Twisted Little
Happy
Completed (Again): 07-28-05
Author's Note:
After staring at a blank screen, trying to write the article that was original supposed to
be the epilogue, I folded.
I can't do it. I don't write editorials. I don't even read them. So, in
light of this epiphany, I changed it. I decided to go with the
same first-person perspective that I had originally been using and I started writing.
Now, it didn't come out the way I intended
it to, it's much happier, in fact, but... well, you'll see.
Epilogue
-Snape’s POV-
And I graciously wait for the inevitable.
Well, not entirely, maybe if I’d been sure that said inevitable only included the
Aurors and a stint in Azkaban. As it is said inevitable also encompasses the appearance of
Albus Dumbledore at some point and I am at a loss as to how I intend to react. He’ll
know if I lie and he has always taken Black’s word over mine. I’m as good as
dead.
When the Aurors don’t come bursting through my bedroom doors within the first thirty
minutes, I begin to feel unnerved. What could possible keep them from avenging the virtue
of their pint-sized savior? I leave my bedchambers, waiting instead in a hard backed chair
in the entryway, staring at the fireplace with growing dread. The longer it takes them to
come through, the more certain I am that Albus will be the one to step out.
I could run, I’m not above cowardice, but he would catch me.
Another hour goes by and my back in beginning to ache. I move to the plushier chair in a
corner and reluctantly open a book to continue my wait. I’m nearly half through it
when the green flames come to life and a tall, dark Auror bursts through. He’s not
tense, although his hand is on his wand.
My eyes flicker to the clock above his head. It’s been three hours since Black
departed with Harry in tow. I close the book in my lap and the Auror’s eyes fix on
me, almost as if he hadn’t seen me sitting there. If I hadn’t known the man
personally, I might have believed that, but Kinglsey Shaklebolt rarely misses a target,
even in a dark room.
He nods, "Snape, I need you to come with me to the Minister."
The inflection of his voice is not amiable, but then it isn’t the terse clip that I
associate with a man knowing he deals with a criminal. Setting the book on the chair as I
stand up, I run my hands down the front of my robes, aware that if I looked closely, I
might find a strand of his dark hair, still clinging to the black fabric.
Shaklebolt throws a handful of Floo powder in the fire and calls "Ministry of
Magic" before stepping aside. I stop short of hesitating. Something is not as it
should be. I’ve never known the Ministry to take allegations of child abuse lightly.
There should have been more than just one Auror, however competent he may be, and they
should have arrived within minutes of being given the information, regardless of who the
source was. It is also not common practice to allow suspects to travel via Floo. Too easy
for them to step out early to evade punishment.
As it is, I have no intentions of evading anything. Besides, I’m likely safer from
Dumbledore’s wrath at the Ministry than anywhere else. The ride is bumpy and one that
I’m not keen on. There is something undignified about being flung from a fireplace.
The entrance hall to the Ministry is deserted when I step out, yet another oddity. Of
course, it is closing in on eleven, but surely there would be a pack of rabid Aurors
waiting to rip apar the debaucher of The-Boy-Who-Lived. I’m beginning to think they
may not know.
Shaklebolt emerges shortly after myself. The lighting is better and I take another look at
him. His eyes have dark circles under them and there’s a tear in his robes. I note
what looks like crescent moon scratches on his hand and realize that they’re from
finger nails. He sees what I’m staring at and smiles for the first time, though
it’s more weary than amused. "This way."
I follow him through the halls and into the elevator. We go down several flights and come
to a jerky stop. The moment I step out onto the floor, I’m accosted by something
small and warm, something that flings itself on me and nearly topples me to the floor. I
look down and immediately recognize the tousled hair of my lover, my son. His grip
tightens and I put my arms hesitantly around him.
Shaklebolt watches with some interest as Harry shakes uncontrollably in my arms and I turn
to him questioningly. He sighs, "Let's take this somewhere private."
Others watch intently as I steer Harry with me and follow the Auror. The child never looks
up, just breathes deep and uneven into my robes. Shaklebolt takes us to an interrogation
room and closes the door after stepping in himself. I sit down on a little bench and Harry
squeezes tighter, as if he’s afraid of my being taken away.
Looking at the other man in the room, I reluctantly feel my protective instincts kick in.
"You will tell me what happened."
It isn’t a request, but he doesn’t appear to take offense. "About three
hours ago, Black came through the floo, dragging the boy with him. It didn’t look...
well, it appeared to those standing around at the time that young Mr. Potter didn’t
want to be with him, Black was holding onto his arms, shaking him and Potter was trying to
get loose, they were yelling back and forth, talking over each other. No one could really
tell what they were fighting about. Minister Fudge was there, escorting two of the
Dementors off to Azkaban and before anyone knew what was going on, they had already
performed the kiss."
I’m stunned. Harry gives a particularly violent shudder and I can tell from the
dampness of my robes that he’s started crying again. I tighten my grip imperceptibly
as Shaklebolt continues. "Potter went hysterical, he tried to attack the Dementor. It
took three of us to hold him off long enough for it to leave. Once that thing had left, he
latched on Black and we had to force a calming draft down him to get him away from the
body."
The thought of someone forcing a potion down my Harry’s throat makes my chest tighten
in anger. I put a hand under his chin, wanting to get a look at his eyes to ensure that it
had been of proper quality and quantity, but he refuses to look up. Shaklebolt continues
speaking, though he never takes his eyes off me.
"We got him up here and he started asking for you. That was hours ago. We contacted
Dumbledore and he gave me the okay to retrieve you, whatever it took to calm the boy down,
because the draft obviously isn’t wasn’t nearly as strong an effect as it should
have. So, tell me, Snape, why did he ask for you?"
I hadn’t expected that. Should have, but didn’t. My concern for the boy must be
clouding my judgment. I want to think that’s a bad thing. "I’ve no idea.
Perhaps, because I’m his professor."
"But not his head of house and I’ve been told he has a familiarity with
Dumbledore. Why you?"
I shrug, for only the third time in my entire life I’m unable to come up with a
satisfactory reply. Shaklebolt deflates and stands. "Right, I’ll leave the two
of you alone. The Headmaster should be arriving soon."
The moment that man is out of the room I give in to the maddening instinct to stroke my
lover’s hair. I’ve never been the tender sort and I can’t say that I’m
particularly soothing in this, but his convulsive breathing begins to even out and his
fingers relax their grip on my robes. By the time one of the Auror’s comes in to take
him away, saying the Albus is requesting to visit with him alone, the boy doesn’t
object, just follows numbly.
I can try to fool myself into thinking that Harry will somehow be able to fool the
Headmaster, worm his way around questions of why and how, but I know better. Albus will
already know the truth. There are only so many reasons Sirius Black would risk going into
the Ministry and only one of those involved him taking Harry with him. It wouldn’t
take an accomplished Leglimens to decipher the clues, just someone with adequate brain
power.
There’s no telling how long I sit there, but it feels like hours, minutes. When the
door creaks open again and Dumbledore steps inside, I don’t even have to look up to
know that he knows. I can feel the anger radiating off him in waves and it takes more all
of my strength not to fold then and there.
Looking up at him, I see reflected in his face what I already knew. His eyes are blank,
his features lax, as if he is controlling himself with a great deal of effort. He pulls up
a chair across from me and sits down. "I’ve spoken with Harry."
He pauses and I feel the need to nod, to let him know that I’ve heard what he’s
saying. When he doesn’t continue, I get impatient. If the man is going to kill me I
wish he would simply get it over with. "And what has Harry said?"
"Not a great deal. He wishes me to believe that he and Sirius were having a fight
over him having called you ‘‘dad.’"
I can actually follow the boy’s thought process, however flawed it may be. Sirius
would have been spitting mad had Harry ever said ‘‘dad’ to me, but that
alone would not have prompted the man to walk into his own death. "And what do you
believe?"
Dumbledore smiles sadly and I’m slightly taken aback. I’ve only ever seen him
truly enraged a handful of times and this did not look entirely the same. Oh, he
wasn’t happy, he was upset, but he probably wasn’t going to kill me just yet. I
would have been thankful, but I almost fear the wait more than the deed itself.
"I cannot claim to be omniscient to what goes on outside of my school, but I am well
apprized of all that happens within it’s walls." I flinch. "When I first
found out about the two of you, Severus, I won’t pretend I didn’t consider
misplacing you." He says the word ‘‘misplace’ in a way that clearly
states ‘‘killed in an unpleasant way and left somewhere were no one would find
the body.’
"But, I thought better of it and simply came forward with what I knew. I hoped that
knowing would change the way he felt about you and the way you felt about him." the
Headmaster stopped and looked down at his wrinkled hands, "But then, I suppose that
as much as I may have hoped otherwise, I knew it would not. When he went to your chambers
and did not leave till the next morning, I had no delusions as to what went on. I may be
old, but I am not entirely bereft of my imagination just yet."
"I’m not happy with the situation, Severus. I’m disappointed in you and I
fear for Harry. He has not had the best of childhoods, but I would have hoped he could
have a normal, happy life. See to it that you provide that." He stands up and leaves
and I’m still sitting the chair, staring at the now open door in shock.
Harry’s on the other side, his eyes bloodshot, and puffy, his nose still red, but
he’s looking at me expectantly. Very slowly and cautiously, I rise and walk to his
side, putting an arm around his shoulder. After his earlier display, it would do little
good to pretend I am anything other than familiar with him.
The Auror, Shaklebolt give me a knowing nod, and I don’t need to wonder what he
thinks he knows. I’m taking my son home. Harry is quiet in the elevator and I think
about everything I’ve just lost. Dumbledore’s respect, my position as spy. There
can be no going back from this, the entire Ministry saw the child clinging to me. But I
think that perhaps I’ve gained just as much, at least for now.
Harry’s silent until we are back in my home. Our home. He looks at the floor and then
suddenly looks up at me with large, pleadings eyes. "I... It was you or him, Severus.
Is it wrong to be glad that it wasn’t you?"
There are tears forming in his eyes again and I give in yet again, pulling him into my
arms and holding him to me. I’m not good with words and even if I were, I don’t
know what I would say, so I try and convey with the strength of my hold on him that I am
just as glad as him that it wasn’t me.
I can’t imagine how the war will be won without a spy, or how we’ll manage to
keep everything a secret when he’s such an open book, but that hardly matters at the
moment. No, what matters now is that I do what Albus has instructed me to. Keep the boy
happy.
The clock above the fireplace strikes one a.m.
"Let’s go to bed, Harry."
-Finis-
(for real this time)