The week after the fall of the Dark Lord 'celebrations' had been brought to a halt when Death Eaters started getting rounded up. He had been 'cleared' on Dumbledore's word. Pardoned. The trial had been grueling. His makeshift medallion that made his heart beat had hurt, had burned his arm as his body rejected it.
When he returned to the school he had been treated slightly more warmly. The records had been made public, heavily redacted records of the proceedings though they were. The fact that he had worked with Dumbledore was known, what he had done was not. When he had started, was not. If he actually had been a Death Eater or always was on their side, was not.
So that veneer of geniality had been that, a cautious veneer full of questions. And he had been happy with that because while his colleagues hadn't been cold to him, they hadn't actively sought him out. He had needed solitude then. Minerva only half granted him that. Leaving him alone but with a wary eye on him all the time.
The day he had returned from the horrid last meeting with the other Death Eaters changed their footing again. He had told Albus what he had found, asked to be dismissed despite the worried looks and headed to his chambers quickly, nearly knocking Minerva down as he hurried past her.
He had been unable to cry since he had found Lily. Cry, yes, shed tears, no. Tears were a luxury afforded by a meal, and he hadn't eaten in weeks, months. That night he had. It hadn't been his intention but when he closed the door behind him and let down the mask his shields had broken for the second time in so many days and emotions clouded his thoughts into a stormy downward spiral.
As the blood of the family he had killed streamed down his face it had only made it worse. He could suddenly imagine the family he had killed being Lily and her mother and her sister. Or Lily and her son. He had needed it out of him, tears had not been enough. He had punched the wall till all the bones in his hand were broken. It wasn't enough, he could still feel the blood in him.
He had gotten a small filleting knife and went at himself for half an hour. Making a cut and summoning the blood onto the ground until the wound healed. Then repeating the process. The puddle on the floor had grown and his chair and skin were stained red. He was nearly empty, but he had become used to the sharp pain of the knife. He felt like a sobering dunk and hated it. Angst ridden youth hadn't covered it that evening.
He couldn't get drunk, couldn't take half the potions he made, like dreamless sleep, couldn't kill himself without breaking a promise. He had pondered a stake and decided against it. He would miss his morning classes. He could however turn off his mind in another way.
He had been holding up the knife to his eye when there was a knock at the door. She had enquired about his mental state and he had said he was fine as he tried to decide if he should use a spell to quickly force the knife in. His response wouldn't have been a problem, if he hadn't slit his throat earlier. His voice as a result sounded gurgling and raspy as it healed. He hadn't thought about that as he spoke, concentrating on the knife.
To the headmistress it most likely had sounded like he was dying. Everything he had been doing would, and did, heal by the next morning. In fact far earlier. She, was not aware of that.
His wards, which he had not perfected yet, had fallen and the door opened just as he decided that blunt force was perfectly adequate. He vaguely remembered her scream as the glint of steel filled his right field of vision.
He had woken up on his bed, clean and healed, with a very ashen faced McGonagall next to him. He had sat up abruptly and she was standing with her wand pointing at him in seconds. He'd sneered, not knowing what else to do at the wide eyed expression of shock, relief, and fear on her face. He commented on her interruption of his attempt at a peaceful night's rest and the choked laughing sob that had escaped her mouth was a sound he'd remember for the rest of his days. It was the vocalization of a knot coming undone, not through slow methodical untwining, but by being cut with a knife.
The awkwardness was certainly as sharp as a knife. She had eventually asked if he had whiskey, in a brief moment of weakness, admitting she needed to calm her nerves. His response was an incredulous no. He could pass liquids, but couldn't get drunk, and saw no reason to keep any when it did him no good.
She scoffed and asked about guests in an attempt to bring normality to the situation. He had countered that he didn't want any. Her snort told him everything, but she elaborated anyway that not wanting guests didn't preclude one from getting them. So she'd bring her own whiskey next time, and she'd be happy to share. He had said it wouldn't do him any good.
Just like food didn't, she had questioned. He had seethed, and was about to demand she leave when Dumbledore burst into his bedroom with a panicked look on his face. Upon seeing both his deputy and his spy alive, and just as ready to deliver witty repartees as ever, his shoulders had slumped and he had exhaled. Minerva had just glared at him and demanded an explanation.
Snape had grumbled about how much more did she need to know other than that, yes, he was a vampire. She had blinked and looked at him, and he sneered, realizing she hadn't grasped that yet.
The resulting four hour discussion did indeed eventually involve quite a bit of whiskey for at least the other two professors, and one dose of his potion for him, just to show Minerva that he was in fact safe to be around and he was eating and no it wasn't students. She had demanded that at least the more competent members of the staff know just in case something happened to him and they either needed to help him, or fight him off. This was nonnegotiable. Albus had agreed because otherwise he would lose his deputy and or possibly his spy.
He hadn't talked to either of them for a month after that. Hadn't talked to any of the teachers except when necessary and most gave him an even wider berth. That had changed when Minerva had found him nearly pulling out his hair at the problem of alchemical transfiguration. He had been furiously scribbling notes in the teacher's lounge after talking to Albus about the problem. The man had some brilliant ideas and he was attempting to do some quick calculations about applying the symbol for salt before the staff meeting. She had come in and before he could stuff the papers under his notes she was leaning over his shoulder.
She told him that if he was trying to transfigure something into acid to replicate digestion he would need to focus on not just Saturn but the runic components that represented cells. He had glanced up and countered that there were no excess cells available to be turned into acid, he would need to turn any item meant to be digested partially into acids to then dissolve the rest.
The five minute discussion was continued after the staff meeting, for four hours. The result was his digestion and heartbeat medallion a week later. His body rejected the medallions four times before he used alchemical self transfiguration to get his body to accept them as if they were merely his own flesh. He did not tell her about that part.
Those debates and discussions defined the rest of their relationship. He continued to discuss other matters with her after staff meetings. The two of them had a similar thirst for knowledge. Their occasional conversations over the years had led to research and theoretical discussion that most wizards shied away from. The basis of magic, the worst things that could be done with it to the best things. From horcruxes, which were a taboo subject he had learned about from a book of his mother's that barely glossed over it, to the strongest of healing magics, one which allowed wizards to replace whole body parts with living magic. He had had to explain what a horcrux was and Minerva hadn't talked to him for a few weeks. It had been a very nice few weeks. Very quiet.
Slowly the scathing insults had turned into witty jabs and subtle jokes. They still fought on occasion, more than on occasion, but had not nearly come to wands for a long time.
He had however not let her know him. His reasons for being here. How much pain he was in. How his guilt kept him awake just as often as his dislike of the memories he 'dreamed' of. How he was constantly hungry.
And now… now she had called his bluff and he had been unable to back down. He held his head in his hands. Each memory he had shown her was carefully chosen to either explain how he felt or get her out of his head. He had only succeeded in one front. He was sure that there was very little there that betrayed his reasons and allegiances. Anything that might, could be easily twisted.
He could here the accusation now. 'He cared for the children?' Hah. Yes, because if they didn't grow up he couldn't eat them. Bigger bodies, more blood, more flavor. Not a hard leap or lie, because both were true in part.
Still, letting her in his mind had been foolish… and uncomfortable. Not in the least because of the invasion of privacy but because it had been… he dreaded to call it nice. He was a private man, sure. Mainly because most of what he had to share was not fit to do so. Abuse. Guilt. Anger. Failure. Pain. That is what half his life consisted of and sharing it brought…
She had lived the worst of his most recent shame though, it was rather difficult to get more intimate than his teeth in her neck, or her mind in his memories. Still, besides Albus this woman knew more about him than anyone. He wasn't sure he liked that. How he felt about that. He certainly didn't want to dissect the roiling ball of emotion he felt about it. Connections were dangerous, and the admission that he was loathe to see her die was an uncomfortable one. Of course, he was loathe to see anyone in the school die.
He sighed. There was nothing to be done about it right now, and he hadn't come out here to tear down memory lane. He had come out here for a reason. A few actually. The main one was once again, too soon, assaulting his mind. The damned, fucking, red mist. Always there.
He pushed it away none too gently, he was not in the mood. It settled down slightly, like a petulant child who was waiting for its father to be done working. Except this child had fangs.
He sighed and looked around the room to ground himself. Books upon books lined the shelves. Most were his, some were his mother's. His father never read books. He sunk further into the chair, leaning back slightly while his hands gripped his wand in his lap. This had always been his favorite room in the house. He had spent hours here, many happy hours.
People assumed he hated this house. 'So full of bad memories, that was obviously why he was never there.' That wasn't strictly true, it was mainly that he was busy. This house held quite a number of good memories alongside those bad ones. This was where he learned most of his first spells, where he read with his mother. The kitchen was where he got his first taste of potion making, standing on his tiptoes watching his mother brew on a gas stove. Of course, this is also where he heard her beaten, and was beaten himself. It's where she died. However, it was also where he ran outside on better days to play with Lily. Where he had a few nice Christmases. Where he cast his first killing curse… on his father. Then blasted a hole in his head.
He leaned forward, his head in his hands. He had always been attracted to dark magic, its complexity and power. He'd been fascinated by its tendency to pull the mind and soul toward ever darker things, so sure that he could resist it, tame it and use it to protect himself. The practice of dark magic seemed alive in and of itself; flowing and changing it forced the wielder and scholar to adapt quickly in order to tame it.
Now… Now he was closer to it than he ever thought he could be, and he was not sure he liked it; he definitely regretted it. It was still beautiful, but it was a beauty that should be admired from afar lest it bite you. It had bitten him, painfully.
He closed his eyes and just listened to the sounds outside his house. The water running beneath the streets, automobiles grumbling angrily as they moved across cobblestone, the sound of drums and rivers. He had come out here for respite from other's attentions, and to… do something he had rarely done.
Hunt.
Practice was in order, controlling that damned red mist while he complied with some of his baser instincts would be a challenge. He had never really hunted before, not on his own. During a raid of a muggle town with Death Eaters. In a house so his Lord could watch when there was no escape. For anyone.
He had been able to occlude during those hunts, hold his instincts in check if he chose, hide the memories he'd needed to from his ex Lord. Now, with the Damned explosion and the Damned addiction, his normal practices and wards didn't seem up to the task. This bode ill if the Dark Lord returned and could slip through these chinks to see things Snape didn't want. He needed to get a hold of himself.
He took a breath and focused. The shield around his mind was there but it had cracks that the red mist leaked into and out of. He had been sure the cracks were caused by elevated hunger. Addiction couldn't be helping either. But he'd had some very large meals recently, and he'd had a vial of Albus's blood, and a sip of the boy's. The cracks should be smaller, but they weren't.
It was time to rebuild. He focused on the cracks, on the red mist seeping into his mind. He breathed, emptied his mind. There was nothing. Now, what would he put forward to fool anyone, what would the first 'faux layer' of his mind be should anyone deign to look? He began to think of himself in base terms. Facts that anyone could see and pay no mind to.
He was Severus Snape. He was Severus Snape who taught potions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was Professor Severus Snape, who was head of Slytherin House and Potions Master at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry and he was discontent.
He felt himself, not relax exactly, but fall into place at the familiar routine. His shield thrummed a bit, the cracks shimmering. He moved on.
The next layer, the one those involved in the war could see, the one that he brought to the fore at meetings for either side. Closer to the truth of himself, but would still cause no harm even if someone outside the war saw it.
He was Severus Snape. He was Severus Snape the spy. He was Severus Snape the spy who taught potions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was Professor Severus Snape, the spy who was head of Slytherin House and Potions Master at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry and there was nothing more.
These were facts. These were truths. They revealed nothing about his allegiances. These facts could not be used against him. He could feel his shields thrum a bit, with these facts, these truths; he could feel the chinks close ever so slightly.
Now. For the things that weren't obvious. For the next layer, the one the Dark Lord might see, the one he would willingly show to those in the know. The most valuable information at the front, so they would be less likely to probe further.
He was Severus Snape. He was Severus Snape the spy. He was Severus Snape the vampiric spy. He was Professor Severus Snape, the vampiric spy who was head of Slytherin House and Potions Master at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was Professor Severus Snape, the deadly vampiric spy who was head of Slytherin House and Potions Master at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and there was little more to him than this.
These were truths. These were facts. Now, what did they hide? These were not things he presented to the public, his true allegiances.
He was Severus Snape. He was Professor Severus Snape. He was Professor Severus Snape the ex-death eater. He was Professor Severus Snape the deadly vampiric ex-death eater. He was Professor Severus Snape the deadly vampiric ex-death eater spy for the Order of the Phoenix and he wanted change.
These were facts. They were hidden. He took a breath as he felt his shields grow stronger, but they felt brittle still. They were not malleable, just like the facts he had listed. What was? What was mutable? What could be moved and molded to hide memories and allegiances as needed?
He was Potions Master Professor Severus Snape, the deadly vampiric Ex Death Eater spy and he… wanted …. He wanted… more…
A flash of red, teeth in flesh, warmth, hunger, need.
He cursed and stood up. He was having trouble with his mutability, with clearing his mind. This was pitiable. Pathetic. He hadn't had this much trouble with his occlumency since before he became a Death Eater.
The red mist leaking out from his shields made his vampiric side his primary focus. If he couldn't twist and bend, and do so subtly, that would mean someone could attempt to force their way deeper. They may not succeed but they would know they were blocked. He could not do that to the Dark Lord. He had to allow him to peruse false memories as he pleased while surreptitiously hiding facts he didn't want seen under banality. The false mind was the basis of good occlumency, if he couldn't find mutable aspects about himself, besides his levels of hunger, it would be difficult indeed to find mutable aspects in his memories. He had a few. Death Eater or Ex-Death Eater. Phoenix or Snake. Remorse or revenge? These all seemed unimportant now, less changeable as he had settled into life without the Dark Lord's immediate presence. And of course the hunger was immutable and omnipresent. It made all other possible changes in his life seem unattainable or unimportant.
He sighed. There were some new changes though. Vampire or 400 year old vampire? Also bat or human? Perhaps he could work on that one, get rid of one more distraction, make it mutable at his prerogative, even if he never used the ability. It would be a-
Suddenly there was a clink to his left, of metal on wood. Snape whipped around, wand at the ready and pointed at the source of the sound.
His new goblet sat on a nearby bookshelf, the only sign it had recently arrived was the fact that it was not covered in dust. And it smelled of blood.
Snape walked over and picked it up, the glamor showing a plain golden goblet vanishing as he touched it. He took a deep breath. Oats, tobacco, and seared bone. Kettleburn. He sneered. Looks like they had managed to get into his rooms, and gone searching for answers. Apparently not touching things that don't belong to you was a lesson some teachers needed to learn as well.
He sat back down, goblet in hand, and set about solving his newest puzzle over a drink.
—-
Severus had taken the past half hour attempting to figure out how to finish the supposed transformation. The blood from the goblet had been drunk over half an hour ago, the goblet vanishing as he sipped the last drop. It had been nice while it lasted, a calming accompaniment to his rather irritated attempts at solving this conundrum. Now the blood was gone and the debacle had become steadily less interesting and more irritating.
He was willing to go through with the idiocy of turning into a small bat, he swore he was ready and willing to do it! So why couldn't he? He had grabbed a book on animagi from the top shelf and perused it, and found nothing of worth. He had thought on… batty things. Flying, squeaking, diving into annoying student's hair. He had paced in his house, shoeless and sockless, with his ripped top on and his bat-like wings on display. He had been utterly unsuccessful. He took a breath and started at the beginning for the umpteenth time.
What was he attempting to do? Turn into a bat. What was a bat? To him, it meant potions ingredients. He paused, realizing he knew little about the mammal he was attempting to turn into. He waved his hand and a book about 4 inches thick fell from the top shelf in a shower of dust. Snape caught it and raised a wing over his head to hide from the slow onslaught of particles. He blew on the cover of the bestiary and opened it to B.
Bacco. Badger. Baku. Banshee. Barghest. Basilisk. Bat. Snape quickly skimmed the page. Mammals. Great hearing, average sight. Wings made of elongated hands and the only non magical mammal capable of true flight. Varied eating habits; bugs, fruit, nectar, and of course blood. Second largest group of mammals after rodents… over 1,400 species. Snape flipped the page for more specifics, skipping over the bats with more benign dietary habits.
There were three types of vampire bats, none naturally found in Europe. Snape ran his finger along the lines of text looking for something that might help him relate, figure out how to do this so he could immediately never do it again.
Finally he found the section on feeding habits. Only the common vampire bat fed on all mammals, while the other two fed primarily on birds or goats. Apparently they were picky eaters. Once prey was located they landed and approached on the ground. They then made an incision and lapped up the blood. Their teeth were unimaginably sharp and their saliva promoted bleeding. They also ate 20-30 percent of their body weight in blood.
He was finding it hard to relate to the creatures. They were poor diminutive representations of his condition. He snapped the book shut. He did not 'lap' blood, he pulled it out. His bite did not increase blood flow, it prolonged life. He had eaten 400 percent of his body weight in one night, 68 people, not a mere 20 percent. Finally, he could easily kill his meal, whereas they most likely could not. Snape set the book down and paced again, his eyes closed as he thought.
What were bats to him then? On a more… metaphorical level? Well, night. They represented the night and the fear people rightly or wrongly had of it. They were creatures that were feared despite their size. They were seeing without sight. They were loneliness, destined to be feared no matter their nature. They were dark. They represented the dark side of his condition. They were what he did not wish to become, but was drawn toward for its power. They were the worst he could possibly be, and the thrill and fear of knowing what that was. They were…him.
Snape took a step forward and tripped. He tried to catch himself but found his arms unable to support his weight. He cursed as his jaw hit the floor but found that it didn't hurt, there wasn't enough weight behind it. He gathered himself together and went to stand up only to find…he had wings. He was a bat. He had succeeded.
He hated it.
How did he change back?
Snape thought on himself and things that made him him. Betrayal, loneliness, determination, willpower. Nothing changed. He crawled up the wall so he could at least be vertical and not on the floor. As he climbed he got a sense for his size. He was big, for a bat. He was half his normal height, he imagined his wingspan must be at least 3 meters, most likely more.
He looked out the window at the night sky. He could at least try it once perhaps.
He climbed up to the small square window near the side of the room and pushed it open. The wind was strong that night. He could feel it in his….fur? He had fur?
He groaned, but it came out as a screeching squeak. Snape regretted immensely that he could neither vocalize nor display his displeasure.
He climbed to the roof, noting the ease with which his talons found purchase. Once on the roof he threw caution to the wind by doing the same with himself. He fell through the air and the ground rushed up to say hello. He pulled open his arms, wings, appendages, and the wind pulled him upward again. It brought him along as it blustered between the houses in the man made wind tunnel. He exploded out the other side in a mess of wings and claws and had to lean left quickly to avoid being thrown through a window. The town dipped below him, a hill taking the houses under the breeze. He righted himself and now in the open sky finally actually moved his arms…wings.
He experimented for a while with movement and currents before he found a rhythm and a breeze that suited him. He moved up with it, away from the town and the drumbeats and lights.
It was… nice? He really wanted to dislike it, he really did, but there was a different kind of emptiness up here. A peaceful one, not one that gnawed at him or reminded him of things he couldn't have. It was quiet. He could almost forget the itching in his veins and the pull in his gut. He…might do this again.
He might do this a lot if he couldn't figure out how to change back, he scowled mentally.
What had he thought of before? What a bat meant to him, how it was him. But…he couldn't find something that represented him more than…him? So what traits perhaps were different than those that related to the bat?
He scowled again, still mentally of course. These were things he didn't like thinking about. They were things he had to turn off and push away frequently if he wanted to maintain his persona, if he wanted to stay sane, if he wanted to not be hurt again, if he wanted…to be numb. Still, momentary emotional distress was better than an eternity as a giant flying potions ingredient. So, who was he?
The lost little child who had found a friend. The young man who loved her. The adult who had come to care for the students and the school. The teacher who ignored his colleagues to maintain a persona, but who still cared for their well-being, mostly. The spy who did horrible things in the quest for unattainable undeserved redemption. The vampire who ignored his pain on a daily basis in order to-
Falling. He was falling. The wind whipped through his hair and clothes as a string of expletives was lost to the aether. He quickly backpedaled. Thoughts of purposeful failure, of guiltless meals, of leisurely walks through shadowed corridors listening to the drums and rivers that, if he wanted, he could have. Of loneliness and night skies.
And wings. Snape exhaled and ignored the slight squeak that was the result. He had not expected it to work that quickly, or easily. While he would survive an impact with the ground it would be very unpleasant, and it was quite a shock to be faced with the situation.
It was time to land, he… he was done for the evening. He looked for a place to touch down, a deserted one. If he remembered correctly the park closed at sunset. It should be deserted.
He turned, and aimed for the pitiful splotch of green amongst the grey houses. There were drumbeats once again as he closed in. A small one, that was probably a stray dog from the smell, stood in the park under a tree. Not the one he and Lily met under. No, that one had died some time ago, as he'd found out on a walk after he had been turned. There was symbolism in that, somewhere.
Four meters from the ground he thought of his lesson plans and the silver ladle McGonagall had gotten him for Christmas, how much it had meant to him, and his bare feet touched the ground. He took a few steps to mitigate the momentum and while he slowed his steps he pondered what in the hell he could get McGonagall that would be sufficient to apologize but let her know he had not forgotten the tickling incident.
"Wow. Are you a bat? Do you eat bugs? My dad says bats eat bugs and fruits."
Snape blinked and looked down. The smell and drum he had thought to be a stray dog was a small child of about six with messy blond hair and wide brown eyes. What the hell was a child doing out here alone at this time of night? Snape scrambled for an answer to the child's question as well as his own.
"Do I currently appear to be a bat? Why are you out this late? Alone?!" The tone of voice he used was the one he used for unruly students, but the small child seemed unperturbed. In fact it smiled cheekily.
"Goin for a walk, duh. Can you always change into a bat? Does that mean you eat nectar?"
Snape blinked again, incredulous that this small child seemed completely immune to fear…and common sense.
"No. I- where is your mother?"
"Dunno mister. Work? Where's Your mom?"
"Dead. Now-
"I'm sorry. Can you see sounds? Are you always a bat? Can I be a bat? I think I'd rather be a goldfish. Have you always been a bat? So what do you eat then?"
Snape was bombarded by questions. He couldn't get a word in. He looked around for an escape, the adult this child belonged to.
"Hey! Are you listening to me? Do you like bats? Are you gonna answer my questions? What type of bat are you?"
Snape was sorely tempted to just scare the child into running away and following to make sure he got home. There were things out that were far less benign than he, and he was becoming less so by the second. As the child asked yet another question he fell prey to that temptation.
"Do yo-"
"I'm a vampire bat, and I-"
"What's a vampire?"
Snape looked at the small child and just… couldn't think for a moment. His brain stalled. He took three seconds of just looking at the child before asking the obvious question.
"You were taught about every type of bat except the vampire bat?"
"Yeah, unless you're making up a word. I like making up words, do you like making up words?"
Snape took a deep breath and looked the young boy in the eyes. "I do not. If your mother is out, where is your father?"
"Oh, I can take you to him. I was on my way to visit him!"
Snape's eye twitched at the grating voice but he nodded. "I think that would be best."
"Can you carry me as a bat?"
"No." Was the very quick reply that the boy received. It was probably a lie. He could most likely lift the boy into the air and whisk him away never to be seen again. His blossoming headache was certainly bringing him closer and closer to doing as much.
They returned to the sidewalk and Snape worked very hard not to pinch the bridge of his nose in irritation. When the child ran in front of him he quickly grabbed hold of his wand from his sleeve and cast a glamour at his feet so it appeared he had shoes.
The realization that all of his more bat like features were gone without a potion was marred by yet another question. A very stupid one.
"So are you always a bat?" Asked the boy turning towards him and walking backwards in an awkward jumping gait.
"Obviously not, I'm walking beside you."
"That's right! You're right! Are you right a lot? I'm not, I get told I'm not right a lot."
"I can't imagine why."
"So do you like bats?"
"Not in particular."
"Then why are you one?"
"Did you get to choose to be a human boy?"
"I guess not. If I got to choose I'd be a goldfish. They're shiny. So what do vampire bats eat?"
"Blood and annoying children." He stated. His tone seemed to have no effect on the child, who just stuck out his tongue.
"Gross! Blood tastes gross. I know cuz I lost a tooth last week, wanna see?" Said the young boy completely ignoring the second part of the vampire's answer. He turned around and walked along on the curb, one foot in front of the other, balancing with his arms out. Snape rolled his eyes and sighed.
"No."
"Oooh, we're almost there!" The boy ceased his balancing act and ran forward, and Snape had a sinking feeling. The feeling was confirmed as the boy ran through the gate of The Heavenly Mother cemetery.
"Hi Dad! I got someone to tell me more about bats!" So that was why the child had an incomplete education on the matter. Snape followed the child as he ran back quite a few rows. The boy smiled and chattered away; unconcerned and carefree in an area that most children, and many adults, avoided at night.
"Dad! I'm back! I got someone to tell me about bats! I'm not sure you heard me before. There's vampire bats and they drink blood, and it's gross! And the man who told me about bats is a bat!" The child was in front of a grave that was obviously recent.
As Snape stopped beside the child his guess was confirmed when he read the dates, 1950-1988. Snape stood there with hands behind his back, quite content to not be the object of the boy's attention for a while. He listened to the boy chatter on about what happened that day at his school, what he ate, a rock he found, and of course him. Eventually the boy did turn to him again with a huge smile on his face.
"So why are you here? Are you looking for food? Are you hungry? Did you know that there are more types of bat than almost any other uh uh thing? Only rodents outnumber them! Have you always been a bat?"
Snape looked down at the child and sighed. What the hell was he going to do with him? The incessant questions were getting on his nerves. He usually would yell for silence at this point but it seemed the boy was unaffected by his glares and scathing words, he doubted his yells would garner the reaction he wanted either.
It was then salvation called. A heart beating as fast as he'd ever heard one beat came up the road.
"Connor! Connor! Or dear god Connor!"
"Hi Mom! I found a bat! A vampire bat! He's also a person!" The young boy waved.
Snape turned to look at the woman who was saving what was left of his sanity and the boy's life. One more minute of questions…
The woman running up was dressed in an apron and black dress with leggings. The apron sported a brown stain on the front and her flaxen hair was held up in a bun with a pencil. She was middle aged, and looked tired but relieved, and scared, and angry, all at the same time.
"Connor! What the hell! I-l. Oh thank god you're safe!"
The boy pouted.
"You were late. We visit dad on Thursdays!"
The woman knelt by her son and grabbed him in her arms for a moment while he spoke before holding him by the shoulders and looking him in the eye.
"I know. I know. My shift ran late. I'm sorry. But you have to wait with the other kids at school! Mirriam was coming to pick you up and you weren't there! And then you weren't here either! Do you have any idea how worried you made us? You missed dinner! Oh Connor you're damp! In your wool sweater!"
Snape stepped back a bit, attempting to make an escape so he wouldn't be dragged into what would be an awkward conversation. That was not to be however.
"I stopped at the park. I met a bat! This man! He changed from a bat into a man and then told me about bats and walked me to the cemetery and we talked to Dad and he's my new friend!"
The woman took a big breath and stood up, holding her son's hand tightly. She looked at Snape and smiled.
"Thank you. Thank you for making sure my son was safe."
How the fuck would a normal person respond? A normal mortal Muggle at that. "I… It was no trouble I assure you." Snape said, shifting from on foot to the other. This was not a normal situation for him.
"Of course it was, I can't imagine you don't have better things to do than babysit a six year old. Please, how can I repay you? Do you need a ride home?"
"No he doesn't! He flew here! As a bat!"
The woman hushed Connor and for the first time took a closer look at Snape. Black suit pants with long potions master jacket over a black shirt. He wordlessly cast another glamor on his back to hide the holes from the wings. He could only be thankful that the full transformation seemed to take his clothes with it instead of ruining them.
The woman arched her brow but said nothing.
"I believe your son has a rather active imagination based on my unique attire."
"I wasn't going to say anything but… what is it you do?"
"I teach theater." It was the excuse most wizards fell back on when muggles questioned their 'strange attire.
"That makes sense. Where?"
"A private school to the north."
"That sounds nice."
"He probably flies there."
"Connor!"
"I assure you, my wings would get quite tired. Now your mother mentioned you missed dinner, so you should hurry home to eat. Before something eats you. You never know what might find you out here. A giant bat like myself perhaps?" Snape said, hoping it would scare some sense into the boy, maybe even upset the mother into taking him away from here.
The boy's eyes widened finally as realization set in. "Cus vampire bats eat blood. I have blood!"
"Indeed?" He said silkily.
"Gross!"
Snape sighed inwardly. So close. The mother chuckled. No luck on upsetting her either it seemed.
"I'm Clara, and as you've surely guessed this little animal addict is Connor."
"He does seem rather knowledgeable for a child on that front." Snape admitted looking at the boy grinning back at him.
"His father was a zoologist. He wants to be just like daddy."
"Yup! Gonna be the best zooolo…zolo… zoolog… studier of animals ever!" Said the boy balancing on one leg and gesticulating wildly for emphasis. The woman ruffled his hair fondly.
"And can I ask my savior's name?"
Snape froze at this. He did not have a name prepared. One that he would be comfortable using over and over in the muggle world. He quickly scoured his memory banks for a name that wouldn't make him cringe.
"Stefan."
"Well Stefan, can I invite you to dinner? It's the least I can do."
Snape tried not to stare at the woman. Insane. Everyone around him was insane. How did people blindly trust this way and not get killed?! Snape shook his head.
"I already have dinner plans."
"This late? Don't make excuses on my account. I had set the table for three, but-"
"He can't eat with us! He only drinks blood!"
"Connor! Rude! I am so sorry Stefan, I don't know where he gets these ideas." Said Sara apologetically.
Snape thanked merlin for the tendency of adults to take anything odd said by children as fits of fancy. He shook his head to reject the apology.
"I told him as much. He's young, I figured it would be easier to keep him in one place if his mind was occupied with fantasy."
"That's very kind of you."
"I teach theater, it was easy enough." It was true, being with the child was easy, if annoying. He had to hide nothing, no one would believe him. This, this was difficult. Blending in as a Muggle, pretending to be something so opposite to himself. Well, acting was a step away from being a spy. Perhaps he could use the practice. He had his medallions, he could in all theory eat. Might as well test it. The worst that could happen would be if the mother found out, in which case he'd obliviate them both.
He would not eat them. Despite that being his real dinner plan for the evening. No, having a muggle house where he was welcome and could hide might be beneficial. Snape painfully put a small smile on his face.
"However you've seen through my act and I will admit I had no plans for dinner."
"Oh wonderful. It won't be much. Just Mac and Cheese, but we have a lot. Miriam was supposed to come but– oh! Connor, come on! I'm sorry Stefan but I need to get back and tell Miriam that I found Connor."
Snape nodded. He despised automobile travel. He would endure however.
The unlikely group walked over to the car. It wasn't big, it had many sharp angles, and looked old. The numerous scratches attested to that. Snape watched as the woman unlocked the front door and reached around the back to unlock the one for her son. He remembered automobiles, but had not been in one for many years. He watched her buckle Connor in and as soon as he saw how it worked went around to the front passenger side and imitated her.
They were on the road shortly. The car was loud, very loud, and it smelled of petroleum and old leather. They were not pleasant smells. He listened to the woman chattering to her son about his day at school, and he answered briefly when she questioned him about his job. The houses went by in streaks of uniform grey, they passed the school that was just outside the old industrial housing part of town and left to the more recent additions.
The main street still had numerous old shops, but as the town grew, new ones did crop up. It was still quite a poor town, but time marched on. They turned off the main street by an antique store and onto a thin lane with houses very similar to the ones in the industrial complex. These, however, boasted a small yard and a driveway. The grass was all dead and yellowed, but it was still a yard.
They pulled into the driveway of a house that had orange curtains and a yellow sign over the mailbox that said this was the Williams residence. These items provided the only color on the house, on the street in fact.
Clara extricated Connor from the car and Snape did the same with himself, quite happy to be out of the metal death trap. The front door was opened and Connor ran inside under Clara's arm, rushing to their sitting room. The middle aged woman smiled at Snape, her eyes tired.
"Come on in, make yourself at home."
Snape nodded, feeling the magic barrier fall at her welcome. As she closed the door behind him he made quick work of surveying his surroundings.
It seemed the architects had used nearly identical schematics from the old industrial complex. The decorators too. The kitchen was still yellow, the sitting room was still that tan color. He doubted this house had secret rooms though.
"Hey! Hey! Come here! Watch with me!"
Snape looked down to find Connor pulling at his sleeve, to no avail of course.
"And where, are we going?" He said as the child dug his heels into the floor trying to move him.
"The TV room!"
Ah, TV. Another disgusting muggle invention that rotted the mind. His father had watched sports on it when he had the time. He would zone out for hours, but if the team his father was rooting for lost…
Snape looked over to Clara who waved him off, much to his dismay.
"I have to reheat the dinner. Shouldn't be more than 15 minutes, the oven heats up fast. And I need to call Mirriam."
Snape hid his scowl and allowed himself to be led into the sitting room. Pictures filled the walls instead of shelves of books. Many featured a man with brown hair and thick glasses. A coffee table and a couch were in one corner and a TV set sat on an obviously homemade wooden platform opposite them with a shelf containing a myriad of plants and more photos next to it. A set of plastic toy animals were pushed under the coffee table and out of the way. He could hear Clara in the other room on the feletone… no… Telephone. It had been awhile since he'd thought on the device, having thrown the one in his house out as soon as he moved in. Approximately one week after his father's untimely 'disappearance'.
The boy led him in but dropped his sleeve and pointed to the leather couch.
"You can sit there! It's soft! Natural World is on!"
"I see. And this is your favorite?" Said Snape, feigning interest. He moved and sat on the couch while the child turned on the T.V. and used the electronic device to change through various images. He finally settled on one that was showing primates.
"Yes! I want to be like David Atten… Attenborough!"
"Indeed? I thought you wanted to be like your father?"
"They both love animals! Listen!"
Snape turned his attention to the television set in hopes it would mean that the child would shut up for at least a tiny bit. The voice coming from the device was relaxing, explaining the mating habits of a specific type of monkey. Snape turned his gaze to Connor, who sat watching with rapt attention, cross legged and hands on his lap. It seemed the child was actually interested, and not disturbed, disgusted, or amused by the thought of primate sexual activity.
"And yo-"
"Shhhhhh!"
Snape raised a brow at that. He'd never been told by a child to be quiet before. Was this the picture of muggle domestic life? It wasn't like he could have children, but the child was certainly dedicated. He would never allow his own fictional child to disrespect him like that however, the fact that this child did showed poorly on Clara.
"Connor! You've seen that episode! Be nice to Stefan! He's our guest!"
Both Snape and Connor turned to Clara who was frowning at the boy. Perhaps she did have a stronger grasp on discipline than he thought, especially by the way Connor looked cowed.
"Sorry mom. Sorry Mr. Stefan."
Before Snape could respond Clara jumped in once again.
"Very good." She turned to Severus with a much more relaxed look, and smiled. "Now, can I offer you something to drink? Wine? Water? Tea?"
"No… Thank you." Merlin this was difficult. This was not the way he interacted with anyone. His colleagues, Death Eater, strangers in the street.
"If you're sure. It's no trouble at all." Said Clara with that smile still beaming at him. She was such an innocent naive woman. How did one interact with such a person? He wanted to ingratiate himself here. If Spinner's End or Hogwarts were compromised a place no one knew about but him would be quite valuable. He nodded and once again forced a smile onto his face.
"I suppose it would depend on the wine then."
Clara's smile grew. "You look like a man who likes his wine with tannin and legs. I have a red table blend of Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot. Lots of tannin, aged in port barrels."
Snape nodded. "That does sound interesting." And he was not being polite at that, she had indeed chosen a wine that sounded like one he would enjoy. He had no idea how. Perhaps he could find out. "And what exactly is the kind of man who likes this bitter wine?"
"The type who has been forcing himself to smile so he doesn't upset his host." She said with a wink as she returned to the kitchen. Snape was startled to say the least, concerned was more apt. Was his ability to fake facial expressions slipping? Surely not. Or perhaps his acting ability was. He had apparently over acted with Minerva that first time, trying to make her think he was suffering. Throes of addiction be damned. Perhaps his acting ability really was suffering.
He was about to stand up and confront her when she returned with two glasses, a wine bottle, a bottle opener, and a glass of apple juice for Connor. All in her hands. The balancing feat was quite impressive. She deftly set the items down and then opened the bottle with little effort while her son grabbed the juice. She set the open bottle back down and let it be, allowing it to breathe for a bit. As she sat Snape asked his question.
"What makes you think I'm faking a smile? That I'm not genuinely happy to be here?"
"Happy and comfortable are not the same thing. I've been in the food industry in various positions for fifteen years. Five of which were bartending and the last three have been owning a restaurant. I'm a very good judge of character at this point. I can tell immediately when a customer is going to be trouble, or when a bar patron needs a free drink that night. So I can tell when my guest is not comfortable. Your back has been ramrod straight this entire time. I figured some wine might help."
Snape tried to process this. He had put on numerous faces over the years, many hats as it were. 'Happy normal person' had not been one of them. If he ever needed to disappear no one would suspect that mask, they would be completely unable to locate him. However the woman was incorrect about his posture being a clue, this was how he sat in the presence of everyone except his shadow, and Dumbledore, maybe Minerva. She was right that he was ill at ease however. He smirked, this woman was rather observant.
"There we go! That's the first natural smile I've seen from you! Cheers to the start of new friendships!" She said and picked up the wine bottle. In the background the calm voice spoke of apes' eating habits.
"New friendships? You don't even know me." Snape said, picking up a glass and holding it for her to pour into.
"Excellent judge of character, remember? It hasn't failed me yet." She replied as nearly black liquid poured from the bottle.
Hopefully her judgement wouldn't fail her now either, Snape thought. He wasn't very hungry, but there was a slight whisper in the back of his mind about how easy it would be. He pushed it away. Long term goals were his focus now. He watched as she filled her cup and held it up. He acquiesced and clinked his with hers.
"So Stefan, once again, to new friends, and to my son being safe at home and…" She glanced at Connor who had grabbed his juice and was sipping it slowly, completely engrossed. "Not…" Her hand gripped the stem of the glass harder and she tore her gaze away. "Not gone like his father. Life insurance pay-out be damned."
Snape didn't really know how to deal with the emotion he could see in the woman's eyes. She seemed smart enough, perhaps a scathing joke? Based on her reaction to his attempt at scaring her child, it might work.
"He is safe. But… To not dead children, then. Though I have a few in my class who act like they are."
The woman blinked, twice, and then chuckled, shaking her head.
"Well, hopefully that was the prompt and they got good marks."
Snape took a sip of his wine, satisfied that he wouldn't have to endure excess emotion from the woman as well as the fact that his guess about her appreciation of dark humor was correct. The wine was strong, as she had said. Oaky with a bitter finish that sat on his tongue as he breathed in. The wine was so intense he could actually taste some of the subtler notes that he often missed with his vampiric taste buds.
"So, you say you own an eatery. Your dress tonight is a tad off for such a job, is it not?" He asked, tilting the glass and observing that the wine indeed had fine legs. Almost as fine as the woman in front of him.
"Tonight I waitressed because one of my staff called out sick. It happens. It's why my shift ran late. I had to stay and do her job and my bookkeeping." She said and took a sip herself. "Is the wine to your liking?"
"It is surprisingly strong. I-"
An alarm went off in the kitchen and Clara quickly stood up, excusing herself, and headed to deal with the insistent sound. Snape took a breath and sipped the wine. This was a decidedly odd evening. He had expected it to be nigh intolerable, but he had wine and the noisy child was no longer noisy. He was still surrounded by all things muggle, but it was not as in his face as other places. It wasn't where he'd prefer to be, but he wasn't completely unhappy. He turned his attention to the TV.
He had not known such programs existed, educational ones. He had had no interest in the device as a child, having only seen his father watch sports and being forbidden from touching the device. The voice, supposedly this David Attenburough, was soothing and calm as it discussed the problems faced by the animals due to deforestation. The boy sat quietly, hands in his lap, and hung on every word. He'd rarely seen that dedication in any of his classes at school. Perhaps the child would succeed in his goal of studying animals.
"Dinner!"
Connor jumped up and turned off the tv before running into the dinning room. Snape picked up both glasses and the wine bottle and followed slowly. He vaguely remembered mac and cheese, but he was sure he could stomach it. It couldn't be worse than the cookies Hagrid and Kettleburn made together that one year.
He set down the wine glasses and bottle and took a seat that had a plate by itself opposite two. Clara was tying a napkin around the child's neck as he squirmed happily.
"Mac n Cheese. Mac n Cheese! Mac AND Cheese!"
"Connor, inside voice. Thanks Stefan, for bringing in the wine. Lord knows I need a glass or two after dealing with customers and then this little rascal." She said ruffling the boy's hair fondly as the child looked up with a false pout.
"I'm the highlight of your day! You said so!"
"Finding you unharmed was the highlight of my day! Thanks to Mr…"
God, a Muggle last name. Well, he might as well do something simple and forgettable. "Miller."
"Mr. Miller. You and I are going to have a talk after he leaves, be sure of it!"
"Aw mom!"
"Shush, dinner."
Severus had looked over the dish as Clara scolded Connor. It was yellow, and did smell of cheese. It was in a baking dish and the top was crusted and crisped with shredded cheese and breadcrumbs, and something sharp smelling. A spatula was pushed into the corner and he raised a brow at how long the strands of cheese coming off it were. He was served first and the globby mess was carefully put on his plate only to lose its form further after a second. It did not look appetizing in the least, but its olfactory presence was not offensive.
"Tough day with customers?" He asked while watching the cheese pull in long threads before snapping and being placed on Connor's plate, who was once again squirming in his seat in unbecoming excitement.
"Oh, the local drunk came in asking for Irish coffees again."
"Mr. DOOOOFUS."
"Dorfus, Connor."
"Yeah, but he's a doofus."
"You're not wrong, but it's not polite to gossip."
"But you-"
"We have company."
The child went quiet at this and with another serving on her plate Clara sat down with a big breath and smiled again. "Would you mind if we said grace?"
"No." The reply was more terse than he would have liked, but his memories of dinner with his father always started with grace and ended with yelling. Five months ago that terseness would not have been there, goddamn that potion. Still, Clara had the social decorum to ignore it and nod.
"We'll say it silently tonight." She said, and she and her son held hands and mouthed a few words with their heads down. Not ten seconds later they looked up and began to dig in. He picked up his fork and followed suit, it's not like it could kill him.
It was creamy. That was its main descriptor. Still, there was little flavor in the body of the dish. The top that sported the crusted cheese and breadcrumbs had the sharp tang of parmesan that stood out amongst the mainly mild flavor. As he chewed there was a pop of liquid, and he realized there was a type of pepper mixed in with the noodles.
It was not unpleasant, it wasn't something he'd choose to eat, but he wasn't having to choke it down.
"Peppers? Is that normal for this dish?"
"No, but I have to get vegetables in him somehow."
He nodded in understanding. That was a challenge the house elves at Hogwarts faced as well. Many children did not seem to be keen on anything green so the elves went to great lengths to hide vegetables in innocuous dishes. Perhaps he could bring back some recipes such as this one, it would certainly be a comfort to the muggleborns and the elves would be interested in anything new. He'd just have to figure out how to get the recipes to them. He could give them to Minerva or Dumble- He pushed away thoughts of the man, not keen on having his veins start itching right now. He took another bite and moved back toward distracting conversation.
"So, you have problems with local customers?"
"Oh god, do not get me started."
The remainder of dinner was spent in mild conversation with occasional interruptions or comments from Connor, who seemed to be mainly focused on cheese. The bottle of wine was empty by the end, with Clara having had most of it. He had found some useful information on the inhabitants of his home town. Primrose was an older woman, who despite her poor dress was not in fact homeless and was beloved by everyone as someone who regularly donated to the library. Dorfus on the other hand was not well to do per se, but he always wore a suit and looked put together, but he would not be missed due to the numerous times he'd passed out in public from inebriation.
Despite her insistence against gossip Clara was happy to oblige Snape all his questions, on the excuse he had not been home in some time, and then not frequently. It was the same with Rosmerta, bartenders were fonts of information. Every spy should have at least one.
He was offered coffee but declined. While Connor played with the toy animals and waved goodbye from the sitting room Clara led him to the door.
"Thank you so much for taking care of my son, and for letting me thank you with dinner. You don't seem like the type of man who goes to dinners often."
"You would be right. I usually prefer my solitude after dealing with children all day." True enough, though he also preferred it for other reasons.
"Well, I hope that during your little sabbatical you might see fit to break it and join us for dinner again. Could I call you?"
"My phone has been down for years, and because I am here so little I have not had any reason to have it fixed." Also true, except he'd blasted it with a variety of hexes until it shot sparks out.
"That's fair. Well, you're always welcome to call. Perhaps you can stop by sometime after … 7 sometime this week?" Said Clara, with a smile on her face.
"I might find myself amenable to doing so."
And, to Snape's surprise, he found this was true as well.