Recollection

By Taleya

Chapter Fourteen

Ron concluded his little story still chortling at the memory, completely unaware of how Harry had hung onto every word.  He hadn’t been there, so he relied on any memory, any anecdote, no matter how small.

Ron's story left him more disturbed than the others.  It had been far more comforting for him to form a pleasant picture from the other stories he had been told, to paint an image of Snape, protected and supported by the staff.  But Ron's story invited a more disquieting picture into his mind - that of Severus, lonely and vulnerable, left alone in his dungeons, and that scene was distressingly easier to see than loving joviality.

Guilt started its hollow echo again. Self-blame was such an easy game to play, and he had plenty of incentive.

A lightly freckled face poked itself into his line of sight. "You look like shit," Ron announced cheerfully. "Want to grab a sarney? I'm famished."  There was more than just food on the agenda however, he was planning on seeing if he could get his old friend to open up.  Harry like this was…just not right. Not Harry at all, some thin haunted stranger.

"hmm?" Harry shook his head. "Yeah, all right." He pushed himself up off the stair, wrapping himself in his thoughts.

Ron didn't question his presence at the Castle, assuming Harry had also been contacted along with the others when Snape had been attacked.  Hogwarts took care of its own. And when one of their own had been taken, two generations of staff and students alike had risen to the call.

Except one.

The most important one.
They had barely taken three steps before an oddly familiar voice reached their ears.  "Ron…RON! I swear you're as deaf as a post sometimes…."  Ron grinned, then spun around, dashing back down the hall.

"HeeeeeeeeeeeerMIONE!" he snagged her in a bearhug, swinging her around in a circle. "Where have you been?"

Hermione laughed as they both staggered around the room in a drunken waltz. "Out looking for Professor Snape's daughter, the same as you." She pulled herself free and smoothed down her robes, reaching out automatically to rub at a smudge on the end of Ron's nose.  "We just got the owl from the Headmaster that she was found. She wasn't hurt, was she?" at Ron's quick headshake, she let out a sigh of relief. "Oh thank goodness.  Hello Harry!"  The Auror found himself with an armful of delighted hug.  She paused and blinked at him. "No glasses! It suits you."

For a second Harry reached up in old habit to push them back up the bridge of his nose as Ron made some sound of exclamation, noticing for the first time.  The motion petered out before he could make a fool of himself, fingers brushing lightly in the space they used to be.  “Ahh yeah. They got too inconvenient when I was trying to work, so I went to a mediwizard for an Ocularis spell.  It’s permanent too, don’t need glasses any more.”

Ron frowned. “How come you didn’t do that one ages ago then?  Woulda saved you a lot of trouble. Remember that time in Hagrid’s class when your glasses fell off and landed in that pile of grabfoot shi-“

“It’s dangerous to cast permanent body changing spells on someone who’s still going through adolescence, Ron,” Hermione interrupted in a lecturing tone.  “Unless it’s done carefully the results can be unpredictable at best.”

“Well it worked on your teeth, didn’t it?”

Hermione’s hand rose reflexively to her mouth. “That was different, that was an emergency…” she started, but the other two had spotted the gleam of a ring on her finger.

“Oh ho!” Ron pounced gleefully. “What’s that then? Looks like an engagement ring, doesn’t it Harry?"

"Hmm?" Harry eyes flicked over then widened "Hermione! Congratulations!" genuine affection made both men pounce the witch at once, smothering her in hugs.

"I can't believe you didn't tell us -"

"When's the date?"

" - look at the size of that rock!"

"Air…..Air?" Hermione finally fought her way from the tangle of hugs and grinned at the other two.  “We haven’t decided on a date yet, but we’re planning on soon because – oh, he explains this so much easier than me, if you could just wait until he arrives…”

"Who?" Ron danced from one foot to the other in impatience, nearly knocking Harry over. "Who, who, who? Who?? Do we know him? Go on, tell us!"

Hermione hesitated. Not out of embarrassment, but of what she knew the impending reaction would be.

“Neville.”

“Neville….” The two men paused, thinking it over.  Then it sunk in. “Longbottom??" they shouted in unison. Ron started to howl with laughter.

“Stop that!  I met up with him again during my research work. And he really is frightfully good at Herbology, so we were working closely together and things just….happened. You know how it is.  And he’s not a bit like he was at Hogwarts!

Ron finally got his laughter under control. “So where is the knight in sprouting cabbage?”

“He’s out in the stalls, looking for somewhere to put the Pegasus.  Don’t look at me like that! We couldn’t apparate because of the wards and we didn’t want to broom in, and we asked it nicely and it said yes…”

“I hope Neville remembers where he put it!” Ron was still laughing.

“Stop that, it’s not funny.” Hermione smacked him in the arm. “We found out why he was so forgetful.” She shook her head.  “One of his aunts tried to cast a memory charm on him to make him forget….he was there when the Death Eaters tortured his parents. They didn’t find him, his mother had hidden him in time, but he saw…everything…” her voice had dropped to a whisper, tears free on her cheeks and  Harry felt their twin in his own eyes.

// Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! //  A sick feeling settled in his stomach. Was that what his daughter had seen?

“It didn’t work. It messed up his memories, but it didn’t erase what he’d seen. We managed to lift it, but it took a long time and…” Hermione's voice choked off

“That’s rough...” Ron said in a low voice.

“Hey, pretty lady, don’t cry.” The voice was soft, deep, and full of so much love that Ron twitched instinctively.  Long arms wrapped around Hermione’s waist and Neville rested his head gently on the top of her head.

Harry and Ron stared.  Hermione had been right.

Although Neville had changed quite a bit in the last two years of their study, Harry and Ron perpetually saw him as the pale-faced boy with low self-esteem, absentmindedness and a toad he clung to with over-affection.  A bully’s dream.

Not any more.

Neville had filled out. No longer pudgy, he’d grown into his body, broad-shouldered and tall.  Harry had always remembered his hands as being rather damp with a perpetual nervous sweat but the handshake he offered was dry and firm.  "Good to see you Harry, Ron." His arms settled back around Hermione and she snuggled happily back against his chest with a rather smug look.  "Hear you two are Auror's now. "

"uh, yeah." Ron felt like a poor evolution of a neandertal against this new and improved version of Neville "wet hen" Longbottom.  "Hear you're a researcher now?"

Neville flashed them a grin. "She's been talking your ears off, hasn't she?"  his hands darted down, tickling, and Hermione squealed in his grasp.

"Neville! Stop that!"

Neville finally relented. “Hermione and I think we’re close now to finding a cure to Cruciatus-induced illnesses.  The tests have been promising, we’re just waiting on permission to try human trials.

“We’re hoping my parents can meet their grandchild.”   At this Hermione leaned back into his chest and he let a hand gently rest on her belly.

“Bloody cheek.” Ron muttered, but there was no bite to it, and he embraced her with honest affection.  “Congratulations ‘Mione!”

Harry echoed the words, but dully.  It seemed he would never escape the reminders, or the guilt. And he deserved them, he supposed. His head dipped a little in shame.

"We were just gonna go grab a bite to eat," Ron met Hermione's gaze out of Harry's line of sight and she picked up on the message in his eyes, looking worriedly at the other Auror.  Not that any of it showed in her voice, this wasn’t the place to try and pry Harry's emotions open.

"Honestly Ron, always thinking with your stomach…"

"Just you wait, if you're anything like our mum was, you're gonna be eating everything in sight - ow! She's hitting me! Make her stop hitting me!"
 

The pear still giggled, turning into a large doorhandle - blue this time - and they clattered into the kitchen, talking about everything and nothing, catching up on old times. Harry felt like a stranger, there was so much he'd missed.  Deep training, five months worth and then his work had kept him away.  No, they hadn't really. They'd just been a convenient excuse.

Filch was there, with the ever-present long-lived Mrs. Norris.  He did little more than peer at them suspiciously and lift a lip in a sneer before exiting, mumbling to himself.

"So...is it true, Ron?" Neville asked tentatively as they seated themselves at one of the long tables occupying the bulk of the kitchen. "What we heard? I mean, did Snape really…" he trailed off and Hermione took over.

"Did he carry the baby?" she asked eagerly. "That's what we heard." At Ron's nod her excitement grew. "You mean he actually carried the baby - to term? And gave birth? How was she born? The same way she was conceived?"

"Oh leave off 'mione!" Ron turned a sickly pale colour at the thought.  He wasn't the only one as all three males at the table turned a uniform pale and shifted their bottoms on the bench.

"Honestly, I don't know what you're fussing about. Especially you. You're going to see it all when our child is born, after all," this last was directed at Neville, who turned impossibly paler.

"Someone change the subject please, " he said desperately. Ron smirked at him and wandered off to see if he could wheedle a snack out of the eager house elves.

 “So…" Harry tried to approach the topic casually, but failed miserably. "Do you….uh…You know who the father is?”

“Na, they didn’t tell us that.”  Ron swung into the seat beside him, mouth already half-full of roast lamb sandwich. “There were only a few of the staff in there when they ran the Paternity spell - that woulda been before you two got here with your search group," directed at Hermione and Neville "- and when they came out Dumbledore told us that it didn’t matter.  I took it to mean he’d just buggered up some potion he was working on and got up the duff from that. Damn these sarney's are nice…”

“You haven’t changed Ron. Charming as ever. Thank you,” This last was directed at a nearby house elf as Hermione took a proffered plate of biscuits and sat back a bit as the little creature served them all tea.

“It’s strange though.”  Neville stirred his tea with a thoughtful air. “I mean, he isn’t just a potions master in the educational sense of the word - he really is incredibly skilled.  I can’t see him making a mistake like that.”

"Yeah. Right. Which is why he's teaching students he can't stand instead of doing something else." Ron snorted.  Years of association with Harry and he still couldn't understand why someone wouldn't want to reach for fame, take their skills and blaze across the sky with them whenever they had the chance.

"He doesn't just teach," Hermione poked him with a shortbread.  "He does his own research work - his compendium on comparative ingredients is virtually a bible for any serious researcher into potions, and we did owl back and forth quite a bit - he helped us with the most crucial breakthrough. We wouldn’t be anywhere near as close as we are now without his help.  I still can’t believe he didn’t tell us!”

“Shame most likely.” Ron choked down the last of his sandwich unrepentantly.  “I mean look at it. Either he stuffed up a potion and didn’t want to admit he’d blundered, or he took it up the arse from someone who’d pissed off, leaving him holding the baby.  Personally I think it’s the former, I mean think about it, he's an alright bloke now he has a kid, but the man still has to be passion’s most unlikely plaything in existence.”

Harry made some sort of grunting noise while under the table his hands gripped his knees tight enough to splinter bone and his eyes committed murder.

“I have to admit though, he does love his daughter,” Ron was oblivious to the impending doom sitting next to him.  “I swear I never thought I'd say it, but I only hope I’m half as good a father as he is when it’s my turn.  You shoulda seen him when he was pregnant!”

“I did.” A head popped out from the middle of the table.  Ron yelped and sent his second sandwich flying into the air.

“DON’T DO THAT!”

Someone had to say it, so this time it was Neville taking great pleasure in NOT being the one who'd damn near wet his pants. “Hullo Sir Nicholas.”

“My my my, this is a happy reunion!” Sir Nicholas beamed at the little assembly. “Young Neville, Miss Hermione, Ron, and of course Harry!  So pleasant to see you all again, we so rarely get to see the students once they’ve graduated." He seated himself neatly beside Ron at the table and looked mournfully at the pile of sandwiches.  “Oh, to eat again...” He shook himself. “Anyhow, in answer to your questions, I don’t believe Professor Snape accidentally stumbled across the potion that can make men conceive.”

“Why’s that then?” Ron fished a pickle out of a jar and sucked it down with a ~pop!~

“Because he already knows it. The Friar told him, of course.  It’s simply a more complex variation on the fertility potion that was created for women as I understand it. The Friar was the one who developed it in the first place.  He does like to spend time down in the dungeons with him – when the Baron isn’t there of course.  Can’t see why,” he sniffed disdainfully. “Most ungracious man, that young Professor Snape.

"What was he like?" Neville asked curiously. "When he was pregnant, I mean.  He didn't have any trouble, did he? Everything went all right?"  Harry felt oddly touched by this strange show of concern Longbottom had for a man who used to make it his hearts delight to terrify him, but Hermione didn't seemed fazed at all, adding her own gentle enquiry.

Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington set himself a little more comfortably on the bench.  "I suppose that would depend on how you would define trouble, " he began slowly.

***

The ghosts were all a-flutter over the newest addition to the Hogwarts family. Many of them had had children of their own, long ago, and a few had even seen their descendants appear amongst the ever-changing sea of faces. Not that they had ever mentioned the fact - while it was one thing to know one's ancestor was a friar, a knight, or a baron of unspeakable cruelty, it was quite another to meet said ancestor face to face.

The fat Friar of Hufflepuff positively bubbled with excitement. Children among the staff, it had been far too long.  Whereas the others tended to worry and theorise about whom the other father was (and several of those who had been privy to some surreptitious meetings between Severus and Harry had their own suspicions) the Friar was completely unconcerned with that fact.  One would almost think he was the father the way he had pottered about the castle, his usual cheerful grin stretched to the point where it seemed that the top of his head might topple off.  His usual visits to the dungeons became ever more frequent - much to Snape's chagrin it appeared - and the rest of his time was devoted to long talks to Professor Sprout and suggestions as to which herbs would best be grown for the coming months.

Peeves was his usual obnoxious self and took to throwing diapers and contraceptives at Snape whenever he could garner the most embarrassment – although heavens knew where he’d gotten them.  Right up until the point where the Baron took him aside and said a few words the other ghosts couldn’t hear, no matter how hard they strained.

After that, Peeves had positively crawled whenever Severus was in a room, to a point that was almost sickening.  The Baron on the other hand, was keeping close by the dungeons, some said to protect the head of his house, although others privately thought this was at the behest of Snape himself, simply to keep the overeager Friar away from him.

Sir Nicholas himself maintained a respectful distance.  Although he was delighted with the news - a child! Who wouldn't be? - he was also aware that Severus Snape was, and would always remain Severus Snape and no doubt found his newfound status as Hogwarts Pet Project an irritant more than anything else.  Irritants led to stress, and that in itself would not be good for him, or the baby he carried within him.

But of course, that didn't mean he couldn't watch.  One of the wonderful things about being a ghost was that you could hide your presence from the living.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, his other hand once more finding its way to rub at the ache plaguing the base of his spine as he irritably swept his reams of parchment and potions ingredients aside.  It was useless, his long elegant handwriting becoming crabbed and slanted with frustration as he'd worked at the latest information Longbottom and Granger had sent him.

He had tried seating himself on a stool while he worked, but it simply pained his back more.  It was a useless venture anyway, he was constantly on his feet gathering ingredients and tomes of reference.

He was working from a chemical premise. Flat out refusing to even subject a test animal to the Cruciatus, he approached the problem from a different angle.  If a potion could be created that simulated the effects and aftermath of the curse, it could be broken down as to which ingredient affected which part of the mind and body, and which counter measure could be used.  A high risk, but one that could provide them with a starting point, no matter how remote.

Unfortunately, while he was the ideal subject to test the potion on, having been subject to the Cruciatus himself more than once to satisfy the sadistic whims of Voldemort, he was unwilling to take the risk now he was with child.  Instead, he was left puttering about, relying most only guesswork and his own knowledge of potions.  However, he reluctantly conceded, it was time to admit his inability to the other two.

Not that they had any idea he had been using himself as a test subject  - they would have insisted he stop at once, which would have left them far behind their current stage of progress, and done no good to any of the hundreds of people they were trying to help.

No, it was time to admit that he was now less than useless to the pair in their endeavours.  He wrote a short note, claiming class workloads and other research as his reasons, tying it to the leg of a waiting owl before making his way to the comfortably stuffed chair by the fire.

A slight groan escaped his lips as he sank into the heavenly depths, easing his poor feet up onto the matching stool.

Ahh, Christmas. Not so much a season of joy and giving, but a relief from the endless waves of students hell-bent on driving him insane.

And the staff!

The hardest task set to him was of course, Remus Lupin.  Not so much Lupin himself, but the fact that he was part of a matched pair.  Wherever Lupin was, sooner or later, there would be Black.   The last of the Marauders, he supposed they felt some idiot kinship and urge to stay together.  Thankfully, Black had had the common sense to stay away from Snape.  It would have been so hard to explain to the Ministry the sudden appearance of his new black grim-fur rug had the situation been opposite.

Still, at least Lupin's presence meant he no longer had to sit directly beside Hooch during meals. The woman was unbearably full of idiotic bonhomie, with her booming voice and revolting attempts to 'Buck him up.'  At best, she overshot by several letters of the alphabet in what she achieved.

And she kept touching him! The woman had no concept of personal space.  Piling vegetables on his plate, flicks of his hair, pats to his stomach, all accompanied by that obnoxious voice telling him to get out more in the fresh air, it was better for his baby.

He shuddered when he recalled the time she'd decided to give him a massage mid-meal.  The snickers from the school had been bad enough, but easily quelled, although he had the feeling his trademark glare wasn't quite as effective with his eyes bulging in sheer stunned affrontry.

He twitched unconsciously. Those hands descending down on him and rolling him around like a sack of meat. The woman massaged about as well as she did quiet and sedate.

Thankfully, she was not spending this Christmas at Hogwarts. Instead she was spending it with her nephew, Hamish, who lived in some horribly obscure village in Scotland.  What was the name of the place? LockMoo? Lochdubh? Something like that.  It could have been Loch Ness for all he cared as long as it mean he had two weeks free of her.

Minerva also was not spending the Yule season at the castle. She was staying with an old friend in a visit promised before she had found out about his condition.  Although she had offered to break it off, he had urged her to go.  He didn't need babysitting, although her presence, he would indeed sorely miss.  Out of all the staff she had been one of the few to keep her head, and they had taken to quiet Sunday afternoons together, tucked up together in the warm of her office, drinking tea and talking little of nothing.   She had rapidly become the only bastion of calm in his life, which seemed of late to be degenerating into accelerating lunacy. Kindness from the Weasley twins for Merlin's sake!

The clock above the fireplace ticked away a slow minute and Severus found himself brooding. Fear - and longing. Where there was Lupin, there would be Black.  And where there was Black, there should have been

No.

That was past. And it should stay there.

The clock ticked another minute.

Christmas eve.

He reached for a book and tried to read for a while, the words skittering past his eyes, seen but not understood, turning a page for the look of the thing before letting it slip from boneless fingers, staring at the fire.  Two weeks. Two glorious weeks, no students, nothing but freedom. Most of the staff gone, invitations successfully fended off, even Dumbledore had been persuaded to leave him alone after a misguided attempt to include him in the festivities and a sparkle-eyed suggestion regarding Santa Claus had left Snape so purple with apoplexy that the older wizard seriously feared he would work himself into a miscarriage.

He was free. A glorious evening of unrivalled idiocy and he was well clear of it.  Nothing but a warm fire.

The clock ticked away another minute, tiny slices of his life being nibbled away.

Nothing.

It occurred to Severus that he had never felt so lonely before in his life.

It was mood swings, hormones, that was all, that was the only reason why the hesitant tap on the door to his chambers had sent him scurrying to answer it, pathetically eager to see another face, eager for any company at all.

And they were the only reason why he accepted Remus' invitation to spend the evening, hands clutching eagerly at the gilded Christmas card.  The corridors seemed unreal, the sounds of the party in the Hall echoing dully through them and he found himself hastening his steps despite Remus' slow, considerate pace, breath coming in quick little puffs, desperate to stay with the other man, somehow afraid that he would lose sight of him, be left alone in these cold, torchlit halls, forever outside.
Lupin's quarters were warm and full of light, a marked contrast to his own stark rooms.  Christmas cards and odd decorations potted the room, a giant tree dominating a corner, charmed snowflakes twinkling merrily in the cheerful air.  He halted uncertainly, fingers dancing over the raised surface of that gilded card in his hands.  Sir Nicholas rose from his chair, bowing politely, but he was staring at the huge black form sprawled in front of the roaring fireplace.

Remus followed his gaze and grinned. "He claims it's warmer for him under all that fur. Personally I think he just does it to hog the rug in front of the fire." He nudged the indolent animagus with one foot and got a sleepy yawn for his troubles.

Severus hovered near the door, desperation taking a different slant. Christmas with Black was not his idea of an ideal situation. Although normally he would have taken a delight to being the proverbial thorn in the other man's arse, there was a lot of bad blood between them. It had started with attempted murder and degenerated from there and no matter what anyone else claimed, or an official pardon he still knew that Sirius Black was a serious concern. Worse than that, he was a danger, both to himself and his unborn child.

"Come in, Severus." Remus was already fluffing a few cushions and settling them in a comfy-looking chair by the fire. "Sit down and have a drink to celebrate the season." He reached out a hand as if to guide the other man to the chair and Severus stepped back out of reach.

"I do not feel that well, and I doubt an evening in the presence of your omnipresent mutt will improve matters." That, at least was no lie. He had been feeling off-colour and light headed all day, a situation that the trek from his dungeons to Remus' rooms had not helped. In fact, he felt downright ill, although he attributed the latter to the peculiar smell of dog that seemed to permeate the room. For gods sake, the man was an animagus capable of becoming a canine, not the other way around!

The dog in question got up from its sprawl and gave a deep growl, advancing on him.

Severus' already rather frayed nerves gave a nervous twang and he backed away. The light-headedness that had been irritating him all day increased with his blood pressure and he tried to calm himself down, one hand on his stomach. There was no reason for this, he was safe, surely Remus wouldn't let him…

Sirius grinned a doggy grin at him and he suddenly noticed how big and sharp those teeth were.

"Severus?" He could feel Remus' gaze on him, but he was hypnotised by the sight of the dog in front of him.  It was big.  Massive, in fact. Very, very large indeed, with muscles moving like coiled springs under the coat. That in itself was unnerving enough, but adding to it the fact that the man inside had cold-bloodedly sent him to his death at age sixteen…

He had to get out of here. Now.

The dog trotted closer, head cocked to one side, a querulous whine issuing from the back of its throat.

"Master Black I believe you should move away…"

Sir Nicholas' warning flickered dimly at the edge of his hearing as Severus backed away further, almost tripping on the edge of a rug.  His mind helpfully provided him an image of what Sirius would most likely do to him once he had him on the ground and his unease became a full blown panic fit as he scrambled backwards until he felt the wood of the door pressing into his shoulderblades. He really was feeling quite ill now, his head was spinning and flushed with heat and knew he was panicking unreasonably, hands flying to his stomach in protective instinct. "GET THE HELL -"

And then the world did an odd little dip and swirl and vanished completely

"SEVERUS!"

Something soft and cool was gently brushing his face, smoothing over his cheeks and forehead.

" - poor fellow had a rather nasty shock -"

" - is the baby all right?"

"- I think so, I thought I felt  - "

"- he's waking up…"

"Severus?" A voice echoed solicitously in his ears.  "Are you all right?"  His eyes fluttered open and stared right into the eyes of a certain Sirius Black. His heart did jump at that, but thankfully the mind-chewing terror of earlier had faded somewhat.

"Get away from me."

Black pulled the washcloth away from his face and stepped back, folding it into a basin and taking a seat a safe distance away.  Snape realised he was lying on a soft surface, and beyond Sirius there were two more faces peering concernedly down at him.  He pushed himself up a little on his elbows, and Remus' hands rushed to help, easing him up and pushing pillows to support him.

"What happened?" and exceeding idiotic question, come to think of it, but the first that sprang to mind.

"You got a little unnerved by Sirius I think," Remus said tactfully. "I think the excitement was too much. You're safe, you know he wouldn't - "

Thankfully Sirius wasn't quite as diplomatic as Remus. "I won't hurt you or your baby, Snape," he said in a quiet, but serious tone. "You may be a greasy little son of a bitch, but the baby isn't.  Neither of you will come to harm from me, I swear on that. I won't hurt an innocent."

Severus was tempted to sneer something back about his own innocence on that night so many years ago, but the sheen of truth and sheer concern in the other man's eyes drew it back before it reached his tongue.

"Do I need to call Madam Pomfrey?" Sir Nicholas hovered at the end of the bed, ready to flit out of existence and into the witch's quarters in a heartbeat.

Severus paused a moment on that last question, taking stock. Physically he felt well enough, if a little weak, and he wouldn't be dashing to his feet any time soon, but his daughter - despite himself he had taken to using Ron's prediction as gospel -  was bumping quite happily along in his belly and there was no pain.

"No," he said finally. "I appear to be...unharmed."  Now his panic had worn off he felt incredibly foolish.

"You probably had a fainting spell. It happens sometimes, Lily used to get them if she spent too long on her feet, or moved too fast," this little tidbit came from Sirius, who risked moving his chair closer.  He didn't attempt to touch Snape, for which he was oddly grateful. He didn't think his newfound calm could stretch quite that far. "When was the last time you ate?"

Severus lifted the corner of his lip in a sneer, but his biting reply was cut short by a rumbling sound. Betrayed by his own stomach, which was far more interested in the prospect of food than in cutting down old enemies.

A plate wafted under his nose and he glared at it, moving the glare up the hand proffering them, along an arm and straight into Lupin's face.

"Eat." Remus said in a surprisingly firm tone. "You won't do yourself or the baby any good if you faint again.  Sirius barely caught you this time as it was."  His face gentled and he sat himself on the edge of the bed, blocking the view of the other two. "They're ginger snaps," he said softly, pushing the plate closer with a peaceable hand. "Your favourites."

Snape felt oddly touched by the gesture.  Remus, he knew, couldn't stand the things.  They revolted him to the point where he refused to even have them in his rooms.  Reaching out, he gingerly took one.

Remus smiled. He couldn't help it. Severus looked nothing more than an oversized child, tucked up in bed with his hair mussed, working away deliberately at his treat. Reaching out, he let his hand hover for a moment over the other man's ripe stomach, waiting for a negative reaction before letting it lower whisper-soft down to touch.

The infant inside gave a lazy roll and kick and he smiled in pure unaffected delight.  "Merry Christmas, little one," he whispered softly.

"Well then, " Sirius broke the moment, pushing himself out of his chair. "Let's get this party started!"

And started it was.  And continued….

And continued…

Severus felt well enough to move from the bed to the chair by the fire, feet propped up on a pouffe, tray of snaps beside him, watching the small celebration. Pain shadowed his eyes as he watched the two men trade in-jokes, old japes, references he didn't know.

This wasn't his world.

Laughing, an extremely tipsy Sirius was attempting to create a drink that Sir Nicholas could savour, mixing stronger and fouler variants of every alcoholic beverage he could get his hands on, and a few he'd made up on the spot, finally setting them on fire, claiming the resulting blue flame was a ghost of a drink.

It was their Christmas, not his. Their season, their joy. He didn't belong. He never had. Never would.

Remus roared out of nowhere, tackling Sirius and the two men wrestled playfully on the floor for a few moments, chanting the words to some song he didn't know, and given the rather…indelicate…lyrics probably wouldn't care to.  Severus used the moment as a distraction to slip out of the door.

He made his way slowly back to his dungeons, leaving behind him that warm, cheerful room and company, trailed silently and invisibly by a concerned ghost.  Once inside, he seated himself on the edge of his bed, one hand resting on his pregnant belly in an unconscious attempt at comfort, eyes gazing absently around the room.

It had never seemed so cold and lonely.

***

A muted silence settled over the little group.  Behind them, Harry could hear the house elves doing whatever it was that house elves did.  Sir Nicholas watched, waiting.  He'd deliberately omitted the end of his tale, of how young Lupin had left Snape to his solitude for a bare half hour before tapping on the door, another plate of biscuits in his hand, a bottle of Bailey's tucked under his other arm. Of how he'd merely sat there quietly with Severus, saying nothing, the crunch of biscuits, the clink of glasses and the crackle of a warm fire the only sounds in the room well into the night.  Of how Severus had found peace and company after all that evening.

"I should have sent that invite like our mum wanted to..." Ron said quietly.  He felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of empathy.

"You could have, but Severus will be Severus. He wouldn't have accepted, would he, Harry," Sir Nicholas stressed gently.

Neville and Hermione caught the byplay, eyes darting to one another before locking onto the Auror.  Ron missed it, empathy rapidly transmuting to anger.

"That's not right. It's just…It's just not fucking RIGHT!" He slammed a fist down on the table. "I don't care if it's Snape. I don't care if it's fucking you-know-who, no one deserves that!" the images the ghost had painted for them blazed full score in his mind, perhaps deeper than they had for the others because he was from a large family, and Christmas was always a time when you were loved. Even when your family was far away, you knew they were there, they would always be there for you, and even if there wasn't much to go around, it would be shared with you because they loved you.

And to spend that season alone, knowing that no-one cared, watching those happy emotions and loving gestures from the outside like a starving child with its face pressed against a sweetshop window…

"It shouldn't have been like that. He shouldn't have had to do it alone!  When I think of that bastard who fucked off and how he would have been…" he sputtered off into utter furious incoherency, envisioning some faceless man laughing piggishly in the warm.  His hands clenched, as if wrapping around an invisible neck. "I just want to…"

"Want to what?"  Harry's voice was dull, lifeless.  Inside, he felt something inside him crack, some wall that he wasn't even aware of.  Rampant guilt, building to a crescendo, a martyr's cry. "Want to beat him? Make him hurt?" even as the words slipped past his lips he realised that was what he wanted. Something physical. To be punished, kicked, beaten with both words and fists, to HURT for what he had done. It was too much. Too damn much.  He wanted to pay in blood, be cast out, knocked off the horrid pedestal he'd been placed on and more.  The enormity of it hit him over and over again, Faces and thoughts of the past were hammering into him, breaking from the place he’d sealed them away into for so long. Thoughts he hadn’t dared to think, ripping through him until there was nothing left but paper shadows and tattered shreds.  Agony upon purgatory upon pain, the thousands of screams he’d never let pass his lips since he was twelve years old, sealed away - hark at the resilience of the child!

And the ego. The sheer ego of his actions.

Severus was right. His peers, his betters, they'd all bowed to him, and he'd come to expect it. The poor abused child of the muggle world, the prince among men in the wizarding world. Fantasy escapism, he'd warped, corrupted under what they handed to him so easily.

Walking out - oh, he had to be the one with the power even then. It was easier to leave than to give even a little, to go and bury himself in his work, to sever all ties, even those to his friends and family.  It frightened him, what he'd become.  Tired of the old toys, time to toss them aside and look for new ones.  Life was so much easier that way.  What the hell had happened to Harry Potter? Who was this man, this horrible man who had done all of this, had done it so easily?

Harry's eyes were locked into some distance only he could see.  "He has to pay," he whispered softly. "Pay for what he's done. He has to hurt. He needs to hurt…" His eyes flickered, frightened birds locking onto the man beside him. "I have to hurt. He's here's Ron. I'm here. I'm right fucking here. It was me. IT WAS ME, ALL RIGHT? I'M HER FATHER. I'M THE BASTARD."
 

Chapter Fifteen -->

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Last modified: November 12, 2010