by Darklady
Disclaimer: JKR owns the characters, I don't. I slash the characters, JKR don't. We clear? Thought so.
Slash?: Technically? Yes. But not like that, really.
Rated: PG (Only because I don't *do* G. )
A further consideration on the nature of mythical lives. Helps if you've read `Ever After'.
Archive: Ask
Once Upon a Time
by Darklady
The birth of Wizards is not like other births.
For one thing, it's not private.
~HP~*~SS~*~HP~*~SS~*~HP~*~SS~
It was the Turning of Samhain.
High in a blood-warded tower in the wildest hills of Wales the Scroll of the Serpent unrolled itself. A claw-fingered crone watched as letters of green fire inscribed a new name below that
of Sytherin's most prominent descendant. Marcus Salazar, son of Severus Snape.
Bats flew, and wolves howled, and the night-cloaked Mages who viewed the scroll shivered.
No mother was named.
It was rumored among the Secret Masters that the babe was the spawn of a Secubus summoned by his sire from the Darkest Pit. Others swore it was a Changeling Child, bred upon a Dark Elf as a payment for some Forbidden Brew. Still other's of the Arcane Host whispered that the child itself was the spell, crafted of elementals created by Black Alchemy. No one questioned that Snape - whatever his vows to the good - was beyond question capable of all three of those and more.
The Daily Prophet carried a simple announcement. One line, black ink against white paper.
When they read it, several elders of the older and darker politicked purebred families reconsidered their plans for recently born female relations. Snape may have been a traitor - if anyone still took a past adherence to a loosing side seriously - but he was also a victor. That counted a lot. And he was a *power*. That counted for considerably more. And the blood, after all, was excellent.
They considered the future, and smiled.
It was the close of the Hogwart's Halloween Feast.
In a snug upper chamber of that most revered of wizardly structures, a new line wrote itself in the Hogwart's eligibility book. Headmaster Dumbledore was summoned from the table, and
returned to announce the joyous news. An heir had been born to Hogwart's most revered graduate. Arturus Godric, son of Harry Potter,
Bells rang, and birds sang, and the Wizarding World rejoiced.
No mother was named.
it was whispered at the highest levels of the Ministry that she was a Queen of the Sidie, seduced by Potter's emerald eyes. A famed Seer declared that the mother was a Princess of the Afrit,
rewarding the Defender of Truth with the one greatest wish of all. No one questioned that the Bright Lord was worthy of the love of any of those ladies- and more.
The Daily Prophet dedicated it's full front page to the pronouncement- dancing scarlet letters circled in gold.
When they read it, several parents heading the more socially ambitious Wizarding families reconsidered their plans for recently born female relations. Potter may have been a - ummm
- person of mixed decent- if anyone still took such archaic distinctions seriously - but he was also incredibly rich. That counted for a lot. And he was *influential*. That counted for
considerably more. And the *name* , after all, was excellent.
They considered the future, and smiled.
It was the first day of Fall.
A pale blue hand written card pinned up by the letter box informed those neighbors interested enough to read it that Steven Smith and Harold James had returned home with their new son. It gave his name as Arthur Mark.
The grandmotherly among the neighbors cooed and smiled, and several of the more familiar couples came up by tap gently on the door and offer modest pastel-wrapped gifts. Even those who didn't come over were quietly happy for the new parents, offering congratulations when they met in the lobby or at the lift.
No one was so gauche as to inquire about the birth mother.
It was rumored among the older ladies that the `dear old teacher' had helped out one of his former students who had regretfully gotten herself in a `family way'. Some of the younger and more worldly preferred the story that Harry had bribed the officials of some backwater orphanage in Rumania. A few of the most dramatic suggested a surrogate - one of the young lady friends that occasionally come by - with either one of the two men as father. No one questioned that either man was *less* then the new father - especially given the devotion both of them clearly showed for their newborn son.
Adoption was always difficult - that of a newborn harder to come by them most, and for a pair of gay men to manage so well? They looked better too. Harry was trim again, shedding all that
nervous weight he had picked up a few months back, and Sev had lost the drawn look of exhaustion.
The elderly lady who put out the co-op newsletter considered a moment, and then limited the mention to a single cupid-framed box at the bottom of the announcement list. Sevvie could be so *shy* sometimes, she thought.
It was enough. The more mercenary among the local teens marked their calenders, and sent over little notes reminding the new parents of their willingness to provide reliable babysitting at
entirely reasonable rates as soon as the new parents felt the need for a little personal time. Whatever their own elders might have thought about two men with a newborn, no *sensible*
school girl with clothes to buy was likely to pass up an easy five pounds an hour. The food at the Smith-James place, after all, was excellent.
When the new parents read the notes, they smiled.
~HP~*~SS~*~HP~*~SS~*~HP~*~SS~
Marcus Salazar Snape turned eleven.
Interested parties were reminded of the date as the wards on the Crystal Cave were strengthened. What was more, a particularly hostile-looking house elf appeared in Knockturn Alley with a shopping list that included several items that - while marginally dark - were definitely below the interest of a high mage like Severus Snape. What use, the grizzled merchants muttered to themselves, would a celestial Alchemist have for hexing powders or wart-growing charms. Clearly a certain young man was starting to show his power.
A few of the braver or shorter-memories among the Dark Brotherhood dispatched shadow-winged Ravens clutching yellowed parchments rune-scribed with apprenticeship offers for
the evolving young Mage.
They were turned back with their pin-feathers smoking.
Rumor had it that young Snape had been dispatched to the mountain fastness of Rumania to study the Dark Arts under the Dragon Lords themselves.
Severus Snape heard the rumors, and smiled.
Arturus Godric Potter turned eleven.
The event was properly celebrated with a grand ball. The many rooms of the Godric Hollows estate rang with music and laughter, as all the Forces and Powers of Magik gathered to gift
the maturing Agent of Light with their presence. Time after time the great ballroom rang with appreciative applause as Mages from around the globe presented the highest and most subtle of
arts and charms in honor of the auspicious day. Clearly a new Warrior for the Light would soon take his place in the ranks of Magic.
The next day several well-preened falcons settled themselves politely on the brass-worked fence, each bearing carefully worded vellum from some renowned Master of the Art offering
tutoring for the maturing young Wizard of the house.
The messengers were greeted with water and a generous choice of treats, but nothing more.
It was generally understood that the lad had been invited to Avalon the Lost, to learn his magic from the shade of Merlin himself.
Harry Potter learned of the whispers, and smiled.
Arthur Mark Smith-James turned eleven.
There were two cakes, ice cream, pizza, and sufficient party games to guarantee the at least temporary destruction of his fathers well ordered living room under the feet of a class-rooms
worth of near-teens. Not to mention a stack of boxes - muggle and wizardly - that had Father Sev growling darkly about the limitations of mundane closetry. Clearly this family would soon
be looking for a larger place.
Receiving the conventional letter Hogwarts letter by Owl, young Mr. Smith-James accepted, and sat down to compile a shopping list.
His exhausted fathers read the lengthy list - and sighed.
FINIS
©KKR 2002