McGonagall was taken aback, her eyebrows raised in disbelief, when they hinted at the possibility of Snape being a father. A swirl of questions raced through her mind, but she knew she couldn't divulge any information. Instead, her determination to assist burned brightly within her.
The elegant yet somewhat ominous letter from Renée had been penned in January of 1980, suggesting the child must have arrived by September at the latest. This revelation sent a bolt of realization through Harry: the child would have been in his own year at Hogwarts.
Yet, McGonagall's voice, tinged with skepticism, echoed in his mind. "Are you absolutely sure this place exists?" she inquired, her brow furrowing in concentration. "What country is it a part of? I've never come across it in my years of teaching. Have you?"
"No, Professor," Harry admitted, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice.
"Where did you discover this letter?" she pressed on. "Maybe there's another one hidden somewhere."
Cokeworth.
Harry's thoughts drifted to the old, dreary house on Spinner's End and memories of his Aunt Petunia—memories he wished to forget. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind and focus solely on Renée.
He found himself wrestling with a cascade of questions: How on earth had Snape met this woman? Was she a witch, casting spells effortlessly, or was she a Muggle, unaware of the magical world?And why did Aunt Petunia keep creeping into his thoughts?
Determined, he tried to shake off the images of his aunt, pushing them to the back of his mind. After uncovering the truth behind Renée and Snape's mysterious connection, he decided to seek her out.
"Hey, Anne!" called a voice, cutting through the chatter.
Anne turned to see Meghan Cybil, known as 'Byllie,' walking toward her. Byllie was about 5'5", just a bit shorter than Anne, who was 5'7". She had thick, fiery red hair that flowed down to her waist, a long neck, and big, pale green eyes that could be warm one moment and chilly the next. Her expression was soft today, likely because Ginna Giovanni was nowhere around.
Byllie's pastel orange sundress swayed with the breeze but only highlighted her vibrant hair, which she always hated. They hadn't been friends for a long time—just friendly acquaintances.
Byllie used to be a true friend until popularity changed everything, and now it felt like Meghan had taken over her whole vibe.
"Meghan." Anne turned and tried to smile, though she wasn't excited about this chat.
Meghan/Byllie paused before managing a stiff smile. "Roseanne. Just checking in. How have you been?"
"Fine as peach fuzz," Anne replied casually. "You?"
"I'm fine as a baby's hair." Byllie shrugged, her gaze drifting off. "How's your aunt and uncle?"
"They're good, same as always."
"And how's Ned and Dana?" she asked, genuine curiosity creeping into her tone.
"Newlyweds, ugh," Anne said with a roll of her eyes, trying to keep it light.
Byllie looked away, staring off into the distance, and Anne followed her line of sight, wondering what had caught her attention.
"I had a dream about you," Byllie said quietly after a beat, rubbing her eyes like she was shaking off a weird night's sleep.
"What was it about?" Anne asked, intrigued.
"You were holding your heart in your hands, crying."
"What?" Anne gasped. "Why was I holding my heart?"
"You were crushing it," Meghan/Byllie replied, her tone serious.
"That's fucking stupid!" Anne threw her hands up in frustration. "Why would I crush my own heart?!"
"Why indeed?" Byllie murmured, deep in thought.
Anne took a deep breath, trying to keep her cool. "Did you take your meds today, Meghan?" she asked.
"Ugh, fuck you, Anne!" Meghan/Byllie shouted, her patience worn thin.
With that, Meghan/Byllie turned and stormed off, leaving Anne confused and sad about how abruptly their conversation had ended.
After the morning mail run, Anne returned to the shop to help her aunt and uncle. The place was a small, plain, white two-story building—nothing fancy. 'Nolans' Postal Station' was painted in big black letters on a sign above the entrance.
As soon as she walked in, a little bell jingled. Uncle Norman came in from the back, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He looked much like his son, with the same salt-and-pepper hair styled like Harrison Ford in that old presidential movie. His skin was half a shade darker, and his brown eyes had a warm glint. He looked chill and approachable and dressed in a plain white T-shirt, jeans, and comfy leather sandals.
"Hello, welcome to—oh, it's you!" he said, relaxing as soon as he saw her. "How's your day going?"
Anne shrugged. "Weird, I guess."
"What do you mean, you guess?" he pressed, genuinely curious.
She glanced at the row of colorful stamps by the register, mulling over whether to spill the beans about Byllie.
"Roseanne," he prompted, noticing her hesitation.
"I saw Byllie," she finally admitted, her voice low.
"Oh really?" His interest piqued. "Are we talking to Meghan again?" Anne shrugged again. "What happened with Meghan?"
"She had a bad dream about me," she said, almost timidly.
"Hmmm. Did she say what it was about?"
"I was crushing my heart."
"Oh no." He sat on a stool behind the counter, looking deep in thought.
"What's going on in that head of yours?" Anne asked.
"Maybe Meghan is worried about you, Anne."
"Tch." She crossed her arms and turned away, not wanting to hear about Meghan caring about her.
"Anne," he began but then hesitated and shook his head. "No, I'll let you two sort it out." He waved it off and changed the subject. "Your aunt made sandwiches and soup for lunch."
"Yum."
"After lunch, could you run over to Paul's?"
"Mr. Giovanni? What's up?" she asked, a frown forming.
"Oh, nothing much. Mrs. Giovanni forgot to drop off a package yesterday, and I forgot to pick it up."
"I'll go right now—"
"Natalie wants to talk to you first."
"Is that good or bad?" she wondered, worry creeping into her tone.
"I think it's okay."
Anne tiptoed into the mail room, where Aunt Natalie sorted the evening mail.
Aunt Natalie was super skinny like Anne, but she had more curves. Standing tall at 5'10, she towered over most of the men in their small village. Her jet-black hair was styled in a chic 'bixie' cut, framing her pale face and bright blue eyes. Anne thought her eyes looked just like Liz Taylor's.
She wore a light blue sleeveless dress and white flip-flops, looking effortlessly stylish, but her full lips were pulled into a thoughtful pout.
"Annie," she said without looking up.
Anne didn't think of herself as "Annie" since her mom passed away almost 15 years ago.
"Aunt Natalie," she replied, stepping closer to help. "How's the mail?"
"It's mail," Aunt Natalie replied, her tone flat. Anne sighed inwardly. Talking to her was always a struggle; with Ned and Uncle Norman, conversation flowed easily, but with Aunt Natalie, it felt different.
"What's going on?" Anne asked, trying to break the awkwardness.
"We need to talk."
"About what?"
"I heard that girl, Lika, who used to hang out with Paul's daughter, is having a baby."
Anne let out a sigh of relief mixed with annoyance. "I thought I was in trouble."
"I was your age when I had Ned," Aunt Natalie said, looking at her. "Are you still friends with that Kaz boy? I haven't seen him around."
"Yeah, Kaz is like a brother to me. I don't bring him around anymore because whenever you see him, you ask when we're getting married."
"Well, most kids your age are already settling down."
"Kaz isn't," she pointed out.
"Maybe you can change that," Aunt Natalie joked.
"I don't really like boys," Anne replied a hint of defiance in her tone.
Aunt Natalie looked surprised momentarily but then sighed and returned to work. "Okay, that's cool."
"...Okay," Anne echoed. They worked in silence for a little while before she muttered, "Meghan Kafe had a dream about me crushing my own heart."
"I hope that kid is still taking her meds; her mama would be rolling over in her grave knowing what she's going through. Maybe she's just feeling lonely."
"Why doesn't she call Regina?" Anne asked, frowning slightly.
"Stop pretending you don't miss her," Aunt Natalie teased, nudging her playfully.
Anne pouted but couldn't help smiling. "I don't want to deal with Meghan and her drama."
"Anne." Paul Giovanni checked the time on his old, slightly tarnished watch, the ticking sound echoing in the quiet space. "You're late."
Paul Giovanni was a striking figure, tall and lean, with an aura of authority that seemed to fill the room. His jet-black hair was meticulously slicked back, showcasing the sharp angles of his face. His cold gray eyes, which seemed almost metallic in their intensity, held Anne's gaze with a chilling focus that made her uneasy. He wore an immaculate white suit that suggested sophistication and power, crisp and unwrinkled fabric. Beneath his jacket lay a powder blue silk shirt, smooth and shimmering slightly under the light, and a neatly knotted tie that completed his polished look. The glasses perched on his nose mirrored the chic style of River Cuomo, imparting a scholarly flair to his appearance. Meanwhile, although unconventional, his choice of black sandals marked a hint of casual arrogance in his otherwise elegant ensemble.
"What time was I supposed to be here?" Anne replied, a hint of annoyance lacing her words as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, feeling the discomfort of punctuality weighing heavily on her.
"You could have arrived earlier," he stated flatly, disapproving. "Mrs. Giovanni arrived back here ages ago."
"Did my uncle forget to tell me?" she asked, her brow furrowing with confusion and irritation.
"A short walk to my office and back wouldn't have killed you, Annie," he said, a sneer crawling across his lips. A mischievous grin accompanied his words, making it difficult for her to determine whether he was joking or being serious. "We wouldn't want you to get chubby, right?" Anne scoffed at his remark, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "Don't scoff at me, Anne Reagan. How are your parents?" he asked, feigning a casual interest.
"My aunt and uncle are doing well, thank you," Anne replied, but she couldn't shake the strange feeling that Paul never truly cared.
'And the Newlyweds?'
Paul had been part of her life for as long as she could remember, like an ever-present shadow of her childhood. He had been a friend of her mother, a seemingly steadfast figure who had lingered in their family's orbit. Yet, an uneasy tension always hung in the air whenever he was around.
'You know how Newlyweds get.'
After her mother passed away, Paul had sold the family land, a difficult decision that lingered painfully in Anne's memory. However, out of what felt like an obligation more than altruism, he had paid for her mother's funeral with his own finances, managing the estate with a hollow sense of duty. He had even set up a trust for Anne using the rest of the funds, but his gesture felt laced with complexities she couldn't quite understand.
"And that boy, Boecio Kazileris?" he suddenly interjected, breaking into her thoughts. His voice was imbued with curiosity and something else—perhaps a sly interest.
"Kaz is doing fine," she replied, meeting his intense gaze with one of her own, trying to decipher the depths of his motivations. After a moment of silence, a playful smile danced on her lips. "You want something from me, don't you?"
"I'm flattered, but my daughter is older than you," he countered sharply, his tone dismissive and slightly mocking.
"That's not what I meant, you pig!" Anne shot back with indignation, a fire igniting within her.
"Don't get your panties in a twist," he laughed, the sound echoing with an unsettling self-assurance. "This is strictly business, little girl."
"What kind of business?" she inquired, a knot of apprehension tightening in her stomach.
"Some influential businesspeople from one of the mainlands are coming to the island," he revealed, rubbing his hairless chin thoughtfully, his demeanor shifting from playful to serious as he contemplated his following words.
"When are they coming?" Anne pressed, her concern and curiosity heightening.
"A month or two, maybe even sooner," he said, his eyes narrowing as he considered the implications of the impending visit. "I need you to tap into that islander charm of yours and help me land this deal."
Paul, a towering figure in the island's construction industry, was the mastermind behind every significant building in the village and likely the entire island. His influence was palpable, and his name was a constant in conversations about development and progress.
"Who are they?" she asked, feeling a sense of trepidation settle around her like a thick fog.
"You've never met them; you couldn't pick them out of a crowd if you tried," he replied, a sly smile reappearing.
"Hey, you're asking me to help you," she reminded him, her arms crossing defensively.
"No, I'm telling you," he countered firmly, stepping closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "We both know if I ask your uncle, he'll say yes."
"And my aunt will make sure he tells you no," she replied defiantly, standing her ground.
"For goodness' sake, little girl, I'm not making you do this for free," he insisted, the steel in his voice apparent.
"How much money are we talking about?" she asked, her interest piqued by the suggestion of financial compensation.
"More than you can imagine," he said, a glimmer of ambition lighting up his gray eyes.
"I am known for having an overactive imagination," she quipped, attempting to keep the mood light despite the weight of the conversation.
"Look, they haven't gotten back to me yet. Just think about it," he urged, his tone softening slightly as he leaned back, gazing off into the distance as if envisioning potential opportunities.
The air between them filled with unspoken possibilities, leaving Anne with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling in her mind.
'Dear Aunt Petunia,
How have you been?
I am well, I hope are well, and uncle vermon too. Dudley and i write letters to each other a couple times a month. I'm glad he's doing well in college. I wish this was a casual letter, but need information.
I was going through Severus Snape's things and found something and I was wondering if you could shed some light on the information.
I found a letter, and it implies that he fathered a child with a woman named Renée Reagan in a place called Sunshyne Shoals.
Does the name sound familiar to you?
How about the town?
What little information you have on this will be greatly appreciated.
Sincerely, Harry.