My Son One and Only

My Son One and Only

*

Chapter 1

No Hope Ahead

*

"Neville! Neville, come here!" shouted a sharp female voice. "Do you hear? We're in hurry!"

"Yes, Gran," mumbled the boy, wiping sweat off his forehead. The day was just slightly warm, but he'd been feeling almost hot for quite some time by now. He truly hoped he wouldn't get sick; that would be a really horrible way to spend his summer holiday.

Neville hurried after his Gran, not paying any attention to the people around him. Diagon Alley was full of people, like it always was in summer days. The noise and chatter were making his headache even worse than it was already.

Neville didn't know what exactly was wrong with him. Sure, he'd been sick before, but he'd never felt like this. It was like he had a fever, and yet it was not so. A little voice inside his mind kept telling him that he should tell his Gran, but he did not want to worry her. She had enough worries as it was, what with the War now going on and Voldemort's return out in the open.

Being too deeply distracted by his headache, he didn't notice the black-clad men before it was too late. As of why it was too late, they suddenly drew their wands and started to throw curses at random people. Those of the innocent shoppers who did not panic at that began to scream simultaneously as one of the men conjured a threatening figure into the air.

A huge, green skull with a snake.

"Gran!" exclaimed Neville, grasping the old witch's hand. "Gran, we have to get out of here!"

However, his grandmother didn't seem to hear. Instead, she raised her wand, sending the Wizarding emergency signal to the air. This, of course, didn't fit the Death Eaters very well.

"That was a mistake, you old cow!" one of them shouted, aiming a curse at her. Freezing, Neville started to drag her away, trying to hurry up the best he could. As curses began to fly over him, however, it was no more safe to move. He simply pretended to fall down to the ground next to his unconscious grandmother.

Then, however, he heard somebody casting a shielding charm. Carefully raising his eyes, he saw Aurors appearing to the crowded Alley. Seemingly his Gran's signal had reached them immediately. Relief raised its head inside him as he tried to ignore his headache and concentrate on following the battle that was now going on.

Slowly the Death Eaters were forced to retreat. One by one, the black-clad men disappeared with various 'pop's. As Neville watched this, a couple of Aurors came nearer. One of them, a young witch, knelt down next to his Grandma, while the others surrounded him.

"This boy must still be a Hogwarts student," one of the Aurors said to another. "Good, we can send him to the Infirmary, then. There are only so many doctors at St. Mungo's who can help these people."

"No!" exclaimed Neville hastily. "What about my Gran? You must help her, too!"

However, the Auror who'd knelt down next to his grandmother raised her eyes to him, a sad expression on her face. "I'm afraid there's little we can do for her, boy," she said quietly. "She's gone."

Neville tried to say no, to deny those horrible words, but not a sound would come from his mouth. Instead, he felt the world spinning around himself. Somebody shouted something, but he couldn't make out the words. Everything was just spinning faster, and then the light got dimmer, and then --

Then he knew nothing more.

*

Severus stared quietly at the flickering flames in the fireplace. He was in a thoughtful mood, like he always was around this time of the year.

Almost exactly sixteen years earlier, he had buried her wife. About a week later, his son had died as well, living no more than two weeks. And, like he often did, Severus now imagined what his life could have been like if Nicholas hadn't died like he had -- if his son was still alive.

Well, at the very least he wouldn't be sitting there, in that case. They'd be somewhere else -- at the Snape Manor, most probably, spending their summer together somewhere out of the ancient castle. Not at the tiny cottage, no; even if Nicholas hadn't died, Severus would have sold it at some point or another. It had contained too painful memories of Celine, of their time together. No, Nicholas and he would have been at the Manor. Nicholas would have been flying, maybe -- he would have surely been as good a flier as his mother -- or maybe they'd tried brewing potions together, if the boy possessed a talent for that.

This way or the other, at least they'd spent time together. Severus figured that he'd been a caring father, if maybe a strict one. He wouldn't have spoiled his son, nor would he have tormented him, like his own father had done to him. Nicholas would have had a safe childhood, and happy, for anything it would have depended on him. And it would have -- if Nicholas had lived.

"Severus?" called a voice, startling him from his thoughts. As he concentrated on the flames again, he saw Albus's face in them.

"What is it, Albus?" he asked quietly. "Has something happened, maybe?"

"Yes, something has indeed happened," the ancient wizard sighed, casting his eyes down. "Death Eaters have just attacked Diagon Alley, and Neville Longbottom was brought here. His grandmother was killed. The boy himself was not injured, but he's got some kind of an illness Poppy is having trouble identifying."

Severus nodded slowly. Memories, memories everywhere. Alice and Frank had been their closest friends, his and Celine's. After -- well, after all that had happened, he'd retreated from his old friends. He hadn't kept contact because they'd reminded him too much of Celine, because little Neville had reminded him too much of Nicholas. And then Frank and Alice had been attacked, and Neville had been given to his grandmother's care. When the boy had then come to school, Severus had started to torment him mercilessly -- not because he'd hated the boy, no, but because every time he looked at his former friends' son he couldn't help thinking that it could have been Nicholas sitting there, it could have been his son who'd got to live past the few first weeks of life. And because he wanted to be the Longbottom's son to be ready to face Death Eaters, if need be, and knew no other way than frightening him into it.

"I will come to the Infirmary immediately," he said quietly. He might be always ready to torment the boy, but he most certainly didn't want Neville dead. He knew what it was like to lose a son, after all.

Albus nodded wordlessly. Then he said, "Severus... I understand this is a difficult time to you. And I really do appreciate that you're ready to help." Severus didn't say anything.

*

"Now, where is the boy?" asked a cool voice from the doorway. Poppy Pomfrey, Minerva McGonagall, and Pomona Sprout all raised their eyes from the sick boy lying on one of the hospital beds. When they then stepped to the side, Severus walked to look at him.

"Does he have a fever?" the Potions Master demanded from Pomfrey. "Any other physical signs?"

"Yes, he's having a rather high temperature," the mediwitch admitted. "Other than that, I can feel some traces of magic all over him -- it must be a magical disease of some kind, I'm afraid."

"You are right," Severus said after a quick examination. "I do not think it is --"

"No, it's not that," Pomfrey said quickly. "I was thinking more along the lines of --"

"No, no way, the balance of magic is too set, but what about --"

This went on for quite some time. Minerva and Pomona watched them in a quiet fascination. They hadn't before even realized just how much medical magic Severus knew. Seemingly very much.

"Have you checked the --" Severus said, not even finishing sentence before Pomfrey nodded.

"Yes, and it shows rather high levels. I'm afraid that --"

"Hey!" interrupted Severus then. "Have you noticed this? The natural magic --"

Poppy nodded and then frowned. "What can it be? I've never --"

"I'm afraid I have indeed seen this before," the Potions Master muttered gloomily. "The boy has the Internal Magic Plague."

This made the witches' all gasp. "What is it?" asked Pomona quietly, and at the same time Minerva demanded, "What can we do for him?"

Severus shook his head slowly. "Sorry, but there's nothing to be done," he said harshly. "There indeed is a cure to this illness, but it would not help the boy." At the witches' questioning gazes, he said, "It would require a close blood relative to brew -- and with his parents clearly incapable of that and his grandmother dead, nobody can do anything for him."

"But there must be some way!" Minerva said. "Surely there's at least something to be done..."

"No, Minerva," the Potions Master replied. "I know every magical cure in existence. And to this illness, there's only one -- and it's beyond our reach." As an afterthought, he added, "Well, at least there will be no more exploding cauldrons in my class, with Longbottom gone." He hated this, hated saying those words, because all this made him feel like he was losing Nicholas again. But he had an image to uphold.

"How can you say something like that?" shrieked Pomona. "You -- you are the most unfeeling bastard I've ever seen! Don't you even have a heart?"

Severus fixed her a cold glare. "I do in fact possess the organ in question, Pomona," he replied. "However, whatever emotion lived there died along with my son sixteen years ago." And with that, he turned around and left the Infirmary, leaving the three witches staring after himself.

Dumbledore had, of course, followed this conversation from the other side of the Infirmary door. As he saw Severus brushing past him, the pale face set to its usual sneer, the ancient wizard saw his opportunity.

"Severus," he said quietly, and the younger man glanced towards him, his face a blank mask. Then, he turned away again, seemingly not interested in hearing whatever it was the Headmaster had to say. "Severus," Albus said again, "you maybe should know that... Neville is Nicholas."

Now, the Potions Master sprung around in a flash of a moment. Before Albus could do anything, he'd clutched the front of the old man's robes and brought his face mere inches from the Headmaster's, hissing, "What exactly did you say?"

Forcing himself to stay calm in front of this sudden wrath, the old wizard repeated calmly, "Neville is Nicholas, Severus. He's your son."

"That's not true," was the sharp reply he got. "That can't be true, since there's no Nicholas anymore. Nicholas is dead -- he's been that for a long time, like you should very well know."

"No, he isn't. The baby you buried next to your wife was in fact the Longbottoms' stillborn baby, with some Glamouring Charms to keep the truth from you."

Sneering, Severus dropped him to the floor at last. "So you're suggesting that the Longbottoms kidnapped my son and raised him as their own, eh?" he snapped nastily, his voice full of bitterness.

"Raised as their own, that much I do say," the Headmaster replied. "But they did not kidnap Nicholas. Instead, I did."

At this, the Potions Master froze completely. He just stared at the old wizard, his mouth hanging open. "You're kidding," he finally whispered. "You must be kidding."

"I hope I was," Albus replied sadly. "Alas, I'm not. That night, almost sixteen years ago, I was the one who broke into your house - and kidnapped your son."

"But why, Albus? Tell me at least why?" the Slytherin demanded, a pained expression on his face. "Why on Earth did you take Nicholas from me - the only thing I had remaining of Celine?"

"I thought it'd be safer to him," the Headmaster replied quietly. "You were a Death Eater, and a spy, no less. If Voldemort had found out about your betrayal, he wouldn't have taken it lightly. And that would have been the end of your son."

"He didn't find out, and hasn't done yet," Severus replied nastily. "Instead, my son had to grow up with that horrible woman, growing to hate me and be scared of me - even more so than Gryffindors usually!"

"But I couldn't know," Albus said, sighing. "You seemed to be taking Celine's death so badly, I didn't know whether you were capable of taking care of a newborn. And the Longbottom's baby had just been born still. When I offered them a baby to look after, they accepted him gladly, not even bothering to ask who were his real parents -- or where I took own baby's corpse to, as long as I promised he'd get a proper funeral."

"And when they found out that Nicholas was 'found dead' the very same day they trusted you with their own child's corpse, they didn't suspect anything?" snapped the younger man. "Or were they also adamant to keep my child safe from me?"

"Not safe from you, but from Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore replied. "Besides, I'd placed a few Glamouring Charms on the boy - not permanent ones, but some that would last for long enough that he'd not be recognized as Nicholas anymore."

"So you had planned it all," Severus growled through clenched teeth. "You'd thoroughly planned how to make sure that I would never get my son back!"

"Now's your opportunity," said the old wizard evenly.

With a glare to his direction, Severus stalked away.