For Our Parents Willed So

For Our Parents Willed So

*

Secret Fears

*

The first week was actually bearable to James. He was now paired up with Snape in the Potions class, but that he could stand, especially when being Snape's pair meant that he always got excellent grades. The Slytherin usually didn't even seem to look at the ingredients or the notes, he just worked with some kind of instinct leading him. Taking notes took him some time, but he'd always written them with his small, neat handwriting before James was even halfway through his own notes.

At nights, Snape nowadays slept with Mr. Snuffles. James didn't even consider teasing him about it, or telling anybody. It just didn't seem right. The Snape at nights was almost a wholly different person from the Snape at days.

One night as they were settling to sleep, however, Snape's voice broke the usual silence. "If you notice something... odd... during the night, don't wonder about it," the Slytherin said. "Today's the day my Mum died. As I showed my first signs of magic that day, I sometimes react to it in weird ways."

"Like?" questioned James, but the Slytherin'd already turned his side, and didn't respond.

Some time later, just as he'd drifted into light sleep, James woke to the quiet sound of somebody sobbing. Sitting up on his bed, he once again reached for his wand. "Lumos," he whispered, peering towards Snape's bed.

To his great surprise, Snape was not there. Or, he was, but not like he used to be. Away was the sixteen years old, greasy-haired, hooked-nosed, black-eyed Slytherin. This was a little boy, about five years old, with shiny black hair, a straight nose, and stunningly blue eyes veiled with tears. With a struck James realized that this was Snape - looking just like he'd been on the night his mother had been killed. The eyes and nose confused him for a moment, but then he remembered that this indeed was the way how Snape'd been when he was young. When those things had changed, he couldn't tell - he'd hardly ever paid any attention to his fiancé in the rare occasions they actually met.

"What's the matter, little one?" he asked softly, trying to hide his astonishment.

The boy just sniffled. "I cannot tell," he said quietly, then hid his face to his hands.

"Your father killed your mum, didn't he?" guessed James, swallowing.

The troubled blue eyes shot up to him. "How did you know?" snapped the boy with a suspicious tone.

"I know many things" replied James, sitting down next to the boy. Somehow this child version of Snape, with a straight nose and bright blue eyes, was not half as intimidating as his older form. Even though James would have never even considered sitting next to his fiancé, he did not see any reason why he couldn't do so now.

"Please, don't tell anyone," pleaded the boy, tears rolling down his cheeks. "He'll kill me, too, if somebody finds out. He said he will."

"Calm down, little one," said the Gryffindor. He even dared to place a hand on child-Snape's arm. "I won't tell anyone. I promise."

"You look like Potter," observed the boy with an almost accusing tone. "Are you Potter?"

"I know him," James said, avoiding the truth uneasily. How could he tell this little child that he was the person Snape hated most in the world?

The suspicious expression in the blue eyes didn't fade. Then, however, the oy started to silently cry again. James sat patiently, waiting for him to get over the crying fit.

"So you know many things, right?" child-Snape sniffled at last, wiping his eyes.

"Well, some things," James said warily. "Not everything, though. Why do you ask?"

The little boy swallowed, then asked quietly, "When I and Potter marry, and we have an heir, will I kill him or will he kill me?"

For a moment, James was unable to say anything. At last he asked, "Why should either of you kill the other?"

"Isn't that what you do?" asked the boy, genuinely confused. "When you have a child and know that it's magical, you kill your spouse or they kill you?"

"Merlin, no," replied James, horrified. "Is that what your father's told you?"

"No," Snape admitted. "But he said he had to kill Mum."

"That's not true," the bespectacled boy said. "He did wrong when he killed your Mum. If he'd done the right thing, would he have told you not to tell anyone?"

After a moment of thinking, child-Snape replied, "I guess not." Then he asked, with a childishly curious tone that made James's blood freeze in his veins, "Has your father killed your mum?"

"No, " James said, "and besides, I don't have a Mum. I only have Father and Dad. But my friends all have a father and a mum, and none of them has killed the other. You just don't do that kind of thing."

"Oh." Wiping again away the still flowing tears, Snape asked, "So I won't have to kill Potter, and he won't have to kill me?"

"Nope," verified the Gryffindor. "Neither of you will die." In his mind he promised to never again say anything about killing Snape, not even when nobody was hearing. If he had known what the Slytherin had thought when he was little, he'd never said anything. He might be nasty at times, but not a monster.

"Does Potter have a mum?" was the next question he heard. "I've only ever seen his father. Or is his mum dead?"

"No," James replied. "He has two fathers, just like I. Neither of them is dead."

"Oh," said Snape again. "Do they fight?"

James smiled slightly, and shook his head. "Hardly," he said.

With a thoughtful expression, the boy said, "I and Potter always fight. Will our children be afraid? I was afraid when father and Mum fought."

Swallowing yet again, James replied warily, "I think that once you're adults, you are clever enough not to fight."

"Do you really think so?" asked Snape curiously. "I don't want to fight. Father killed Mum because they were fighting, and Mum didn't fight back well enough. But Potter always starts a fight, and I need to fight back. I don't want him to kill me."

James could not say anything, he just shook his head in horror. He was horrified by everything this little boy said, the things he thought to be true, the things he feared, or hoped.

Even more horrified he was by the truth that the real boy had had nobody to comfort him, to correct those childish fears.

With a huge wave of regret he realized that it was true; he'd always been the one to start their fights. Snape had just risen to the bait, at first because he'd been simply afraid, later most probably just out of habit. In the end he was the one guilty of their animosity.

"Don't think about it," he advised gently. "Just sleep now."

"But what if my father comes and kills me?" asked the boy, only a hint of fear in his voice.

Thinking rapidly, James tried to come up with some assurance that no, that wouldn't happen. He had no way to make this boy believe that his father wouldn't just come and kill him in his sleep, not after what the child had seen.

"Here," he said quietly. "Take Mr. Snuffles with you." He handed the stuffed puppy to the boy and watched in slight shock as the boy grasped on it like he'd never before seen a stuffed toy. Like he hadn't. "Mr. Snuffles will protect you."

"A - a toy?" said the boy disbelievingly. "You aren't serious. My father is a mighty wizard. A toy won't stop him."

Making up his mind, James said, "Well, I'm also a mighty wizard. And I will stop him."

"You won't leave me alone?" child-Snape demanded tearily. "Promise?"

"I promise." With this, he tucked the boy to the bed like he remembered his fathers doing when he was little. Then, pushing Mr. Snuffles into the boy's arms, he whispered softly, wiping the black hair away from the pale forehead, "I'll sit here, next to you, until you fall asleep. And then I won't go far. I'll be in this room for the whole night."

"Okay," said the child, suppressing a sob that still tried to come out. Then he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms tightly around Mr. Snuffles.

James stroked slightly his hair for some time. It was hard to think of this child as his hated enemy. Somehow, the Snape he knew wasn't the same Snape he saw here. He just hoped with all his heart that Snape wouldn't remember this all in the morning.

Or maybe he hoped that he would remember. James couldn't tell for sure.

At last, the boy seemed to be sleeping. Standing up, he prepared to go to his bed. Just then, a little hand grabbed the sleeve of his pyjama shirt. "Don't leave," pleaded a quiet voice. "You promised to stay."

And James stayed, sitting on his place, his hand stroking the boy's soft hair until he himself fell asleep, leaning against Snape's bed post.