Chapter Text
You find yourself in a whirlpool of sounds and colours while painfully clinging to the pram with your left hand, and to the dented old bucket with your right. The characteristic feeling of being pulled towards your destination by an invisible force near your navel makes your stomach churn uncomfortably. Travelling by Portkey has never been the most pleasant form of transport but considering the unavailability of an access to the Floo Network and the anti-Apparition wards surrounding your destination, you don’t really have any other options. After only another moment or two, your surroundings start to solidify again, and you somehow manage to land both yourself and the pram somewhat gently on the ground.
Suddenly, your vision swims and the giddiness in your head makes you blindly stumble sideways, away from the pram and right into the shoulder of the taller man next to you. Hands gripping onto his billowing black robes, your stomach decides that, yes, this is the perfect time to violently empty itself right onto your former Potions Professor’s black boots. As you painfully retch up what little fluids have been left inside your stomach, you feel a pair of hands settle on your shoulders, awkwardly steadying your swaying form. Under different circumstances, you are sure, the scene would look absolutely hilarious. You can’t quite suppress the small, bitter giggle that bubbles up in your throat at the idea, the image the two of you must make. Only… the sound of loud and very unhappy wailing reminds you that it’s not, in fact, just the two of you.
Taking a shallow breath to clear your thoughts, you spit out once more to combat the sour taste of bile in your mouth – making sure to miss the man this time – and turn away from Snape with a small, mumbled apology. You don’t even bother to look up at him, sure to find an irritated scowl and maybe a disgusted grimace on his face. You’ve had your fair share of hostility lately, and you’ve never been on good terms with the man to begin with, not since he first stepped into the classroom to teach you and your 7th year classmates for the first time.
Severus Snape had indeed been young when he first started out as a teacher, hardly a handful of years older than yourself. In fact, he must’ve still been a student himself when you first entered Hogwarts, during what was later to be known as the First Wizarding War. You can’t say now that you particularly noticed him during that time. You’ve had enough troubles as it was, caring about your studies and trying not to drown in the political madness of this world. On that first day of 7th year, when the young man with pale skin and greasy hair stepped into the classroom, recognition had stirred within you. You had quickly brushed it off though, because albeit unusually young for this position, Professor Snape had made sure from the very first minute that respect and discipline where of the utmost importance to him. What followed was a tough year of difficult brews, hard studies, and an almost ridiculous number of points deducted from your House for reasons beyond your knowledge, but nevertheless, you had somehow managed to pull through with a passing grade in your N.E.W.T.s. Now, just a few years later, you find yourself thanking the man by vomiting on his boots. The ways of fate are curious indeed.
With a wordless swish of your wand, you vanish the mess you’ve made on the dark wooden floor of the house and lift the protective cushioning charm off the pram to scoop the little girl up into your arms. She’s still crying, big tears rolling down her round cheeks as heavy sobs bubble up in her chest. She has a bit of a hang for the dramatic, that one, but you acknowledge that this first experience of using a Portkey surely wasn’t a good one for her. In an effort to calm her down, you mumble sweet soothing words into her hair and rock her gently while turning back towards Professor Snape, eyes silently asking What now?
The man lets his eyes settle on you and your child for a moment, expression guarded and unreadable. His posture is rigid and buttoned up as always, but there’s a certain slouch to his shoulders which you can’t help but notice. It’s not something you’ve seen on the man before so your curiosity momentarily piques, but before you can even think of asking, Snape turns with a swoosh of his billowing black robes and grumbles “Follow me.”
After only a second of hesitation, you do as told, closely trailing after him. The pram stays behind but judging from the size of the hall which Snape leads you through, the flat should be small enough to easily find your wheeled helper again once you need it. In fact, there are only five doors branching from the small corridor you’ve landed in, the one closest to the pram looking just a little sturdier than the others – the house’s entry, you presume. The remaining doors look simpler, less sturdy, but just as run down as the walls with their faded flowery wallpaper which is peeling off at the edges. A thin sheen of dust covers every inch of the place and your and Snape’s steps leave faint footprints on the ground where you treat. An old coat hanger to your right carries what looks to be a severely moth-eaten grey cloak, about two times your size and equally as lost as the single red boot underneath it. Snape stops in front of the last door to the right, white paint chipped on the cracked wooden boards, pushing it open to reveal what looks like a small bedroom. He wordlessly steps aside, mentioning for you to enter.
“What is this place?” you ask softly as you move to sit on the bed, carefully balancing the now calm toddler in your arms. The springs squeak softly underneath your weight when you settle on the pale blue blanket and create a small cloud of dust to disperse into the room.
“This is a safe house,” Snape supplies matter-of-factly, his tone entirely unimpressed. “Only few know of its existence and the wards around it will provide additional protection. You are to remain here for now.”
You hum in agreement, letting your eyes wander around the room which is just as barren as the entryway. The old desk near the small square window looks like it could fall apart at any minute but maybe you could transfigure it to use it as a changing table. The height looks about right. You unconsciously shift your baby’s weight onto your other arm.
“I have supplies left for about a week,” you contemplate, mentally going through the contents of your duffle bag which still rests with the pram. “Will I be able to go outside and buy what I need?”
“You are to remain inside at all times.” Snape’s voice takes on an irritated tone and his dark eyes bore down into you. Immediately, you feel like you’re back in the dungeons of Hogwarts, about to mess up whatever delicate potion is bubbling in your cauldron. Your cheeks grow warm but you hold Snape’s gaze. After all, you are not his student anymore, and if you can trust Dumbledore – which you have no choice but doing right now – you are safe with the Potions Master. “Then how-”
“YORI!”
Snape’s harsh bark is followed by a loud crack like a whip crushing through the empty air, and a scrawny-looking house-elf with bulging pale yellow eyes appears in front of you. The loud sound makes both you and your baby jump and you immediately go back to shushing the child, gently stroking her head to sooth her tiny whimpers. The creature whose left ear is missing a significant chunk eyes you wearily, obviously not happy about having been summoned at this time of day, before it turns to give a quick and improper bow of the head towards Snape. “Professors Snape has called for Yori, sir?”
“You may call for Yori on occasion. He shall provide you with the necessary… materials,” Snape provides, ignoring the sour look he receives from Yori upon not acknowledging the house-elf. When he continues, the words which are directed at you are accompanied by a warning glare. “Be aware, however, that his services are needed first and foremost at Hogwarts Castle, and that he will report your every step to the Headmaster directly.”
It is meant to come across as a threat. You can tell by the way Snape’s eyes narrow at you, by the way his lips crawl at the mention of Professor Dumbledore. This was not my choice, he silently seems to communicate, so you better be grateful for what is being done for your sake. For a moment, you wish that you could speak with Dumbledore directly, if only just to feel the comfortable warmth that the older wizard radiates with every knowing twinkle of his eyes. The bundle pressed close to your chest reminds you, however, that comfort is not your primary concern right now. What you need to focus on, instead, is to survive, and to bring a child with you. And if Dumbledore sees fit to appoint a grumpy Severus Snape and a bitter house-elf as your protectors, then so be it. In a feeble attempt to calm your nerves, you take a deep breath and steadily meet the Potions Master’s gaze with your own. “I understand.”
Seemingly accepting your answer, Snape scoffs and gestures for Yori to go who vanishes with another loud crack and a low unhappy mumble. The house-elf leaves nothing behind but a new set of footprints on the dusty hardwood floor. Without sparing you another word or look, Snape too turns to depart, but before he has the chance to leave, there’s something which you feel like you can’t leave unsaid.
“Wait Sna- uhm, Professor!”
He stiffens, already halfway out of the room when you call out to him. You can see him hesitate for a moment, seemingly torn between rushing to leave and turning back towards you. When he decides to opt for the latter, however, you have already risen from your spot on the bed and moved towards him. You take a careful step closer and lock your eyes with his, channelling every ounce of sincerity within you into your gaze to make sure that he understands. The man doesn’t move a muscle as he stands before you, waiting, and his expression remains unreadable.
“Thank you.”
Neither of you moves, your gaze remaining steadily on his. Resolute. The child in your arms is silent too, as if time has stopped for just a second to allow you to express just how much this means to you. He needs to understand. Then, for the fraction of a second, you think that you can see something new flash through Snape’s hard eyes, but it’s gone as soon as you see it and you wonder if this is just your tired mind playing tricks on you. Without another word, the moment ticks by and Snape nods at you curtly before disappearing into the hallway in a whoosh of black robes. The sound of his footsteps lingers in your mind long after the front door falls shut with a dull bang and locks itself with three tell-tale clicks.