Hunted

Epilogue

At his manor house in the country, Severus Snape paced the floor outside his bedroom door. His footsteps beat a path across the Kilim carpet that ran the length of the hallway. At the window, he whipped around and retraced his steps to the other side, his ever-present black robes blowing behind him like an errant sail. What the hell was taking so long?

He stopped in front of the double mahogany doors that marked the entrance to the Master Bedroom suite. His hand reached for the doorknob. He listened, straining his ears for any sounds from the adjoining room. His wife's labored cries, mingled with the midwife's instructions, filtered in muffled tones into the hallway through the closed door.

Hearing his wife's pained scream, Snape jerked his hand away. His hand ran through the unkempt tangles of his black hair and thrust back into his pocket. He spun around and resumed his restless vigil.

His thoughts strayed back through the four years of their marriage. Only four years? He and Ravena fought like they'd been married for ages. He preferred to think of it as sparring: a duel of words and wit, the verbal equivalent of a physical battle requiring acumen and strategy and offering the thrill of conquest.

Conquest? He quirked an eyebrow. Her heated words often served to enflame his passion, a sort of verbal foreplay. Ravena had no need for love potions or aphrodisiacs. The subtle art that is potions making was lost on her, but she was a connoisseur in the art of making love. The woman was accomplished in her craft. An appreciative smirk twisted across his sallow face.

Snape paused in mid-stride. His dark eyes glossed over, lost in some past memory. He sniffed. His finely tuned sense of smell had catalogued every nuance in the scent of her skin: rosewater and almonds and salty perspiration. His hand stroked the smooth banister, making a mental trajectory down the long line of her alabaster neck, over the ample bosom, along the hourglass shape of the waist...

The cry of an infant sliced through his reverie. His head snapped around to face the doorway, derailing his previous train of thought. It had happened at last!

He strode forward, grasped the handle, and threw open the doors. The first cries from the child's lungs, lusty and strong, assaulted his ears. His eyes locked on the wriggling bundle clasped in the midwife's arms. He checked his confident stride. His quick tongue had gone mute.

"It's a girl, sir," the gray-haired woman announced, a jovial smile on her round, red face.

Snape's gaze flicked from the fidgeting blanket to the eager stare of the Healer. She nodded and held out the child for his inspection. Snape eyed the bundle with uncertainty, then glanced at his wife.

Ravena reclined upon the satin sheets, her labor done. Sweat beaded upon her brow and glistened across her chest. Her ebony hair framed her face in limp tendrils, lying in disarray upon the silken pillows. She rested with her eyes closed. A blithe smile perched on those lips.

Snape glanced back at the bundle thrust toward him by the elderly woman. He swallowed and nodded curtly. She positioned the babe in his arms, showing him how to support the head and neck.

Snape gazed dumbstruck at the newborn infant stirring in his arms. A shock of black hair stuck out from the top of the molded head. A tiny button nose perched above a pouting pink mouth. A pair of eyes, dark as midnight, locked on his face, quick and alert.

Those eyes pierced him to his very soul, sharper than any skilled Legilimens. A gurgling coo from the child's lips swept away all his reservations faster than laughter banishes a boggart. He gazed into his daughter's face, aware that she had cast a spell over him far more powerful than any potion that he could brew in his laboratory. An involuntary smile crept over his lips. His chest swelled with pride.

"Have you a name for her, sir?" the midwife inquired.

"Serena," Snape replied without a moment's hesitation.

"But Severus, we had discussed Rose or possibly Amaryllis--" Ravena said. Her china blue eyes flew open.

"Her name is Serena Aphrodite," Snape repeated. He cast his wife a withering glare, cutting off her objections. "It was my mother's name. Now, it is hers."

Ravena's protest died on her lips. With satisfaction, Snape marked the look of resignation in her eyes. He had won.

The midwife bustled about the room, gathering her belongings. She collected her many medical devices and lowered them into a little black bag that appeared far too small to contain them. The satchel expanded with great elasticity to accept each item, then shrunk back to its previous diminutive size. Once her bags were packed, the midwife tended to Ravena one last time. Snape watched the proceedings with mild interest, still cradling the child in his arms.

A knock on the suite door caught his attention. Knobs, their aged house-elf bowed, in subservience in the doorway. His large ears flopped forward and his long, thin nose almost touched the floor.

"Sorry to disturb Master," Knobs said, executing a second servile bow. "Is Master wishing Knobs to bring in the flowers now?"

"Yes, of course," Snape replied. He gestured to a table next to the bed. "Put them over there for Mrs. Snape."

"Flowers? For me?" Ravena's azure eyes sparkled. A smile flashed over those full lips. "Severus, you shouldn't have."

Knobs staggered back into the room a few minutes later, weighed down by an enormous vase of cut flowers. The arrangement was so large that all that could be seen of the elf were the tips of two ears sticking out on either side of the vase like wings, and its feet protruding from beneath the monstrous load. The house-elf maneuvered the vessel onto a table near Ravena's bedside, executed another deep bow, and shuffled from the room.

Ravena's face flushed with obvious pleasure at the sight. Wizard blooms of all descriptions cascaded from the vase. Colorful bearded iris grew real whiskers on their falls. Blowsy wizard roses sported four-inch thorns like sharp needles. Arching sprays of bleeding heart dripped red droplets from pendant, heart-shaped blossoms. Tendrils of smoke snaked skyward from white, cigar-shaped nicotiana. Fronds of various ferns and trails of poisoned ivy interspersed the colorful display.

"Oh, Severus, they're beautiful," Ravena gushed, shooting him an adoring look.

"You're welcome," Snape replied with a self-satisfied smirk

Ravena scooted over on the bed. Her slender hand plucked a single rose from the vase. She lay back on the satin pillows. Snape watched her lift the bloom to her nose and inhale, a look of contentment on her face. How she loved flowers.

His gaze shifted from his wife's face to his daughter's. The dark eyes were hidden under lids closed in trusting sleep. He marveled at the child-like faith, something that had been snatched from him at an early age. Under his breath, he vowed that it would be different for his own child. He would not let that happen to her.

"We shall need a nursemaid," Ravena whispered with a tired sigh. "And a governess too, I suppose."

Snape's head whipped up. "There's no need for a governess. I will see to her education myself."

"But you have your teaching duties at Hogwarts," Ravena countered. "Where will you find the time?"

"I'll make the time," Snape said. "I will not have some inferior governess corrupting my daughter." He paced the floor with the child in his arms, his doting gaze locked on the little face. "I will teach her all that I know. She will be the cleverest witch of her age, intelligent and gifted. Not some insufferable know-it-all..."

* * * * * * * *

The Lupin residence sat on the outskirts of Hogsmeade Village. A crooked gate hung on rusted hinges. The front yard was a tangle of weeds and overgrown shrubbery. The roof over the front porch drooped. Except for a well-kept kitchen garden hidden out back and the puffs of smoke that billowed from the chimney, no one would guess that the Shrieking Shack was occupied. The structure looked like a ramshackle shack on a deserted lane. But inside, the house was a tidy and cozy little cottage.

Angela set out plates and silverware on the rustic farmhouse table of the old kitchen. Savory smells wafted from the belly of a cast-iron stove, filling the house with delectable aromas. A loaf of fresh bread cooled on the countertop, steam still rising from the golden crust. Angela hummed a happy, lilting melody, as she fussed over the dinner preparations.

Her song was interrupted by the creaking of the front door in the upstairs hall. Children's shrieks and laughter echoed from above, followed by the patter of feet pounding down the stairs. Angela smiled as two twin boys bounded into the room on chubby legs covered with dirt and bruises. Their smudged faces, framed in light brown curls, lit with mirth.

"Mummy, Mummy, look what we got," four-year-old James yelled.

The exuberant child held up an enormous three-eyed toad covered with warts. Angela eyed the mutant amphibian. She cringed and recoiled a little.

"That's lovely, dear," she said, forcing a smile. "Where on earth did you find that?"

"The Weazey's pond," James said.

Sirius, his twin, plunked a tin of beans on the kitchen counter and went over to admire the toad in his brother's hands. His blue eyes sparkled with excitement.

"They got fwogs an' newts an' salmanders too," Sirius added. "Cause that's the wickedest place on earf."

"Is it now," Angela replied with an amused grin. "And who told you that?"

"Auntie Tonks and Uncle Paulie," James said. "Wicked! That's what Auntie Tonks said when we showed her."

"Can we keep him?" Sirius said. His blue eyes were wide with his most innocent, angelic stare. "Pleeeeeeeease?"

"Well...I suppose," Angela replied with reluctance. "But he'll need to stay out in the garden. He'll be happier there, anyway. Now run along and release that toad." Angela shooed the boys from the room. "Then wash up for dinner."

The two little boys bolted for the stairs. Remus dodged his boys and strolled into the room, cradling their one-year-old daughter, Emma, is his arms. The infant had curly chestnut hair and green eyes just like her mother. Emma sucked her fist. Chocolate coated her mouth and hand.

"Looks like you had a busy day." Angela smiled.

"Yes," Remus replied. "Indeed, we did. We'll tell you all about it over dinner."

Remus reached into his breast pocket, extracted a bar of Honeyduke's best chocolate, and placed it on the counter. The wrapper had been peeled back and a large chunk was missing from the corner. Angela's eyes lit on the baby's face. She had no doubt where the missing chocolate had gone.

"Honestly, Remus." Angela uttered an exasperated sigh. "You spoil that child. You're going to ruin her dinner."

"You didn't eat much, did you?" Remus nuzzled his face into Emma's soft curls and kissed her head. He glanced up at Angela. "She gets more on her than inside her anyway."

Angela took the baby from his arms, popped the infant into a small wooden highchair, and waved her wand. A washcloth appeared and sponged the chocolate from the baby's face and hands. Angela tied a clean bib around the child's neck. Remus leaned against the kitchen counter and surveyed the table set for dinner.

"And how was your day?" he asked, now staring over at his wife. "How was that final exam?"

"I admit I had reservations when you first suggested that scavenger hunt." Angela shook her head. "The thought of setting thirty young wizards armed with Polaroid cameras loose in an all-Muggle community to find artifacts..."

"And?" Remus prompted with a smirk.

"It worked out splendidly." Angela cast him an admiring smile. "We only had to rescue one student from a tight spot. Most got full or nearly full marks. It was sheer genius." Angela strolled over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Remus chuckled. "You are brilliant, my love!" Angela said, giving him a peck on the cheek.

The two boys came barreling back into the room. The twins ran around the kitchen table whooping and yelling. Angela pulled away from Remus and opened the oven to check on their supper.

"So what's for dinner?" Remus inhaled. "Smells delicious."

"Stuffed peppers," Angela answered, extracting a steaming dish from the oven and placing it on the countertop.

"Mmmm," Remus mused, taking another deep whiff.

"Eeeeeeew!" James' curl-topped head and blue eyes peered over the countertop.

"Yucky blucky peppers!" Sirius screwed up his face in disgust and stuck out his tongue.

"We want weenie beanie casserole!" James shouted.

"Weenie beanie casserole, pleeeeeeease." Sirius' blue eyes opened wide. He flashed his mother that pleading look again.

Angela stared into the little faces, wearing those expressions that always melted her heart. "Well, just this once." Angela sighed. "It is the end of the term. I suppose we could call this a celebration."

The two little boys erupted in cheers. They hopped around the room in an excited victory dance. Angela searched in the cupboard for a can of baked beans. Then she spotted the tin on the counter. She opened it and dumped the contents into a small empty cauldron hanging over the stone fireplace. She threw in some franks and lit the fire under the kettle. Then she turned to the boys.

"Now let's see those hands and faces."

Both boys held up their palms for inspection. Angela frowned and waved her wand. Pink soap bubbles materialized and scrubbed the boys clean. The bubbles disappeared in a series of pops, leaving behind clean, pink cheeks and hands.

They sat down to dinner. The two boys tucked into their meal, shoveling beans into their mouths by enormous forkfuls. Remus fed spoonfuls of rice from his plate to Emma, alternating with spoonfuls of her mashed banana. The little pink mouth opened eager for more.

"Hungry little bird," he cooed. "And your Mum said I spoiled your appetite."

"Here, let me take over," Angela said, offering the baby a spoonful. "I had some news today."

"Yes?" Remus looked up from his dinner plate.

"Ravena had her baby." Angela smiled and turned to face Remus. "A little girl. Serena Aphrodite. Severus is beside himself." Angela watched as a puzzled expression crossed her husband's face. "What's the matter?"

"Sorry." Remus grinned. "I'm just having a hard time picturing Severus happy, that's all. Anyway, Mad-Eye must be happy about it."

"Yes." Angela nodded. "He jumped for joy on that old wooden leg of his. He can't wait to go back into retirement. He only took over for Ravena as a favor to Dumbledore. He groused the whole month while Ravena's been out on leave."

"I'll bet he did." Remus chuckled and served himself another helping of stuffed peppers.

Angela shot a glance over at her boys with a puzzled stare. She had never seen them eat their dinner so quickly or so quietly. She turned back to Remus.

"So you must tell me about your day."

"We spent the afternoon at the Weasley's for tea," Remus said, putting down his fork. Your brother and Tonks were there too."

"So I gathered," Angela commented. She spooned more mashed banana into Emma's mouth. "The boys seemed to like the pond. And Auntie Tonks taught them a new word."

"Wiffed!" James said, nearly spitting out a mouthful of beans.

"Yes," Remus chuckled, then his expression turned serious. "Your brother Francis offered me a job at his shop for the summer. They're short-handed and need workers."

"That's wonderful news." Angela mopped up Emma's face and hands with her napkin. She gave the infant a bit of bread to munch on. "When do you start?"

"Next week," he said. "I can ask Mother to watch the children, if need be."

"That shouldn't be necessary." Angela shook her head. She turned back to her own plate and picked up her fork. "I only have a bit of paperwork to wrap up. And the final marks."

"Good," Remus replied. "That's settled."

"Will you have time to help me with the curriculum for next year?" Angela asked with a hopeful stare. "I want to make a few changes."

"Of course, that shouldn't be a problem." Remus smiled. "And Tonks gave me some news about Harry."

"Did she?" Angela scooped a forkful of rice from her plate.

"He's doing very well at the Ministry." Remus helped himself to another slice of bread and slathered it with butter. "He was named Auror of the Month and received a promotion."

"That's extraordinary!" Angela replied. "He only qualified last year."

"Yes, well." Remus' face broke into a proud smile. "This is Harry, dear. He's never been ordinary."

"And how are the newlyweds?"

"Molly tells me that Ginny and Harry have set up house in London," he said. "They moved into a flat not far from the Ministry. And Molly had other news." Remus' eyes took on an amused glint. "It seems there will be another Weasley wedding. Ron and Hermione have set the date for October."

"How wonderful!" Angela said. "I'm sure Molly's thrilled."

"Yes." Remus chuckled. "Molly rattled on for quite a while about the wedding preparations."

"And how are Arthur and the rest of the boys?" Angela asked.

"Fine," Remus replied. "The twins' joke shop is doing swimmingly. Arthur gave me a sample of their latest invention. Something about exploding beans." He put down his bread and glanced around the room. "Where did I put that can? Oh well, I must have forgotten it."

Angela's jaw dropped open. She leapt from the table to the countertop in a single bound. Her hand seized the empty can of beans. Her eyes scanned the label. The wily faces of Fred and George Weasley winked at her from the side of the can.

"Oh dear," she whispered under her breath. "Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes proudly presents Turbo Baked Beans. They're a blast!" she read aloud.

Her green eyes popped open wide. She gazed from Remus to the boys with a worried stare. Both boys licked the last remnants of the baked beans from their plates. Remus watched his children with a calm expression.

"Well, nothing's happened yet," he said.

No sooner had he spoken then James looked up from his plate, his blue eyes as round as the empty dinner plate in front of him. In an explosion of flatulence, the child jetted from the chair and hovered in mid-air above the dinner table. The tot erupted in a fit of giggles.

"I just tooted," he exclaimed with glee. "Lookit me, Siwius. I can fly!"

In the next instant, his twin did the same and joined him up near the ceiling. Both children laughed. Angela did not think it the least bit funny. She watched, her anxiety doubled by her own fear of flying.

"You two get down here right this instant," she said, with a fretful expression on her face and her hands on her hips.

Both boys stared back. Mischievous twinkles sparkled in their blue eyes. Angela jumped and grabbed for the nearest child. But he dodged from her reach in a burst of flatulence.

"Remus, do something," she said, casting her husband a beseeching look.

Remus just glanced up the boys, as if this sort of thing were a commonplace occurrence. He looked back down at his own plate and continued eating his dinner, unconcerned.

"Don't worry," he replied, not looking up. "They're in no real danger. It'll wear off in a while and they'll come down. Just don't open the windows. We don't want them flying away."

"But they could crash into something," Angela said, her panic rising. "Or have a nasty fall. Or..."

"Darling, sit down." Remus shot her a reassuring look. "They'll be fine. I learned years ago that I can't shield you and the boys from every danger. Sometimes you have to let go and let them fly on their own. It'll be all right. Really."

Angela's anxious gaze flicked from her husband back to the boys. She sank back down into her seat with a sigh of resignation.

"I suppose you're right."

James and Sirius zoomed around the kitchen in an aerial game of tag. They would put-put and shoot off first in one direction and then the other, accompanied by great raucous shouts and more fits of hilarity.

"I'm the snitch," Sirius said. "You can't catch me." He stuck out his tongue at his brother, stuffed his thumbs in his ears, and wiggled his fingers.

"Yes, I can," James replied, zooming across the room in pursuit.

"Sort of puts me in mind of my old mates," Remus mused with a whimsical smile.

He chuckled. Angela gazed into his blue-gray eyes. The sadness that had always lingered there had diminished. Creases of laughter danced around those eyes, replacing the furrows of worry that had marred his brow. Their life together had not been easy, but the moments of joy far outnumbered the sorrow.