Dark Gods in the Blood

Chapter Thirty

'His last word -- to live with,' she murmured. 'Don't you

understand I loved him -- I loved him -- I loved him!'

I pulled myself together and spoke slowly.

'The last word he pronounced was -- your name.'

-- Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

"By all accounts, Severus," Albus said cheerfully, "you've been rather busy as of late. Were you waiting for me to get rid of Cuthrell to leave Perkins or was that coincidence?"

He rolled his eyes and took another sip of tea. "I assure you, it was merely coincidence. Or Providence, depending on one's point of view."

"Whichever it was, it seems to have been for the best," he said. "Would you like a Peppermint Toad, Severus? Minerva brought a sack of them back from the last Hogsmeade weekend -- they're quite good." He held out a paper sack with one of his best imperturbable smiles.

"Albus," Severus sighed, holding up a hand in refusal. "You only try that ridiculous little trick with the sweets with me when you've got something particularly bad to say, so let's just skip the games and have it out."

Contriving to look wounded, Albus tucked the sack away somewhere in the confines of his robes. "Actually, I rather think you'll be glad of my news."

Severus was unable to mask his impatience. "Albus ..."

"Oh, very well," his uncle said, heaving a sigh of mock misery. "I spoke with the administration at Perkins, and it seems they feel they are ... unable to continue meeting your needs. Especially after this last escapade."

"You mean ..." he began slowly. "They threw me out?"

"Right on your charming little ear," Albus agreed. "They were willing either to issue you a certificate of impeccable mental health or to give you a stellar recommendation to the hospital of my choice."

Slumping his shoulders, his voice was low. "And which hospital did you choose, then?"

Since he was looking down at his teacup -- a sad little affair decorated with pink pansies and an inexplicable crack down one side -- Severus missed Albus' expression completely. "Actually ..." he said quietly. "I chose the other option." And with that, he hoarsely whispered an incantation Severus had never heard before.

The teacup shattered as it hit the floor, falling from Severus' suddenly senseless hands. Little tingles, an odd mixture of pain and joy, ran down his limbs and his skin felt as if it was on fire. Green spots danced before his eyes and there was a dizzying moment when he thought he was going to pass out.

And then it was over, nearly before it had fully started. Flexing his hands, Severus stared down at them in wonder. "What did you ...?"

"Catch," Albus said, pitching something through the air.

Blinking, Severus automatically looked up and wrapped his fingers around the long, thin object flying toward his face. He realized with a shock that he was holding his wand.

Albus smiled indulgently at the look of complete and total surprise on his nephew's face. "Well, Severus, it seems I've finally managed the impossible and taken you completely off-guard."

He held the wand gingerly between his thumb and pointer finger, remembering the feel of smooth wood against his fingers as if in a dream. "Are you saying ...?"

"I've taken down the binding, Severus," he replied, nodding carefully, not breaking eye contact. "All of your magical faculties have been returned to you. I've also spoken with Gringotts and the Ministry and restored your accounts with both. Welcome back, my boy." If his voice was gruff, Severus chose not to notice.

"You mean ... I'm free?" he whispered, staring at his wand. "But, why now?"

"Severus, it's been more than three years since your last suicide attempt. More to the point, you've been out of Perkins for four days now and you haven't so much as given a bottle of Dreamless Sleep a sideways glance, according to young Hermione."

"Hermione?" he asked, suspicion dawning in his eyes and a dozen conspiracies immediately springing to mind -- old habits die inexorably hard, after all.

Albus' smile was sly, bordering on a mirror of Severus' own usual smirk. "She and I spoke this morning -- you were still asleep, I believe. But she offered to testify for you at Perkins if need be. Fortunately, the staff at the hospital had no intention of taking you back anyway, so it was unnecessary. That one's a good girl, though -- and it appears that she managed to do in three months what we haven't been able to for five years."

"Rubbish," he snorted. "Granger had nothing to do with it."

"Rubbish," Albus retorted, "as you say. I'm not Jake Cuthrell, Severus -- I mean nothing of the sort that he tried to imply. But you cannot deny that if she hadn't, erm, sparked your interest in something other than staring blandly out of windows and insulting your therapist, you'd still be there, eating your oatmeal and drinking your tea-flavored water. I had lunch at Perkins one day," he explained to Severus' quirked eyebrow.

"It was nice to be ... useful again," he conceded reluctantly. "And I suppose that I realized I wasn't a useless husk of a human being like I'd thought. It was also ..." His response was careful and measured, so quiet that Albus had to lean in a bit to hear. "It was ... helpful to work for someone other than you."

Eyes full of sadness, Albus' voice was heavy. "I have done you no kindness, Severus."

"You took me into your household and raised me when no one else would," he replied mildly.

"Raised you?" he echoed with a trace of bitterness. "No, my staff raised you, Severus. I just footed the bill. I wasn't there for you like I should have been. Can you ever forgive the mistakes of a foolish old man, my boy?"

"My mistakes have been my own to make, Albus," he said. "And while you may not have always ... stepped in to keep me from making them, that does not make them any less my own."

He shook his head. "You may believe that, Severus, but I still claim full responsibility for your well-being, and in that I have failed you. I will apologize every day if I must, but I will have your forgiveness."

"You have it, then, if it's so blasted important to you," Severus said, rather mystified at Albus' behavior. "If nothing else, to head off the thought of an old man hovering beside me every morning, pestering me with ludicrous, unnecessary requests."

Albus smiled, but it was weak. "Of course it's important to me," he said.

Feeling the internal tug as Albus carelessly poked his fingers into that old wound, Severus bit back his frown.

But his uncle must have caught a glimmer of it, at least. "Severus," he sighed. "I know I've not told you often, and I've certainly not shown you often, but I do love you. If I had a son, he could not possibly be more dear to me."

The frown deepened. "Albus, you don't have to --"

"I do," he said sharply, cutting him off. "Severus, I allowed you to spend your entire life believing that you are alone, but I will not do it any longer. Even if you have no one else in this world, you'll always have one barmy old man who loves you with all his heart." Albus allowed a grin to flit briefly across his face. "More than Sirius Black and Harry Potter combined."

Damn it, Severus swore as he felt tale-tell prickles at the corners of his eyes. He would not cry. Would not, would not, would not! "Uncle Albus ..." he sighed.

"And then there's that," he continued in a brisk tone that Severus suspected was masking his own tears. "We'll have no more of this 'Albus' nonsense. I know it's a bit late for it, but I'd much prefer to be your uncle. If you'd like, I can even have a set of robes embroidered. Severus' uncle. Of course, that's only if you'll have the matching ones that say Albus' nephew."

A weight fell off Severus' shoulders, then, as the moment passed. "You really are a crazy old goat, aren't you?"

Eyes widening at the old family joke, Albus chuckled -- it soon turned into a full-belly laugh -- and after a pause, Severus joined in.

"Oh ... good old Aberforth," Albus said through panting breaths as their laughter wound down. "I still invite him to Hogwarts for Christmas every year, but he's yet to take me up on it."

"I believe the Muggles have a good expression about the odds of survival of a snowball in the depths of hell that would describe the likelihood of Aberforth Dumbledore voluntarily darkening the door of Hogwarts while you're still Headmaster," Severus said dryly, clearing his throat.

"Well, he'd probably be very disappointed, anyway," Albus said.

"True," he agreed, tone bland. "There's no proper livestock for miles."

"I guess that this year," he began, still smiling at Severus' jab, "I ought to proffer an invitation to you as well. Although, if I recall, you were never as impressed with Hogwarts Christmases as the rest of the children," he continued thoughtfully. "Minerva would be glad to see you, though. You two always got on so well together."

Severus lifted an eyebrow at that.

"Well," he amended. "I explained most of the situation at hand to her. She has a fairly pronounced soft spot for you, Severus. Inasmuch as Minerva has soft spots of any sort, that is."

The eyebrow rose further.

Coughing, Albus obviously decided to backtrack. "Ah, well ... yes. But it would be nice to see you back at Hogwarts, Severus. For Christmas at least." There was an expression in his eyes that Severus did not like. "And while I'm afraid that our potions position has been taken for an indeterminate length of time, Professor Vector has been making retirement noises, and I know you're more than qualified to --"

"Absolutely not," Severus interrupted. "Albus -- Uncle," he amended to Albus' pointed look. "You know as well as I do that not only do I hate teaching with every fiber of my being, my students hated me teaching with every fiber of their beings."

"Your results were spectacular, though," he said, a wistful note in his voice. "Well ... your test scores, at any rate. I must say that you were fairly effective at killing interest in your subject as well. Hogwarts has produced fewer Potions Masters during your teaching years than at any other point in its history."

"You see," he exclaimed with something close to glee. "No, Uncle Albus. I'll go work for Cornelius Fudge filing paper clips in some useless Ministry department before I'll go back to teaching."

"Paper clips?" Albus echoed.

He rolled his eyes and made a huffing noise. "Figuratively."

"Well, then," he conceded. "If it's a Ministry job you're after, I can speak with --"

"No!" Severus said firmly. "I'm going to find employment on my own. If I need a recommendation, I'll ask you for it, but otherwise, this is something that I can do for myself. If the great Albus Dumbledore has to step in and find his pitiable nephew a job, I won't ever have so much as an ounce of credibility, in any field. Especially combined with my track record."

Clearly unhappy with this, Albus made a face but changed the subject gamely. "Are you planning on staying here, then?"

Looking around Ron Weasley's dingy flat and dimly noticing the broken teacup on the floor for the first time, Severus thought about it for a moment. "Weasley hasn't said anything about me being here one way or another. Actually, he's been gone -- Granger's mostly the only other person around. And now that my financial situation is ... less dire, I should probably find a place of my own. I could go to a hotel until I can arrange something."

"Nonsense," Albus retorted. "If you need a place to stay, I've got not only an entire castle full of spare rooms up at Hogwarts, but a family estate as well. Just say the word, my boy, and the keys are yours. What use do I have for a country estate, anyway? I barely spend any time there."

"Maybe," he said shortly, eyes fixed on the broken teacup.

For the first time in five years, Severus Snape lifted his wand. Pointing it at the teacup shards, he whispered, "Reparo," in a shaky voice, feeling a heartbreakingly familiar rush of energy down his arm. He closed his eyes.

When he was finally able to bring himself to open them, he saw a whole cup sitting on its side on the floor -- even the crack he'd first noticed had been fixed. With no small amount of wonder in his eyes, he leaned over and picked it up, not noticing Albus' broad smile.

-- -- -- -- --

"I refuse to have this argument again," Severus sighed.

"Which one?" Hermione asked irritably as she rummaged around in the refrigerator. "I rather thought we had two going on at once."

He poked at the table, watching it wobble precariously with a slight frown. "Either." He poked it again. "Both."

"Well, then, let me settle one of them at least," she snapped, tossing a head of lettuce on the counter. "Ron's sublet his flat to me at a ludicrously cheap rate, and it's unbelievably stupid for you to move into a hotel while you're looking for a place of your own when you can stay right here. Hell, go stay with your uncle. He told me the other day that he offered you a mansion."

Shaking his head, Severus began obediently slicing up the hunk of cheese she shoved into his hand. "I'm not looking for charity."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Then don't take the mansion," she said, muffled as her head went back into the icebox. "But don't think for a second that I'm offering you charity. You'll have to sleep on the couch, unless you transfigure it yourself. I expect you to pay half of the rent, and buy most of your own groceries. I'm mostly broke and currently unemployed, you see. Although Kingsley said that he wouldn't mind seeing me in the Auror training program. I don't think that's a paying position, though."

He chewed thoughtfully on a sliver of cheese. "You should go into training. As the captor of the wizarding world's first official serial killer, I'm certain the Ministry would be willing to put you on some sort of living stipend while you were in training."

Slamming the refrigerator door, she went to the counter again, hands laden with various sandwich articles. "You were saying something about charity ..."

"It's not the same," he protested, taking a tomato from her hand and cutting into it.

"Close enough," she retorted. "There's ham and turkey. Which do you want?"

He hummed. "Both, I think. If there's enough." Finishing up the tomato, he went over to a cabinet and picked out a plate. "And I suppose," he said in the most supercilious set of tones he possessed, "that staying here would be infinitely preferable to either of Albus' offers. I'd rather not spend my days bumping around the Dumbledore estate with only house-elves to talk to, and I think I'd prefer Perkins to Hogwarts most days of the week."

"Hogwarts can't be that bad," she mused, handing him a couple slices of bread.

"It'll be worse," he grumbled, taking a few bits of lettuce and arranging them artistically on one of the bread slices. "All of those damned women fussing. They'll want to 'hear all about it,' and tell me that I'm a 'good boy.' At least at Perkins no one wanted to talk."

She passed him a plate full of sliced meat. "Well, we've settled that, at least."

His face shuttered. "The other suggestion is not up for debate, Granger." Sandwich now assembled, save the cheese and tomato sitting on the table, Severus walked away from her deliberately, carrying his plate. With relish, he Summoned a carton of juice from the icebox once he'd sat down, as well as a glass from a cupboard.

"Showoff," she said, a disconcerting, teasing sort of affection in her voice.

Swishing his wand in the air -- not casting, just enjoying the feel of the magic tingling down his arm -- Severus frowned. "Not hardly," he said.

Absently, she piled together a sandwich of her own and joined him at the table. "I'm sure Ron would like to see you."

"Nonsense," he said, pouring himself a glass of juice. As an afterthought, he Summoned a second glass and poured her one as well.

"He would," she persisted, putting the last of the tomato on her sandwich and trying to close the whole mess with minimal spillage. "He's always spoken well of you. Well ..." She wrapped her hands around her sandwich and attempted to pick it up -- a tomato slice splattered back onto the plate and a bit of turkey flapped out of one side. "Since I've been back, at least." Carefully, she reached out a single finger and poked the turkey back into place.

Cradling his own sandwich, Severus took a vicious bite out of a corner. "Merely obligation, I assure you," he said, chewing as he spoke.

"No," she protested. "He really respects you. The whole Aurory does, you know. I just thought ... well, since I'm going over to Françoise's house to see him off this afternoon, that you might come along."

"I can think of an infinite number of things I'd rather do," he said, taking another bite. "Some of which involve rabid animals and steak sauce."

With a glare over at him, she sipped delicately at her juice.

They finished their luncheon in silence, alternating between scowling at their plates and scowling at each other. When she finished, Hermione pushed her chair back from the table with deliberate force. "You can clean up the kitchen," she said. "I'm going to get ready to go over to Françoise's." And she flounced out of the room.

Sighing, Severus finished up his own sandwich and drained his juice glass. He obediently put away the leftover sandwich ingredients littering the counters and began moving the dishes into the sink.

As he took Hermione's plate off the table in preparation to wash it, he felt a telling jerk behind his navel. Falling forward into darkness, Severus cursed, realizing she'd tricked him.

-- -- -- -- --

"That was low," he mumbled into the dirt. "Even for you."

"I rather thought you'd like it," Hermione said cheerfully, a good distance away. "Turn the plate into a Portkey and Apparate once I was sure you'd touched it. It took you forever to get around to clearing the table."

He did not turn over, preferring to continue to address the grass he was lying in. "I thought it would be best to take care of the perishables first."

"Well, you ought to get up," she replied. "Everyone's due outside in a minute and you don't want to make a poor first impression, do you?"

"I ought to just Apparate," he sighed.

"You should," she agreed. "But we both know you won't, so why don't you go ahead and stand? There are little children for you to menace."

Rolling his eyes only slightly, Severus picked himself up off the front lawn, turning around to look up at a fairly stately old Victorian home, complete with wraparound front porch and gabled upper story windows. "This is Potter's house?"

"Yes," she said. "This is where Harry lived."

"I wouldn't have expected ..."

She studied him impassively. "Harry always wanted the normal family life, so I'm sure he made many efforts along that vein."

Severus did not know what to say to that -- to the sadness suddenly shining out of Hermione's eyes -- but he was saved from having to respond by a suddenly opening front door.

Ron Weasley, as gangly and redheaded as ever, stepped out onto the Potters' front porch, a small girl with curly blonde hair safely ensconced in his arms.

"That's Alice Potter," Hermione supplied in a whisper. "Harry's daughter."

He squinted at the girl, seeing nothing of her father in her face. Possibly noticing his attention, the girl caught his eye suddenly and waved, smiling brightly. Severus took an involuntary step backward in surprise.

Weasley was giving him a curious look but ultimately chose to look down at the girl instead, saying something that made her clap her hands and laugh in delight. As he stepped out of the doorway and started down the steps, a little boy with black hair trailed in his wake. This one Severus dimly recognized.

"Nicholas," she whispered in his ear. "Harry's son."

"I remember," he said dryly. "Potter used to bore us all to tears at Order meetings with baby pictures."

"Be nice," she admonished, tapping his elbow sternly. He tactfully remained silent.

The boy was followed by a rather smallish looking young woman -- shorter than Hermione, to be sure, but not abnormally so -- with honey blonde hair nearly matching the baby's. It fell neatly down to her shoulders. Her stylish clothing suggested an air of sophistication to Severus that he would not have believed possible of someone affiliated so closely with Harry Potter.

"And there's Harry's wife, Françoise," she concluded.

The unlikely quartet made its way down the front walk, Weasley at its lead. "Hermione," he said warmly once he was close enough, a broad smile on his face. "And Snape?"

"Weasley," Severus said with a curt nod.

Clearly curious, apparently Weasley decided to let it pass, saying nothing in reply.

The woman -- Françoise Potter -- came forward. "Ah," she said with a smile that reminded him somehow of Albus. "So you're the infamous Professor Snape. I've heard so much about you."

"I'm sorry to say that large parts of it are probably true," he said stiffly.

Laughing, she reached out and touched his forearm -- Severus tried not to flinch and mostly succeeded. "I'm glad, then," she told him, smile widening and becoming even more enigmatic. "You will be a very interesting person to get to know, I think, Professor."

He tried not to shuffle his feet. "I am no longer a professor, Mrs. Potter."

"A fact for which the entire wizarding population of Britain under the age of eighteen should be grateful," Hermione said snidely, eliciting a snigger from Weasley and a thin smile from Severus himself.

"Indeed," he said with quirked eyebrow.

"Well ..." Weasley said into the suddenly awkward silence, clearing his throat suggestively. "I know that you brought in old Snape here as a distraction, Butterfly, but I really do need to get going."

"I know," Hermione told him with a sad sigh. "And I understand, Ron. I really do."

With clear sorrow in his eyes, Weasley disentangled the little girl from his arms and placed her carefully on the ground, kneeling down. "Goodbye, Alice," he said quietly -- Severus was absolutely shocked at the gentleness in his voice. "You be a good girl for your mum, you hear?"

The girl's nose wrinkled. "Bye, Unca Ron?" It was clear that she didn't understand the gravity of what was happening.

He patted her head one last time and turned to look at the boy hovering around his mother's legs. "Nicholas?"

The child shuffled forward, eyes fixed firmly on his feet. "I'll see you later, huh, Uncle Ron?"

"Yeah," Weasley whispered. "I'll see you later, Nicholas."

From Hermione's unexpected shift at his side, Severus surmised that she was surprised to see Nicholas Potter wrap his arms around Weasley's neck and bury his face in the crook of his neck. He made a mental note to ask her about it later.

Weasley lightly pushed the boy away. "I'll send you an owl as soon as I get a chance, Nicholas. Oh, and don't forget -- you have a long story to tell Hermione, about the dragon and everything. I think it's okay to now."

The boy sniffled and nodded and Severus felt a suspicious tug in his chest but dismissed it as a lingering effect from the healing he'd experienced a couple of days ago.

Rising to his feet, Weasley turned to Françoise Potter and Severus guessed from the look in his eyes that she was a large part of the reason he was leaving. "Françoise ..." Weasley said, sounding strained.

"Go, Ron," she told him with a cheerless smile. "I'll be waiting for you when you come back."

His responding grin was not comforting in the slightest. "No, you won't," he corrected. And she wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing so tightly that Severus rather thought Weasley would be having difficulty breathing.

But the embrace soon ended and Françoise Potter, apparently unable to stand it any more, retreated into the house with her daughter, without so much as a backward glance. The baby Alice made a few token noises of protest as she was scooped into her mother's arms but remained mostly quiet.

Weasley stood before Hermione and Severus with a sheepish look on his face. "Well ..." he drawled.

"Weasley," Severus said uncomfortably, wondering what to do.

"Snape," Weasley replied in kind. As he held out his hand, Severus was surprised to see genuine respect shining out of the boy's eyes. "I never thought I'd say this, but I think I'm going to miss you."

He took the proffered hand. "I seriously doubt it, Weasley."

Hermione made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob as they dropped their hands. Severus stepped back to allow her more privacy to tell Weasley goodbye.

"Oh, Ron," she sighed, rising up on her toes to hug his neck and give his cheek a chaste kiss.

Weasley's hand went to her cheek and she leaned into the touch. "I might miss you the most, my radiant Butterfly, for all that you've put me through."

"Ron," she said again, voice now definitely more sob than laugh.

"You'll stay in England and become an Auror, won't you?" he asked quietly. "After all, there needs to be someone around to give Kingsley Shacklebolt hell and you seem to be a natural at it."

"You'd better go soon," she told him threateningly, "else I'm not going to be able to let you go."

Pulling her into his arms again, Weasley rested his chin on the crown of her head. "It's not like we'll never see each other again, Hermione. And unlike you, I plan on writing often."

She lifted her head, but Severus could not see her face. "Oh, get out of here, you stupid boy," she sighed.

With a parting smile, Weasley released her and started walking down the street -- there was a Portkey station not a kilometer away, Severus knew. Standing about four houses down, Weasley halted, turning and cupping his hands around his mouth. "I love you, you know!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

Severus rolled his eyes at the display, but Hermione smiled widely. "I love you, too, you great prat!" she called back. Cheerfully waving, Weasley kept walking -- she watched him until he was out of sight.

"Merlin's ass," Severus thought he heard a little voice somewhere behind him groan. Turning around, he saw Nicholas Potter standing in the grass with a look of disgust on his face. "Oh ... sorry," he said, noticing Severus watching him, straightening up and making an attempt to look remorseful, although whether for the sentiment or the expletive, he was unsure.

He shrugged. "As it so happens, I quite agree with your assessment."

The boy's dark eyes were wide, a mix of curiosity and surprise. "Who're you, anyway? I've never met you before."

Severus was rather taken aback. "My name is Severus Snape," he replied stiffly, figuring the boy would recognize the name.

"You know Hermione?" he asked, clearly unfazed by his name.

"I do," he agreed cautiously.

"Oh," the boy said with a brief, dismissive sort of nod. "Do you know how to play Soulblade?"

"What?" Severus asked, baffled.

Something sparked in Nicholas' eyes that Severus did not like and he suddenly found himself at the mercy of this little boy, being tugged by the hand up the walk toward the Potter house. "Come on," he cajoled eagerly. "I can teach you. It'll be fun, I promise!"

-- -- -- -- --