Replay

Replay

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Twenty-Four

A Light in the Darkness

She sped down the stairs, her feet rolling under her as she ran her hand along the curving wall to steady herself, for there was no railing. Every time her fingers felt like they were going to go through a gap in the masonry she recoiled and felt like her heart sped up still more, although she wasn't sure how much faster it could go without giving out.

When she reached the bottom she pushed through the tapestry that concealed the entrance to the curving stairs from the enormous hall. Cobwebs were everywhere in the hall, shrouding the tall, narrow window openings that had probably once held leaded glass; the ubiquitous webs covered the overturned benches and now-petrified food that, ages ago, had been left to rot on the long tables, as though Miss Havisham had had her aborted wedding feast here.

Rats still crawled hopefully over the food and while she shuddered at the sight of the vermin she also forced herself to go on, running down the centre of the hall. She glanced up momentarily to see the night sky through the ruined roof far overhead; bats flew in and out of gaping holes (heaps of fallen roof tiles were also scattered amongst the food on the tables) while owls roosted on broken rafters that reached out into nothingness.

Leaping over building debris and fearless rats, she finally reached the entrance hall, unsure what to do next. The huge wooden door, although it seemed rotten enough to crumble at a touch, was reinforced with metal that was now orange with rust; a skeleton in torn clothing guarded it with an equally rusted sword. She fought the scream that rose to her lips and only momentarily considered rushing the skeleton and the door to see whether they would crumble into dust at her onslaught. Instead she plunged down another set of stairs, illuminated by the moon shining in through the enormous gaps in the crumbling, curving walls. She still would have liked some sort of handhold while she descended but had to settle again for running her hands along the uneven stonework; the mortar, often as not, disintegrated beneath her fingertips.

At the bottom of the stairs she saw a whitish glow; she hesitated to go on but as the glow grew nearer she saw that it was being held by a figure in long black robes, a hood pulled up to obscure the face. She felt another scream rising in her throat and would have released it but she froze when a thin, almost skeletal hand closed around her wrist and a deep, curious voice emerged from beneath the cowl:

"Miss Harrison, may I ask what you are doing here?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"I tell ye, Headmistress, it was a Muggle!"

Minerva McGonagall shook her head sadly at Filch as he stood before the huge front doors of the castle, wielding his mop like a sword, defending his precious floors against filth. "Argus, I assure you, a stray Muggle simply could not enter the castle without assistance. The anti-Muggle charms that we employ here..."

"But I saw her " he insisted, a vein in his forehead pulsing wildly. Mrs Norris stalked the stone floor next to him, her tail fat as a bottle-brush. This was something in which Minerva put far more credit than Filch's ravings; if Mrs Norris felt there was a reason to puff herself up then something was indeed in the castle that should not be.

Minerva nodded at Filch and said, "All right, then. Which way did she go?"

"Down to the dungeons," he intoned ominously, gripping his mop with white knuckles, as though he imagined the intruder making unspeakable messes down there.

Minerva did not comment but in the blink of an eye changed into a medium-sized tabby cat; she conferred with Mrs Norris, who reiterated (in her way) Mr Filch's assertion that the strange woman had fled down the stairs. Minerva turned and crept silently down the curving stone steps, catching a whiff along the way of someone who had just walked there who had recently been around horses. Only Grubbly-Plank has anything to do with the Thestrals, and they don't have the same scent as horses, she reflected, continuing to descend.

When she reached the bottom she sat in a shadowy corner, watching with interest as the only two people in the corridor entered an office. There was indeed a Muggle woman in the castle, but now that Minerva had seen her she had a good idea of who she was; she also had no doubt that the woman was in good hands. She knew that the pair had not seen her but she still waited until the office door closed before resuming her human form and returning to the entrance hall, where Filch was still standing before the doors, white-faced.

"Severus has everything in hand, Argus," she tried to reassure him. "She is the mother of a student. If I were you I should worry more about finishing the mopping before the evening meal. Carry on," she said tersely, sweeping past him into the Great Hall, not wishing to get into a drawn-out discussion with him. She, for one, could never forget (nor forgive) how enthusiastic Filch had been about the reign of Dolores Umbridge and she was not as indulgent as Albus Dumbledore concerning slights like these. She did not think that his being a Squib excused his behaviour, as Albus seemed to.

To Minerva McGonagall, some things were simply unforgivable.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Please have a seat, Miss Harrison."

Tilda looked around the office in amazement. After he'd put the True Sight Charm on her she felt like she'd been looking at the world out-of-focus and had suddenly had laser eye-surgery. Seeing him in his teacher's robes, she also felt more than a little out-of-place, more so than when Harry had let her into the tower from the grounds and taken her up the curving stairs to the flat. Harry had still worn the Muggle clothes in which he'd come to see her and Ginny had removed her robes, like a coat, upon entering, revealing a simple grey skirt and white blouse. Their girls had worn their uniforms for the Muggle school they attended and Teddy had worn his school robes, which she'd seen before. Harry's friends were dressed more like the people she'd seen in Diagon Alley, as was the woman who had appeared out of thin air, although that was hardly comforting. She couldn't tell what the talking heads in the fire might have been wearing.

She pulled her jacket around herself as though for protection and hoped that her jeans weren't too daring. A desk was piled with rolls of parchment on one half, the other holding neat racks of labelled vials with a variety of viscous-looking substances in a range of mossy colours. She sat in a chair before the desk, wishing she'd read some of Teddy's books before he'd started school. Do wizards burn Muggles at the stake who've wandered into places where they shouldn't be? she wondered. Harry had never mentioned this, but the story of his run-in with the wizarding legal system wasn't encouraging and the dedication to archaic clothes and lighting threw her more than she'd expected, even after Diagon Alley. She didn't know to what extent a dedication to archaic social customs might permeate the culture. Or the concept of "an eye for an eye."

Professor Snape took out his wand again and Tilda instinctively winced, he case he was going to put another spell on her; she had been utterly unprepared for his putting the True Sight Charm on her and wasn't certain now that she was glad he had. But he wasn't directing a spell at her this time; the pile of parchments on the desk flew into some pigeonholes in a bookcase behind him and another wave of his wand produced a tray of food, including a steaming pot of tea.

Tilda raised an eyebrow as he poured a cup for her. "Are you supposed to let me see you do that sort of thing?" she asked as she took the cup and saucer from him.

He showed no reaction but said in an even voice, "Parents of Hogwarts students are not included under the law that restricts us from displaying our magic to Muggles. Certainly if a Muggle is within the walls of Hogwarts castle, the damage is already done."

Damage, she thought. What is that supposed to mean? "I see," she lied, forcing her mouth into a half-smile.

"Now, then, Miss Harrison. You said that Potter--erm, Harry--brought you here. Was he planning to return you to your home? Or are you staying here tonight as a guest?"

She looked around nervously. "I had hoped to go back home. It wasn't as though everything went swimmingly. It was total chaos, and just when I thought things couldn't get any worse this reporter showed up out of nowhere and she started saying the vilest things to me..."

An actual expression crossed his face--revulsion?--but it was gone so quickly she might have imagined it. "Yes. Rita Skeeter. It was not 'out of nowhere.' She is a beetle Animagus. She can change into a beetle at will," he explained, seeing her confusion.

Tilda nodded after she took a sip of tea. "Yes, the window was left open after an owl came with a red letter. Now that I think of it, one of the girls said that she saw a bug fly in..."

"Red letter? Potter's getting Howlers? Erm, Harry," he corrected himself again.

"A Howler! Yes, that's what it was called. It was from his mother-in-law."

Professor Snape winced and did not try to hide it. "Molly. I should have known. So should he."

Tilda looked grimly at the biscuits before her. "It wasn't pleasant."

"It is not supposed to be," he said mildly, biting a biscuit and taking a sip of tea. "If you don't mind my asking--and even if you do--what did he hope to accomplish by bringing you here?" He seemed to have given up on calling Harry by either of his names.

"It was my idea. I wanted to apologise to Ginny and the girls, for one thing. For disrupting their lives. And to Teddy, for not telling him about his father, nor about his being a wizard."

"And did you apologise to Potter?" He'd gone back to using Harry's surname.

"To Harry?" she said pointedly.

"Yes," he said, nodding. "For not telling him that he had a son."

She drank her tea, staring into space. "No, not really. Harry didn't ask me to. He wanted me to tell him what happened..." Tilda trailed off, watching Professor Snape, whose face was clouded over now; it seemed that he was angry with her, and she could not imagine why.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door; without waiting for a reply, Teddy entered, looking relieved when he saw her. "Mum! There you are! I called after you, but I wasn't sure you heard, and then my da--I mean Pot--I mean, erm, he got out a parchment he called a map and somehow he knew that you were down here, so I said I'd come... Are you okay?" he asked anxiously.

Tilda felt her face redden as she remembered what Rita Skeeter had said, all of which Teddy had heard; one reason she'd fled was because he was frightening her with his response, making a freezing wind spring up that seemed to be intent on sweeping the reporter into something like a miniature tornado. She didn't know what to say, having never been afraid of her own son before. He'd bemused her with his magic, challenging her (although he didn't know it) to find ways of explaining it to both him and others, but he'd never frightened her before.

"I'm--I'm all right," she said in a small voice, certain that she didn't sound at all convincing. He swallowed and scuffed his shoes on the floor, looking ashamed.

"Oh, and I was going to ask you, sir," he said to Professor Snape, looking grateful that he had someone else to talk to and yet disappointed, too. "I was going to ask you whether I could do detention tomorrow, since I didn't know where my mum was, but now I reckon--"

"--that you should tell Clearwater that he can do his detention tomorrow as well," Professor Snape said brusquely. Tilda looked at him, frowning; he gripped the chair's arms very tightly, as though, for some reason, he was having a great deal of trouble keeping himself under control. "I am speaking to your mother right now and will see to it that she is returned safely to her home," he said quickly. "Please tell Professors Potter and Weasley that it is being taken care of. You are dismissed, Harrison," he added, as though worried that Teddy would get the impression that he was permitted to continue hanging about in the doorway.

"Can I just tell my mum something?" he said hurriedly. "Mum--I'm sorry I--I got detention already." He reddened. "And for what happened upstairs. If you want me to go with them for the weekend I'll do my best to behave. I promise. Whatever you want," he said contritely.

Tilda watched his face as he spoke; it was so strange to think of her little boy going off to live at boarding school, let alone with another family, another mother, a father he'd never known, little sisters... She forced herself to smile warmly at him, hoping this would keep her from crying. "You don't need to do anything you don't want to do, Teddy. If you don't want to go, you don't have to." She nearly choked on the words but managed to maintain her composure. She couldn't help noticing that, despite his words, Professor Snape seemed somewhat hostile toward her son; if he'd been openly hostile she wouldn't have been so confused, but his words, tone of voice and gestures did not match.

Teddy hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Thanks, Mum. I reckon I need to think about it. You should have heard Potter, erm, Professor Potter," he amended, one eye on his Potions professor. "The things he said to that Skeeter woman. Professor Weasley had a thing or two to say to her as well," he added.

Tilda didn't know what to say to that and there was a long, uncomfortable silence. He didn't mention the impromptu storm that his own anger had stirred up but instead cleared his throat and said, "So. Okay. Send me an owl when you get home, okay, Mum? Erm, bye." He looked like he might be considering kissing his mother but thought better of it when he glanced at his professor; he closed the door before she could say anything. When she turned to face Professor Snape again he was looking angrier than ever but now the anger seemed to be directed at her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ginny was relieved to see Teddy emerge from the stairs to the dungeons; she'd been undecided about going after him, since she knew from the map that he would have to go to Snape's office to find his mother, but in the end she thought she'd be the best person to speak to him. Harry had looked miserable about it but Ron had helpfully pointed out that the "talk" they'd had that morning hadn't gone swimmingly.

Ginny tried to smile at Teddy, although her stomach was turning over. It seemed strange suddenly to think of herself as a stepmother, especially to a boy who had been born when she was not quite sixteen. Stepmothers are supposed to be witches, right? she thought ruefully as she walked toward him. Out of the corner of her eye she was aware of Filch swearing under his breath while he mopped the floor; she didn't want to talk in the entrance hall or Great Hall, nor return to the flat. She also didn't want to use the Defence office; this wasn't school business.

"Teddy?" she said uncertainly, his name unfamiliar in her mouth. "May I talk to you?"

He looked around. "Here?" he said, eyeing Filch nervously.

"Erm, no. There are loads of places. Here, let's go up these stairs..." She had put her robes on again over her skirt and blouse and she gathered them in her hands to climb the stairs, Teddy following. When they reached the corridor leading to the hospital wing she turned left and started climbing a curving stair. "This goes to the Astronomy Tower. Let's just sit on the steps; no one will be coming up here until much later. When do you have Astronomy?"

"Thursday night," he said promptly. She sat down on the wide part of a wedge-shaped step with her back against the curving wall and he chose a step two below hers.

"That's good. It's not on the weekend. I know that sixth years have it Saturday night and seventh years have it on Sunday but I couldn't remember the rest of the schedule."

His nose wrinkled as he sat down. "Saturday and Sunday lessons? Are you kidding?"

She laughed. "It's not so bad. Once you get to sixth and seventh years you have fewer lessons, and which ones you have depend on how you did on your OWLs. Of course, at NEWT-level, the work is more difficult..." Ginny saw him gulp and she tried to smile encouragingly at him. "Don't worry now. You've just started. Take each day as it comes. Before you know it the Hallowe'en Feast will be here, and then the Christmas hols..."

"That doesn't really help," he said, starting to look panicked. She laughed.

"I'm sure you'll do fine." She paused for a moment and looked down at her hands. "And I just want you to know, I'm not trying to take the place of your mother, nor could I ever. You have to understand... Harry, well--he's been a bit thrown by all of this. He didn't even know you were possible, let alone that you existed. Please don't judge him by the way he initially reacted. You don't know what he endured when he was young, the scrutiny, the suspicion, the sudden celebrity after a life of obscurity and not even knowing that he was a wizard himself..."

She noticed that Teddy perked up at that. "He didn't know either?"

"No. Not until he got his Hogwarts letter. Except that he wasn't as lucky as you."

Teddy frowned again. "Lucky how? How am I lucky?"

She patted his shoulder. "You're lucky to have your mum. You grew up wanted and loved. Harry never knew that." She told him about his parents being murdered, which Teddy said he'd heard about, but he hadn't heard about the things that didn't end up in the history books, about the Dursleys, about Dudley's gang, about living in a cupboard under the stairs for ten years and being blamed for transgressions for which he couldn't possibly (he thought) be responsible.

"Your mum could tell you a little about Harry's childhood, since she used to be his teacher," she added; he immediately looked appalled and Ginny worried that she'd made a huge mistake.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"May I ask what you are doing?"

Frowning, Tilda replied, "Excuse me?"

"Telling him that he need not visit his father."

She dropped her jaw at Professor Snape's audacity. "I am raising my son as I see fit."

"You are permitting him to run away--not that you're much of an example--and you are robbing his father of his child--again. You are also taking his sisters from him and their brother from them. You are being childish and selfish." His voice was very hard; she was not accustomed to someone who did not know her well speaking to her in this manner. Even people she knew well didn't speak to her like this, except for her mother. Mum would probably say what he just said, she thought, then pushed this out of her head. She didn't want to think about her mum.

"If you don't mind my saying so--and even if you do, it is none of your bloody business."

To her surprise, he nodded. "True. But that has never stopped me from stating my opinion."

She put her cup and saucer on the desk with a clatter and stood up, fuming. "The day that you become a parent you can scold me about how to raise mine, but until then--"

He also stood, leaning on the desk and saying in a low growl, "I have been a father for nearly six years but I have only seen my son for about one hundred days per year--roughly half of the weekends and portions of my Christmas, Easter and summer holidays. But even though his mother did not deign to marry me at least she did not hide my son's existence from me nor prevent my seeing him." Professor Snape's dark, deep-set eyes burned into hers and she had to look away guiltily.

Tilda swallowed and after a minute she replied, "I didn't know," very quietly.

He nodded and sat again. "Few do," he acknowledged, his voice having lost the angry edge. She also sat again, feeling a sympathy toward him she had not expected.

"Do you--do you have any pictures?" she ventured, trying to repair whatever had been shattered by the angry exchange. She couldn't explain even to herself why she thought he might be an ally but she had a strange feeling that he was, despite his accusatory words. He stared silently at his hands for so long that she thought he hadn't heard what she'd said; she was startled when he abruptly opened a desk drawer and withdrew a small photo album. She looked up at him. "Did you want to marry his mother?" She didn't ask if he minded her nosiness.

"That is usually what a proposal of marriage means," he said calmly, taking another sip of tea.

She opened the album, seeing a photograph of a much younger woman than she expected holding a blanket-wrapped bundle while sitting in a hospital bed; despite the damp curls about her face the woman was quite beautiful, although exhausted. I wish I'd looked like that after giving birth, Tilda thought. She had no photos of herself after Teddy's birth; there was no one to take them. Uncle Horace had had a heart attack two days earlier and was still in hospital.

Under the photo of the mother of Professor Snape's son, someone had written Penelope and Julian, 21 December, 2002, St Michael's Hospital, London. She turned the page and saw a small boy with reddish-brown hair perched on the edge of the hospital bed now, looking a little uncertain about the blanket-wrapped bundle in his mother's arms. Penelope, Nate and Julian, the legend for this photograph read. "I thought you only had one son," she said, frowning.

"I do. That is his older brother, Nate Clearwater. He and your son have evidently become friends. It was in defending Theodore that Nate earned his detention. For some reason he does not realise how transparent his lies are. Fortunately, I am accustomed to seeing through them." Professor Snape seemed determined to return to his detached demeanor; he might have been discussing strangers whose pictures were in a newspaper.

"So she was married before?" Tilda pressed, turning the pages of the album, seeing the baby grow into a toddler, then a small boy, sometimes alone and sometimes with his mother or brother. Julian seemed very serious but somehow, given who his father was, that did not strike her as odd, merely unfortunate. There were no photographs of his father.

"No," he said tersely, selecting another biscuit. "Clearwater is the name with which she was born."

Tilda was surprised. "Two kids and no husband either time?" She looked at Penelope's beautiful face as she hugged her boys to her chest, brown eyes twinkling. "She must be better able to withstand criticism than I am..."

He shrugged. "She lives in London, not out in the country, and she works with single mothers. She rarely has to deal with the sort of provincialism you have obviously experienced."

"And her boys know about their fathers," she added, feeling envious again as she turned the page and saw a photograph of Penelope flying kites with the boys. She did not know whether this was true but she assumed that if it wasn't Professor Snape would let her know; he did not seem capable of not correcting her if she got anything wrong. As a teacher, she recognised this instinct.

But when she looked up she saw him open his mouth and shut it abruptly again, as though he'd changed his mind about saying something. From the way his jaw was clenched it seemed to be quite an effort for him to refrain from commenting. Although she'd thought him rather rude at times, she regretted his self-restraint now. I wonder what he's not saying? she thought, trying to make it seem that she wasn't watching him as she selected a biscuit from the tray. Doing that, however, allowed her to catch a glimpse of her watch. "Oh, bloody hell. I really should be getting back. I have a new stable tenant coming this evening." She rolled her eyes. "Another spoiled little brat who's been begging for a horse, and her parents couldn't bear to deny her..."

His eyebrows flew up. "If memory serves, your son has a horse," he reminded her.

She grimaced. "Yes, but not because he begged and made a pest of himself. He never asked for her at all, in fact. My great-uncle wanted to give him a gift before he died."

"Which is different, of course. No one shall ever call your son a spoiled brat," he said quietly, putting down his cup and saucer. She bristled instinctively, saw the sly look that told her he wanted her to respond with a knee-jerk defence, and bit back her words.

"He's not a spoiled brat," she said as evenly as possible, hating a small tremor in her voice.

"I never said otherwise, " Professor Snape responded smoothly. Tilda was finding it difficult not to seethe; she was starting to understand what had so infuriated Harry when he'd been in school.

"So," she said, standing, "I'd appreciate it if you could get me home as quickly as possible. I came here, it turned out to be a huge mistake, and I'd like to go home, thank you very much."

He nodded and stood; with a wave of his hand (he didn't bother with his wand) the tea things vanished into thin air. He started to move toward the door to his office, but although she stood she didn't follow him. "I hope you don't plan to take me home looking like that," she said, nodding at his black robes, which he wore over a shirt and trousers that were also black.

He looked down at himself, then back up at her. "My attire is problematic? I assure you, I had planned to transfigure my robes before we were in sight of any Muggles. I will appear to be wearing a black jacket. Would that suit you?" he asked drily.

She snorted. "As if I haven't got enough trouble at home without looking like I've been out with a priest or an avant garde artist... Can't you at least wear something not black? Grey tweed perhaps?" He looked at her for a long minute and she thought it likely that he was going to be angry again, but his expression was impossible to read. He finally shrugged his shoulders, took out his wand, and a moment later he was wearing an impeccable herringbone tweed jacket. As long as she'd got him this far, she nodded and said, "The shirt, also. Still too clerical."

He grimaced, but a moment later he was wearing a cream-coloured jumper. "I draw the line at jodhpurs and riding boots," he grumbled, walking past her now. She grinned behind his back.

"I'm asking you to take me to my farm, not to give riding lessons. I don't even do that." As she followed him into the corridor she asked, "Oh, wait a minute. How are we getting there? When we went shopping we took the train to London, but when Harry brought me here it was on the Knight Bus. I thought I'd go mad on that thing. So what are we going to do instead?"

He froze, his shoulders very straight and stiff; when he turned he looked like it was a great effort to remain civil. "Instead?"

"I'd really rather not ride the bus again," she said. He didn't say anything but simply stared into space for what seemed a long time. "So," she said at length, "what's the plan?"

He fixed her with a gimlet eye. "I do not know, Miss Harrison, since you do not wish to take the bus. If the bus is not to your taste we certainly cannot use the Floo network; it is far worse, in my opinion. At any rate, you might not be able to use Floo powder, as you are not a witch. You cannot fly a broom and an unauthorised Portkey is out of the question except in emergencies. You seem determined to make this difficult."

She put her hands on her hips. "I'm making this difficult? Is it my fault that damn bus is possessed? You must be mad if you think I'm going to set foot on that thing again."

He shrugged. "In that case, we could fly on Thestrals..."

She backed up from him. "Oh, no; no you don't. Harry told me about those. I am having nothing to do with those things." She looked at him shrewdly; if she didn't know better she could have sworn that his eyes were twinkling with merriment and the corner of his mouth was trying--and yet not trying--to turn up. She fumed. He's got me cornered, she thought with annoyance. "We've got to take the damn bus, don't we?" she finally said, clenching her teeth.

"Only if you would like to return home this evening," he said, maddeningly calm. He turned and walked toward the steps. Sighing deeply, Tilda follow him, her stomach already clenching in apprehension as she anticipated the ride home.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"That's right--he told me this morning that she was his teacher," Teddy said, shaking his head and looking a bit green. "I'd rather not think about that. I mean, teachers aren't--aren't supposed to--" He looked like he was thinking about it anyway.

Ginny bit her lip. "Well, anyway," she went on, feeling like an idiot for bringing it up, "I was wondering... would you like to try coming to stay with us next weekend? I think that this weekend it might be better for you to stay at school, since you're still adjusting. But perhaps--?" She looked at him hopefully. When he didn't answer, she barrelled on. "It's not the usual thing, to allow a first year to leave the castle, but the headmistress is actually the one who suggested it to Harry, as this is an unusual situation. It's also part of her ongoing attempt, I think, to get the students to forget that we're married to each other; she likes that we spend half of our weekends at home, so there's less of a chance that students will actually see us together, behaving like a family." She rolled her eyes. "Personally, I think she's still a bit soft-hearted when it comes to Harry; when he was a first year she engineered his getting onto the house team and having his own broom even though first years aren't usually allowed to have brooms..." He still had not responded, so Ginny babbled on. "We have a guest room, so you wouldn't be with the twins or anything. And we could get you a bicycle, so you could go riding with us. Do you like tennis?" she added hopefully, feeling like she was grasping at straws. "And then there's Barnard Castle. It's very nice..." she trailed off, feeling like a fool.

His arms were wrapped around his legs as though he was imitating her but he didn't speak. Ginny couldn't tell what his expression might mean; he was staring at the stone wall, occasionally blinking but revealing nothing. She swallowed, unnerved by his silence. "Do you--do you think you could consider forgiving him? For--for being human?"

Teddy looked up at her and she was relieved to see that he wasn't angry. "I reckon that sounds all right," he said quietly. "I mean coming to visit." She realised that he really was finding the idea of coming to visit their Durham house appealing but was also trying to admit that and still have his pride. She gave him a small smile, still finding him amazing; he looked so much like Harry and yet was so different.

"And forgiving him...?" she prodded softly.

He turned to face the wall again. "Have you forgiven him?" he asked.

"There was nothing to forgive. We weren't together yet, we were still just friends." She started to say, And he doesn't remember, he wasn't acting with free will, but she didn't want to bring up the issue of how Teddy was actually conceived. "And--and I have some experience myself with being possessed by Voldemort," she said instead. "I couldn't possibly judge. I know..."

"Really?" he said, turning to her with his eyes wide. "You?"

She nodded. "I was your age. Terrible things happened, people could have died, including me, including your father... Thanks to Harry it turned out all right." She looked down at her hands. "I was mortified when I realised what he'd done. Because of me he had to kill a basilisk..."

"A what?"

"A large enchanted snake. You die if you look into its eyes. He used the sword in the office."

"The one in the case."

"Right. He did that. When he was twelve. He risked his life for me." She laughed ruefully. "I'd already fancied him for nearly two years; that wasn't likely to make me stop."

"When did you marry him?" he finally asked very quietly, not looking at her.

"Nine years ago. The girls were born the next year."

He looked up at her. "What should I call you?"

Ginny gave him a smile and said, "What about my name? Just call me Ginny if we're in Durham or the flat, or even if no other teachers or students are around, besides your father. Otherwise, here at school you should probably continue to call me Professor Weasley."

"Okay," he said, looking uncertain about this. "And, erm, what should I call him?"

Ginny didn't need to ask who him was. She sighed deeply. "I'm not really sure. The twins call him Dad, of course. I call him Harry at home and Professor Potter when we're around other students, but Harry again around other teachers only. What do you think you'd like to call him?" She couldn't stop herself from smirking. "Other than 'pillock'?"

He laughed for a moment. "Erm, no, I don't think I should probably call him that. He's got a mouth when he wants to though, eh? He got some good ones off at that Skeeter woman." Teddy grinned at her with a guilty light in his eye and Ginny grinned back at him, feeling her heart skip a beat when their eyes met, remembering the many times she and Harry had silently shared a good laugh when they were in school, even before they were a couple. "I think it should probably be either Harry or Dad," Teddy went on, clearly not affected in the same way she was, " but I'm not sure I'm ready for Dad yet."

She blinked and took a deep breath, collecting herself; nodding, she said, "He might not be ready for that either. All right, then. Let's go with Harry. Unless you're with other students and teachers--then it's Professor Potter, of course."

He nodded in agreement. "Of course," he echoed.

They were both silent for a while; at length Ginny said, "I can tell you anything you want to know about Harry, within reason, but I don't really know much about you. Where do you live? What's it like?" She decided not to push the forgiveness issue further for the moment.

"Latere Farm," he said promptly, going on to describe his house, the stables, the horses. He made her laugh when he told her about Dorothy's hair-dying experiments and he told her about his aunts, and his cousin Jimmy, plus his slightly dodgy uncle. He told her about pranks he and Jimmy had played on Beatrice, the housekeeper, and about he and his mum going to Brighton in the summer to visit her friends, relax at the seaside and have fun on the pier. He talked about the two trips they'd taken to Australia to visit his grandmother, how he hated long flights and the way his mother was so tense every moment that she was in her mother's presence, even though his Aunt Audrey said that his mum and grandmother had "made up" years ago. He was funny and compassionate and sly and likable, and as she listened to him and watched him, leaning her cheek on her knee, she felt a longing for a son--Harry's son--well up in her so strongly again that she had to close her eyes; it had become almost like a physical ache. But she pretended that she was all right and opened her eyes again, watching him, listening to him, and thinking all the while that Tilda Harrison was the luckiest woman on earth.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Severus reached up to take Miss Harrison's hand as she shakily disembarked from the Knight Bus. She pushed her dishevelled hair behind her ears as she took each step, grasping his hand. They had bounced from Hogsmeade to Aberdeen to London to Bath to London again to Glasgow to London yet again and then to Cambridge before arriving at her farm. Each time they made a jump she clung to his arm and checked her watch, fretting that she would be late.

He noticed the conductor and other passengers looking suspiciously at them; the conductor was a young man who'd been a Hogwarts student about half a dozen years earlier, while the driver was thirtyish and had been the conductor before him. Every time the conductor rapped on the glass and called out, "Next stop Bath, Stan " or, "Next stop Glasgow " he watched Miss Harrison and Severus intently. Severus couldn't remember his name but his name-tag said that he was called Dennis. As Severus helped Miss Harrison down the steps Dennis finally recognised him.

"Oy Professor Snape Didn't realise it was you. Why aren't you at Hogwarts?"

He looked up at the young man, saying, "I am not at Hogwarts because I have been riding the Knight Bus. Good evening." He had no intention of explaining himself to a former student whose pinnacle of achievement to date was that he could punch holes in bus tickets, tell the bus driver where to go next, and make correct change three times out of five. (Severus had noticed him having a great deal of trouble with this.) He didn't know whether Dennis was any good at making the hot chocolate he offered to everyone because no one took him up on it.

Dennis seemed to accept this response, looking very nervous and causing Severus to remember a particularly small, trembling boy standing before a melted cauldron with tears rolling down his face. Severus was very glad that no one had asked for hot chocolate as he strongly suspected the result would have been disastrous. Well, he thought, now you see why you should have applied yourself more to your Potions work. He couldn't help feeling more than a little smug.

When the bus had disappeared from sight again he nodded at Miss Harrison and said, "Good evening," as dismissively as he had to the bus conductor. He had done his best to display forbearance during their ride, tolerating her grasping onto him constantly, but now that they had arrived he felt that he had been pushed to the limit. He wanted to get back to the castle, where a hot dinner and a quiet evening of marking essays awaited him.

However, before he had even taken his wand out of his pocket, Miss Harrison said to him, "That's it? You're leaving? Not even walking me to my house?"

He looked at her as though she was mad, but the meaning behind his expression did not seem to penetrate her oblivion. "Walking you to your house?"

She nodded at the shadowy tunnel of trees where the bus had left them. "It's right this way. And then, well, have you had your tea yet?"

He hesitated, then fell into step beside her, his hands behind his back. "I was going to eat my evening meal upon returning to the castle," he told her, his jaw clenched. "And there are essays I must mark; you saw them on my desk earlier."

She laughed. "You know, I'd forgotten that part of teaching. You don't really leave it behind in the evening, do you? The children don't understand that. It's like you only exist for them when they walk into the classroom. They never see their teachers hunched over their desks reading paper after paper, working on lesson plans.... They have no idea, do they? That teachers don't cease to exist after the last bell rings? Well, all right, maybe they do at a boarding school..."

"You'd think that would be true," he said heavily as they continued to walk, "but I find that even Hogwarts students are amazingly obtuse about this. I have caught students out of their dormitories at night, attempting to break into my office to steal contraband potions ingredients, and they are frequently shocked that I am at my desk, marking their work."

"I know " she said, shaking her head in amazement. "When I occasionally ran into pupils in the shops you'd think I'd grown another head, they were so surprised to see me." They walked in silence for a few minutes and the house soon hove into view at the end of the arboreal tunnel; she stopped upon seeing it. "This may sound odd, but I rather miss it," she said quietly.

"Your home? But it is right there."

She turned to look at him, shaking her head. "No. Teaching. It's been about twelve years and I still miss it dreadfully." She looked at the house again. "Every time I went to Teddy's school to meet with his teachers or the head I sort of inhaled it, you know? The smell of a school. More than anyplace I've ever lived, schools feel like home to me," she said even more softly.

He clenched his jaw, suddenly quite uncomfortable. "I am afraid that I cannot say the same," he said stiffly. "I never intended to be a teacher but I am ill-equipped now to do anything else. I believe your new tenants are waiting for you," he said, switching subjects abruptly. At the entrance to the stable-yard a couple in their forties waited with a little blonde girl and a trailer with a chestnut-coloured horse.

Miss Harrison smiled at the couple and waved to them; they nodded and waved back. "I'll be right there," she called. Turning to Severus, she said, "Thank you. For--a lot of things. Do at least let me give you your tea. I'm rubbish as a cook, but Beatrice is wonderful. I'm sure she's made something marvellous. It's the least I can do."

No, he thought, the least you could do was to leave me out of all of this. He wanted to say it, and nearly did, but something about the way she was looking up at him stopped him. Suddenly he had a very strong memory of seeing her in Surrey, twelve years before, and he froze, unable to decide how to respond. She took his silence for acquiescence.

"Good! It's settled. Beatrice will let you in. You can relax by the fire while you wait. I know it's only early September, but the nights start getting a little chilly here in late August and we've already taken to lighting the fires in the evenings." Once again she didn't wait for a response but turned away from him and walked to the stable-yard with a bounce in her step, swinging her arms.

He looked at the house, remembering the last time he'd been in it, to take young Harrison shopping for his Hogwarts things. When the housekeeper answered the door she nodded in recognition. "Hullo, then! What're you doing here? Aren't you from Teddy's school?"

"Yes, I am. Miss Harrison came to the school for a meeting about--about her son, and I have brought her home. She has invited me to stay to tea, if that isn't an imposition," he said formally, entering the front hall when she waved him in.

"Oh, no problem. It's been no time since Teddy's left for school and I don't have the knack for making less food yet, so it's good there's someone else to eat it. But you have to promise to have the same appetite as an eleven-year-old boy," she joked. "Can I take your jacket?" She nodded at his transfigured robes. He hesitated for a moment before removing it, discreetly removing his wand from the pocket as he did so and slipping it into the sleeve of his jumper. She didn't notice anything; after he handed it to her, rather than putting it on a peg with the other things in the hall she went to a cupboard under the stairs and put it on a hanger. He remembered to duck when going through the doorway to the living room, which was as untidy as ever, and he again chose the horsehair couch; the cat was once again napping on the hearthrug and Severus found himself wondering whether the animal had moved from that position since August. His train of thought was interrupted by the housekeeper appearing in the doorway saying, "Teddy's all right?"

He frowned at her. "Pardon me?"

"Teddy. You said his mum came to the school for a meeting." She sighed deeply. "Poor Tilda. She's had so many meetings with the head at the village school here. Nothing wrong, I hope?"

He nodded. "Ah, yes. Everything is fine. The meeting was not about anything Theodore has done," he said truthfully. "Nothing to worry about," he added, hoping she would leave it alone, but he didn't make an effort to sound particularly upbeat; he never did. On the other hand he wasn't completely convinced that there was nothing to worry about; if Carlisle continued to set Harrison off he would--quite justifiably--be undergoing more disciplinary measures. And if Rita Skeeter wrote more articles the other students were likely to get wind of it in no time...

The housekeeper looked sceptical, her mouth twisting as she said, "If you say so. I'll go check on the food. Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding suit you?"

He nodded, sitting up stiffly. "That suits me fine. Thank you." As he watched her go, he thought, And if it didn't suit me, what then? Would you be shocked if I transfigured it into something I wanted to eat? He couldn't do that without breaking the law but that didn't mean that he wasn't sometimes tempted. He listened to her bustling around the kitchen on the other side of the hall; he still wasn't certain why he'd agreed to stay. Part of him was curious and detached, as though observing someone whose skin he happened to be wearing. I need to eat anyway, he thought irritably. What difference does it make if I do it here or at Hogwarts? But he knew that a part of the reason for his staying was that he was curious about the woman who was the mother of Harry Potter's son. What sort of woman is she? What drew a woman like her to a sixteen year old boy, and this one in particular? He never did understand what made people want to be near the great Harry Potter, other than his celebrity, of which she had been utterly unaware. But then he'd never understood James Potter's popularity, either...

"Oh, there you are!" Miss Harrison said, standing in the doorway of the living room and looking pleased with herself. "Beatrice should have everything ready in a trice. I hope you don't mind eating in the kitchen; we don't stand on ceremony around here generally."

"Your meeting went well, I take it?" he said, standing and following her into the hall, bringing his head low enough to avoid the lintel at the last possible moment.

"Very well. They've signed a lease for two years. And it's a very sweet horse, a docile chestnut mare. Shouldn't give Dorothy any trouble at all."

She put her jacket on a peg in the hall and entered the kitchen, going to a dresser with some old mismatched china and a few bottles of wine. After selecting a bottle she handed it to him with a small silver gadget. "Would you like to do the honours?"

He frowned down at the bottle and mysterious gadget, raising one eyebrow. She once again completely misunderstood. "Oh, I'm sorry. Do you not drink wine?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to hold his tongue; when he had collected himself, he said stiffly, "I drink wine. I am, however, not accustomed to using this to access it."

She laughed. "Well, what do you use?" she said quickly, before freezing and nodding. "Oh--right. I see." Laughing again, she said, "I'm not used to this. I'm sure that after seven years--"

"The food seems to be ready," he said quietly, cutting her off. The housekeeper had been letting the roast rest on a carving board but now was bringing it, partially sliced, to the long table. He noticed for the first time that it was set for two, not three.

Miss Harrison opened the wine while the housekeeper continued to carry the vegetables to the table; she then took off the apron she'd been wearing and went to the hall. As she spoke she donned a lightweight jacket. "Well, I'll be off then. Don't worry about the clearing up; I'll tackle it in the morning. If you could just soak the roasting pan, though, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course, Beatrice. Thanks! See you tomorrow morning."

When she had gone Severus accepted a glass of wine from Miss Harrison and sat at his place at the table. "She doesn't live in?"

"No, she has her own family in the village to care for. She's going to do their tea now."

He hadn't expected them to be alone and he felt distinctly uncomfortable now, but had no way to escape. There was silence while she dished up the food for them, then just the scraping of their utensils on the plates and chewing and swallowing. At length, she looked up and said, "I'm sorry that it's such a burden to eat with me. I won't make the mistake of inviting you again."

Her voice sounded thick, as though she was trying not to cry, and he felt instinctively annoyed by the guilty reaction this induced in him. "It is not a burden to eat with you. I am, however, at something of a loss for topics of conversation that do not include warning you that your son needs to keep a better grip on his temper or the issue of how your son came to be at all. I am also unaccustomed to being around any Muggle who is permitted to know that I am a wizard, about the wizarding world or about magic in general. If you would like to suggest a topic of conversation, I will attempt to be a good guest and join in," he said pointedly, reminding her that she hadn't been speaking either, until she accused him of thinking it a burden to eat with her.

"I'm sorry," she said again, truly sounding like she was this time. "I don't know how to do this. With rare exceptions, for the last eleven years it's been just--"

"--you and your son. You have not adjusted to his absence." He nodded and took a sip of wine.

"Yes. And why do you think I wouldn't want to talk about him? What's this about his temper? I thought that would stop when he went to magic school."

"He is allowing himself to be provoked. He must learn self-control."

She nodded. "Because everyone wants to know why he's possible," she said with a sigh. She looked at him shrewdly and he hoped that he had arranged his features into an innocuous, disinterested expression. "Including you, I suppose."

He was loath to admit this. "Of course not. That is a private matter."

"A private matter you'd like to know more about," she prodded. He looked away.

"The most mysterious thing, for my part, is how your memory of that time happens to be intact when I put a memory charm on you myself."

Miss Harrison was silent again, having turned bright red. To occupy herself she was noisily cutting her meat, looking quite guilty. Why should that be? he wondered.

They continued eating in silence. She never responded to his comment about the memory charm but did finally manage to bring up another topic, that of the Hogwarts curriculum. The housekeeper had prepared a fruit tart but after the tart and the curriculum conversation had dwindled to nothing Severus rose to go, saying, "Thank you for the meal, Miss Harrison. I--"

"Miss Harrison?" She looked perplexed. "Is it possible that you haven't called me by name all evening? For heaven's sake, you'd think by now you could call me Tilda. What should I call you? What is your first name again? I've forgotten."

You should call me Professor Snape, he thought. But he said reluctantly, "Severus."

She frowned. "What?" He repeated it. From her expression he could tell that she wished that she hadn't asked him. After clearing her throat she said, "Well then, Severus, thank you for helping me earlier and for staying to tea. I hope that--" Suddenly a large owl came flying through the open kitchen window, alighting on the chair next to Tilda. She looked quizzically at Severus before taking the parchment from the bird's talon and unrolling it.

"Dear Mum," she read, "You didn't send me an owl when you got home. I've talked to Ginny and I'm going to visit them in Durham next weekend. Once we see how that goes I might visit every other weekend, if it's all right with you. Ginny wants to have you come visit as well, perhaps at Christmas. Say hi to Minnie, Mickey, Beatrice and Dorothy for me. Love, Teddy."

She swallowed. "Have me visit?" she whispered, staring down at the letter. The owl landed on the remains of the roast beef and she shrank back. "Help! Will it carry off a roast?"

Looking around nervously, Severus pulled out his wand and banished the owl, which flew precipitously out of the window, backwards, its eyes wide with shock. Next he waved the wand at the remaining food and the dishes; the food leapt across the room into the fridge and the dirty dishes flew into the sink and began washing themselves. Tilda stared with wide eyes.

"Erm, that's not necessary. Beatrice said she'd be doing the washing up," she said with a shaking voice, nodding at the sink. He closed his eyes and nodded back at her and a moment later the dishes were simply sitting motionless in the sink. He opened his eyes again and saw that she was looking at him in awe. "I don't think I've actually seen much, well, magic that can be used on a daily basis. Is that what witches and wizards usually do after eating?"

"I cannot answer for every witch or wizard. That is what I do." He slid his wand into the sleeve of his jumper.

"When you and the boys are on holiday?" she asked. "Where do you go?"

He sighed; clearly he was still not getting away quickly. "For the last few years–the Isle of Wight. I have a cottage. And no, I have never done that when they were with me because they were not to know that I was a wizard. I only do that when I am alone."

She leaned against the table. "So how do you handle Christmas? Will I need to bribe Teddy to come home or something? He already sounds like he's expecting to spend Christmas there." Her voice sounded thick again with impending tears; he thought longingly of his office, a fire in the grate, the satisfaction of giving atrocious essays the marks they deserved...

"So? How do you do it?" she asked again.

"Hm?" he said, looking up suddenly, having forgotten the question.

"Christmas. Do you take the boys to the Isle of Wight? You see Julian at Christmas, you said."

"No, we only go to the cottage during the summer holidays. For Christmas I go to London and stay with the boys and their mother. I sleep on the couch."

Tilda made a face. "Well, that's a bit awkward, isn't it? Since you asked her to marry you."

"No," he lied, "it is not awkward." But this conversation is; thank you again for bringing up the fact that I asked her to marry me. I do enjoy humiliation and embarrassment so much.

"Well, I reckon you get on better than most parents who have to raise kids without being married to each other... So are you going to tell me again that because Harry's been deprived of Teddy for eleven years I should give him up for Christmas?" she said, a peevish note in her voice.

He felt the wine buzzing in his head and thought, No, I do understand wanting to be with your son for Christmas... He had a sudden, very clear memory of Penelope's face when she turned down his proposal, tears streaming down her face. He remembered wondering whether her declining to be his wife meant that he would never see his son again...

"I may have an idea," he said. "Perhaps you can spend Christmas at Hogwarts. The Potters can also stay at the castle. And the boys can be together as well--Theodore and Julian's older brother, Nate. Then you needn't be a guest in the Potters' home just to see your son for the holiday."

She looked at him in surprise. "That's not a bad idea, actually. And I could meet Julian's mother. She would come, right? After all, she's also my son's friend's mum. I'm not very used to this, since the only other friend Teddy's had is his own cousin, but I know that most parents are concerned about meeting the parents of their kids' friends. I'd like to meet her."

Was it the wine? he wondered. What made me suggest that? And how am I going to get Penelope to come to Hogwarts?

"Yes, erm, as I said, it is just an idea. If Penelope does not want to change the Christmas routine, or if the Potters insist upon going to their home--or possibly to the Weasleys'--"

"Oh, yes, I know. There may be complications. But we have almost four months to work them out." She smiled at him, looking genuinely happy. He found himself giving her a small smile in return, once again wondering whether it was the wine...

Somehow he was finally able to take his leave. He withdrew his wand from the sleeve of his jumper and Apparated from her kitchen to the edge of Hogsmeade, patting himself cautiously, but it seemed that he hadn't Splinched himself. Then he realised that he'd left his robes, still appearing to be a tweed jacket, in the cupboard under the stairs at Latere Farm. Luckily the jumper would keep him warm enough to walk back to the castle.

He pushed open the great doors and looked around the entrance hall but it was quite deserted; when he entered his office it was as he left it, although it felt for some reason as though he'd been away for years. He settled down for a few hours of marking essays and only noticed, when he was preparing for bed, that he hadn't bothered to transfigure his shirt again. Severus placed it in the hamper with his other dirty clothes but still did not bother returning it to its true form. So the jumper sat, a fluffy ivory-coloured pile of wool atop the unmitigated black of his shirts, trousers and robes, like a dollop of cream floating on top of otherwise dark and bitter tea.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The wizard looked up at the large house before him; as English country houses went it was rather run-of-the-mill, even though it sat in a beautifully-landscaped park, but he knew what most people in Wiltshire did not: that the most esoteric collection of Dark Arts books in the country resided within, hidden in a secret cache beneath the drawing room floor. He didn't know whether one of the books held the information that he needed, but he didn't have anywhere else to look, so he had to take a chance. It had taken him nearly four months to come up with his plan, but now that he had done so he had something rather valuable with which to bargain.

He rang the doorbell; as he waited he fingered the holly and evergreen wreath that decorated the large black-painted door. Despite the nod to the holiday on the front door he knew that the staff would be disconcerted, since anyone invited to the house would normally Apparate into the entrance hall and since Muggle-repelling charms kept most other people in the county at a distance. When the door opened the hinges creaked noisily, crying out from long disuse. He frowned at first, seeing no one, then looked down, finding a house elf wearing what appeared to be a very small boy's sailor suit, complete with a boater. (Holes had been cut in it to accommodate the elf's large, flapping ears.) It also wore knee-high socks and black patent leather shoes with a strap across the instep. It looked, the wizard thought, ridiculous.

"Is the lady of the house at home?" he enquired with a slight bow, as though the elf was a butler.

"Who is asking?" squeaked the elf, his small mushroom-like nose twitching.

"Who in Merlin's name are you?" came an imperious voice from within the entrance hall. A tall, handsome but annoyed witch strode toward the door, shooing her elf out of the way.

He gave her a lopsided smile that was meant to be charming, looking her up and down in a way he could tell she didn't like, but he thought, Not bad for a bird of her age...

"I said, who are--"

"I went to school with your son," he interrupted her. "I have a favour to ask of you."

She crossed her arms and snorted. "A favour? You must be joking. I do not plan to ever---"

"--see your son again, evidently," he finished for her, even though he could tell that that wasn't how she had intended to finish the sentence.

She gave another derisive laugh. "Oh, I suppose you're planning to break him out of Azkaban? And you still haven't said who you are. Or what this favour is."

"Blaise Zabini. We can get to the favour later. But yes, Mrs Malfoy, I intend to free your son from Azkaban fortress."

---