Recollection

By Taleya

Chapter Ten

It is a little known fact that stone has memories too. And while it does not live and breathe, it has a life that spans millennia, centuries of carefully layered memories in filmed with dust and etched with acid deep into the rock itself.

The stone remembers before Hogwarts was Hogwarts.  Before the students, before the ghosts, before the headmasters, before the glory and the grandeur.  Beneath even ancient portraits of great wizards come and gone the stone remembers. Remembers when they were fumbling students, taking their first steps. Remembers the ones who guided them on their way to glory, and those who taught the teachers, on and on, back and back, to where human memory dims and fades.  And deeper still.   The stone remembers when it was molten, running through the veins of the planet itself.  Remembers the world of chaos above it, remembers the turning, the impact. Remembers when it was Solid. Resting. Immense rock faces, the foundation of the earth.

And then the hewing, forming shapes, surfaces. The triumph of man over the elements, a simple tower, the defence against the darkness, against invaders. A single man, his children, hundreds of descendants, each lord of the castle.  Before muggles and wizardry split, when all knew and feared the bogles, the Old Ways, creatures and magic so fantastical that they faded beyond memory and into legend.  The stone remembers.

The stone remembers the schism, wizards slowly withdrawing into a world of their own ken whilst the muggles grew stronger, adapted to their own ways to compensate for what their now feeble magic could no longer do.  Power shifting, breaking away, leaving it dark and abandoned.

A century of darkness, of peace.

The stone remembers the coming of the founders. From the Moors, from the Glen, from the Valley and the Fen.  Four wizards, each strong and powerful in their own right, full of hopes, full of ambitions, full of dreams of a future they would shape.  The changes, the growth.  New halls, new parapets, towers grown now to four. The secrets. The stone remembers the creation of the foundation of Wizardry, watched it grow, saw it split and reshape, passed through countless hands, the founders now gone.

The stone remembers time, faces, flickering by with the ephemeral fleetness of humanity, brief candles in an endless night. The stone remembers Minerva McGonagall. The stone remembers Albus Dumbledore, young students, feeling their first steps.  And later, the stone remembers the opening of the chamber. The stone remembers Hagrid’s disgrace, Tom Riddle’s award.

Later still the stone remembers Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy.  The stone remembers Sirius Black, Lupin Remus, Peter Pettigrew.  The stone remembers the fear of Lord Voldemort.

The stone remembers James Potter and Lily Evans, freckle-faced and nervous as they started their education.

And decades later, the merest breath to the castle, the stone remembers their son, Harry Potter, young, innocent, with his broken glasses and mind filled with wonder at a world he never dreamed existed.

The stone remembers.

And it watches.

**

After the outburst in the hall, the news of Snape’s condition did not take long to spread through the school.  The muggle-born and raised among them were astonished at the fact that he was male and pregnant, and were decidedly vocal about it.

Their wizard-raised counterparts, however, had much different thoughts on their mind.  Having spent those oh-so-crucial formative years as children taking easily to hand things unthought of in the muggle world, they were less concerned with the how than with the who.  Rumour ran rife, ranging from Lord Voldemort, to Argus Finch, to Snape himself, although the idea of Snape both fathering and carrying his own child caused at least one fourth year Ravenclaw to get a nosebleed from the paradox.

The Slytherin were the most perturbed.  Despised by other houses, stamped with infamy, they clung very closely to their own.  And for the beloved head of their house - for many, a father they did not have at home - they feared the darkest of arts had been involved against him.

The ambitions to prove oneself and have power over ones own life were not the same as the ambitions to kill or control.

Several of them drifted quietly to the library.  On unspoken agreement they split into two groups - the younger years to find out all that they could of what to expect in the next nine months, noting down possible dangers and discomforts, the older and more strong-stomached students venturing into the Restricted Area with passes Severus himself had written them, scanning through endless shrieking tomes for some idea of what had been done to their much-loved professor.

The portraits were all a-flutter, murmurs moving ceaselessly up and down the walls, but that was nothing compared to the commotion in the teachers lounge.  At first Dumbledore’s gentle announcement confirming the rumours had been met with a shocked, pale-faced silence, until he assured them the child was not Voldemort’s.  Then it exploded into a flurry of concern and battle plans.

Even though Voldemort was dead and gone, there was still a very real threat to Snape.  There were Death Eaters who would dearly love to see him dead and dismembered, and then there were those who hated him as a Death Eater – although the latter seemed to have conveniently forgotten the fact that he had been a spy and a hero too.  Then there were those who simply disliked him because he was Severus Snape.  And while Snape was a powerful enough wizard in his own right, the almost tribal urge to protect the pregnant and young burned hard.  Especially since they didn’t know what effect a progressing pregnancy would have on his abilities.

“My sister nearly turned into a squib on her first child,” Hooch’s voice boomed cheerfully through the room. “Completely lost her abilities until young Shamenka was born.  Mind you, on her second one she had a marked increase in power.  Damn near set fire to the house trying to light a candle. Complete loss of control, we had to hide her wand from her until she popped.”

“Oh dear,” Professor Flitwick unconsciously rubbed his wand for security at the thought. “Poor Severus, perhaps we should assign some more house elves to tend to him?  And it can’t be terribly good for him down there in those dark and manky dungeons – maybe we can move him up to another floor?”

Thankfully Snape was not here to hear the flurry of what he no doubt would have termed sickening concern aimed in his direction, having been safely tucked up in the infirmary by Madam Pompfrey for a battery of tests and advice.

“I think we should best leave any drastic changes until the need arises, mm?” Albus successfully hid his wince at some of the more colourful suggestions.  He just knew who would be the lucky headmaster to pass them on to Severus, and while he wasn’t a coward by any means, Snape was indeed a powerful wizard – and Dumbledore had heard some horrid things about hormone induced mood changes.

Sprout was busy making notes outloud of what plants should be grown for stock when they were needed, and Trelawney was once more spouting visions of doom and gloom to all that cared to hear, and even those that did not.

Minerva, unsurprisingly, had kept her head once the initial shock had worn off.  Despite both she and Severus being heads of houses famed for their rivalry, the two had formed an honest working relationship built on mutual respect and almost-friendship, although she was the first to admit that the man really did get tiresome during Slytherin’s seven-year winning streak.  Abruptly, she wondered how many others had seen the gleeful almost-teasing streak in the other man, rather than abject piggish gloating.  And how many other traits had they carefully chosen to overlook?  Snape was not simply reviled outside the school.  She cast her eye over several staff members, and hating herself for it all the while, made a note to speak to the headmaster privately regarding her concerns.

And after that, words to Severus himself.  She was one of the few – if not the only teacher party to the potions master’s parentage, and she knew the circumstances surrounding his birthing father’s death.  Worry gnawed at her insides, but she consoled herself with the fact that unlike Aramanthus, Severus would not be allowed to let his pride endanger his life. And the cheek of it, allowing herself to be worried when poor Severus must be beside himself at the impeding loss of his carefully preserved privacy!

The meeting concluded with very little done, as meetings often do, although Albus had sent out an owl, inviting Lupin Remus back to teach defence against the Dark Arts.  He had, after some hesitation added a side note regarding Severus, and how Remus’ unique talents might be of use. And although there would be some furor over having a werewolf teaching, he was sure this time it could be smoothed down. Especially since the werewolf in question was a hero in the war against Voldemort, and a key player in his demise.  It would be hard for parents to complain about their children being taught by a man with his own chocolate frog Hero card.

And besides, those werewolf qualities were a key element in the decision.  Not only a damned good teacher in his own right, sharper instincts, both man and wolf, would make Remus a grand addition to the security of the school, and Severus in particular.

And so, the teachers headed out into a school alive with rumours, armoured with the truth and each pondering how they would face the next class of curious faces.

**

The stone remembers all of this.  And in the future, it will remember Harry Potter, three years later, pausing in the bare featureless corridor outside the entrance to Headmaster Dumbledore’s office, taking several deep breaths in an attempt to bolster his courage before heading to the infirmary, where Snape was waiting.
 

Chapter Eleven -->

All Content Copyright © 2001 Taleya Joinson
Last modified: November 12, 2010