From Spark to Flame

Chapter Seven: In the Moirae's Shadow

There were nights when sleep came as easily as if the Sandman himself had dusted her eyes. And then there were nights that felt as though he'd gone on permanent strike. This night, no matter what Paidea tried, no matter how she tossed and turned, sleep refused to come.

Retiring to bed had been the easy part after her 'guard's' earlier confession of his feelings for her. She had busied herself with undressing, letting down her hair, brushing it out, a quick wash of her face...though she had done so in the darkness so that he would think she'd gone right to sleep.

She turned again, the back of her head thumping on the pillow as the words that she had blocked with minor tasks refused to leave her mind. Severus. It had been so hard -- no, agonizingly painful -- to turn him down, to deny what she felt and refuse his quiet pleas. She'd not even been able to look at his face as she'd fled to her room, knowing if she'd glimpsed the pain openly shown there, she would never have the strength to continue in her resolve.

And continue she must. She knew it. She would not be the cause of his ruin. She'd made the right choice.

Hadn't she?

Rolling to her side, she gave the pillow a second thump as she tried to find just the right position to allow her some rest. Rest that plainly at three-thirty in the morning was not happening. Glancing down at her house-elf's beatifically slumbering face, she allowed herself a surge of envy. There was something so incredibly simple in the life of a house-elf...something Paidea would pay greatly for right about now.

Yes, she'd made the best and right decision for them both.

She nibbled her lip.

Hadn't she?

It was quiet in the house...yes, that must be it. That's why she wasn't getting to sleep. Despite the crash of the sea on the shore and the whisper of the wind through the trees, it was too quiet, too peaceful, and the world had no right to be peaceful when she was in turmoil. The noise of London would be welcome now, the Muggle world nearby helping to drown out her thoughts.

But there was a sound, a low almost murmur vibrating through the wall, on and off periodically since eleven forty-two that night -- which she knew from staring at the clock on the wall as it lay bathed in the moonlight. The sound was odd, erratic...swelling on occasion but usually simply too low for her to know for certain what it was. She stared at the ceiling. It's your conscience, a little voice told her insistently before she quickly and efficiently shoved it to the side once more.

She had done the right thing!

As if in response to her thoughts, the murmuring in the next room grew louder...more persistent...and almost to the point that she wondered if surely Severus could not help but hear it. She frowned as a thought occurred to her almost in time with the sound's sudden increase of volume and length -- if she didn't know better, she was sure someone was in pain.

Sitting up, she placed her ear to the whitewashed wall. The moans drifted though more clearly, and now she could distinguish words -- whispers, pleas.

Severus.

Concern for him welled up inside her, her stomach twisting in knots. She hurriedly climbed out of bed and grabbed her silk dressing gown. She had never meant for any of this to happen! She hadn't meant to fall in...

Shaking her head and her treacherous thoughts from her mind, she briskly left the room, though she took care to open and close the door quietly so as not to disturb Elly. With tentative steps, she moved into the living room, the need for reassurance that he was well outweighing her jumbled and frayed nerves.

Pausing behind the couch, her hand resting on top of it on a discarded t-shirt obviously flung there during the night, she looked down into his face and breathed a small sigh of relief. Physically, he was fine...and asleep. But it was most certainly not a restful slumber. His hair was strewn over the cushion he had placed behind his head and his eyes were screwed shut, his brow deeply furrowed. A light sheen of sweat covered his sallow skin as he muttered incomprehensible words over and over. A flood of guilt swept through her again. Had she caused this?

The blanket had shifted in the night, exposing his bared chest, and the worry seeped further into her at how thin he was. Drifting higher, her gaze fixed on the silvery jagged pattern in his shoulder -- the scar he'd received long ago as the price of saving her -- and for a moment, she wondered if perhaps he would have been better off if they'd never crossed paths that day. She sighed a little at the thought. Perhaps he might have, but would she?

He moaned as he shifted in his sleep, his arm wrapping around his stomach protectively, while soft pleading calls of "No!" poured from his lips.

Paidea couldn't have stopped herself if she wanted to. In an instant, she was at his side, her hand lightly touching his clammy brow as she whispered soft, soothing words into his ear to reassure him he was safe and well. But if he heard her, he did not show it...at least, not at first. Eventually though, after she covered him back up in his blanket and whispered her promises of safety over and over, he stilled, the moans turning to whimpers as she stroked his hair back from his forehead, before he finally drifted to a fitful, if calmer, sleep.

She spent a good half of an hour by his side, simply stroking his hair and watching him as he slept. Though she was not completely sure if she was trying to assure herself that he was well or that she could salvage their friendship. All she did know in those moments was how completely unfair life was. She had gone her whole life without need for romantic attachments, for love...and now here it was, but she couldn't accept it. She wanted to cry...to scream...to rail at the heavens, but what good would it do? It would not change anything. She could quit her job now...and it still would not change anything. But he was right...denial was also living a lie, and she was beginning to wonder if she'd picked the right lie to live.

As a bird began its pre-dawn song, she rose to her feet, bending forward one last time to kiss his forehead and whisper "sweet dreams" into his cooling skin before padding back to her room and trying again for some sleep of her own.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The cool of the fading night immediately pricked the sticky heat of his skin as Snape stepped out into the garden. Even though he had pulled on his pyjama bottoms, more by habit than anything else, he still shivered as the cold seeped into his bones. Wrapping his arms around himself once more, he made his way to the stone bench. Hunched over, he sat, his body aching from the tension that had held it during his nightmares.

Nightmare. It didn't seem a fitting enough word for what he had experienced. He'd had nightmares before, plenty of them and more than he cared to dwell on. This hadn't felt like any of them. This felt real and insistent as it played over and over again, holding him in and making him live it rather than waking him as nightmares normally did.

He rocked gently back and forth, his eyes screwed shut as the memory flooded his mind -- clear and concise and with no fading of the images and the feelings as usual when one woke from a bad dream. He could still feel the shock, the panic, and the pain.

His mother's pain.

Her absolute fear.

The memory of eyes, hands, fear, the knifing pain in his gut, a blinding white light and pounding in his head, the iron taste of blood...his stomach turned over as nausea ripped through him and he hunched further, holding himself tighter.

It was a nightmare, that's all, his rational mind told him over and over, even while the rest of him screamed in violent protest. It felt too real. Far too real. He opened his eyes to stare at his bare feet in the dew sodden grass. But what if that was exactly what he was supposed to believe? What if he was being somehow manipulated to believe his nightmare was real? He wracked his brain for any hint of magic that might cause such a thing. Magic that would allow someone to invade his thoughts that way. To make him believe his mother's pain might be real.

But how could they? Even the strongest Legilimens would have to be near him and look right into his eyes to invade his mind so. A potion or charm designed to induce such nightmarish visions might do it, but again, no one knew where he was. That is unless something had happened and Dumbledore's defences had been breached. He snorted in internal derision. No one was as cautious as his headmaster. The old man would have ensured that only he knew who had taken Paidea and where. He would have kept the secret himself; after all, that was the whole point of being a Secret Keeper. There was no way any possible assailants could have found out from Dumbledore.

But what of his uncle? They had not heard from him in some time. He could be anywhere...someone might have caught him, and they could have used Steven's knowledge of his nephew's attachment to his mother to...

No...that couldn't be. If they had caught Steven and found out who was with Paidea in order for them to somehow concoct an attack on Snape, then they would just as easily have concocted a much simpler and less messy plan to lure Paidea away directly.

It was either a nightmare or a vision. But he had never had a vision before. He was no seer. He had no power of sight into the future. But then it might not be the future; his blood ran cold at the thought. And if so, then it need not have been magic at all. At least not the kind he lived with every day. It need be nothing more than simple connection. The most basic and powerful of connections on which some of the most powerful spells in the Wizarding world were based, over which wars were currently being fought -- blood.

Even Muggles spoke of premonitions about loved ones, foreknowledge or shared experience over distances with those they were attached to most deeply. As Snape came to understand magic, he also learned to understand that there was much in the world that was still beyond anyone's explanation, wizard or Muggle. He was a sceptical person, cynical even, but primarily about the conscious motivations of those who inhabited the world around him. He mistrusted people, their reasoning, and the actions born of those reasons, but did not mistrust the world, magic, nature, or the gifts they so often gave.

Above all, he trusted in his abilities and his knowledge of himself. And he could not now deny what he felt. The intensity of the experience was too strong to just dismiss as a nightmare. A gnawing need existed within him to discern the truth of it. A need which could be assuaged one way and one way only.

His hand closed into a fist as he raised his eyes to watch the sunrise lighten the horizon. He couldn't stay here. He couldn't take the chance that the nightmare was simply that. Something had happened to his mother; he could feel it. He had to go. She was the one person in the world in whom he had absolute faith. The one person he could rely on to to reciprocate his love.

He straightened on the bench, his gaze moving back to the sea as he carefully began to formulate words to try to explain the situation to Paidea without her thinking he was running away because -- pain of a different sort struck him -- of what had happened last night. He would not have her, or Dumbledore for that matter, think him a coward. This was not some foolish trick of the mind to give him an excuse to run away from rejection or a job that was beyond him. He would leave neither of them in any doubt of that...no one would ever accuse him of cowardice.

Neither his stiff posture nor forward gaze changed as he suddenly broke the silence around him. "You can stay...if you wish."

Paidea froze where she stood just three feet behind him on the grass. "Are you all right?" she asked him quietly, still anxious about him after his night of nightmares.

Silent for a long moment, he rose to his feet and turned to her, his shoulders drawn back and his chin up, but there were unmistakable signs of tension on his face. "No, I'm not."

She nodded slowly, her hair fluttering in the light breeze and her expression deeply concerned. "You had a nightmare last night. Well, several of them."

"The same one," he replied, "with varying degrees of progression." He looked down for a moment and took a light breath before looking back at her. "I have to leave."

Her brow furrowed as she wondered how he had come to that conclusion. "Why? Because of your dreams? Or because..." Her voice drifted away as a deep, sharp pang hit her stomach.

"No," he said sharply, his fear of her thinking it was because of her or because of his inability to handle...whatever it was between them...making his voice harsher than he would have wished. "No..." he reiterated. "It's because of my dream," he told her as levelly as he could. "I don't believe it was a dream." He paused at her inquisitive expression, wishing he'd had more time to frame his explanation and knowing it sounded both foolish and just like an excuse to get away from her. But it had to be said, and he was intent on the truth. "I believe it was a vision of sorts...of my mother." His hands clasped tightly behind his back as he gazed at her unflinchingly.

Her brow furrowed even further as she tried to understand what he meant. "Your mother?" she repeated. "Is she...is she all right?"

"No. Or rather, I don't think so..." He swallowed. "I dreamt...or felt..." His brow furrowed, his gaze drifting as his mind went back to the experience. "There was...terrible fear. It was cold and dark...and damp...and she just wanted to go home...just wanted to get home...but she couldn't. There were hands on her...closing about her...suffocating her so she couldn't scream..." His entire body flinched. "And then the pain..." His head snapped up, his eyes wide, and he was gone, moving, speeding past her towards the cottage. "I have to go."

She hurried after him, which was hard to do in her rather voluminous dressing gown. "Severus! Severus, wait!" she called after him, finally managing to catch up as he reached the footpath to the door. Her hand caught hold of his arm. "I don't doubt for a moment that what you felt could be true. However, have you considered that this may just be an elaborate trap?" She stared at him intently, willing him to be sensible for just a moment longer. "That they are luring you away by harming your mother? Or perhaps simply attacking her for other reasons entirely?" She took a deep breath. "Your mother is a witch...married to a Muggle. That is not exactly a popular stance in its own right as of late."

For the first time ever, her touch felt like an irritant. "Of course I've thought of it. And what if it is? I can't sit here while she's being attacked...harmed. I need to know what's going on! Besides..." he shook her hand off and made for the cottage door, "how could anyone trap me this way? No one knows where I am. They wouldn't be able to cast such a spell to reach me, nor place a charm or potion to cause this without knowing it, and if they know where I am then why not just come for you. After all, it's not me they are after." He pushed the door open. "And if what has happened to her is coincidence, then there's no harm in my going."

"There is in your going alone and possibly getting yourself killed," she told him, outwardly calm, even though her worry for him had her stomach in knots and her nerves on edge.

"I have little choice," he replied, entering the cottage and making for his haversack. "I'm sorry. I'll take you back to Dumbledore using the Portkey. Explain to him. He will assign someone else to you. Someone better." He grabbed the bag and began to throw things into it. "It's for the best." He averted his eyes, knowing he didn't want to leave her even now, that to do so was to risk this being the last time he would ever be alone with her, leaving her the perfect excuse never to fall into temptation again.

She stared at him as she followed him inside. "If you think for one moment, Severus Snape, that I'm letting you go into possible danger by yourself...you have another thing coming." Her tone was firm as she folded her arms across her chest. Taking a deep breath, she crossed the room and headed for her door. "I'll be packed and ready to go in ten minutes."

He stopped and looked over at her. "You can't," he blurted more out of bewilderment than in opposition.

She spun around to face him, her eyebrow arching, but then moved back over to him, taking his hands in hers and squeezing them gently. "You are not alone, Severus."

"I...." He looked down at her hands and back at her, a surge of gratitude running through him even as he shook his head. "I'm supposed to keep you safe. You have to go back to Dumbledore. You're too important to risk."

Her mouth set just a little. "I am a grown woman, Severus, with the ability to make my own decisions. Now...do you really wish to spend precious minutes arguing with me about this...or shall we go and see to your mother? Together."

Her presence would be immeasurably comforting, he knew, but he should not let her come, should insist on her returning to safety. She had been ordered to, after all, by the Ministry. He should hex her and carry her back to Dumbledore if necessary.

And yet, his duty and obligation to her warred with his worry and simple need for a friend.

Though there were advantages to bringing her with him. His home was virtually at the ends of the earth. The Muggle world was hardly even aware of its existence, never mind the Wizarding one. No one, not even 'You Know Who' would ever think Dumbledore would leave her with a seventeen year old wizard, and certainly, they would never look for the aristocratic Paidea Abernathy in the grim industrial environs of Spinner's End. It would be like thinking to look for a diamond in a slurry pit.

They would only be there a short time. And if it proved otherwise, well...he could take the Portkey -- the enchanted custard tin Dumbledore had created that would instantly take whoever touched it and spoke his name to the headmaster. It could, therefore, be easily packed. If he had to remain -- Snape swallowed at the thought -- then she could use it to return to Dumbledore. The same was true if anyone came that he or his family did not know, for she would simply use the spell and be sent from danger immediately.

"Very well," he agreed quietly.

She nodded, squeezing his hands again before reluctantly letting them go. "Now..." she said softly, "I better find myself something suitably Mugglish to wear." And with that, she turned and hurried back to her room.

Dressing quickly and returning to his own packing, he could not help but wish his uncle was here to join them. He was midway through stuffing his meagre belongings into the haversack when he stopped, remembering something. "Elly!" he barked.

There was a faint pop and Elly appeared on top of the couch. "Yes, Mr. Severus?" she enquired, seeming a bit confused at what was going on.

"Your Mistress and I are leaving." He grabbed his books and jammed them into the increasingly bulging bag. "We are going to my home." Moving across the room, he gathered up his auto quill and scrolls and carefully gathered up the Portkey. "You must stay here."

She frowned and appeared even more confused, her hands twisting her apron anxiously. "Leave? Stay? Where is Mr. Severus's home?"

"In the north, far to the north," he snapped hurriedly, trying to keep images from his dream from flashing through his mind as he moved about. "Your mistress and I are going there. I don't know how long we will be, but you cannot come. You have to stay here to tell my uncle if...when...he comes back. He knows where it is."

Elly nodded quickly. "Of course, Mr. Severus. Elly shall keep this home running smoothly while the Mistress and Mr. Severus are away."

"If anyone comes...hide," he told her, yanking the drawstring of the haversack shut. "Make it look like the place is lived in. Move things around outside, but don't let anyone see you." He stopped and looked at her, his black eyes boring into her large brown ones. "If...if you don't hear from either me...or my uncle...after five days, go to Dumbledore, do you understand?"

She nodded. "Five days. Yes, sir! Elly will do."

"Good." He nodded brusquely and was about to let her go when he stopped, gazing at her intently again. She had annoyed him greatly this past while, but she had also proven her worth and her usefulness...and she was most certainly trustworthy. "Here," he relented, beckoning her closer as he undid his bag and pulled out his parchment and pen. Scribbling something quickly on a corner of a scroll, he tore it off. "Here..." he handed it to her, "in case you need to find us. It's where I live."

She took the paper, reading it and committing it to memory before slipping it into her apron pocket. "Elly will find if needed."

He gave her a grave look. "If anyone comes...anyone at all, destroy that and tell no one. No matter what."

Her chin rose and a very firm expression set on her face. "Elly will keep the Mistress safe."

"Good," he said again, though this time a hint of approval was reflected in his eyes. "And I will do the same."

Elly's eyes watched him closely for a moment before she too nodded in approval. "Elly trusts that Mr. Severus will."

The teen and the house-elf regarded each other a second or two more before the former rose up and retied his bag, adding sharply, "And don't add any new floors to the cottage while we're gone." Swinging his bag over his shoulder, he grabbed his robes and folded them over his arm. "Paidea," he called loudly, crossing to the centre of the room, impatient to be off.

She hurried from the bedroom almost immediately, a large bag over her shoulder as she swung a long cape on over her body and fastened the silver clasp. "I'm ready," she told him, adjusting her long, wavy chestnut hair.

Normally her appearance would have been the first thing he took in, but beyond her state of readiness he didn't care what she wore or how she looked. He just wanted to be gone, the knot of tension in his stomach like a lead weight. "Say your goodbyes quickly," he urged.

Paidea nodded and turned to her servant, whispering instructions of her own to her and promising to be careful before she turned back to her companion. "I'm ready."

Turning, he made for the door and looked out, checking the road. "It's clear," he said tersely and strode off down the path and out the gate, heading down the grassy sun soaked slope and into the shade of the wood beyond, his eyes fixed on the path that would lead them into the quiet clearing.

On reaching the dappled, earthy area, he stopped, only then turning back to see if his charge was still in close attendance, and on noting that she was, stretched out his hand to her. "We'll be Apparating...side by side."

"All right," she agreed with a nod, taking his hand and pulling her hood over her head.

Tightening his hold on his bag and robe, he tried to push away all his thoughts and fears and concentrate solely on the spell, the danger of Splinching magnified with a passenger in tow. A moment later, the pull of the Apparation spell grabbed both of them and with a pop, they reappeared under not nearly as blue a sky.

A blue grey pall hung above them, blocking the sun's full light into the quiet, cobbled backstreet of an industrial northern town. The only colour around them was the dull blackened red of the bricks in the walls that led on either side of them into the backyards of the small terraced houses, and the occasional yellow of a dandelion that grew through a crack along the cobbles' edge.

Looking around quickly, he satisfied himself on the relative safety of their surroundings. "Take your hood down. It's all right," he said, only then thinking to let go of her hand.

Nodding, she slowly pulled back her hood and gazed around their new environment. "Is it going to rain?" she enquired about the darker skies.

"No," he replied, readjusting the bag on his shoulder. "That haze is just the smog. This way." He pointed, heading to their left.

Following him, she stared around at the scenery in open fascination. "What is...smog?"

His mouth was dry, his stomach churning nervously. "What?" Her question distracted him from his fevered hopes that he was wrong and desperate thoughts of what he would do if he wasn't. "Oh...smog. It's a build up of pollution in the atmosphere from over use of fossil fuels...coal and oil used in the factories, mills, and engines mostly."

"I see," she replied, not really understanding him at all but not wishing to look completely stupid. Her eyes looked over the brick houses with their gleaming brass knockers, scrubbed steps, and complete absence of greenery apart from a small tree here and there and a communal park in the distance. Everything seemed woefully cramped. She had never really ventured around Muggle London, and had to wonder if this was really how Muggles lived. "Is it far to your home?"

He shoved his hair back off his face as a gust of wind channelling down the street pushed it into his eyes. "Not far."

They took a left turn out into the street proper where children were playing in small groups along the flagstone paths, some playing football in the road. Two or three little girls impeded their way, chanting as they played hopscotch, one of their number expertly wending her way through the chalked out numbers.

Paidea watched them out of the corner of her eye in fascination. She had a million questions but, aware of the need for haste, hurried along next to him.

Moving out onto the road to avoid the girls, he strode on, stepping back up onto the path as a battery driven milk van hummed around the corner, the bottles clinking as it bounced over the uneven road. A tall, strident-looking woman, dressed in a floral housecoat, her hair in rollers under a scarf, and her arms folded over her ample bosom, nodded tersely at the milkman who gave her a cheery wave. Her eyes fell on the passing young couple and one eyebrow arched at Paidea in her cape, the gesture as regal as the diplomat had ever seen. A sniff completed the act of mild disapproval before the woman reached behind her and drew out a box of cleaning materials, setting to work on polishing her front door's brasses.

Smiling in bemusement at the woman, Paidea gave her a respectful nod before returning her eyes to the rest of the homes around them. "She disapproved of me...have I done something amiss?"

"You're a stranger..." he muttered, "and you dress differently."

Her brow furrowed lightly. "Oh, and that is...bad?"

"Strangers only tend to mean two things in areas like this -- trouble or someone looking for their money...generally both." He glanced at her. "I wouldn't take it personally."

"It seems that the Muggle view and the Wizarding view are not so different after all when it comes to things that are new," she considered.

"People cling to what they know and trust," he said. "Familiar is often preferable to new even if new means better."

He took a right turn onto a narrower street, not looking neither left nor right, his eyes solely on his destination. He tried not to think about the complexities of bringing Paidea here, most particularly in the company of his father. He had no idea how the elder Snape would react to his son's sudden arrival. If he was wrong about all this, Tobias would likely be furious at his son's traipsing another witch into his home...especially one who so obviously knew next to nothing about Muggles, despite her pro-Muggle stance. Right now though, even that humiliation was preferable to his being right about his mother.

Finding the heat rather stifling without the fresh sea air of the coast to cool her, Paidea drew off her cape as something caught her eye. "What is that?" she asked in mystification and no small concern as she caught sight of a large, brick, cylindrical object in the distance. "It's huge! And on fire!"

"It's the chimney at the factory, and don't worry -- it's not on fire," he answered, barely glancing at the object of her attention, his mind focused on what was ahead and what he was about to bring her into. It was only fair to prepare her somewhat, he thought with a quick glance at her, only for his head to snap back around in a double take as for the first time, he saw what she had been wearing under the cape.

She nodded, her eyes wide at the size of it. "Amazing." Shaking her head, she turned to smile at him, only to notice his expression. "Is something wrong?"

His eyes flickered from the patchwork gypsy style skirt hanging low on her hips to her jumper, or rather the lack of it. The short, cropped sweater, straight out of the poster of a flower power concert from a decade previous, ended just under her rather full bosom and left plenty of her tanned midriff on show. At any other time, he would be lost in admiration...and more. But right now, walking down the streets of his home, trying to be inconspicuous, and about to meet his father, it was an entirely different story. "What are you wearing?" he hissed.

She looked down in puzzlement. "A typical Muggle summer outfit," she replied. "I copied it from the picture of a fashion magazine I found at the cottage."

"A typical..." he began and bit down hard on the acerbic comment he could feel bubbling up. "Never mind. It doesn't matter. Not now," he finished quietly as they arrived at the small row of houses marked 'Spinner's End.'

Noticing his change of tone, she turned to gaze at the row of houses on the dead-end street. "Are we here?" she asked, her voice equally hushed.

With a single nod of his head, he moved on, slower this time, all his focus on one solitary door at the end of the row. Every muscle in his body felt as rigid as iron as they covered the last few yards to his home. He swallowed hard, nausea welling within him once more as he pulled on his off-black shirt collar. "I should warn you..." he said in something just barely above a whisper, "my father, he doesn't care for magic and has a tendency towards...drinking."

Her hand slipped into his both in reassurance and to remind him he was not alone in this. "Duly warned," she replied softly.

This time, he didn't move his hand from hers, holding it in his as he stepped to the door. Standing there for a moment and trying to steel himself for whatever was to come, he knocked on the door with quick, loud raps.

When no answer came, he banged again, followed by a third round and fourth, each unanswered knock increasing the sick feeling in his stomach. His mother was at work, he told himself, his father out...or drunk. That's all. That's all it is. He was just about to reach for his key when the sound of the lock being unlatched made him freeze.

The door opened to reveal his father standing there, pale, glassy-eyed, fragile...and completely sober.

"Severus," Tobias murmured in surprise, his eyes flickering from his son to the woman beside him and down to their conjoined hands before moving back to his son's face.

"Mother?" was the only answer Tobias received.

The elder Snape flinched, and his son knew without a shadow of a doubt it was all true -- everything he'd seen...and felt. Tobias stepped aside. "Come in."

Severus didn't move. "Where is she?"

"Not here, lad..." Tobias answered, his voice shaking. "Come in."

"Severus," Paidea whispered encouragingly, squeezing his hand.

His head moved imperceptibly at the sound of her voice, and after another second or two, he stepped inside into the small hallway, drawing Paidea after him and allowing Tobias to close the door after them. Putting his bag down on the floor, he turned back to his father, his face half in shadow. "Tell me."

Paidea held back a sigh at his abruptness, well able to perceive both men were in pain. "Severus...not here," she said softly. "Let's go sit down...and talk."

She laid her bag and cloak down next to her companion's and glanced to see if that was acceptable with Severus's father.

"I don't want to talk. I want him to tell me where my mother is," the teen answered, cutting off any response from his father in a voice that seemed cool but which trembled on the edge of something much deeper.

"And he will..." Her tone was soothing but firm, for she sensed that this situation could quite easily spiral out of control. "But it's obvious that there is something going on and I've long learned that standing in hallways is not the best way to get answers." Her hand squeezed his again as she gestured to an old couch and chair. "Give him a chance to tell you what happened."

The two men stood, staring at one another, until the younger nodded sharply. Tobias turned and moved into the tiny front room to take a seat in his well-worn chair, every movement that of an exhausted man. Severus by contrast sat quickly, bolt upright, virtually quivering on the edge of his seat.

Paidea sat down gracefully, alert but with her hands folded on her lap. "Mr. Snape, it is good to see you again," she greeted him, slipping into her familiar role as mediator. "I am sorry it is at such a time. Please...can you tell us what happened to your wife?"

Tobias stared at her, her words confusing him. "Sorry, lass..." he mumbled, "do I know yeh?"

She smiled a little, her fingers rising to her locket. "My name is Paidea Abernathy. We met eight years ago...also in less than ideal circumstances," she answered with a tinge of irony in her voice but also deep sympathy for his plight.

"Paidea...Abernathy..." He puzzled over it, like a man trying to see through a fog, his local accent, hidden in an effort to 'better' himself, more pronounced now in his weariness and sober anxiousness. "Aye...yeh're..."

"TELL ME!" Severus blasted, half rising to his feet, his eyes flashing furiously, and setting his father reeling back.

"She's i' St. Mary's..." Tobias said hurriedly, half raising his hands for fear his son was going to launch himself at him, which truth to tell, given the teenager's stance, was a direct possibility. "Ah've been there all neet with her. Ah...ah came 'oome to try 'n fin' some way...some way t' contact yeh..."

The young man's blood ran cold. If his father was attempting to find him magically, then... "What happened?" he hissed.

"She..." Tobias's hands shook as he spoke, his eyes dropping from his son's. "She's bin working late t' factory. Overtime. She'd taken on special order...summat elaborate or other. Boss promised her triple time...plus bonus if she brought it in on time." He glanced at Paidea in embarrassment. "Ah'd got a job see...part time..." He looked back at his son. "Bin cuttin' the drinkin'...we're hopin' to take a holiday."

Snape kept in his scathing commentary about his father still not holding down a permanent job. "Go on," he barked.

"She...she left, later even than usual...'n..." His voice started to shake almost as badly as his hands. "'N...ah don't know why but...she...she took t' shortcut."

Paidea's hand again found the young man next to hers as she got an inkling of what was going to come next, and tried to feed him strength enough to cope.

His hand was like unyielding steel as he sat unmoving, and his father continued, "She was...attacked..." Tobias whispered, "beaten...they...they threw her against t' wall. They...knifed her. For nowt, Severus..." he said aghast. "She'd nowt on her but pennies!"

Paidea's free hand rose to her mouth in shock.

"Why didn't she defend herself?" Snape asked in an ice cold voice.

His father blinked back tears, wrong-footed and disorientated by his son's question. "Defend? I...appen they took her unawares, Severus...took her so she couldn't hit back...nor run."

His son's voice was as hard as diamonds. "No..." His lip curled back. "Defend herself, Father. The way she knew how...the way she could have helped herself even if taken unawares."

Tobias swallowed and said nothing.

Paidea squeezed his hand again. "Severus, this isn't helping," she told him, her tone soft and pleading. "How is she, Mr. Snape? Were the Healers able to help her?"

"Why didn't she have her wand, Father?" the young man repeated, ignoring her words, his voice still low and hard. "Why no defensive hexes at the ready, or charms?" He leaned closer. "Why, Father?"

Tobias trembled as he reached for his jacket on the chair beside him and slowly drew something out of the inside of it. "She 'ad her wand wi' her..." he whispered, holding the dark wood out in front of him. "They found it on t' ground by her...reachin' out..." His words stopped suddenly as his voice broke.

Severus stared at it and the way Tobias was cradling it gently in his hands. He'd never even seen his father acknowledge the existence of his mother's wand before, never mind hold it. To see it there, to see his father react so...the fear in his eyes, in his voice... In an instant, the teenager had risen from the couch, his blood like ice in his veins. "I'm going to her."

Paidea quickly got to her feet as well. "Do you know where she is?"

"In St. Mary's, he said." The word was filled with withering contempt despite his father's own suffering. "What ward?" he demanded of him

"St...St. Michael's, in intensive care." Tobias stared at him. "It will take yeh an hour to get there. T' buses are on go slow...pendin' a strike."

"Buses..." Severus sneered and moved to the doorway.

"You're goin' to..." Tobias rose and made a gesture which just prompted his son's lip curl in even further disdain. The older man nodded. "Can you take me back there with yeh, lad?"

Severus regarded his father, never smaller nor more vulnerable in his eyes. "No." And with that, he turned and headed for the kitchen, grabbing his haversack from the hall on the way.

Giving the older man a sympathetic look, Paidea ran after her friend. "Severus! Severus, wait!" she called to him, managing to catch up with him as he was opening the haversack roughly. She watched as he pulled out his jacket and the Portkey custard tin, leaving the latter on the Formica kitchen table top. "Do you want me to come with you?" she asked softly.

Moving away from her and yanking on his jacket, he opened the door forcefully. "No.

Her hand touched his arm, turning him a little and a breath later, she was in his arms, holding him tightly. There was no thought in her any longer if that was wrong or right, she was simply filled with the knowledge that he needed her and she needed and wanted to be there for him. She held him quietly, listening to the sound of his heart, taking his pain into her...feeding him her calm.

He thought to push her away, his hands moving to do just that. He didn't need her sympathy on top of everything, and he certainly didn't need her perplexing and confusing reactions to make things even more complicated and painful, not now. The situation was hard enough as it was without her offering him her warmth, only to turn and withdraw it all again once this crisis was over.

But instead, his arms closed about her and he held her, taking what she had to offer, even if for just a moment...because he needed it and needed her. "My father will take care of you. Let him answer the door, and keep away from the windows. Do not leave the house for any reason. Place some wards if you wish; my father is in no mood to object. You are to use the Portkey at the slightest suspicion of danger," he told her, his voice quick and forceful.

"All right," she murmured, nodding her head against his chest.

He relaxed slightly at her acquiescence, his voice slightly calmer as he drew away. "I'll be back soon."

"Be safe," she whispered, touching his cheek. Her gaze caught where her hand was and with a deep breath, she removed it, but only to slip the emerald ring from her finger and place it in his hand. "Take this," she told him. "Just say or think Cela and the charm will be cast...and Appare to make you visible again. It might be useful if there's...if there is danger." She bit her lip, deep worry in her eyes. "Please be safe. You and your mother."

He nodded, enclosing her ring in his palm, grateful and touched even if he didn't say as much. Turning from her, he walked outside into the yard, moving to the small shed away from the prying eyes of any neighbours' upstairs back windows.

Paidea stood in the doorway, her gaze never leaving him until with a jerky swish of his wand, he vanished from her sight. "Please be safe," she whispered once more, irrevocably knowing that he not only took her ring with her on his quest...but her heart.