“Mr Potter,” Severus said turning slowly, a ponderous expression on his face. “I had almost forgotten you were here.”
“Well, I hadn’t forgotten about you, you murdering scum!”
“Mr Potter, you are my guest. I suggest you watch your over-active mouth.”
Maeve looked from one face to the other, realising that her earlier pep talk with Harry had had little effect. She supposed, with hindsight, the reality of the man he had last seen killing his mentor was bound to undo any good she may have achieved. It was suddenly very tempting to back out of the room and leave them to it. Perhaps she could come back when the shouting had ceased.
“Why don’t you watch your wand, and who you point it at? Did Dumbledore really deserve that? The biggest betrayal of trust ever. He trusted you! What did you think you were doing? Was it a favour for Voldemort?” Harry stood stock still, only his chest rising and falling in time with his anger.
“Once again, Potter, you jump to the most extraordinary conclusions. What passed between Professor Dumbledore and myself on that night is perhaps beyond your small comprehension.”
“You know,” Maeve began, trying to drive a wedge between their animosities, “maybe, Harry… ”
“Don’t!” Harry snapped at her. “Don’t defend him like you usually do. How could you defend him? You’re as much a fool as he is.”
Harry, his body still suffering, wasn’t quick enough to react as Severus withdrew his wand and strode towards him, his long steps covering the ground rapidly.
“You will apologise to my wife immediately, Potter. I am used to your easy insults and snide remarks. She, however, is not.”
“I won’t…”
The wand jabbed upwards towards his cheek, and Severus allowed the point to rest there for a moment.
“Severus, let him go. You once berated me for insisting upon an apology. Must I do the same to you now? Harry is grief-stricken and still sick.”
He stepped back quickly, leaving Harry to scowl even harder.
“I might be your prisoner, Snape,” Harry began, “but you’re not going to get me to do anything to help you. I’d kill myself before I allowed you to use me in any way.”
“Even,” Severus said, his voice dropping to a low snarl, “if that meant bringing down the Dark Lord?”
“And who would do that? His faithful servant, Severus Snape, maybe? I don’t think so. What do you imagine having them think me dead will achieve? All it will do is hurt people, but you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“My intention is not to cause hurt,” Severus said. “My intention is to…” He looked to his wife then, as if unsure of his intentions. She understood, however, that now was not the time to speak and stepped back. “My intention is to fulfil Dumbledore’s last wishes, as it always has been.”
“And his last wishes were to die?” Harry gave a hideous laugh of contempt. “Who would wish to die?”
“So many questions, boy. I have tried, and repeatedly failed, to teach you to think for yourself. I believe Dumbledore tried the same thing, and yet we both appear to have failed in our odious task. Do you ever try to leave your father’s old prejudices behind? Will you ever grow up?”
“I’m a damned sight more grown up than you when it comes to knowing what’s right and wrong. I’m very grown up about not murdering good people! It’s like me killing Remus, what you did. There is nothing in the world that would make me kill Remus, nothing!”
“Not even if he was in great pain, at the end of his life. Not even if you knew that in killing him, you would be helping him achieve something that he believed in, that he had dedicated his whole life to. Would you not kill out of mercy, Potter? Would you not kill to save something so important that everything is expendable when placed beside it? What would you do, Potter? WOULD YOU TAKE THE EASY WAY OUT AND FAIL?”
Severus looked formidable as he allowed his frustration with the student before him to finally peak. His face was no longer rigid with self-control, but an open door to his real feelings.
“I tried to make you stronger. I did my best to toughen up that weak mind of yours. You constantly went against everything I tried to teach you. You ignored advice, ran into danger, did your best to get yourself hurt, or killed. Countless times, Harry, I saved your life. COUNTLESS TIMES! And how do you repay me? You fail to believe in the evidence of your own eyes. You fail to recognise an act of mercy when you see it. The headmaster was dying. It would have been a long and painful death, and I had to find enough hatred inside me to end that suffering while keeping my own disgusting allegiance to the Dark Lord “ to Voldemort “ intact.” Severus paused for a moment, his eyes boring into Harry.
“Do you know how to do that?” he continued, the hardness in his voice still severe. “Do you know how to drag up so much hatred against someone you love “ loved? You use your own self-loathing. You dredge up every filament of hatred that you can muster and you remember every bad, hurtful or unjust thing you did and you hate yourself for it. You concentrate all that energy against yourself to the point that you can feel your very centre buckle under the weight of it, and then you let loose the curse that will kill the one person “ no, one of the very few people “ who believed in you.”
Here he broke off and looked at Maeve, acknowledging her part in his life.
“And then you have to run. You have to leave your wife behind and become a fugitive until such a time as you can make it right. And for what? For an ungrateful runt who doesn’t know what’s going on. For a brat whose mother I promised I would watch over for the rest of my life. For YOU! It’s all for you; the Famous Harry Potter. And yet the Famous Harry Potter fails to realise it.”
Maeve had been shocked into silence by this. She had never heard Severus so roused by anything, and so seemingly self-indulgent in his sentiments. The revelation that he had made a promise to Lily left her reeling. She looked to Harry for a response, but he, too, was silenced by the tirade.
“I can do no more for you, Harry. We have reached the end of what Lily and Dumbledore hoped for us. We have become what your stubborn father expected and encouraged. You may not leave until I have completed my work with Voldemort, and then you are free to do what you think is best. If you try to kill me, as I anticipate you might, I shall not show you the same mercy as I showed Dumbledore.”
“But, Severus,” Maeve said, freed from the spell of silence by these latest words. “If you do that, the death of Dumbledore would have been in vain.”
He looked at her, his face once again under control. “I no longer care. I must make sure we are safe, and then we will leave this to those that it matters to. This no longer matters to me. There are places in the world a witch and wizard can disappear to. I no longer have the will to fight this battle.”
“This is not what you want,” she insisted. “This would not make you happy, knowing you had left a job unfinished. And what of Lily?”
“What of her?” he asked.
“What is this promise?”
“After you had gone, Lily tried to bring me some comfort. I turned her away at first ” the pain was too much. But after a time, things changed, and I saw her finer points. Things became complicated when I “ when I took the wrong path, but she always looked to me for comfort when James was away.”
He saw the look that crossed Maeve’s face and moved to reassure her.
“With words; she found comfort in my words, Maeve. She asked me to watch out for him, a promise I have kept down the years, until now.”
“You can’t just walk away from obligations.”
“I have been looking to my obligations all of my life. I think it is time I was obligated only to you, and myself.”
“You don’t mean it.”
“You think not?”
“If you meant it, we would be going now. If you really didn’t care, you would leave Harry to his fate and get out now, while Voldemort is away.”
Harry still said nothing. His head had dropped, but Maeve couldn’t tell if this was because of tiredness or remorse for his heated words. Without speaking, he turned from them and walked back in the direction that he had come from.
“You are allowed to be uncertain,” Maeve said, moving towards him now that Harry had gone. “You are allowed moments of weakness. Harry is upset and indignant, and he has always had a problem with you. You can’t expect miracles. He will come around. The most important thing is that we have got to this point, and from here we need to keep going until we have done all that we can. You can’t walk away from this anymore than I can.”
“I have had my fill of working for others, or performing others’ tasks and instructions.”
“We all work for others, Severus, in one way or another. This is so unlike you. I think the news about your father has disturbed you more than you would care to admit.”
“This is not about my father… It’s about me, and about you.”
Silence hung between them for a few moments, as neither quite knew what to say. In the end they settled on the inevitable and went to bed, the hour so late that they had little energy for anything but settling into the safety of the each others’ arms.
Roderick had gone straight back to Grimmauld Place after his little rendezvous with Jenny Fitzwilliam. Narcissa had already gone to bed, and he found himself alone in the drawing room with a glass of Firewhisky in his hands. A glance at the clock on the mantle informed him that it was one o’clock in the morning. He wondered if Remus had alerted the whole world to Potter’s demise yet “ probably, knowing the conscientious creature that was Lupin. Still, it was going to be pretty rough on the boys’ friends. The Granger girl would take it badly, and for Ron Weasley it would probably be like losing another brother.
And where, he reflected as he drank the whisky a little too rapidly, would it leave him? Without Potter, it looked like Voldemort would triumph, and he needed to be on the right side when victory came.
Perhaps another visit to Albert Gryps was called for. Perhaps this time the old man would have to be pushed a little harder for the truth about his ancestry. For if what he believed about the old man was true, then Severus Snape was going to be an altogether fiercer prospect than anyone could have imagined. Would the heir of Gryffindor be a match for the heir of Slytherin? Could this silly prophecy be nothing more than a smokescreen for something else?
He fell back onto the sofa and kicked off his shoes, casting a light in the fire to bring some heat into the room. As he allowed his head to loll backwards, he was already half-asleep, his drink forgotten on the coffee table.
Hermione had gone to bed knowing she would not sleep. She had stood by the dormitory window looking out into the night as if answer could be found there. It was useless, she knew, but she couldn’t help going over and over the scene in the cemetery in her mind. If only they had stopped him from jumping into that grave, been a bit more alert to what was going on around them. If only they had never gone there in the first place and listened to Ron. Ginny had joined her sometime after ten o’clock, and they had shared the burden of silence, each with the same worry: that something terrible had happened to Harry.
“He’ll be fine,” Hermione had said, mustering a scrap of optimism from somewhere. “Remus will get him sorted out. Don’t look so worried, Ginny.”
“As pep talks go,” the younger girl replied, “that’s not the most convincing I’ve ever heard.”
“I know.” Hermione gave a worried smile and sat beside her, taking a limp hand in her own. “But we have to believe in the best outcome. And Remus will do his everything he can.”
“They should have gone to St Mungo’s,” Ginny said, glad of the physical contact. “At least they would have been safe there. Harry would have been safe.”
“You know what Maeve is like with potions, though. They have good Healers at St Mungo’s, but it was Maeve that solved the Sleeper thing last year… and it was… ”
The knock on the door brought their speculation to an end, and a frowning Professor McGonagall stepped into the room.
“Good evening, girls,” she said, a frown on her face that surpassed anything they had yet seen from her. “Professor Lupin has returned from London and wishes to speak with us. He is waiting in my office.”
“Us?” Hermione looked from the worried headmistress to Ginny, who now looked absolutely petrified.
“Mr Weasley, Miss Weasley, you and myself.” She glanced to Ginny. “I think you will need to keep your chins very firmly up. Professor Lupin appears to be in a greatly distressed state.”
“Harry’s dead,” Ginny said, forcing back the grief. “Why else would Remus be so upset? Why would he want to see us all? Hermione?”
“I don’t know, Ginny,” Hermione replied. “But Harry wouldn’t leave us. He wouldn’t leave us now.”
“Come along, girls, we shouldn’t keep him waiting.”
“Harry wouldn’t have the choice whether to leave us or not. You saw what that snake did to dad last year. They couldn’t fix the wound, and that was St Mungo’s. What chance did Professor O’Malley have with a few stale herbs at Grimmauld Place? Why did we let Remus take him?”
“Come along, Miss Weasley, you could well be upsetting yourself for no reason. We must wait for Professor Lupin’s news before committing ourselves to a reaction.”
“He’s dead, and both of you are too scared to accept it!” Ginny leapt up and bolted for the door, racing as if Voldemort himself were at her heels towards the headmistress’ office. When she finally arrived, red-faced and breathless, she had to wait for the others to catch up, having no idea what the password was.
Professor McGonagall appeared minutes later, with an anxious Hermione by her side. Without acknowledging Ginny, she gave the password and the gargoyle swung aside. When they reached the top and entered the office, Remus was standing by Dumbledore’s portrait with a strained face, although Minerva noticed that he appeared a little less distraught than he had when she had left him. No doubt he had taken the time to compose himself before the girls arrived.
“And Ron?” he asked, smiling sadly at the three of them.
“I have sent Percy to fetch him,” Professor McGonagall said quietly. “Although goodness knows why. No doubt the two will have words.”
As if on cue, grumbling could be heard coming from the stairwell, and Ron’s voice was heard to say, quite loudly, “And you would know if you had a human bone in your miserable body.”
Percy’s response was lost to them as they entered the room, and the elder Weasley immediately left them.
“What’s up?” Ron asked immediately, looking at them all in turn and finally settling on Remus. “It’s Harry, isn’t it?”
“I think you should all sit down.” Remus took a step away from the portrait, giving up what little support there was in the room.
“No chance, mate. Whatever you’ve got to say about Harry, I think I’ll stand.”
“Very well.” He looked to the others, who all nodded in unison. “As you know, Harry was bitten by a serpent tonight. We believe it to have been Voldemort’s Nagini. The venom from this particular serpent is incredibly toxic, and has been known to kill people in the past. Indeed, Arthur suffered badly from just such a bite, and it was touch and go as to whether he would pull through. I took Harry to Maeve because I knew there was someone else there who would be better qualified than anyone to deal with this attack. Professor Snape has had experience in the past of such toxins.”
Minerva paled at this. “You knew where Severus was and you did not say anything to anyone? Have you taken leave of your senses, young man?”
“You let Snape at Harry?” Ron was also incredulous. “He’s dead, isn’t he? Snape’s killed him! You bloody bastard! How could you be so stupid? How could you be so thick to think that Snape would patch up Harry and send him on his way? You’ve done Voldemort’s bloody work for him. We should have left you to rot at Abbeylara that time; at least then Harry might be still alive.”
At Hermione’s side, Ginny had begun to sob gently, still denying her grief free-rein, while Hermione stood impotently listening to the rising fight.
“Ron, you know, I did what was best, whatever you think of Severus.”
“What do I think? What do you think I think of the murdering shit? I can’t believe you trusted that piece of dirt with Harry's life!”
“Mr Weasley, please curb your tongue. We cannot know what has passed between Professors Lupin and Snape. I think there are things that need explaining.”
“Explain! Harry’s dead… what is there to explain?”
Ginny looked to Ron then, fury overriding grief. “SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP! Harry’s dead and all you can do is rant at Remus. You could think about Harry… about… about… ” She ran out of words, sorrow strangling her, and she once again bolted from the room, not wishing to hear any more detail. Hermione hesitated, looking directly at Remus for something; she didn’t quite know what. He stared directly into her eyes and did a very curious thing; he smiled.
“Go and take care of Ginny,” he said gently. “I think she will need a shoulder at the moment. Ron, you need to go back to your room and calm down. We will talk in the morning. For now, you must trust me.”
“Trust you?”
“Mr Weasley.” Minerva’s tone was one not to be argued with. He looked at them as if he was the only sane person left in the school before stalking from the room.
She waited until the footsteps had reached the bottom of the staircase before she closed the door and turned back to Remus.
“Is this true, Remus?”
“It will be in the Daily Prophet tomorrow morning. The Ministry have released the story tonight. I think we need to prepare ourselves for the worst of the attention, as this was where it happened.”
“I can’t believe it,” she said, keeping her mouth as tight as she could. “It barely seems weeks since we welcomed the child here. And was it… was Severus involved?”
Remus nodded gravely. “Severus had a part to play. I believe the Ministry will be sending someone up first thing. Now, if you will excuse me, Minerva, I need my bed. It has been a long and eventful day.”
Minerva looked at him in surprise. Eventful? She could have thought of many other, more heartfelt words. “Very well, Mr Lupin. I will say goodnight.”
She watched as he left the room, amazed at his sudden composure. Her heart felt unable to cope with the loss of both Albus and Harry Potter: their last hopes of defeating Voldemort. It felt as if she were now staring into a long, unending tunnel that contained nothing but the deepest despair. Just as the tears were about to spring from her eyes, she heard a cough and then a deep voice that warmed her whole body.
“Now, now, Minerva. We’ll have none of that.”
She looked up, her heart lifting, as the portrait of Dumbledore finally spoke to her.
Maeve awoke to an empty bed and silence. It was bad enough, this deserted place, without waking up to a sense of abandonment. She hurriedly cast off her night robe and pulled on a dress, fighting her hair into a messy knot. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she padded through the bunker, the cold walls making her shiver. Severus had taken her to sleeping quarters far from Harry’s, and the journey back seemed to be one endless blur of varying degrees of gloom. In her heart there was dread at what she would find. There was such an edge to Harry and Severus, such a sense of the inevitable about their relationship, that she half-expected to find them lying dead on the floor, victims of their own mutual antipathy.
The first thing she noticed, when she finally made it to the rooms that Harry had slept in, was the hushed sound of voices. Hushed voices? That couldn’t be Harry and Severus. Surely they would be screaming at each other, threatening and arguing, toiling against a resolution. She peered through the small square of glass that disrupted the solidness of the door and almost fell off her feet.
Severus was sitting on Harry’s bed, and Harry was sitting up in that bed with a potion in his hands, listening to what Severus was saying. Not frowning, or fighting it, just listening. The door was ajar, but they were talking in such low tones that she could not pick up the words. Maeve felt the sudden urge to cry, from relief or happiness, she couldn’t tell. It felt like a moment that would not be repeated. What had brought them together had not been her, or Remus, or some other well-meaning fool. It had been themselves. And that was always as it should have been.
Remus.
The reminder of her friend made her feel a little queasy. At this moment in time he thought that Harry was dead and that she was somehow a part of that. She watched Severus’ dark head as it bent to explain something in detail to Harry and she knew she could not allow Remus to continue to think this of her. She had to make this right. By now, he would have been questioned by the Ministry. It would be safe to tell him the truth.
She turned away, wondering just how long she would have before they noticed she had gone, when she heard her name called.
“Maeve, I know you are there. You never were the lightest on your feet.” Severus’voice sounded lighter than it had last night. Free of a burden. She turned and pushed open the door fully, feeling as if she were intruding on something.
“You will stay here and you will be safe,” Severus said to Harry. “I will think about your request. If one is safe, then two could be also. I must take my wife on a visit, so we will be gone for most of the day.”
Harry nodded, mute.
“Harry?” Maeve looked to him for the first inkling of an explanation.
“I have been…” There was a hesitation, the admission hard to make. “I was wrong.”
“I know. We all come to the wrong conclusions.” She almost dare not look at Severus. “But admitting you are wrong is more than half way to solving the problem.”
Harry nodded. “I’ll be okay here. Professor Snape has left me a few books to occupy myself with.”
Maeve crossed over to the stack of books on the bedside cabinet, picking up the top two. She recognised them as text books that she had had copies of while at Hogwarts. The Potions one was a text still used by the school, in its revised edition, of course. She flicked it open and found lots and lots of familiar-looking annotations. Severus had, on occasion, attacked her textbooks in the same manner. For the first few years of their separation she had pulled out her textbooks, running her fingers over his writing, feeling a longing that had threatened her very existence. They were gone now, lost in the fire that had engulfed Abbeylara, so it provoked a deep emotion in her to see that familiar hand as it had been back then.
She flicked to the front and noticed the inscription on the flyleaf.
Property of the Half-Blood Prince
“Who’s the Half-Blood Prince?” she asked, puzzled.
“Put the book down,” Severus said. “We have things to do. There are curses in there that Potter “ Harry “ needs to know. Come on, this was your idea.”
“What was my idea?”
“Visiting this old man of yours.”
Maeve put the books down and leant to give Harry a peck on the cheek. “Whatever you did, thank you. Saving the wizarding world from Voldemort is more than curses and bravery: it’s admitting defeat over the smaller skirmishes.”
“I think we met halfway,” Harry said. “We are never going to really understand each other, but I believe his story about Dumbledore, and…”
She shushed him. “I don’t need to know. I just need to know that we will be facing Voldemort together.”
He nodded, his eyes straying to Severus, who stood by the door. “I think he’s waiting for you. He’s got that hideous look on his face, the one he gets when the Gryffindors enter his dungeon.”
She laughed and squeezed his hand. On the landscape of war, there were the occasional flecks of relief.
“Do you know where we are going?” Maeve asked as Severus took her hand to Disapparate.
“Of course I do,” he replied indignantly. “I did have occasion to visit the place.”
“Why did you never tell me about Lily?”
“You never asked.”
“That’s your answer to everything.”
“It’s the truth. Do you want to know how cold your departure made me? Do you need to know that I hated Lily for sharing a connection with you when you had gone? Irrational, I know, but then, you always made me irrational.”
Maeve remembered his first moment of utter irrationally, standing over a congealing potion in Slughorn’s classroom. He had kissed her with such force that it was as if James Potter had finally secured Lily. It had been the first indication that there was more to Severus Snape than a good wrist for stirring cauldrons. And the first indications had been good precursors of what was to come.
“You’re smiling,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “It’s unnerving. Stop it.”
“You have no idea what just went through my mind,” she said with a little giggle that made him wince. “Come on then. Let’s go see Albert.”
Godric’s Hollow wore the morning light well. A very light frost, the first of the season in this part of the country, had cast magic over the ground, making a shimmering carpet for their feet. Severus’ aim and memory were good, and they found themselves standing by a lean-to at the side of what appeared to be a pub. They walked around the corner of the building, their cloaks making faint marks in the snow, and looked out onto the centre of the village. The village green was concealed beneath the pretty rime, and it was just as well, for the once lush grass had been blighted by weeds and decay in recent weeks.
“Nice village,” Maeve said. “Lily would have liked the greenery.”
“She did,” Severus replied, placing a hand over hers, recognising the fact that here was an aspect of her friends’ life that she knew nothing about. “She had a garden, and enjoyed it to the full while she could. Now that I think about it, she mentioned having a Muggle friend in the village who visited her. The name Albert is beginning to take on more meaning.”
“Albert knew her. Harry said he met him while he was here. Lily talked to him a great deal. I think he brought her some comfort while James was away.”
“She would have need of it. We all had need of comfort in those dark times.”
They crossed the road that passed in front of the pub and set foot on the verge of the green, the frosted grass crunching beneath their feet. Maeve was happy enough just to be out with her husband and tasting the fresh air. Had he not asked her which one was Albert’s house, she could have momentarily forgotten why they were here.
“I don’t know. Do you not know?” She looked up at him, and had her answer as he looked vaguely up and down the row of houses that faced them. “We could just knock until we find him,” she suggested half-heartedly.
“Oh, yes, and that would in no way draw attention to our presence.”
“Looking for someone?”
Maeve recognised the voice immediately, and it didn’t take long for Severus to catch up with her. They both turned and looked at Roderick, who grinned widely, his plans suddenly taking on a new twist.
“Rampton,” Severus said with annoyance. “Are you always everywhere you shouldn’t be? Like my house, for instance?”
“And are you always killing people you shouldn’t be killing? Like Harry Potter, for instance.”
“You should be pleased about that little incident. It will further the Dark Lord and, in doing so, you.” Severus was less than impressed with Roderick’s presence, and irritated by the way the man looked at him. “Now, is there something I can do for you? Or maybe you are too busy trying to drag Jenny Fitzwilliam into your schemes?”
Roderick looked momentarily thrown by the mention of Jenny, but recovered quickly enough to mutter an “excuse us” as he grabbed Maeve’s arm and steered her away from her husband.
“Roderick, what are you doing?” she snapped, looking over her shoulder at Severus, who pursed his lips and seemed prepared to allow her to be led away.
“Got something to show you,” he hissed. “Something about your husband. I think you might find it interesting.” And before Maeve could protest further, he pulled the material he had collected from Darkacre and thrust them into her hands. “He’s not who he says he is.”
Maeve looked down at the old documents and photos, the picture of Stephen and Vervain the first thing she set eyes on. Looking back at Roderick, she saw something there that she didn’t like: malice.
“This is Severus’ mother,” she said, snatching the papers away as he reached to take them back. “But what are you doing with them?”
“Borrowed them, lovely.”
“No, you didn’t. What’s the matter with you? What do you want? Why show me these things when I already know that Stephen Gryps is Severus’ real father?”
“I thought you might be interested,” he said with a shrug. “It would have been interesting to see your reaction, but someone beat me to it.”
“Yes, Severus beat you to it. Do you know Albert Gryps?”
“I have had the pleasure.”
“Then do me the favour of telling me which house he lives in. It would save so much time.”
“On one condition.”
She couldn’t help the roll of her eyes.
“What is it?”
“That I get to sit in on the conversation.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not having you there when they meet. You can barely keep your foot out of your mouth under normal circumstances.”
“No, Maeve, let him come.” Severus had approached them mid-discussion. He took the papers from Maeve’s hand and looked down at them, his face impassive as he looked at the image of his mother, and saw his father for the first time. “After all, without his meddling, I would never have known.”
Roderick smiled, satisfied that neither of them knew the really interesting fact about all of this. If he could get Gryps to own up to being a descendant of Gryffindor, then there would be satisfying looks of surprise from both of them. And while he was here, he could take a look at something that would also help confirm his suspicions about the line he had been researching.
Maeve gave Roderick a sideways look, her trust shaken by that glimpse of something malicious on his face. She couldn’t quite believe that he would want to upset the balance of her marriage, not given the fact that she had never really shown any interest in him. “I suppose he could behave himself.”
“Jolly good!” Roderick said, beaming at her, all trace of spite gone. “Although it’s a bit early for the old chap. Maybe you would like the guided tour of the village.”
“Which is his house?” Severus asked, not giving Roderick the chance to guide them anywhere.
“The red door with the brass fittings, red and gold “ you know “ those famous colours.” Roderick gave them both an isn’t-it-obvious look as they both looked towards the row of houses and picked out the scarlet-coloured door immediately. It was the best kept one amongst all the others, many of whose paint was peeling and faded.
“You are here as a soundless observer, Rampton,” Severus said coldly. “One word from you, and I will render you incapable of speech.” He didn’t indicate how he would accomplish this, but Maeve hoped he was talking about a Silencing Charm rather than anything more serious.
“As you wish,” Roderick agreed, marking the fact that if he was to extract a confession from Gryps, it would have to be adroitly done.
All three of them trooped towards the door in silence, Severus looking grimly as if his life depended on the outcome of this meeting. His lips were set hard, and he barely felt the touch of Maeve’s hand as she curled her fingers around his own.
“What will you say?” she asked, as Severus’ free hand rapped at the glossy wood. “How will you introduce yourself?”
“I will tell him my name,” he said, his mind not having worked itself around anything else. This was an old man with a dead son and a grandson he knew nothing about. What else could he say to this relative he had never known he possessed? “And then we can talk.”
“But he won’t recognise your name, although he will recognise me.”
“Maeve, this is not a game of guess the grandson. I will tell him my name and then we will talk and I will reveal what we know.”
“What if he doesn’t believe you?” she asked.
“He’ll believe him,” Roderick interrupted. “Even without that paper trail you have in your grubby little fist.”
“What makes you think that?” Maeve’s questions were beginning to grate on both Roderick and Severus.
“This,” Severus said, waving the image of Stephen Gryps at her. “Notice the resemblance?”
She was prevented from commenting by the slow unbolting of the door, and they all stared expectantly as it was pulled inwards and the grey face of Albert Gryps looked out on them. Maeve was astounded by just how old he looked. When she had last seen him, he had been full of vigour, but now he appeared to be just the husk of a once vital man.
Maeve’s surprise, however, was made insignificant by the look of wonder that crossed Albert’s face. His lips seemed to tremble slightly as he moved closer to Severus, the early morning light finally finding its full strength.
“Stephen,” he whispered hoarsely. “Have you come to tell me my time is over?” His frail hand reached out to Severus’ face and Maeve felt her husband pull away from the uninvited contact. “But, no, this is some trick of a meandering mind. You are not real. I am merely sleeping somewhere and will wake to find you gone.”
“Good morning, Mr Gryps.” Severus’ greeting was clipped and emotionless, as if he wished to counteract early on any feelings that might be laid bare before him. “You do not know me, despite what your eyes appear to be telling you. My name is Severus Snape. I believe you know my wife, Maeve?”
Albert’s ears told him that his eyes had lied. This was not his son. The voice was different for a start: richer, with carefully pronounced words and an educated accent. Stephen had spoken in the same manner that Albert did: all rough edges and honesty.
Maeve moved into clearer view and smiled at the old man, wondering if his son’s looks came from his mother. “Albert, lovely to see you again. Have you been under the weather? You look a little ill.”
“Aye, you could say that,” he said with an accompanying cough. “I’m a bit breathless of late. Well, you’d better all come in then, even ‘im.” He nodded to Roderick, who gave one of his charming smiles and remembered to keep his mouth closed.
The visitors were led into the small lounge and offered seats. Severus and Maeve took the sofa, while Roderick perched himself on the leather chair by the window, his long legs stretching out into the room like an exclamation mark. Albert offered to make coffee, but everyone demurred “ no one wished to prolong the inevitable any longer.
“So, lad, you wanted to see me. There’s a bit of a serious air about you.”
“There is a small matter that has been recently brought to my attention,” Severus began, his fingers reaching into the pocket of his robes where he had put the papers. “My wife advised me to come and see you “ to discuss things.”
“Discuss?” Albert looked at the sheaf of documents and pictures that were being offered to him, hesitating before finally taking them. His face didn’t move as he flicked through them. Only occasionally did his eyelids flicker a little too quickly, especially when he reached the picture of his son with Severus’ mother.
The room was pregnant with anticipation, waiting for the old man’s reaction. Severus had had a little time to come to terms with this news, and he was well-used to surprises in his life by now, but Albert Gryps was a different prospect. Eventually he set the papers carefully to one side on a table and looked directly at Severus, his aged face creased with an emotion that none of them could decipher. Roderick looked as though he were on the verge of saying something, although a sharp glance from Maeve made him hurriedly reconsider.
“Well, lad,” the old man said, looking directly at Severus. “Never thought I’d live to see a child of my own child’s. I thought time for that was long gone. And you’re a fine looking man at that. You’ve his face, right down to that nose. That were ‘is mother’s nose, bless ‘er.”
Severus was lost for words, this simple emotion moving him, but not quite far enough to respond to it. The only paternal figure he had encountered in his life been driven by the need to force his son to be something, and the method used had been bullying. Albert was a quietly spoken man, and Severus surmised that the son would not have been much different from the father.
“And for you to come now, when it’s too late to make any difference.” He shook his head sadly and struggled up from the sofa, making his unsteady way towards the window to look out on his tiny domain. “What a shame you didn’t know ten years ago, eh, lad? What did they call you? Severus? What sort of a name is that for a child? Sets you off on the wrong foot right away, does that. Should have called you something pleasant, like Arthur or Charles.”
Maeve smiled as an image of the two Weasleys crossed her face. She wondered what he had meant by too late. Presumably he was feeling a little old and felt he had missed out on Severus’ formative years. She couldn’t help thinking he would have made a good grandfather.
“Or Godric,” Roderick said in an almost inaudible voice. Severus ignored the comment, although he managed a quick look in his direction.
“So, is there something I can do for you?” Albert turned back to his three visitors. “Is there something you’re wanting to know? Maybe you wanted to know something about Stephen?”
Stephen wasn’t someone Severus had really thought about since finding out, so the suggestion he might want to know something about the man whose blood ran through his veins confused him for the moment.
“I think,” Maeve said quickly, “that we should leave you alone for a bit. It will give you time to do what you need to do.” She patted Severus on the shoulder as she stood up, forcing pressure down to prevent him following her. “We won’t go far. Maybe just a quick walk around the village.”
“Aye, that would be nice,” Albert agreed, looking towards Severus again. “The lad might be a bit shook up, like.”
“Yes, well, nice to meet you again, Mr Gryps. Can we get you anything while we’re out?” She wondered just how much money he had. The house was filled with attractive yet faded things that spoke of a past that had been more prosperous than the present. There was a small, square shadow on the wall where a painting of picture had once rested. Had he been selling things to pay for his upkeep? The house was old, and must have taken some maintaining.
“That’s very kind of you, my dear, but I don’t think your money would do you much good around these parts. All Muggles.”
“Ah, of course,” she said, disappointment evident in her voice.
“Come on,” Roderick said, annoyed at having some of his sport taken away from him. “I have some Muggle money for you to exercise your generous gene with.” He nodded towards Severus and Albert before steering her out of the room and out of the house.
Once out in the open, she found her arm linked with Roderick’s “ how that had happened she had no idea, he was so adept at pulling her into his web “ and they were walking off in the direction of a lane that ran down by the pub.
“Where are we going?” she asked, the early sunlight bringing life to everything. The birds were now in full chorus and made her look up, smiling at the force of nature, despite the dying countryside around them.
“I want to show you something,” he said. “Something that’s got everything to do with your Albert “ and your husband now.”
“What?”
“Wait and see?”
They walked on a little further, and Maeve was able to ask him how the world was taking Harry’s death. He stopped and cocked his head to one side.
“You know, I’m not entirely sure I believe you. Where is the body? Why take the body?”
“To prove to Voldemort that he is really dead. It’s the perfect way of getting Severus even further in with him.” She hoped she was convincing, but she was only too aware of her failings as a liar.
“My lovely, you are as good at lying as I am at being unfashionably dressed. I will find out the true story, but you can’t hoodwink me. I know you too well.”
“Well, you were probably too busy with Narcissa to take much notice anyway,” she snapped, irritated that she was so bad at telling untruths. “Has that vile son of hers turned up yet?”
“Not that I know of,” he said, beginning to walk again. “Stupid fool has probably fallen foul of Voldemort. I hope I never have to drag him out of trouble again; ungrateful little heathen.”
They reached the gates of the village church, and he ushered her through the lych gate. She wandered up towards the main door, but he directed her to the side of the church.
“Roderick, please tell me we aren’t going to see Lily’s grave. I don’t think I particularly want to.”
“Nope. I have something far more interesting for you.”
He led her to the far end of the graveyard; a cluster of trees skirting an overgrown garden of sorts. She stepped gingerly across frosty grass that was yet to feel the touch of the sun and halted when he did. Looking around, she could see nothing but a few dying rosebushes and some statuary that had fallen over, crumbling back into the earth with relief that its laborious duties were over. Bending down, he took hold of her hand and dragged her down with him. His hand pushed ivy back from a small gravestone; a forgotten memorial to some long dead village resident. She found she couldn’t read the inscription, her knowledge of Latin not what it once was, but she did pick out the word Gryps.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Is this a relative of Albert’s?” She imagined it would be. Albert looked as though he had belonged in this village for a long time.
“Maeve, Maeve, Maeve,” Roderick drawled. “What is this village called?”
“Godric’s Hollow,” she said, looking puzzled at the question.
“And what is does Gryps translate to in Latin?”
“I have no idea.”
“Griffin. This, my dear, is the final resting place of one Edwin Gryffindor, the last to bear the name before they changed it to Gryps. A common enough occurrence down the ages; people got tired of the same-old same-old. And this man was the great, great, great, great, great grandfather of a certain Albert Gryps. But, more importantly than that, Edwin Gryffindor’s grandfather “ you’ll have to image a rather large amount of greats before grandfather here “ just happened to be a certain Godric Gryffindor. And Godric Gryffindor only had one son.” He stopped long enough to give a smile of satisfaction at the look of dawning amazement on Maeve’s face.
“Which means,” he finished with a flourish, “that your husband is the last remaining direct descendant of Godric Gryffindor himself. Each son was destined to produce only one child, each a son. The line is one of the purest there is.”
“Does Severus know?” She looked so shocked that Roderick put an arm out to steady her.
“He will when I tell him,” Roderick grinned.