What if… in June of 1996…
The room was deadly silent, the only sound the ticking of the clocks in the background.
Harry finally opened his eyes to look at Dumbledore, then said in a flat, toneless voice, "The end of the prophecy, it was something about…'neither can live…'"
"'…while the other survives,'" said Dumbledore.
Harry seemed to struggle with what to say next, but finally croaked out hoarsely, his eyes desperate, "So…so, does that mean that…that one of us has got to kill the other one…in the end?"
"Yes," Dumbledore simply said.
***
Severus waited until he heard the footsteps, then the definite click of the door as it closed. He stepped out from between the two bookcases as he murmured, "Finite Incantatem." The Disillusionment Charm shimmered away. He seated himself across from the Headmaster at his desk, then looked up, shocked to see the tears on the old man's face. He'd never once seen him cry before.
"It seems I've made a muddle of things," Dumbledore confessed. "As I told Harry, I forgot what it's like to be young." He shook his head sadly.
"You couldn't have known how this would turn out," Severus tried to reassure him.
"No, I suppose not, but I might've foreseen how he'd react, given what he thought he knew."
They were silent for a moment, then Severus said carefully, "I'm surprised, then, that now that you've chosen to tell him of the prophecy, you didn't tell him all of it, Albus."
Dumbledore gave him a weary wave. "Ah. But you saw how he was, Severus. He would've fled without hearing the first part, had he not been locked in the room." He measured his Potions master, then added softly, "No, I think, given his feelings for you, he was in no condition to hear it all."
"He'll have to know," Severus countered, even as he knew the Headmaster was right.
"He will. But for today, it was terrible enough, what he had to hear. To learn that the two of you share this destiny will have to keep for another time."
"He hates me," Severus said bitterly.
The old man nodded. "Yes, for now he does. But a time will come when he will have to set that aside." He paused. "As you will have some things to set aside as well."
Severus made a small noise of frustration. "I don't see how it will ever come to pass."
Dumbledore shrugged. "Which is the infuriating part of prophecies, isn't it? They tell us 'what' but now 'how'; that is for us to discern, in due time."
Severus had to ask. "When will you tell him?"
The Headmaster looked thoughtful. "I think we'll know when the time is right, Severus. But not now. You can't deny that it would endanger both of you, were he to know too soon." He leant back in his chair, then sighed. "He has enough to contend with at the moment. Learning the part you are to play might make him flee the wizarding world altogether."
"A tempting proposition," Severus muttered, then was gratified when Dumbledore smiled.
***
Severus pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket as he stood, then wiped the sweat from his face as he looked out over his morning's work. The rising sun had just breached the garden wall, reflecting a gilded shower of light over the tops of the hollyhocks and foxglove. He had them all staked up now, neat rows of sticks and ties a testament to how he'd spent the past several hours. It was still early, however, and breakfast yet to come, but for a moment, he was lost in the beauty of it, a palette of sundry purples and crimsons, vivid yellows and pinks.
Picking up his canvas tool sack, he headed for the front of the house, already mentally laying out the rest of his day as he walked. Rounding the corner, he stopped dead in his tracks, then narrowed his eyes as he grimly smiled in anticipation. He slowly lowered the sack to the ground, taking care to not make a sound, then glided stealthily towards the front of the garden, slowing his approach to a stop just a meter from the fence. He stared at it for a moment. The three-railed barrier was completely entwined with three of his most prized botanical wonders: a sumptuous rose gloxinia, set off by the lemony lanterns of Clematis tangutica, against the back-drop of—he took another step closer as a definite tug pulled the uppermost twining of sky-blue morning glory creeper neatly over the top.
Galvanized to action, he stepped quickly to the edge and skewered the vandal with a poisonous look. "Finally. Caught in the act," he hissed. He glared at the intruder, then commanded, "Unhand my vine, if you please." When the foliage was released and snapped back into place, he crossed his arms and considered the guilty party.
Two bright blue eyes stared back innocently. "Your vine?" the little voice asked in wonder.
Severus put on a severe look. "Yes, I should think so, as it was I who planted it." While his answer was being considered with equal wonderment, he studied the culprit before him. She couldn't be more than six, a cherubic round face framed by a tangle of almost painfully carrot-colored curls, pouting pink lips topped by an impishly up-tilted nose. In spite of himself, Severus took in a breath at the sight of her: a blend of faerie, sprite and pixie.
"Mum and Dad say that flowers and trees belong to everyone," the child challenged, meeting his eyes unflinchingly.
"Oh they do, do they? How lovely for you, then. But as they have not labored to produce them, I'd say that's a bit presumptuous, wouldn't you think?" He didn't really expect a suitable answer, so was surprised at the girl's reply.
"I'll give you some of my flowers, if you like." The blue eyes were entirely sincere as she held up her hand for Severus to see the half-dozen blooms she'd no doubt just picked from his creepers.
His mouth twitched slightly as he considered her offer. Ignoring her outstretched hand, he asked her seriously, "Where did you come from, Madam? I'm sure your parents must be wondering where you've got to?"
The mass of curls shook violently. "No, sir. I'm allowed to walk down the lane to the end and back. Just so long as I stay on it." She paused and looked around her. "And I'm on it."
Severus already suspected the answer, but asked anyway, "And your parents' names are?"
The pixie solemnly told him, "Mum and Dad."
Severus had to bite his lip now. "Hmm, I suspected as much." He waited for a moment, and when nothing more was forthcoming, prompted her, "You're a Weasley, unless I've lost all my faculties, which isn't out of the realm of possibility, so what are your parents' given names, child?"
The girl gazed up at him as she frowned, crinkling her forehead as she thought, then laughed out loud as she finally got it. "Bill and Fleur, you mean?"
"That would be them, I imagine," Severus told her dryly. "And Bill and Fleur permit you to wander down the lane unsupervised, I see. Do they know that you're assaulting my morning glories, young lady?"
The frown again. "I'm not salting your morning glories. I'm picking them. Mum puts them in water when I get home."
Severus knew he had to look away, and took the moment to flick some grass from his sleeve. "In any case, they're not to be picked in the future, Miss…."
The little redhead smiled sweetly as she curtsied. "Winnie," she told him dutifully, then added a little reluctantly, "Well, it's really Winifred, but they never call me that." Her face darkened. "Please don't ever call me Fred. That's a boy's name, and Mum doesn't let them get away with it."
"I should hope not," Severus commiserated as he watched her pretty scowl with amusement.
She soon left that expression behind to look up at Severus inquisitively. "What's your name, then?"
"Mr. Snape, pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Weasley," he said formally.
She let out that tinkling laugher again. "Don't call me that. I'm not old," she scolded him.
And some of us are becoming more so by the minute. "All right, Winnie, as you wish. Now, I think you'd best get back now."
When the little hand came up to return the pilfered flowers, the regret clear on her face, Severus relented then. "You may keep them, Winnie, as there's no putting them back once they're picked. But in the future, if you've a yen for a blossom, simply ask me. Some are in season to be cut, and some are not. Understood?"
When the child nodded soberly, he inclined his head towards the lane and told her, "Good day, then."
He watched as she made her way up the lane, until she turned to give him a flower-filled wave and a joyful, "See you, Mr. Snape. I don't think you're an ogre at all. Uncle Harry said you might be." With that she turned and skipped on her way.
Severus shook his head as he rearranged the bruised vine. "My reputation for intimidating small children is legend still," he murmured as he made his way to the porch.
***
His breakfast finished, Severus took his morning tea out to the front garden and his usual seat beneath the small bayberry tree. It provided just the right amount of shade for him to sit there, and he found the aromatic leaves a pleasant aid to digestion. As he sat and surveyed the riot of color that was his garden, his mind strayed back to the unusual child he'd encountered there.
He'd known that these particular Weasleys spent just their summers on the estate at the other end of the lane, Fleur's family being quite well-off explaining how they could afford such an extravagance. He'd even seen them on occasion from a distance whilst in the village for supplies, but could not recall there ever having been a child with them then.
He couldn't help but smile as he remembered her. Bewitching, would be an apt description, he thought to himself. It was true that he'd never cared much for children, and the fact that he'd had the great displeasure to try and teach ones a little older, probably had a great deal to do with this fact. He was not responsible for her in any way, and perhaps this was why he'd managed not to send her shrieking back up the lane in fear.
So, Harry must be visiting, then. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity. He'd seen the man on occasion, but not very recently. They'd actually arrived at a wary understanding at the end of the war, just months after Harry had finally killed the Dark Lord. To call it friendship would be a stretch, though. Too much water under the bridge for both of them, although there was an undercurrent of respect on both their parts, which neither of them had ever come even close to admitting. Probably an undercurrent of resentment as well, at least on Harry's part. But that was irrelevant at this point anyway.
He'd read about the man in the Prophet for several years afterward, every twist and turn his life had taken, and had even seen him a few times at a rare social event or in Diagon Alley. He had no idea what Harry was even up to these days, but sometimes, he did wonder…. They'd had too colorful a past for Severus to escape this.
The last time he'd seen him, at a Ministry anniversary celebration of the defeat of the Dark Lord, they'd even exchanged a few civil words. Harry had made a surprisingly intelligent comment on a new potion, which Severus had researched and marketed, and they'd chatted for a brief while about the delicate use of flowers in brewing. Severus had been a little taken aback by the man's even having an informed opinion on such a matter, and then had felt inexplicably distressed later in the evening after arriving home, when he realized that he'd not even inquired about Harry's own pursuits.
He sighed as he drained his cup. The war had left him with wounds that had never fully healed. He wondered if Harry had been more successful on that account, considering what they'd done, what they'd ended up doing, although it was well known that they'd not intended it. Well, enough time had gone by, so Severus imagined that he'd found some peace and a way to live with it. Hopefully, better than he himself had….
He shook his head, and wondered why he was thinking of this now, when he had more cultivating duties to perform, and then an afternoon of brewing to fill an order that was due in two days time, and still had some paperwork…. He knew what it was…. It was that child….
Out of the corner of his eye he caught the movement of something in the sky as it broke the stream of steady sunlight. Shading his eyes with a hand, he squinted as a great tawny owl swooped over the garden and circled it once, lowering itself in a graceful spiral.
Severus watched as his morning-glories were abused for the second time that day, then rose and walked to the fence where the bird was digging its talons into the tender vine. "Mind my foliage," he muttered as he steadied the owl with one hand while he removed the parchment scroll from a leg with the other. He turned to go back to the house, then remembered. Reaching deep into a pocket, he withdrew a handful of sunflower seeds. "My apologies, but this is all I have at the moment." The bird leant forward suspiciously and, as Severus had suspected it would, gave a glare of disdain before spreading its powerful wings and lifting off with a decidedly reproachful hoot.
Taking care not to crush the vines, Severus leant back on the railing. He studied the creamy, heavy velum of the parchment, and couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. Unfurling it carefully, he discovered a smaller, lighter scroll wrapped within. He started to read the larger one as he made his way back to his seat.
Cartwright, Fernan & Whitney, Solicitors
Alderley Edge
Cheshire
Mr. Snape,
We have been engaged by a client to solicit your expertise on his behalf. Your renown as a foremost potions master has prompted him to secure your services for a series of six potions. These will be required at one week intervals, due each Friday. The specifications for each potion will be provided for you on the next five subsequent Mondays, if you are inclined to enter into the contract. Delivery of said potions will be to the above address. As intermediary, and at the client's request, we will then assure delivery in a timely manner. It is the client's desire to remain anonymous throughout these transactions. Payment in the amount of five hundred Galleons will be made upon completion of the series. I can assure you that you will find nothing illegal in any of the requested elements.
Find enclosed a contract delineating the above conditions. Upon signature, the contract will immediately revert to our offices in the usual manner. Also find enclosed the specifications for the first potions element.
Our congratulations for having been selected for this most worthwhile venture. If, for any reason, you choose to decline, please owl your intentions immediately so that other arrangements can be made for our client.
Respectfully yours,
David A. Whitney, Solicitor
Severus had remained standing while he read the introductory letter, but now sank, stunned, into his chair again. The amount of money was absolutely staggering and, at the same time, disquieting. He'd a suspicion that he was being tempted into something unsavory. Not that he'd turned his nose up at work that bordered on the illegal when someone had made it worth his while, but this offer was far beyond any of them. Even though the introductory letter had made a point of addressing this concern, he couldn't even begin to imagine what could be required of him to warrant such a healthy compensation.
He unrolled the smaller parchment now and ran a cursory glance over its contents. There were no surprises in it, just the slightly animated black line at the bottom, the "Sign here, please," scrolling in continuous script across it. He finally opened the folded-in-four piece of paper that would contain the specifications for the first installment. He quickly scanned over the ingredients and specifications, then blew out a breath of relief.
He sat back in his chair and tipped his head so that he was staring up at a sky etched with white, wispy cirrus clouds. There was certainly nothing bothersome in this first part of the contract. But his cautious nature, his inbred tendency towards suspicion, was prickling with something nameless, an irrational urge to reject the offer for no other clear cut reason than his wariness over the large sum of money being offered.
He sat back up and looked down at the parchments in his hands. Well, that was the problem, when he came down to it. He wasn't so well off that he could summarily dismiss such a tempting proposal out of hand for no good reason. Five hundred Galleons seemed outrageous, at first glance. But it was being offered in return for his tacit agreement to provide potions without knowledge of either the purchaser or his intended purpose. Perhaps not such an outrageous offer, after all. It wasn't just the potions that he was to be compensated for, he knew. He wasn't a fool, and the client no doubt appreciated that fact.
Later that morning he sat at his desk, picked up his quill, then after a moment's hesitation, affixed his illegible signature to the line. He stared at the place the document had been after it predictably vanished the moment he lifted the pen from the page. He smiled grimly as he took up 'Potion One', as he'd already named it. Time to get down to it, he supposed, as now, work was money.
***
That same day as the sun was about to set, Severus made his way to his back garden and greenhouse to collect what he'd need for that evening's brewing. He uprooted an entire mayflower, roots and all, then moved on to the small glass-enclosed structure for the Passion flower. He lovingly fingered the plant before snapping off four whole leaves. Carefully tucking both the plant and leaves into his apron pouch, he skirted around the house to make his way to the tree underneath which he'd been sitting that very morning. As he pulled out his garden clippers, he thought idly that this was perhaps the most disturbing of the three required elements. The bayberry leaves and flowers had powerful cardiotonic properties, imbuing it with the ability to affect how the heart exchanged sodium and potassium ions, and thus produce lethal arrhythmias if not used properly, or in combination with other potions. The mayflower, of course, could lower blood pressure significantly, and the Passion flower was a powerful hypnotic. It was often used to potentiate the effects of other powerful plant substances in potions, but he saw no danger of that in this one, considering the other two ingredients.
After carefully cleaning his cuttings of all garden residue, he began the tedious and meticulous process of chopping, dicing, and shredding leaves and flower petals. It was mindless work, so he soon was puzzling once again over the requested vehicle for the potion. He'd been directed to make a tincture, a very strange request, to be honest.
He stepped to his supply cupboard and ran a finger along the top shelf until he came to the bottle of Skyy vodka—not the most popular brand, to be sure, but the purest on the market—exactly what was required in the concocting of an alcohol-based potion. It was a very simple process, heating the mixture in a large glass beaker over the flame. After the requisite brewing time, he decanted the exact amount of thirty milliliters into one of his own signature bottles, then prepared a second identical one for his own reference stock. He hesitated over the labeling of it, but then decided on just the date and 'Potion One'. He finished by making his usual fastidious entry into his logbook, listing the ingredients by type and quantity, then describing the preparation, and ended with the name of the purchaser. Here he shrugged, and simply penned, "CF&W."
When the lab was tidied and in order, he sat back down at his desk, eyeing the tightly stoppered glass bottle before him. He raised the small jigger of vodka he'd poured for himself, and toasted his night's work and the Galleons it represented. "Cheers, whatever you're for." He tossed the drink back and enjoyed the burn.
***
Friday morning, Severus sat on his porch railing and felt a moment's irritation when Ampelos did not appear with his first whistle. The owl never strayed very far from home, but this morning would be the worst time for it to be the first occasion. He waited a moment, gave the low-warbling whistle again, then heard the bird as it shrieked in reply and glided into the garden from somewhere behind the house. It touched down on the railing and gave Severus its usual piercing look as it sidestepped its way to perch just beside him.
He withdrew a piece of mouse jerky from his pocket and offered it to the creature as he fondly stroked the spiky feathered head. "What have you been up to, then?" Severus crooned as he petted him. He'd never had much time for wasting affection on animals or familiars, but for some reason had become uncharacteristically attached to this one. Perhaps because he'd been a gift from Albus Dumbledore shortly before his death. He watched as the owl greedily gobbled the treat, then leant in to attach the small packet and parchment to the submissively offered leg. "No side trips along the way, Ampelos. The proceeds from this are going to keep you happily in mouse-jerky for quite some time," he told the bird dryly as he straightened. After giving clearly worded instructions as to the recipient, he sat and watched as the bird lifted from the rail with several powerful flaps of its broad wings. He was still watching it as it grew smaller in the sky, when a voice from the lane startled him.
"Hullo," called out the child, he realized.
Severus pursed his lips and sighed. He dropped lithely from the railing and made his way through a row in his garden to the fence. He slowed as he approached, then stopped and peered over it. The face was waiting for him and immediately broke into a grin.
"Winnie," he greeted her with a nod. "I see you're up early today, and already out for your morning constitutional," he added with mock seriousness.
The grin faded as the child considered this. "You talk funny," she told him, now serious herself. "Can you just say words that I know?" she asked with a pout.
Severus smirked at her. "I refuse to dumb down my vocabulary, especially for a child as intelligent as you. The word means, 'exercise', young lady, and you're the richer for my having used it on you. Next time you will know," he finished, enjoying the perplexity on her face as she took this in.
He gave her a moment, then seeing what she held in her hand, asked, "Where did you get that? Are you picking from someone else's garden, now that I've forbidden you mine?" He gave her a stern look, which he couldn't maintain when she giggled in reply.
"No, silly," she told him as she stretched out her hand for him to take the flower. "This is from Mum's garden. Do you know that Fleur means 'flower'?"
His eyes widened a little as he realized that she'd brought him an offering. "Hmm, yes, in fact, I do." He hesitantly reached out and took the blossom, admiring the large yellow pompom dabbled with crimson. "It's a dahlia, and a very beautiful one at that." He looked at the child's expectant face, and suddenly felt strangely maladroit. "Thank you, Winnie." Something occurred to him, and his face darkened slightly. "You had your mother's permission to pick it, did you not?" he asked gravely, holding her eyes.
She shook her head as she told him, "No, but Uncle Harry picked it for me when I told him I wanted to bring you one. He said it was just the one for you," she added confidently.
Severus was at once intrigued and dismayed. "He did, did he? And why was that?" he asked reluctantly, suspecting what the girl was dying to tell him.
She giggled again. "It's called a Funny Face dahlia! And you've got a funny face!" She put both hands up to her own and framed her cheeks as she continued to laugh.
Severus drew himself up to his full height, and glared at the shaking pixie. "Uncle Harry told you I have a funny face?" he asked, uncertain how to react in the face of her continued mirth.
Winnie sobered suddenly. "No, he didn't say that. He just thought you'd like the flower. I'm the one who thought of the funny face," she confessed uncertainly.
Severus studied her. "What is so funny about my face, then, Miss Weasley?" he asked her a little stiffly, but feeling the first traces of amusement.
"It's funny because you try to hide that you want to smile. And that makes you look funny," she informed him, wise beyond her years, Severus thought.
At that, Severus could not help but grace her with a smile—a small one, but no less a smile. "You're very astute for you age, I believe." At the look on her face, he quickly added, "That means, 'smart'. It's a compliment, which is a 'gift of words', Miss Weasley, one that I'm not in the habit of giving very often, so keep that in mind."
She smiled shyly in reply, then out of the blue asked him, "You don't like Uncle Harry, do you?" She peered at him with curiosity.
Severus wondered at the size and age of the child, when she'd managed to bring him up short twice in the space of a minute. He answered cautiously, looking away as he told her, "I don't actually dislike him, Winnie. We don't know each other very well, and we may have misunderstood each other a great deal in the past. I suspect that may be why he doesn't like me." He glanced back to the inquisitive eyes which now appeared confused. "What did he tell you?" he couldn't stop himself from asking.
The redheaded curls were adorable as she shook her head. "He didn't say anything, Mr. Snape. He took a long time to pick out the flower, and just told me to tell you he said, 'Hullo.'" The girl stopped and gazed at him calmly. "I don't think he doesn't like you; it's just that you make him sad," she said in a slow voice.
Ye gods, out of the mouths of babes, Severus thought with a slight shock, although why he would still evoke that emotion in Harry was…unexpected…and disturbing. He realized that the child was waiting for him to say something in reply. "Well, thank Uncle Harry for his choice of flower, then. Tell him I said he displayed excellent judgment." He watched as the satisfaction spread over the perfectly exquisite features. "So, it's my turn to gift you with a flower. Would you like to come into the garden and choose your own…within reason," he cautioned.
The child stood on her tiptoes and gazed wistfully over the rail, then sighed in obvious disappointment. "I wish I could, but I'm not to go off the lane. So, you better just pick one for me," she finished as she rested back on the soles of her feet. "I trust you." Her eyes shone.
The words grabbed at Severus' heart for a brief instant. He bit his lower lip for a moment, then gently asked her, "Very well. What color would you prefer? I daresay I can choose something you'd like."
Without a moment's hesitation, Winnie told him, "Purple, please, it's my favorite." She grinned as he nodded and stepped away to pace just a short distance down the very row in which he'd been standing. He carefully reached down and used his clippers to snip the bloom from the stalk. He watched her eyes widen with pleasure as he reached over the rail to present it to her.
"That's a Treasure hyacinth, Winnie, fit for a queen, so regal the purple." He watched, his pleasure almost equal to hers as she held it to her face, closed her eyes tightly, and took in a loud whiff of its fragrance.
When she opened them, she gave him a smile of pure joy. "It's lovely, Mr. Snape. I can't wait for Mum to see it—we don't have any of these," she said with something akin to regret in her voice.
He waved up the lane. "Off with you now. I think they must be wondering if I've eaten you for breakfast," he chided her, which earned him renewed giggling.
He watched as she made her way up the lane, somehow knowing that she'd turn back and have the last word once again. He wasn't disappointed.
This time she kept the flower clutched at her chest and waved with her free hand. "Bye, Mr. Snape. I'll tell Uncle Harry you really liked his flower—I know he'll like yours." She turned and skipped with abandon up over the crest of the lane.
Severus finally closed the mouth that had fallen open at her words, then shook his head at himself as he made his way to the porch and into the house. He felt suddenly deflated, and realized in a distressing flash that he'd actually enjoyed the banter between the two of them. He placed the dahlia in one of his large beakers, and was just on the verge of adding water, when he stopped himself.
"Foolish sentimentality," he muttered, but cast the preserving charm nonetheless.
