Replay

Replay

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Chapter Nineteen

Inheritance

"Are you sure you don't need help?" Hermione asked Harry nervously as she watched him float the frying pan from the cooker to the kitchen table. After the cast-iron pan finally landed with a clanging thud Harry sat opposite Hermione and nodded at her.

"No, I'm fine. It's just that I don't know where Ginny's put the--you know," he floundered. "Those bloody things for carrying hot pots about." He pointed at the pan. "I don't have a lot of finesse as a cook, but it's always edible. Or nearly always," he added with a grimace. "The girls won't let me do porridge anymore. But I can do toasted cheese sandwiches without a problem," he said, nodding at the pan.

Casting about for a utensil to remove her sandwich and trying not to touch the pan, she ended up sliding her knife under the bread, tugging on it. Smiling feebly at Harry, she said, "Mm. Smells delicious. It's just--a little stuck--" She finally extracted it and dropped it quickly onto her plate; Harry was already grasping his in one hand, fingernails a bit on the grubby side, and downing pumpkin juice between large bites.

"What did you want to talk about? We could have gone out for lunch--the Leaky Cauldron, perhaps," she suggested, beginning to primly cut her sandwich into small squares; stabbing a piece with her fork, she put it into her mouth and began to chew slowly just as Harry popped the last fragment of his sandwich into his mouth.

"No thanks. It's a madhouse there right now. Too many Hogwarts shopping expeditions at this time of summer, which often includes Snape. Last time I went I ran into him with a Muggle-born family and he was crosser than ever because of that." Harry smiled ruefully. "I think he forgot about that part of the job when Minerva offered him the deputy post after Dumbledore retired. Those of us who've only been teaching for a few years can usually get out of things like that--I know that I'm always 'previously engaged'--but if no one else is available the deputy hasn't any choice." Hermione could tell that the thought of Snape having to endure clueless Muggle families was rather amusing to Harry, even if running into the Potions master in Diagon Alley wasn't. "Ginny and the girls left for Flourish and Blotts about an hour ago; she's making sure the new text we ordered for sixth and seventh years is in stock, Rory still has a bit of her birthday money and wants to go to the stationer's to buy some of that ink I like that changes colours, and Ruby will probably be staring in at the window of The Magical Menagerie, wishing she could own all of their most dangerous creatures." He sighed and looked covetously at Hermione's sandwich.

Hermione smiled as she put her knife and fork down. "It really is as though she's channelling Hagrid sometimes, isn't it?"

Harry didn't look happy about this, however. "Yes, and I don't mean that in a good way. We don't know what to do with her anymore. The last time all four of us went to Diagon Alley she found a Cruppie..."

"A what?" she said, frowning.

"A Cruppie. Well, that's what I call it, anyway. A Crup puppy. It was a stray; she stuffed it into her bag and we had no idea she'd picked it up until we'd already got off the Knight Bus and were walking up the drive...."

"So are you letting her keep it? I've never actually seen one in person, only pictures, but they seem quite cute. I always liked Jack Russell terriers...."

"It isn't a Jack Russell terrier, Hermione. It's a hell-hound," he grumbled.

The corners of her mouth were turned up slightly as she put her fork in her mouth again. After she chewed and swallowed she said, "Surely it's not that bad, Harry.... And we've seen a hell-hound at close range. Remember Fluffy?" She drained her pumpkin juice and went to get more from the fridge; Harry made an angry sound in his throat and when she turned around with her filled glass she nearly dropped it in shock; what seemed to be a small Jack Russell terrier with a split tail was standing on his hind legs on her chair, picking up the uneaten half of her sandwich in his mouth, then bounding away with it.

Harry looked at her, standing with her mouth open still. "No, surely it's not that bad, Hermione," he intoned, rolling his eyes. "It's all we can do to get our post anymore. Muggle post, that is. I'd forgotten how much Crups hate Muggles until the first time after Ruby had brought him home and the postman was trying to make a delivery... And Ron was here, of course, so he started going on again about how that's what you get if you want to live like a Muggle, with electricity and a telephone and so on. Without all that we'd never need to get the Muggle post, you see." He grimaced. "I felt like hexing him to remind him that I haven't exactly given up magic on principle, even though I--" He stopped, a rather grim expression on his face, turning to stare at the stained glass window over the sink, which depicted three women standing by an empty tomb, confronted by a white-clad angel; the sun behind the glass made the angel glow eerily. Hermione didn't think he was actually seeing it, though; his mind seemed to be elsewhere.

She sighed. "I don't suppose it occurred to you to stop him taking my food? Or was that to illustrate your point? Haven't you ever heard of training? Show him who's boss, teach him what is and isn't acceptable, such as not attacking the postman. I had to do that with Crookshanks. Well, he didn't attack the postman. Of course, he's rather like an old throw rug these days, poor old man. A fifteen-year-old cat doesn't get up to much." She took a sip of her pumpkin juice and looked at him over the rim of her glass.

"Cat-Kneazle hybrid," Harry corrected her. "Be grateful he's not all Kneazle, like Mrs Norris. That damn animal doesn't just terrorise the students, she still terrorises the other teachers as well. When will she die? She's been around forever...."

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. I think that Crookshanks is likely to live longer than a typical cat, but I don't know what that will mean. He certainly doesn't exert himself. At any rate, there's still the training issue for--what's the dog's name?"

"Crup. Please don't dignify that thing with the title of 'dog,'" Harry said with a shudder. "Fang was a dog. Even Fluffy was a dog, of sorts." Hermione waited to see whether he would mention Sirius, but he did not, although she noticed that he hesitated for a moment, as though he was thinking about it. "And you wouldn't believe what she wants to call it: Hades. Not that it's not appropriate for that animal, in a way. But why not just call it 'Satan' or 'Beelzebub' and have done with it?"

"Actually, Hades wasn't really evil, just the god of the under--" Hermione stopped, colouring. Harry grinned at her.

"I'm supposed to be the teacher now, remember?" he said, poking her arm playfully, but she looked more sober, not less, when he did this.

"Harry--I'm assuming that you didn't ask me to come for lunch so that you could give me a burnt sandwich and feed half to Ruby's pet Crup. Something's wrong. I can tell."

"Erm, sorry about the food. Perhaps we have some takeaway curry in the fridge; we always seem to..."

"Harry."

He spread his hands on the old wooden table, staring at the empty frying pan between them as though he found it fascinating. "It's Ruby. Her smuggling the Cruppie home is really just the tip of the iceberg. We don't know what to do with her. It's baffling; I was somewhat prepared for a repeat of Fred and George, twins who were partners in crime, always pulling pranks. But Rory's a little angel. The moment you ask her to do anything--it's done. Ask her a question and you get a full, polite answer. Ask Ruby to do anything and she wants to get into a debate about whether she should, or can do it, or she wants to negotiate terms. Ask a question and you get a grunt, some made-up sign-language, or she changes the subject to avoid answering altogether. I'm at my wit's end, and so is Ginny. And if Moody jumps in--as he always will--and tells her off for not obeying her parents, she tells him to bugger off. She's only eight years old, Hermione!"

"Well, at least once she's a Hogwarts student her parents will be there, teaching, so she knows that if Minerva tells her she's going to have a meeting with her parents it isn't an idle threat. It'll certainly be easy enough..."

"I don't mean how are we going to threaten her into doing what she should. That hasn't worked so far," he grumbled, slumping in his chair and crossing his arms. "I just never thought being a father would be so--"

"--challenging?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I just don't get it. For twins they're so different. It's just a damn good thing we can tell them apart or Ruby would try to exploit that for her schemes..."

Hermione smiled. "You did get lucky there. I think Molly still can't tell Fred and George apart. She just has to go with the fifty-fifty odds that her guess is the right one. They go out of their way to have identical haircuts, of course, just to be difficult. At least you get to say, 'Oh, your left eye is green and your right is brown, so you're Rory, and your left eye is brown and your right is green, so you're Ruby.'"

Harry grimaced. "Maybe that's why they're so different; they're mirror images. Rory got all of the good behavior genes and Ruby got the misbehaving ones..." He sighed loudly. "It's all my fault. I wish now that I hadn't been such a rule-breaker when I was a kid. Now Ruby's just like me and I haven't a clue how to deal with her. I reckon I deserve it...." When Hermione laughed he jerked his head up, puzzled. "What's so funny?"

"What's so funny? You've got it completely backward, that's what's funny. Harry, good little Rory is you all over again. I know you don't think of yourself that way, but it's amazing, after the rotten way your family treated you, that you showed up at Hogwarts all, 'Yes, sir, no sir, may I please, sir.' Ron was, of course, a terrible influence on you and by your fifth year you were capable of being quite rude when you wanted to be," she added with a sniff. "But Ruby--she's Ginny all over again. Don't you remember my telling you about how she'd been sneaking into the broom shed since she was six? And remember that time she was sent to bed and was screaming all up and down the house?"

Harry grinned. "At the time I thought--well, she wasn't taking it lying down. Good on her. I didn't think of it as bad behavior. I wouldn't have taken it, either."

"Yes, you would have, Harry. Because what you did when you were told to go upstairs wasn't anything like what Ginny did. You went. You didn't go happily, but you went, without the histrionics. Now, Ginny is my friend and I love her dearly, but you're right--she doesn't take things lying down. And neither does Ruby. Perhaps you need to see her as a younger version of your wife--whom I know you love--to appreciate her."

"I appreciate her! I just don't know how to raise her," he said in exasperation.

Hermione shrugged. "I'll talk to her, spend some more time with her. Is that why you asked me to come here? To see whether Auntie Hermione could lend a hand? Perhaps I should take her to work with me next week, show her what I do."

Harry tried his hardest not to make a face. "Erm, don't you think she'd be a bit bored watching you engaging in elf labour negotiations all day?"

She sighed. "That's not all I do. I also investigate reports of wizards who've put restraining and self-punishment spells on their elves, or who refuse to pay them in a timely fashion or give them their benefits. None of which is easy. The investigating, I mean." She sighed again and looked at her empty plate; Harry thought he heard her stomach rumbling. "You know, I have a couple of nice domestic elves looking for work. They could help you out around here; their wages are quite reasonable..."

Harry laughed. "All right, all right. Why don't we drive into the village and I'll get you a proper lunch at the pub? Will that do?"

She sighed again, this time with relief. "That sounds lovely. I think I hear a steak-and-kidney pie calling me, and a nice pint."

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Severus Snape glanced at the letterbox, then down at the parchment in his hand. Latere Farm. Yes, he had the right place. He looked down the long drive, beech trees arching overhead. At the end he could see a large, rambling farmhouse; it seemed a civilised enough place. He hoped that the family wouldn't take his news poorly.

This wasn't the first time he'd visited a Muggle family to discuss their magical child. He'd accepted that he could no longer escape this burden, as he had consistently for years, when Minerva had named him her deputy. She'd done it often enough, surely, when Sprout, Hooch or one of the others was unavailable. He sighed as he began to walk down the road; it was a different story entirely to inform a family that they did not have a Muggle-born magical child but a half-blood one. He felt like hexing some wizards of his acquantance who went about "seeding" young Muggle women, no thought at all for whether the women might find themselves raising a witch or wizard with no idea of how to handle the child. Most of the time the Don Juans hadn't told the women they were wizards and usually departed without a word. The wizards got off without having to take care of their children in any way while Snape or another Hogwarts teacher was saddled with visiting the families when the children were only a month away from entering magic school so that it could be explained that, in addition to being a blighter, the child's father had also neglected to mention that he was a wizard.

He'd encountered hostility more than once. He didn't blame the poor abandoned women (and more than once, the children had been living in what he considered to be sub-human conditions). But even though he could understand the root of the hostility, he still didn't relish the idea of having to defend himself, without magic, from an irate woman swinging a cast-iron pan at him, nor being screamed at for an hour (about the pillock who was the child's father, of course).

When Minerva had told him that all of the other teachers were "indisposed" and that there was no response to one of the Hogwarts letters sent to a first-year who was down in the book as a half-blood, Severus had not shown any response in his features; he knew his duty. He'd already visited about half of the new Muggle-born students. Now it was time to clean up the odds and ends and attend to the students who were not Muggle-born but who had not yet replied to their Hogwarts letters.

As he drew closer to the farmhouse, Severus could see that it was the same yellow colour as the dust of the unpaved road on which he walked. A neatly-kept thatched roof ranged over the long, low rambling house and window boxes spilled a profusion of colourful flowers down the timber-and-daub walls. Off to the side he could see a stable and a fenced-in paddock where some rather worn-looking horses were grazing lazily. In another paddock next to that one some sheep wandered about stupidly, occasionally nibbling at the grass. An overexcited border collie occasionally barked and nipped at their heels.

He was unaccustomed to visiting such a setting with this sort of news. He'd become far more familiar with trudging through slums; while council housing was neither falling to bits nor luxurious, much of it did tend toward being slightly run-down. And many of the unwed mothers of half-blood children didn't even seem to bother to try to get council flats or cottages. Ah, well. Women of any social class can be taken in by a clever wizard. He'd never attempted to waylay a Muggle woman, and he hadn't even been with a witch for almost six years. It was hard for him to believe that it was already ten years since the Dark Lord had fallen. He set his mouth into a hard, uncompromising line. These people are lucky they're not entering the wizarding world of those dark years....

He finally stood before the red-painted door, swallowing and taking a deep breath before knocking. After a minute, the door was opened by a heavy-set young woman with messy brown hair. She examined him critically; he was dressed as he always was for these trips: black trousers and shirt (making him rather hot on this August afternoon), black Muggle jacket rather than robes, his hair pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.

"What do you want, Father?" she demanded when he didn't speak immediately.

He frowned. "Father?"

She nodded at him. "Well, it's a bit hot, so I see you took off your dog collar, but I still know a priest when I see one."

Severus tried not to choke. "No, miss, I am not a priest. I just happen to be wearing black garments. This is Latere Farm, is it not?"

"Yeah," she said slowly, her eyes narrowing. "Who wants to know?"

"My name is Severus Snape and I am the deputy headmaster at the school Theodore will be attending in September. We did not receive a--a reply to Theodore's acceptance letter and so I have come to talk to him about--about the school."

She nodded. "Yeah, Teddy said he got a school letter of some sort. Didn't say which school, though. He was pretty excited, too. Can't imagine why he wouldn't have written back. All right, come in then. You can wait in the living room while I get his mum."

Severus was shaken. "Oh. Then--you're not his mother."

She sniffed. "I'm the housekeeper. Come on, come on. I'll tell her to shake a leg."

"Thank you," he said uncertainly, following her into the house. The flagstones in the hall had been worn down at the edges from what appeared to be centuries of constant use. A jumble of Wellington boots littered the corner and some jackets and umbrellas hung on hooks near the boots; all of these things were covered with a layer of dust. The ceiling was oppressively low, obviously built when people did not grow to be very tall. Severus had to duck when going through the doorway to the living room.

"I'll put on a spot of tea," the housekeeper announced before leaving him. Naturally attracted to the most uncomfortable-looking seat in the room, Severus sat awkwardly in the middle of a stiff horsehair sofa, his large hands folded in his lap. Other than his seat, it appeared to be a comfortable room, with another sofa that looked far more squashy and forgiving sitting perpendicular to his, facing the empty fireplace. Reading lamps were placed conveniently nearby on tables piled with books and plants. A cat was curled on the brightly-coloured hearth rug; it had not yet taken notice of a stranger being in its house and continued to sleep. Small chairs and stools appeared to be scattered randomly throughout the room, often with books, knitting, newspapers or used cups and saucers stacked upon them. He had his doubts about whether the mother should be paying the housekeeper, as she evidently ignored this room, and the hall too, it seemed. He could see a multitude of dust motes dancing in a sunbeam shining in through one of the diamond-paned windows. Could use a conscientious house-elf or two, he thought.

The housekeeper had left the living room door open; he could see into the front hall and through the kitchen doorway, which she'd also left open. This was evidently where the mother was.

"A man to see you, ma'am," he heard the housekeeper say. "About Teddy's schooling."

"Oh, really? That's wonderful! Let me call him--"

Severus Snape heard her struggle to open an old casement window, then winced at her very loud and un-ladylike bellow. "Teddy! Please come here!"

A moment later, he heard, to his surprise, the clopping of horse's hooves. "I was just about to come over anyway, Mum," he heard the boy say excitedly in a high, piping voice. "I had to tell you! I got her to go over the first two fences! It was just like flying! Brilliant, that's all, simply brilliant."

"That's lovely, darling, but I'm afraid that you'll have to do more practise jumping another time. Walk her back to the stable and get Dorothy to cool her down and muck out the stall. We have a guest I'd like you to meet."

"A guest?" Severus Snape could hear suspicion in his voice. "Don't you mean--?"

"No, I do not. This guest is here to see you. I'm not planning to date him, don't worry about that. He wants to talk to us about your school."

"My school?" he said, sounding excited again. "Oi! That's brilliant! I'll be right back," he added excitedly. Severus took heart from this; perhaps they'd already known what he was--perhaps the mother was even a witch herself and had been impregnated by a Muggle. But if that was the case, why did he see no magical objects in the house, and why hadn't they responded to the Hogwarts letter? Even magical families who did not own an owl could go to the Diagon Alley post office. Muggle families could not respond by owl, of course, necessitating a visit from the deputy headmaster or another teacher. But the mother and son seemed to know what his 'school' was about, and still they had not replied.

He was startled by the mother suddenly striding into the room; she was wearing blue shorts that, despite being rather long (stopping just above the knee) caused Severus to be immediately distracted. He just wasn't accustomed to seeing anyone's legs at Hogwarts, especially a woman's. He nearly forgot to look up at her face, which was laughing at him, having seen where his eyes had immediately gone. He fought the urge to scowl; he did not appreciate being laughed at.

She sat on the comfortable-looking couch, one leg folded under her as though she were a child; her simple white blouse had sleeves that stopped above the elbow, distracting him again. He knew that by Muggle standards her clothes were rather conservative--he'd certainly seen women wearing far more revealing clothes in London--but being in her house and alone with her felt very intimate, and for once there wasn't the wall of hostility to which he was accustomed preventing him from noticing that she was actually a woman. He felt annoyed more than anything else; he had a job to do. Time to get to it.

"Allow me to introduce myself," he said, sitting forward on the stiff couch. "I am Professor Snape, deputy headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

She nodded, smiling. "I thought you'd be from the school. Well, this is splendid! I was starting to worry, you know. Teddy was, too. Thought he'd have to give up the idea of going." She waved her hand around the living room. "No owl, you see."

He acknowledged this with a grim nod. "Of course. We always anticipate that some students will have difficulty replying and we send someone to visit them to discuss the school, answer any questions the parents have, and to take the student shopping for school supplies."

"Shopping! Oh, that sounds like fun! Although--it was a rather strange list that was included with the letter. I don't know where--"

"There is a place in London," he interrupted her.

"Hm. London. Well, I suppose we can drive down to the station and get the train. Or do you have a way to, you know--whisk us there?" she asked hopefully, looking very curious. She made a strange motion with her hand to illustrate "whisking." He frowned.

"Unfortunately, I do not have permission to use magic to get you to Diagon Alley. Except--" he hesitated. He wouldn't be the one doing the magic, strictly speaking....

"What?"

"I could possibly hail the Knight Bus. I can pay the fare for you and for your son."

She laughed. "Why would we need to wait until night to go? Are the shops only open at night? A magical tradition? At any rate, we don't have a night bus round here. We don't have any bus at all, unfortunately. On the far side of the next village I think there's a--"

"Not 'night bus,' 'Knight Bus,' with a 'K.' I hail it with my, erm, wand," he tried to explain. "And the shops are open roughly the same hours as Mug--er, non-magic shops."

"Oh!" She looked surprised. "You wave your wand to get the bus. Isn't that magic?"

"Not in the strictest sense. And I would need to hail it in a place where the help will not notice," he said, thinking of the housekeeper and remembering that a stable hand was also mentioned during the mother-and-son conversation.

"We can do it in the lane leading to the house from the main road."

"Very good. Now, we will need to exchange a fair amount of money so that you can make purchases with wizarding currency. Does your bank have a London branch?"

"Wizarding currency? We're not going to another country, are we?"

"Well," he hesitated, "in a way, we are. I take it Theodore's, erm, father did not mention this?" He watched her face carefully.

She frowned and rose, pacing the floor with her arms wrapped around her middle, as though she were cold. "Can you tell me something?"

"I shall endeavour to explain anything about the school that may be--"

"Are the children nice?" she said suddenly. Severus was jolted.

"What?"

She sighed and almost looked as though she might cry. He sincerely hoped that was not the case. "Are the other children at your school nice? Teddy's had to put up with quite a lot.... This is a very conservative place. I wouldn't have chosen to come here to have Teddy, considering that where I was living was about as conservative, but my great-uncle was so sweet and understanding after I lost my job. This was his farm, but he and his wife didn't have children. She died a couple of years before I had Teddy and he was terribly lonely after that. And while he was a godsend, my arrival sent all of the gossips around here into a frenzy, speculating about the father of my child, why he hadn't been able to marry me, and so on. I've heard everything from the father being a married member of Parliament to Prince Charles to Elvis. And mind you, Elvis is dead."

He grimaced. "I have heard of that person, and I was aware that he had died."

She looked truly apologetic. "Sorry. Didn't mean to assume. And Teddy--"

She bit her lip; now he could see that she was crying, just a little. She impatiently wiped away the tears that had leaked from her eyes. "Yes?" he said quietly, prompting her.

She swallowed. "He's put up with so much in the village school. That's one reason I've been telling myself that I should be glad he'll be going away to school now, away from those horrid children who've been needling him for years about not having a father. And not only that, for being illegitimate. And for not even knowing who his father is...."

He raised one eyebrow. "You have never told him about his father?"

She sat again, on the edge of the horsehair couch where he was perched, about a foot away from him; he could feel the heat emanating from her body. He wished she had returned to the other couch. "No, and I'm not going to, ever. That's my business."

Severus frowned. "When he is older--" he began.

"No," she said adamantly. "When I became pregnant, he wasn't in a position to really be a father. He had this--this other whole life apart from me. He had obligations, a--a destiny. A burden is what I called it. I knew, when it became clear that I was going to have a baby, that he could never know he was going to be a father."

Severus continued to frown. "But he may come into contact with the boy, now that your son will be in the wizarding world. If the father learns about him, might he not guess?"

She sniffed, hugging herself more tightly, her brow furrowed with worry. "Just tell me whether the children are nice, please? Please tell me they are. I don't want to put Teddy through more of the 'bastard' taunts, the teasing songs...."

"Well, children are children," he said uncertainly, having never been asked about this by a parent before. "Should someone decide to taunt him for his--his parentage, he will need to learn to tolerate it without responding inappropriately. Unfortunately, that is more likely to get him a detention than the child who did the taunting."

She nodded, looking like this sounded familiar. "He's been in trouble a fair number of times at school," she whispered, "for 'responding inappropriately.'" Severus wondered whether this included accidental magic. "But the things he's had to put up with..."

He sighed. "Self-control is something that all witches and wizards must learn. Theodore shall have to learn this as well, whether it is his background that is being maligned or his house team. Self-control is a sign of maturity." He knew that this probably wasn't what the mother wanted to hear, but he saw no point in lying to her. Children could be cruel. He still remembered with acute clarity every prank ever played on him by James Potter and Sirius Black. He had thought longingly many times of being able to travel back through time to tell his younger self about ways to retaliate against his tormentors. He knew that it was not because he was 'mature' that he had refrained from retaliating when he was young but because he had been so paralysed with fury, so embarrassed, which in turn made him feel utterly impotent. But to tell her that he still thought of getting revenge on Potter and Black, despite the fact that they were both dead, would not be comforting to her, he felt sure. It certainly wouldn't seem "mature."

She rose again, angry. "He's only eleven!" She flailed her arms, looking as though she was barely under control. "And don't you think eleven is terribly young to go away to school?" He remembered that she had said she had been telling herself that she should be happy her son was going away. She clearly was not.

Her voice shook and he feared that more tears might be imminent. "Children of that age have been coming to Hogwarts for almost a thousand years. Some non-magical children go to boarding schools when they are even younger, I believe. Theodore will adjust--"

"Oh, I don't doubt that he'll be fine, probably, even if he does get a bit of teasing. It couldn't possibly be worse than what goes on around here. It's--it's me," she whispered, turning away from him to look out the window. "It's always been Teddy and me, me and Teddy. Since the day he was born not a night has passed when we weren't asleep under the same roof. We've always been together." There were tears in her voice.

He didn't know what to say. "Erm, yes," he finally said. "It can be difficult for some..."

She faced him, wiping tears from her cheeks again. "I'm sorry. You must think me daft. I'm happy for him, really. I'm just being stupid and selfish when I think about rattling around here alone at night. Beatrice lives out; when she goes home it's to clean and cook for her brood of seven in the village. I don't run the farm myself; since Uncle Horace died, I've been renting to the Whites, next farm over. They have an enormous flock of sheep and not enough land for them, so they bring about half of their animals here. We also rent stalls to riders who can't keep their own horses, but grooming costs extra, so most of them muck out their own stalls and curry their own mounts. We keep a couple of horses for riding, largely because Uncle Horace bought them, as presents. I couldn't bear to part with Minnie and Mickey, but I doubt I'll replace them when they get old. I reckon I'll have to exercise them both while Teddy's at school. Dorothy doesn't live in, and she's not planning to be a groom forever; she's saving up money for beauty school." She laughed. "You should see the mad things she's done to the horses' tails and manes...."

The front door opened and closed, interrupting her incessant prattling, followed by boyishly-careless footsteps pounding on the flagstones. A blur ran past the door and then footsteps were heard attacking the stairs.

His mother strode to the door, calling up the stairs, "Where are you going, Teddy?"

"Sorry I took so long, Mum. I was really filthy and it's a bit hard to get properly clean at the stable pump. I'm going to finish cleaning up and change my clothes. Be right down."

"All right, then. That is acceptable," she added, although Severus had the distinct impression that she was not being strict at all, despite her words. She was smiling lovingly as she looked up the stairs and still bore this look when she turned back into the room. "I reckon I should probably change my clothes, as well? To go shopping for magical school supplies, I mean. He--he told me about wizarding dress..."

Severus nodded, trying again not to look at her arms and legs; when she said he she was obviously referring to the boy's father. "That might be wise," Severus managed to say, pulling his eyes away from her with some effort. He had hoped she would simply disappear up the stairs, but instead she continued to speak.

"Would a skirt be all right if it was long enough? I think I have one that's a good seven inches past my knees. Should do, don't you think?"

"Erm, yes. That would probably be adequate."

"Is this blouse okay, you think? Or should I carry a cardigan with me? Do these wizard shops have some sort of magical air-conditioning at this time of year?"

Why are we still discussing her clothing? he thought in irritation. He did not want to think about this woman's clothes, something that was evidently lost on her. "It would seem wise to carry a cardigan to allow for climactic changes," he said stiffly. She laughed.

"Of course, look who I'm asking," she said, laughing. "Mr Dressed-Head-to-Toe-in-Black. In August. All right, then. I'll be right back."

He heard her go up the stairs, still laughing. Is she laughing at me? He looked down at his clothing. He'd usually found that Muggles who dressed all in black and behaved aloofly were generally left alone. He did not know what assumptions the people were making who left him alone--they couldn't all be assuming that he was a priest--but he didn't care, either. Now he wondered whether he was actually standing out more by dressing this way. Annoying woman! he thought. I have better things to do than to expend this much time and energy thinking about clothing....

"Here we are!" she said, returning in a blue skirt falling a few inches above her ankles. "Quick-change artist, at your service. But I reckon I'll still stand out as a Muggle, yeah?"

He looked up at her quickly; he'd started to use the term earlier, but stopped himself. She'd been the first to truly bring it up. He wondered again who her son's father was and how much he had told her about the wizarding world. Had the father violated the Wizarding Code of Secrecy? It certainly seemed so. And he was failing to support his child. Severus Snape felt a familiar anger move within him; he had been angry before about wizard fathers who had neglected their children, but this one was quickly making him feel like filling out a report at the Ministry, despite his hatred of paperwork.

"Yes, I think it will be clear that you are a Muggle, but at this time of year a number of Muggle parents are taking their children shopping for their school things. And we will need to visit your bank first, remember." He watched her; she was peering into a handbag, checking on its contents with extreme unconcern for what he was saying. He cleared his throat. "Madam," he said, trying to get her attention again; "are you quite certain that you do not wish to tell me the name of your son's father? I have tracked down a number of fathers of children who have grown up in the Muggle world and the Ministry of Magic has required them to share in the expense of rearing their children. There is no reason for you bear the burden alone...."

She was no longer ignoring him, which he now thought he would have preferred; her eyes blazed in anger. "I told you. I am not going to tell anyone who his father is, ever. I have been supporting him on my own, thank you very much, and have plenty of money set by for his education, unless it costs a king's ransom to go to this school of yours. Uncle Horace insisted upon setting up a special fund when Teddy was born. This isn't the richest farm in the county, but I can pay my bills and my few employees, as long as the Whites and my stable tenants pay me on the first of the month. We have a good roof over our heads and food on the table. I do not need to disturb Teddy's father for any reason. Please do not mention it again," she added testily, swinging a cardigan around her shoulders. She crossed her arms and stared into the hall. "Where can that boy be?" she grumbled under her breath, before calling, "Teddy! We're waiting!"

Severus was startled by ringing; he realised after a moment that it was the telephone. She crossed the room, her lips drawn into a thin line, and answered it. "Oh, hello, Adrienne. Yes, I know...." She massaged her temples with one hand as she spoke, calming a little.

He tried to focus on a painting, to avoid eavesdropping on her conversation. Footsteps were heard on the stairs and a moment later, her son entered the room, obviously very excited. He appeared to be tall for his age and was thin and wiry-looking, wearing faded jeans and a slouchy T-shirt with a very realistic lion on it. Severus felt a shock of cold move through him and told himself sternly, Don't stare. Don't stare.

His mother hung up the phone and turned to her son. "There you are, Teddy. Come meet--what was your name again? I'm sorry, I've been so distracted by the idea that Teddy's going to be going away to magic school that I quite forgot."

"Professor Snape. I am the Potions master and deputy headmaster at Hogwarts," he managed to choke out; because he was speaking to the boy he had a good excuse now for looking him in the face, so he could really see him.

At these words, the boy's hazel eyes lit up and he grinned ear to ear. "Oh! So you're actually one of my teachers! Brilliant! Do you like what you teach? Is it very difficult? How often would I have Potions lessons? Is it like chemistry? Or more like cooking?"

Severus Snape didn't know what to say. The words spilling out of the familiar mouth were like a meaningless roar in his ears. He suddenly didn't know what to do with his hands, or how to arrange his facial features. This he had not expected, not in a million years. Now he knew why the mother had looked vaguely familiar to him....

The boy standing before him was the spitting image of Harry Potter.

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