Minerva McGonagall conjured up the list of new first years to whom she would need to write acceptance letters. The list was magically created by Hogwarts itself, she had been told by Albus when he appointed her Deputy Headmistress. How the school knew which eleven year olds in England were born with magical ability, she couldn't begin to imagine, but it had never been wrong so far, and the addresses appearing beside each name were specific down to the room in the house.
She scanned the list, smiling as her eyes reached the entry 'Charles Hagrid, the new room, Gamekeeper's Hut, Hogwarts Grounds'. Though the 'new room' had been added on almost six years ago, this was still how Charlie's bedroom was known. Her smile froze as her eyes kept drifting down the list and came to a halt at 'Severin Snape, second bedroom, Snape Chambers, Hogwarts Dungeon.'
Minerva closed her eyes, shook her head, and looked at the paper again. The name was still there. She tried to recall if she had been hit with any creativity or hallucenagenic charms or hexes recently. Nothing came to mind, so her next thought was that whatever magic created the list must be flawed. She stood, left her rooms, and made her way briskly to the Headmaster's office.
Albus was enjoying the lessened summer workload by feeding his pheonix a custard pie that Minerva hoped wouldn't make the bird sick. "Is that healthy for him?" she asked, distracted for the moment from her original quest.
The Headmaster twinkled at her. "Healthy, no, not any more than it is for us. Nor any worse. Fawkes is quite fond of the pie." He pointed to his desk where the rest of the pie sat atop a pile of parchments that she thought she recognized as the student evaluations each Head of House had painstakingly written for each member of their House and turned in the previous week. "Care for a piece, Minerva?"
"No, thank you, Albus, I was just about to write to the new first years, but," she hesitated, and looked at the paper in her hand again. The name was still there. She wasn't imagining it. "The list is wrong."
He smiled and twinkled at her. "It hasn't been in the eighty years I've worked here, Minerva. What makes you think it is now?" She wordlessly handed the sheet to him, and waited expectantly, frowning slightly. His eyes skimmed the names, and she could tell when he reached Charlie's name. She felt smugly satisfied when he looked genuinely startled and astonished by the name appearing near the bottom of the list. There wasn't a lot that could do that to the old wizard anymore. It took a few moments before Albus spoke again. "I do not believe the list is wrong, Minerva. I do, however, believe that Severus has some explaining to do."
If the list was right, and that was a possibilty that she wasn't yet willing to accept, then Albus had just made one of the more ridiculously understated remarks of his life. And Albus was a rather old wizard with a penchant for ridiculous statements.
Ever since sometime during Voldemort's second reign, Severus had ceased answering when people knocked on his private chambers. His wards were the strongest in the castle, dwarfing even the outer defenses, and over the last decade or so, the staff had grown accustomed to the fact that he left his rooms only to teach, and attend staff meetings. He rarely ate in the Great Hall anymore, though he did occassionally sit at the staff table and push food around on a plate. Rumours abounded, even among the professors, that he had truly become a vampire since he no longer appeared to eat. Only the fact that he still visited the Hospital wing once or twice a term after potions accidents assured Minerva and Albus that the man was healthy and less underweight than his eating habits would suggest, particularly since the house elves reported that he did not come to the kitchens either. It was assumed, since not even House Elves, ghosts, or paintings could bypass his wards and enter the potions master's rooms, that he was supplying his own meals.
Thus neither Headmaster nor Deputy even thought about going down to Severus's rooms to confront him. Neither did they consider summoning a House Elf to fetch him. Instead, Albus sent Fawkes to the Professor. For castle security reasons, Severus had constructed his wards to admit the phoenix should the Headmaster need to contact him. Only after the bird had finished his pie and flown away did Minerva realize the significance of these facts. His assumed depression and anti-social behaviour suddenly took on a very different, almost sinister, light. "He's been hiding the child here for years!" she exclaimed in dismay, feeling embarrassed for not knowing and horrifed that a child, any child, should be so isolated.
Albus smiled at her, but the expression had more to do with agreement and sadness than anything more positive. "Almost certainly."
"That isn't healthy!"
Blue eyes twinkled a little. "I expect that shoud be taken up with Severus and Poppy, not I."
Minerva flushed lightly as she realized her tone had been a good deal more accusatory than she had meant it to be. The next few minutes before Severus arrived passed quietly, as both Headmaster and his Deputy trying to search their minds for clues about the secret child not quite in their midst. A gentle buzzing noise, like a bumblebee, filled the office, and after precisely six seconds, Albus called out, "Enter, Severus."
The door opened, and the Potions Master entered with the pheonix flying in over his shoulder and alighting back upon its perch. "You sent Fawkes for me," he stated the obvious when neither of the room's previous occupants spoke immediately.
"Yes, come here, Severus," Albus instructed waving the younger wizard toward his desk, and turning the list of new students toward him. When Severus reach a position where he could read the parchment, the headmaster tapped the name of interest. "What do you have to say about this?"
Nothing changed on the man's face as he read the boy's name. "Congradulations, the both of you are godparents," he stated in a quiet voice that, in sharp contast to the words, gave no more away than his expression.
Minerva blinked and stared, dumbfounded, at her collegue. Of all the things she expected him to say, that wasn't one of them.
Albus, of course, beamed in joyful delight. "I'm a godfather?"
A small smile cracked through the dour expression. On several occassions she had seen the icy mask slip from Severus's face, all in the company of Albus, and increasingly rare these days when he had retreated more and more to his rooms, away from the rest if the staff. "You are a godfather, Albus," Severus confirmed, a hint of a twinkle dancing in those black eyes. Minerva swore that the man, when he lowered his prickly exterior, was far too much like the old wizard for comfort. She wasn't sure which alarmed her more. The cynical, nasty bastard outside. Or his inner Albus.
She wasn't quite sure when the Headmaster moved. She didn't really think Severus had noticed him move either, or he would have gotten out of the way. But one moment Albus was sitting behind his desk, the next he was crushing Severus in a gleeful hug. Trapped, Severus turned eyes toward Minerva that spoke more eloquently than words. Make him stop this.
A smirk twisted up the corner of her mouth. "Really, Severus. If you did not wish such treatment, you should not have made him your child's godfather."
Albus did release him, though whether it was because of her words or simply because he had finished, she could not say. Severus took a hasty step away, re-establishing his personal space. She wondered how he had managed to conceive a child if a simple hug from his only acknowledged friend made him so ill at ease. Perhaps the boy was an orphaned nephew? But, no. In that case, Severus would not be naming Godparents. Eleven years after the child's birth. She frowned as she wondered if he ever showed any sign of affection to the boy. Frankly, she couldn't imagine it happening, and on top of a life in a single room for eleven years, young Mr. Snape would likely be a most troubled soul.
"I had thought the decade of delay before telling him would have put him off enough to avoid it," Severus continued the conversation, subtly bringing it back on track, despite having been the one to derail it in the first place.
Still smiling, though less widely, Albus settled back into his seat. "Tell us of him, Severus."
"He was born on April 18th, 1997, about a month before Charlie," Severus stated the dry facts without inflection. "He is fine young wizard and has a seventh year's potion making skills already. I expect him to do very well in his other classes as well. He has had a wand since his last birthday, and has already mastered enough charms and hexes to defend himself should the need arise. His House will likely be Slytherin or Ravenclaw."
The subtle approach having failed, if, indeed, that had been Albus's objective, Minerva asked the question most bothersome to her, "Why did no one know of him?"
Severus met her gaze, but the cool obsidian eyes gave nothing away. "It was for his own safety. Word of his existance would not reach Voldemort if only I knew of it." He looked at Albus. "It was this same reason that disallowed me to acknowledge Charlie. Any child of mine would have been expected to become a Death Eater. There would have been certain . . . brainwashing sessions he would be expected to attend. The boys were five before Voldemort fell, those are formative years, Albus."
Disallowed me to acknowledge Charlie, Minerva reran the words through her mind. Severus was Charlie's father then. Not simply responsible for the potion that had created Hagrid's condition as in the story he had told her. "So why did you not reveal Severin and acknowledge your other son when Voldemort was defeated then?"
Severus turn over his hand, a gesture of uncertainty for him. "In part habit, I suppose. There was some degree of embarassment, as well. Not," he added quickly, "of the children. I am quite proud of both of them. Severin, particularly, though that may be bias on my part since he is the one I raised. I find no shame in linking my name to theirs. I only am reluctant to explain their conception, which was no fault of theirs." His mouth twitched ever so faintly. "I find, much to my dismay, that I have not only forgiven the bloody coward of a dog his clumsiness, but am thankful for it."
This apparently meant more to Albus than it did to her, for the headmaster drew in a sharp breath of air. "The potion did not only affect Rubeus, did it, Severus?"
Severus looked away and shook his head. "Hagrid only got hit with it because he was trying to push me out of the way. Bloody noble idiot." Severus began pacing in agitation. "I told him what would happen if anyone was doused with it before the final ingredient. He knew I still held the powdered betzle bug in my hand. He was clear of the danger zone when Fang knocked the cauldron. I was dead center. There wasn't a Muggle's chance in Atlantis that he could have pushed me out of the way, even if I was moving already. He was too far away to begin with. The potion hit me at the same time he did."
Albus fliched sympathetically, and Minerva almost did the same as she imagined the half-giant ramming into someone at speed. But then something else struck her and she forgot about that impact. "You were pregnant," she deduced, feeling ill and stunned. How could a professor - and Professor Snape in particular - carry a pregnancy to term and have nobody notice?
His pacing stopped abruptly at her statement. He lowered his head and his hair fell around his face. "Yes," he confirmed, almost too quietly to hear.
"Charlie is his full blooded brother?" Albus asked curiously.
For a long moment, Minerva did not think Severus was going to answer. "Minerva called them twins since they were conceived within minutes of each other."
She blinked, and asked, "I did?" before she could control her tongue.
Severus turned, his hair still half in his face, but a small smirk mostly visible beneath it. "You did. When you delivered Severin."
Several more events clicked into place and she paled past white to grey. "Dear sweet Merlin. The Ceasarian section."
"Indeed." There was a short silence between the three. "Thank you," he added.
Minerva felt sucked out and dried. She had known there was something wrong about that two minute conversation that had lasted all afternoon. Why hadn't she investigated? Everyone had noticed the potion professor's poor health that year. Why hadn't they forced him to see a doctor? The entire staff had believed his increase in anti-social behaviour had been a sign of depression. Why hadn't anyone tried to draw him out again?
She closed her eyes, knowing the answers. Because he was Severus. Because everyone, including herself and Albus, expected him to be able to handle his own problems. Because his shields and wards, both real and metaphorical, were strong enough to keep everyone out, emotionally and physically, of his private life. Because Severus never gave any indication of wanting help, and no one had felt it their place or right to force it on him. Albus had tried, at the beginning of the so-called depression, but had been so strongly rebuffed at every turn that he had eventually given up for fear of annoying the younger Professor out of his friendship. And Poppy had confirmed, by that point, that Severus was not attempting to starve himself to death.
"When do I meet my godson?" Albus broke the silence, with a twinkle and a smile.
"September first," Severus answered firmly and without hesitation. Not even Albus was able to beg, plead, cajole, manipulate, or demand a change on that decision.
How the Slytherin managed to extract both their words to not reveal Severin's existance to the rest of the staff was something she would never be quite sure of.
Charlie Hagrid entered the wandshop alone, his father promising to meet him for ice cream afterwards. The shop was quiet and appeared empty, but after a moment, an old wizard, possibly even older than Dumbledore, came into sight. Charlie shifted nervously under his intense stare. The man frowned, continuing to stare. Then, quite suddenly, the old wizard laughed. "Crafty Slytherin."
Charlie beetled his dark brows in confusion. He did not understand where the wandmaker came up with that assessment of him. He'd done nothing remotely crafty. He'd just walked into the shop and stood there. Not to mention, his father had been a Gryffindor, as had all his uncles and aunts and godfather, as well as most of his friends from the Hogwarts students. His godmother and most of the remainder of his friends had been or were Hufflepuffs. He didn't see where Slytherin came into the picture. Those students didn't consort with pre-Hogwarts children or part-giants. His father was never clear on whether he was a half-giant or a quarter-giant. Dad was definitely a half-giant. But there seemed to be some confusion on his other parent's . . . er . . . existance. He'd heard whispers, though, about the possibility that it might be Snape. That had been a disturbing thought. But he was a Slytherin . . . Was that why Ollivander called him a Slytherin? Did he know something about Charlie's parentage that even Dad didn't?
Still chuckling a bit, the wand maker said, "You must apologize to you brother for me, young Hagrid. I mistook him for you."
The man was clearly insane. "I haven't a brother." Then, because he felt it needed to be said, he added, "And I'm not a Slytherin."
The wand maker clucked his tongue. "I was not calling you a Slytherin, Mr. Hagrid, but your father."
Charlie couldn't have been more astonished if the fellow had said that Harry Potter was really the Dark Lord. Ollivander might make the best wands in the wizarding world, but his sanity was obviously tenuous at best. There wasn't a Slytherin bone in Dad's body. "Right," Charlie agreed, deciding humouring the old coot was the best way to get his wand chosen and paid for so he could get away quickly.
"Hmm, well, let's see your wand arm then."
It was a relief to finally get out of the wand shop with his holly and dragon's heartstring wand. "I think that man is a bit touched," he informed his father as he joined the big man in front of the ice cream shop. He quickly pulled out his new wand and showed it off before Dad could yell at him for speaking poorly of someone he didn't really know. "Holly, like yours was, he said. Dragon's heartstring core and fourteen inches," he displayed his wand proudly. "Took about a hundred tries to find it though." He wasn't about to mention that his 'brother' found his in only two, because he didn't want to get carted off to St. Mungo's for Ollivander's insanity.
[Reviews - 24] [Kudos - 152]
Download story PDF format or ePUB format or MOBI format
Table of Contents
Download story PDF format or ePUB format or MOBI format
Table of Contents