Chapter Text
It isn’t Sirius or Remus’s presence that drives Severus out into the back garden. He just can’t take sitting there, among others who are doing the same, waiting for word. This isn’t as bad as the month he spent waiting for the results of a Gringotts Horcrux theft (plus one Grand Larceny in the form of Gringotts Dragon), but then, he had other things to occupy his mind and his hands.
Right now, he doesn’t even have that distraction. He can’t bloody concentrate. He just hopes that word comes before he sits down and helps Sirius Black and Remus Lupin to break into St. Mungo’s.
“Severus!”
He jerks around at once in response to Hermione’s voice. “Well?”
Hermione has two false starts before a smile of relief crosses her face. “They’re all right. Let’s go.”
St. Mungo’s is a bloody madhouse. The only reason they even get through the front lobby is Nymphadora’s presence and an inter-building Portkey. That takes them upstairs to wards that are busy with roving nurses and healers, but without the disastrous thronging crowds.
“Those are Muggle victims,” Remus says in a low voice as a nurse escorts two boys past them.
“If they needed magic to get anyone out of the subway, then Kingsley must be having a field day.” Hermione looks grim. “I might have to go in and help him deal with it, but not until I’ve seen the others.”
“This way.” Tonks takes them through two more corridors and turns into a recovery wing. “I can’t tell you anything of what happened yet. I can give you twenty minutes to collect yourselves, not to mention give Terry a nudge, and then I’ll get you all home for a proper brief.”
They’re escorted into a room that has two beds and four chairs. Luna and Jade are in the beds, while Harry claimed one of the chairs.
Luna is scratched and bruised, but she doesn’t seem injured. She’s sitting curled up on the first bed, calmly building a pyramid out of a stack of mirrors like one would build a house of cards. She glances up and smiles at them in welcome. The blue steel in her eyes seems particularly pronounced today.
Severus sucks in a breath, as Jade looks decidedly worse. Her face is covered in healing scratches that still shine with fresh Dittany, her hat is missing entirely, and her leg is resting in one of the magical braces meant to promote proper growth realignment when the limb has been twisted too far to rely on Skele-Gro alone.
Jade is holding her finger to her lips, brow furrowed in worry. “Shh,” she whispers. “That ’un’s not awake, yet.”
Harry also has healing scratches on his face, neck, and his left bare arm. His right arm, like Jade’s leg, is encased in a contraption that is keeping his upper arm, elbow, and forearm bound in place. Unlike the other two, his eyes are closed, and there are hints of violet beneath them—along with a paleness to his skin that Severus strongly suspects is related to blood loss.
“Harry,” Sirius whispers in shock.
Harry’s eyes open wide before he recognizes who else is in the room. He slumps in the chair in apparent relief. “Oh, thank bloody Merlin. Please tell me that you’re getting us out of here!”
“We just got here,” Viktor points out sensibly. “We have no idea what has happened, Harry.”
Jade smiles. “That one sneakin’ out o’ his room to come join us in ours, f’starters.”
“That’s because I’m hiding!” Harry insists. “It turns out if you use yourself, all unwitting, as a prop to keep a tunnel from collapsing, people either think you’re insane or brain-damaged, and don’t trust you to make your own decisions or release you on your own recognizance.”
“Or it could have had something to do with the fact that you were bleeding to death,” Jade says crossly.
“Okay, yes, that’s a good point.” Harry settles back down in the chair. “Two Blood Replenishing Potions really aren’t enough to keep up with an active arterial bleed. Maybe more like four per hour.”
Severus tries not to feel distressed by that information, not when it’s now well after the fact. Harry always carries two Blood Replenishing and two standard Replenishing potions on his person; the lingering wartime habit probably saved his life. “How is your arm?”
“I’ll be fine. I still hate Skele-Gro, but I’ve since learned that the potion to regrow nerve bundles is so. Much. Worse. I can wiggle my fingers, though,” Harry demonstrates this, “and an hour ago I couldn’t even do that.”
Hermione meets Harry’s eyes and waits for him to nod at her. “I have to go to the Ministry.” She stands on her toes to kiss Viktor’s cheek. “I’ll come home at the first opportunity.”
Viktor pulls her into a brief hug. “Go. We’ll all be well, darling.”
As another hour crawls by, the only things they learn of substance is that there was an explosion on the Piccadilly line, and it was not the only explosion that took place in London that morning. The lack of information is grating on Severus’s nerves.
Severus scowls. “We need to go home."
“Yes, that’n,” Jade agrees, giving the door to their room a narrow-eyed, expectant stare. “We’re the ones wi’ a bloody telly, an’ I wanna know what’s what!”
When Tonks finally returns, Harry glares at her. “If you’re supposed to be a jailer, go away.”
“Nope. I’m your escort out of the madhouse,” Tonks replies, smiling. “As long as everyone can walk.”
“Why the hell do we need an escort?” Harry asks.
“An’ where’s m’wand?” Jade grumbles.
“I have everyone’s wands,” Tonks reassures them, patting her coat. “They had to be investigated for spellwork, per the Ministry’s rules about the Statute to confirm you were all acting in a life-saving manner, but it was just a formality. Half of Wizarding Britain knows what we were up to this morning. We’re the absolute worst gossips.”
“Hey, you lot.” Terry Boot peers around the open doorway, grinning. “We’re bloody heroes again!”
“Oh, Merlin, no,” Harry mutters. “And this time, people know where we live.”
Severus tries not to make a face. “Perhaps we can borrow one of Charlie’s dragons, and let it live in the field before the house.”
“Can we just go…somewhere else? Anywhere else? Istanbul is probably nice,” Harry suggests.
“Why Istanbul?” Jade asks, looking at them all as if they’ve lost their minds.
“Because it’s not bloody Britain!” Harry exclaims. “If Rita Skeeter tries to enter the house, I’m letting Crookshanks eat her.”
“I keep having to be selectively deaf around this family. At least I’m practiced at it.” Tonks says with a wry smile. “We’ll be Apparating out of here directly, Harry. It’ll keep the mob from descending.”
Jade starts to look horrified. “Mob?”
“I keep forgetting that not only did you miss the war, you’re of the wrong generation to know what the last one was like, too,” Sirius says. “We’re all war heroes in Wizarding Britain, Jade. Some of us twice over. If I'm guessing even half of what went on this morning, they’re going to act like Harry and Luna helped save Britain all over again.”
Severus takes Jade home by Side-Along Apparition. Sirius, Remus, and Tonks help the others, though most of it merely involves Tonks being assured that everyone returned to the Peverell House in one piece.
The moment the others are distracted by house-elves, children, and the telly, Severus pulls Tonks aside. “How bad was it?” he asks Tonks in a low voice.
“Harry says he smelled peroxide on the train, but also suggests Luna be retested for precognition,” Tonks answers. “If Luna hadn’t cast a Shield Charm in time, none of them would be here.”
Severus feels his stomach tie itself into a knot. “Dear God.”
“They were in the first car on the line,” she continues after smiling reassurance at Circe. “There isn’t much left of it.”
Severus nods. Everyone is alive; he can cope. “Go on.”
“Most of the survivors were in the last three cars, but some were from the second and third. I have a bad feeling that it was only the three of them from the first car,” Tonks says. “The train operator didn’t make it, either. I don’t know what else we’ll find. Ron is fronting the investigation in the tunnel; Padma is there to tag the bodies; Parvati is Apparating between the tunnel and the Ministry, keeping Percy’s underlings updated on the situation. I imagine that now includes Hermione and her minions.”
The elves make sure that enough furniture is moved to the parlor to hold them all. They gather around the telly, watching news stations continually try to update all of Britain on the day’s events.
“Kingsley is with the Muggle Prime Minister,” Tonks reports during one of the repetitions of the scene outside two of the other tube stations that morning. “Right now, the M.L.E. knows more about what happened than the Muggle investigation teams. We’re trying to figure out how to share information without violating the Statute. Percy suspects it’s mostly going to rely on letting their investigators confirm what we tell them. We also have official Downing Street permission to keep Aurors in London tube stations for at least the next week. Nobody wants a repeat of the American’s 9/11.”
“Wait—this was terrorism?” Jade gapes at Tonks, wrapping her arms tighter around a sleeping Lazuli. “In my bloody city?”
“It’s starting to look that way. Suicide bombers, from what some of us can pick up on.” Tonks scowls at the television as it shows the collapsed tunnel for the Piccadilly line. The last three cars are partly buried, but not crushed. Everything beyond that point will need to be excavated. “I quite honestly would prefer a blasted Death Eater over anything like this. At least they weren’t blowing themselves up just to kill other people.”
Luna narrows her eyes in offence at the scene on television. “That is so very impolite. You do not put others’ murdered bodies on display until they’ve been removed from the murder scene.” Circe is mimicking her mother’s expression with eerie accuracy.
“Someone must have crept down there with a camera. There are Muggle vulture reporters just as there are wizarding ones, Luna.” Viktor is holding his sleeping child in his arms while frowning at the broadcasted chaos.
“What about our Muggle victims in Saint Mungo's?” Remus asks.
Jade is reading the scrolling feed at the bottom of the screen, which is discussing concussive force in an open space versus an enclosed tunnel. “Dunno, but they were right glad t’be outta that mess, same as the rest o’ us.”
“We can’t Obliviate them,” Tonks says. “Not for something as big as this. Instead, twenty-one Muggles took some very well-worded instructions home to London—that they were treated at a private hospital in the initial chaos after being rescued by the volunteers who were first on-site. I believe the British PM’s staff is backing up that story if someone tries to question it.”
“Ah, bending the truth without actually lying. It’s still a hell of an improvement over what Fudge would have done,” Sirius notes.
Severus rolls his eyes at the reminder. “Fudge would have been angry that we didn’t simply let everyone die just to uphold the Statute.”
“I hate that you’re right. Merlin, that man was useless,” Sirius says.
Tonks finally shakes off the hypnotic effect of horrific television. “I have to go. There is still an investigation happening, and I’ve used up all the time it could reasonably be expected to take, grilling the three of you as to what happened in the tunnel.”
“Give them back their wands first, woman!” Severus reminds her.
“Oh! Right, yes.” Tonks pulls two wands from the inside of her coat, handing them to their respective owners, before she takes a third shattered wand from a separate pocket. “I’m so sorry, love.”
Luna gives her wand a curious look as it hangs in two sad, broken pieces, held together only by its core. “I’m not. Its last act was a very good one.”
Harry gestures for the broken wand. “Bring that here for a minute, will you?”
“Broken wands can’t be repaired, Harry,” Remus says, but he does pass it along to Harry when Luna nods her assent.
“Why not?” Harry glares at his bound right arm before gripping his wand in his left hand. “Latin with a pain-killing potion hangover. Always fun.” He closes his eyes. “Reparare et reddere quae confregisti!”
Severus is of Remus’s opinion, that nothing will happen, until Luna’s unvarnished beechwood wand begins to glow. The revealed unicorn hair core straightens out, disappearing into both halves of the wand before the wood rejoins along the broken edges. When the work is done, there isn’t even a scar in the wood to reveal the previous damage. The delicate carved acorns that were severed or damaged are also completely restored.
“There. See?” Harry holds out Luna’s wand, handle first.
Luna takes it in her hands, staring down at her repaired wand. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Saving us will not be its last act, after all.”
“Maybe one day it will be, but not today,” Harry replies. Then he drops his wand onto his lap and leans back against the sofa. “And that’s me, utterly done in.”
Remus is still staring. “How?”
Harry blinks up at the ceiling a few times. “Because I wanted it to?”
“I know of exactly one other wand capable of repairing a broken wand, and you gave it back to Death in 1998.” Severus tries not to glare at the idiot sitting in the other chair. “I once asked your father if you were holding a second Elder Wand, and he said no. I should have hexed him, ghost or not.”
Harry gives him an odd look. “Why? He was telling the truth. It’s not an Elder Wand. That was never meant to be held by human hands—and look at what a fucking disaster that turned out to be! This is a wand made by human hands, Sev. Ollivander made what the Elder Wand should have been, not what it became.”
“Which means what, exactly?” Sirius asks, glaring at his godson.
“That the wand works for anyone who holds it, and does whatever is needed.” Harry scratches at the back of his right hand, making a disgruntled face at what must be the nerve-regenerating potion at work. “You can’t even kill anyone with that wand unless you really, really need them dead. I’m going upstairs to try and sleep for the next twelve hours in a vain attempt at ignoring the fact that it feels like someone has allowed ants to roam around inside my arm.”
Gilly appears in front of Harry and glares at him. “You is not to be walking up those stairs! I be taking you.”
Harry gives her a bleary-eyed look. “I am fine with this plan,” he says, holding out his hand. The house-elf nods decisively and Apparates them both upstairs.
Jade finally breaks the awkward silence Harry leaves in his wake. “Y’know, outside of m’job, I’ve lived solidly in th’ wizardin’ world for almost five years now, an’ half the shite you lot say is still goin’ right o’er my head.”
“How did you know about the Elder Wand’s ability, Severus?” Luna asks.
Severus glances over at her. “Rubeus Hagrid’s wand was broken when he was expelled from Hogwarts. Albus Dumbledore already held the Elder Wand at the time. Hagrid’s umbrella has some very interesting characteristics for something that is merely rumored to hold pieces of a broken wand, especially as broken wands do not function.”
Luna smiles “I always did think his umbrella had a particularly odd handle, but decided it would be rude to mention it.”
“We still aren’t mentioning it. I’ve been trying for seven years to get that man’s expulsion stricken from the record and corrected, and still the Ministry is dragging their feet. Prejudiced fucks—Circe, you did not hear me say that,” Severus adds.
Circe blinks her black eyes at him and then solemnly shakes her head. “Nope. I did not hear you say the adult word.”
“I am so very glad you are a terrible liar,” Severus replies.
“Go to bed, Luna, Jade.” Sirius stands up long enough to fetch Circe from her mother’s lap. “We’ll stay. We can help Viktor keep watch over these two so that you can rest.”
“If the house-elves don’t kidnap the kids the moment our backs are turned,” Remus adds, stretching out his arms to accept Lazuli from Jade. Lazuli doesn’t bother to wake up for the process. Unlike her sister, she is a firm believer in naps.
Severus nods at them. “Thank you.” He is not the best sitter, even when he’s not spent the entire morning stressed out of his mind.
“Yeah, that,” Jade adds. “I'd like to be wi' 'em more, but when m’house says t’nap, I listen.”
* * * *
When Severus wakes up the next morning, he finds loose clothing suitable for a day spent at home and goes downstairs. As he trudges resentfully down the hallway to the kitchen on a quest for tea, he realizes the television is still on in the parlor. He gets to the caffeine first, wanting fortification before he faces whatever is on that screen.
To his surprise, the parlor is empty of everyone save Harry and three house-elves—Dobby, Gilly, and Winky. “Did you sleep well?” Severus asks, already knowing the answer to that question. Harry is glaring at the television with the particular, narrow-eyed stare he gets when sleep has been lacking.
“Can’t sleep. Too fucking itchy,” Harry says. “News is a bit more accurate today, though.”
Severus sits down on the sofa next to him. Harry sighs and slumps down to rest his head on Severus’s shoulder. “Hope you don’t mind,” he mutters.
“Don’t drool on me,” Severus replies, glancing at the telly. “News?”
“There was a press conference from the MP this morning at eleven. Three tube blasts and one bus bombing. Piccadilly was the worst in terms of destruction, but no one has accurate casualty counts per site,” Harry summarizes the news for him. “The entire Underground is shut down.”
“Next time, please tell me ‘Good morning’ before you announce that things are terrible,” Severus says.
Harry makes an amused noise. “Good morning. Most things are terrible.” He lifts his head just long enough to peer at the television when the scrolling text changes.
Severus grimaces as he reads the numbers. More than thirty confirmed dead and hundreds of casualties. It’s nothing like the American’s 9/11 from 2001, but it still isn’t pleasant. “For twenty-three years, I’ve managed to keep a disastrous explosion from occurring in the Potions classroom. Finally, one occurs due to the improper mixture of chemicals, and it’s in the wrong damned place.”
“Can’t blame anyone for fucking up. Entirely unfair,” Harry says. “Well, I suppose you can blame them, but they’re already dead. Where’s the fun in that?”
“Slytherin,” Severus accuses him fondly.
“Too tired to be anything but that at the moment.”
Severus doesn’t realize he really is being used as a pillow until Gilly tugs at his trousers and points at Harry. He glances down to find that Harry has finally fallen asleep, though his right hand is twitching in a way that suggests the aforementioned itching is still bothersome.
Explosions between the stations for Liverpool Street and Aldgate, King’s Cross and Russell Square; Edgware Road’s tube station itself, and finally a bus on Upper Woburn Place near the square. Each explosion officially dubbed terror attacks; that, Severus was aware of last night, though he’d been unaware that the rest of London’s mass transit system was shut down along with the Underground.
Harry, Jade, and Luna could have died by being in that damned train car yesterday morning. Twenty-one Muggles are still alive because they were.
Hallowe’en of 1996 was the first time Severus dared to voice the idea, if not the entirety of his belief, that the separation of magical society from Muggle society was utterly stupid. With a war looming, that separation probably saved lives. Voldemort spent his time concentrating on consolidating his power base in Wizarding Britain, not the whole of the UK.
What about now? Severus wonders. Could Britain handle the reintroduction of magic after one thousand years without it? Aurors and the Ministry already work with the Muggle government whenever the need arises. That has only resulted in a disaster once—and the incident had been Wizarding Britain’s own fault for sending a bigoted, blood-purist idiot to Downing Street as their magical liaison.
Bificiss pops into the parlor and blocks his view of the telly, which is probably for the best. “Mistress Narcissa is wanting to know if you is being up to visitors.”
Severus regards the Malfoy house-elf for a moment. “Only Narcissa, or Narcissa, Draco, Astoria, and Scorpius?”
“Only the mistress,” Bificiss answers. “She is not being wanting to distress anyone who is still recovering.”
Severus nods. “Then tell her she is welcome. She is also correct. I don’t think any of us could handle Draco’s polite panic.”
Bificiss lets out an undignified giggle before vanishing. A few minutes later, the flames in the fireplace turn green before emitting Narcissa. She stands up, brushes off her gray silk robes, and then stares at him. “Severus?”
Severus holds his finger to his lips. “One of us slept, and one of us did not,” he says quietly. “It’s good to see you this morning.”
“I’m very glad some of you are alive to be seen,” Narcissa counters, but keeps her voice soft. She glances in the direction of the television. “Draco wants to put one of those in the Manor. I think it is less true interest and more a burgeoning desire to cause every portrait in the house to pretend to die of apoplexy, but I’m not opposed. They are useful. Has there been any other news?”
“Nothing more than what the Daily Prophet has likely reported already,” Severus says. “I only woke up about thirty minutes ago, so this was an efficient way to fill in the gaps.” He flicks his finger at the television, pleased when it powers off instead of developing a crack on the plastic facing. Sometimes his aim is a little bit…well, off. Harry is a horrid influence in the manner of puns.
“You have the look of a man who has much on his mind, Severus.”
He nods. “I was wondering if the Statute of Secrecy has finally outlived its usefulness.”
Narcissa gazes at him, polite disbelief writ large on her face. “Severus, the Statute exists for very good reasons!”
“Yes, good reasons…for the seventeenth century. That was over four hundred years ago, Narcissa. How many lives could we have saved yesterday if we didn’t need to concern ourselves with hiding the method and means?”
“Not all of them,” Narcissa says at once. “Perhaps some. Perhaps none. I’m not certain it’s worth that sort of exposure.”
“When wizards figure out how to explore the edges of our solar system, not to mention admit to the proven existence of other galaxies aside from our own, then perhaps I will agree with you,” Severus returns in a sour voice.
“Well, you are using Hogwarts to raise entire generations of wizards and witches to think in terms of combined Muggle-wizard ideologies,” Narcissa observes dryly.
“Hush. A good Slytherin does not reveal the well-conceived schemes of others.”
“Of course not.” Narcissa frowns. “Many will not take it well, even if the children of Hogwarts have adapted nicely to many aspects of Muggle technologies.”
“Then they can happily die off like the useless dinosaurs they are,” Severus retorts, and lowers his voice again when Harry stirs and mutters a complaint about the noise. “I am tired of our society continuing to live like it’s the nineteenth century, Narcissa. It’s been the twenty-first century for five years now. We should all get used to the idea.”
Narcissa graces him with a nod. “If I didn’t agree, I would not still be teaching at Hogwarts.”
“I’m aware, and I’m still thankful.” Severus is; he is grateful for every single teacher who stayed to see through their mad experiments. Every faculty member he had in the year 2000 is still with the school. Every teacher they’ve added to the staff since that time have been those who not only adapted well to life in a half-sentient Scottish castle, but to the ideas inherent in the curriculum as it’s grown and changed when necessities revealed themselves.
Narcissa changes the subject. “Please do tell me you are going to attempt a proper courtship. Your friendship will survive it even if the courtship is a failure.”
Severus resists the urge to roll his eyes. “You assume that isn’t the case already.”
Narcissa grins at him. “I am going to enjoy every single minute of watching the two of you bumble your way through the process.”
“I absolutely refuse to bumble my way through anything.”
Narcissa departs not long afterward, promising to inflict Draco, Astoria, and young Scorpius on them tomorrow. Severus sends her off with polite words, but is quietly grateful that Scorpius will have immediate distractions in the form of Lazuli, Circe, and baby Rose. He’d forgotten how hyperactive Draco had been as a child until Scorpius became a blatant reminder.
“When, d’you think?” Harry mumbles against his shoulder. “The Statute, I mean.”
“It’s still too soon. Perhaps another five years. Kingsley is actively assisting,” Severus tells him. “I imagine you discerned much of that on your own.”
Harry nods without bothering to open his eyes. “People are happier. Wizards are falling in love with the Internet and mobile phones. N.E.W.T. Potions students are graduating Hogwarts, getting their A-levels, and then attending uni for molecular biology and chemical engineering to bring those ideas right back to the wizarding world. It won’t be long before all of these things are going to be obvious to everyone except your aforementioned dinosaurs.”
“Is that approval I hear?”
Harry nods. “I’ve been throwing chemistry books at students. Yes, I approve. Also, you shouldn’t take advantage of national disasters to fuck with Narcissa.”
Severus smiles. “Harry, such chances rarely presents themselves. I’m not going to ignore the opportunity, especially when she was the one to so kindly imply it.”
“Pretend dating best come with real food,” Harry says. "But not until Terry gets this damned thing off of my arm. Dobby! Find Terry and drag him out of Saint Mungo's for me, would you?"
"Trapped between two slabs of concrete?" Severus finally dares to ask.
Harry nods. "Right at the elbow. They couldn't get me out without using a Port Key, for which I'm grateful. I mean, I'm really attached to my arm."
Severus glares at him. "That pun was utterly uncalled for."
Terry is shown in about ten minutes later; he scowls down at Harry. “It’s a day too soon.”
“I will destroy it by bashing it against the stone walls outside, Terry,” Harry replies, scowling. “I mean it. My joints need to flex, or I’m going to hurt when this stupid thing comes off tomorrow. Do a wand diagnostic if you don’t believe me.”
“I’d be doing that anyway,” Terry mutters, getting out his wand. After a moment, his eyebrows rise. “Did you perform any healing spells?”
“No. It’s magic embedded in the house,” Harry says. “Physical and mental ailments heal faster.”
Terry stares at them. “Please someone tell me how the magic in this house works for healing. Adding that to the hospital would be bloody amazing.”
“Come back and talk to the portraits next week, after things have calmed down again,” Harry says, and then holds out his arm. “Now, Terry. I’m not above trying to beat you to death with this thing.”
Terry grins. “Please. You never managed it with a Quaffle,” he says, but he does remove the magic that kept the bindings in place. “Now show me how well your hand’s working.”
Harry shakes his head, retrieves his wand from his right shirtsleeve with his left hand, and then transfers it to his right. His grip on his wand is decent, if not quite solid. Terry tilts his head, performs another diagnostic spell, and then nods. “All right. I’ll clear you, though I’m still going to have to figure out how to explain ‘magic healing house’ to senior staff.”
“It’s the bloody Peverell House. If they can’t get the idea through their thick skulls, then they’re hopeless,” Severus says.
Terry shrugs. “Yes, but they’re the ones who make sure I get paid. See you two next week,” he says, and lets Dobby escort him from the parlor.
The house-elves are kind enough to bring them breakfast on tea trays. Severus is grateful; he’s not up to excited toddler activity yet. Jade and Luna join them a few minutes later, looking much better than they had yesterday. Jade isn’t limping at all, but she is complaining about the loss of her hat.
“She’ll be intolerable until it’s replaced,” Harry says after Jade and Luna go into the kitchen to find their offspring. “We’ll have to find one. At least there is an actual hat millinery in Diagon Alley now.”
“Not brocade. If she liked the style, she’d have purchased one on her own. Winky?”
Winky pops back into the room. “Yes, Master Severus?”
“Would you please go to Diagon Alley on my behalf? I need you to find out if there is a hat in any of the alley shops that is an exact match for Jade’s lost top hat. If you find one, please purchase it. The sizing doesn’t matter; I can adjust that myself. It’s the appearance that is important.”
“Even if it’s not exact, we can probably Transfigure the alterations, but it still should be as close as possible,” Harry adds.
Winky nods. “I’s be doin’ that right now!” she exclaims, and vanishes again.
Harry smiles. “That was a good idea.”
“You’re the one who rightly pointed out that Jade will be intolerable without it,” Severus replies.
Harry stands up, wobbling on his feet for a moment before steadying himself. “I’m going back to bed. Now that the stupid brace is off, I might be able to sleep for more than five minutes at a time.” He hesitates, lips pressed together in a rare display of nervousness. “I can’t, uh—I really can’t be alone right now.”
Severus stands up, nodding. Damned PTSD. Harry doesn’t get struck by it often, but yesterday might leave them all a mess for months. He can definitely provide company, but he’s going to be reading, not sleeping through morning and afternoon both.
Severus glances at the bed’s position pressed against the wall in Harry's bedroom, notices the expression on Harry’s face, and uses his wand to slide it out far enough so that there is an wide path between wall and bed where no space had been before. Harry falls asleep almost before Severus can open his book. He is still trying to get through The Silmarillion without wanting to strangle a dead Professor of English.
Severus wakes up with the book folded at his side, but he’s alone in the room. That doesn’t leave him panicked; he can feel by the magic in the house that everyone is fine and where they should be. Severus gets up, changes clothes for the second blasted time that day after sleeping in what he was wearing, and wanders out into the hallway.
“Lip-reading doesn’t help, you daft shit! I don’t speak Common Brittonic!”
Severus tilts his head, listening through a silent pause.
“I don’t speak Cumbric, either!”
Amused, Severus tracks the sound of Harry’s voice into the opposite wing fronted by Cadmus’s portrait. The man has gotten a bit less dour in the past few years, but it’s so little improvement one literally has to live in the Peverell House to know there was improvement at all.
Severus finds Harry sitting on the hall carpet runner, regarding a portrait that he’s taken down and placed against the wall in front of him. Severus recognizes Myrddin by his dark hair and eyes, still very much a Gaul at a time when many natives of Britain had intermarried with the redheads and blonds from the north.
Harry glances up at Severus. “Do you speak Welsh?”
“No,” Severus replies. “I value my sanity too much. What are you doing?”
“Woke up with a mad inclination towards trying to figure out if a painting’s magic really is locked to the original artist,” Harry says. “I should possibly have tried to start with someone who speaks Middle English, but I also thought if anyone would be the most likely to know how, it’s probably going to be this arsehole.”
“Insulting Merlin probably will not gain you much progress,” Severus notes, smiling. He does also admire that Harry’s reaction towards regarded impossibility is to tell impossibility to sod off—and that was before Ollivander handed him an ebony wand wrapped in silver lime wood.
Harry scowls. “He started it. The cranky prick has just enough vocabulary in Old English to know how to insult someone. All I asked was if he knew how to read lips, but apparently that meant something different fifteen hundred years ago.”
“You do realize that if you succeed, he might never shut up.”
“I don’t sleep in this wing of the house. Besides, he has to either learn English or stop pretending he’s stupid before talking is even remotely a concern.” Harry then grins like a fiend. “Oh! Hey, someone did not like their intelligence being insulted,” he says while Myrddin glares at him. “What’s it going to be? Are you going to assist me, and oh, maybe get to talk to people, or are you going to wander off and sulk in Arthwys’s portrait again?”
Myrddin looks to be gnashing his teeth before he crosses his arms and turn away from them. Severus rolls his eyes and helps Harry to re-hang the portrait. “Ignotus might have been told by Salazar that Merlin was a grumpy bastard, but I think Salazar was simply unaware that it was a life-long habit.” Severus is still miffed that Ignotus had to identify one of the upper hall portraits as Salazar Slytherin, who had been perhaps forty years of age at the time of its painting and far more pleasant of expression than any portrait of the man within Hogwarts’ walls.
“Yeah, I’m getting that impression, too.” Harry shakes his head. “I tried asking Salazar directly. Spanish is a lot easier to lip-read than literal dead languages. He doesn’t know how the speech aspect is added to a portrait. We have a house full of great magic workers, and most of them are mute.”
“There is a reason why many of Hogwarts portraits are either empty, hold sleeping subjects, or their subjects seem to be constantly inebriated,” Severus says. “I imagine being unable to speak for hundreds of years would be frustrating.”
“You’d then think that a certain idiot would be far more helpful, considering it would remove that frustration.” Harry rolls his eyes and shoves his wand back into his sleeve. “Want to see if there is food downstairs?”
“You hadn’t done that already?”
Harry seems puzzled by that. “Well, no. Inspiration, portrait magic, yelling at a useless daft famous shit.” Myrddin looks over his shoulder long enough to glower at Harry before he goes back to pretending to ignore their existence. “And what’s that look for?”
Severus realizes he’s smiling. “Apparently, it is reserved for the man who puts solving ancient magical problems above concepts such as dinner.”
Winky pops into existence when they’re halfway down the stairs. “You’s might be wantin’ to be warned—you’s be havin’ company,” the house-elf whispers, and disappears again.
“I’d actually be surprised if we didn’t,” Harry says, and Severus nods. He’s glad for both the warning and the fact that he bothered with real clothing.
“Everyone ginger,” Severus notes the moment the full extent of those gathered in the back courtyard becomes clear. “Of course.”
“Everyone ginger, everyone’s ginger children, and everyone we don’t want dead on a regular basis,” Harry adds, pushing the kitchen door open. The day is still warm, even if the sun is about to drop below the trees in the west. Furril is wandering around, glaring at torches until they light up in a satisfying burst of flame.
“I’m still trying to figure out how my list of those I do not want dead has expanded to such an extent,” Severus confesses in a low voice. Then Scorpius collides with his leg, wraps his arms around Severus’s shin, and demands attention.
“That’s how. Breeding.” Harry pulls Theodorea off of a torch post before she can stick her hand into the fire. “That bites, kiddo.”
“Nu uh!” Theodorea insists, but allows Harry to take her back to Oliver. Circe and Luna are chasing down young Fabian and Gideon, who are older but most certainly wise enough to know when to retreat. Perhaps it took a lack of twinship before the lesson drove itself home among three sets of gingers bearing those particular names.
Severus hoists Scorpius up into his arms. “There are much better ways to greet someone.”
Scorpius’s expression twists up as if Severus told him something exceptionally foolish. “Not as effective!”
“If you get Sorted into Gryffindor, I am going to laugh at your father for seven straight years.”
“I did tell him to please not run directly into people, but he just takes it as a challenge.” Astoria takes Scorpius from his arms. “Everyone is all right, yes? The house-elves insist you are, but it’s Harry who slept the longest.”
“I am not hiding in the library, and neither is Harry. That should be proof enough,” Severus replies, and Astoria smiles in acknowledgement.
The house-elves seat everyone informally at round tables and chairs that otherwise remain hidden in the basement. The last time they emerged from storage, Hermione and Viktor’s wedding reception was being hosted in the back garden. There are a truly horrendous amount of people present, but none of them want Severus to do ridiculous things beyond making sure the occasional small child does not set themselves on fire.
“So! Inquiring minds want to know,” William finally says, grinning at Severus from two tables away. Victoire gives her father a suspicious look, which is a fair match to the one his wife is giving him.
Severus glares at William. He learned not to trust that expression years ago. “Want to know what?”
“They’re trying to marry us off,” Harry says dryly, pretending to ignore everyone by helping Rose to braid daisies into a chain. It’s a pathetic attempt, given that neither of them are skilled at braiding anything.
“William!” Fleur elbows her husband. “That was not subtle at all!”
“We still want to know.” Minerva is grinning like a cat. Her Animagus form has never seemed more appropriate.
Severus rolls his eyes. “Would you all mind being patient enough to let me attempt to actually date the man first?” Narcissa might kill him for this, but he is going to enjoy leading everyone in merry circles after six fucking years of non-stop gossip.
“How has that not happened yet?” Ginevra asks, snagging baby Arthur by the collar before he can escape off into the trees.
“I told you they already thought we were dating,” Harry says.
“And I told this lot to stop rushin’ it!” Pomona laughs at the others. “Rolonda and I lived together a full twenty years before we ever gave a thought to dating, but no! Don’t listen to the two old lady queers on the matter!”
“Yes, please, actually do listen to them.” Severus is not happy that most of his blasted faculty is still plotting a wedding behind his back. Not surprised, either, but not happy. He glances over at Sirius, who is ignoring the entire conversation while Remus smiles down at his plate. One would think that the response of the Marauders would tip off everyone else.
“I’d just like to say that I don’t want to be hearing about any of this,” Ron says, watching as Dudley hops up to go retrieve his children from the upper window ledge before they can get any higher in their climbing efforts.
Harry looks up at him. “Okay.” He holds out his wand and casts a nonverbal spell before returning his attention to mutilated daisy-braiding.
Severus glances over to see Ron prodding at his own ears before he glares at Harry. “One day, Ron is going to remember to pay more attention to what he’s asking for.”
“Harry, I need this man properly vocal later,” Parvati complains.
“It’ll wear off in about an hour.” Harry smiles. “In the meantime, Ron got his wish. Didn’t he, baby Rose?”
Rose nods. “No.”
“Exactly.” Harry holds up the results of their work. “Well, that’s not right. Elisa, I have no idea how you do this.”
Dudley’s wife gives the mauled flowers a look of sympathy. “You didn’t grow up with three sisters, Harry. Do we have any daisies left, or have the kids picked the yard clean?”
“West field?” Jade suggests.
“No, those all bite, for some reason,” Harry says. “Maybe we should leave the flowers alone and just start off with string.”
“You can’t wear string!” Ted says indignantly. Severus thinks no one should be taking fashion advice from a child who has turned his entire head of hair into daisy blossoms.
“Trust me, if wizarding life has taught me anything in th’ last five year? It’s that wizards can an’ will wear anything,” Jade tells him. “An’ baby boy, I do mean anything.”
* * * *
Severus and Harry go back into London alone the next Thursday, a full week after the bombings. The entire city still feels like its holding its breath, as if the summer’s drama is not yet complete. Businesses are opening again as people try to go back to their daily lives; Harry has made the decision that he is going to have a curry and no one is stopping him.
The restaurant is exactly where Severus remembers it being in 1996, though the name is different. When he points out the change, Harry shrugs. “Same owners. It’s just that back in 1996, no one thought to tell them that Indian Portion could also be a horrible joke about sex—which is something I’m also really glad I didn’t know at the time.”
“I never wanted to know that at all,” Severus mutters. “I would have preferred to remain ignorant of that fact for the rest of my life.”
The Muffliato charm kills eight different mobile phone conversations. Serves them right for being rude at a dining table.
Severus knows he’s going to regret it, but curiosity wins out. “How did you discover that interesting fact of the restaurant’s previous name?” he asks after they’ve been shown to a table. They’re still seated against a wall, but on the opposite side of the restaurant, away from the noise of the kitchen. Half of the restaurant is empty, but at least people don’t look frightened out of their wits.
“For the twins’ nineteenth birthday, Ron was looking for places with decent Indian food, found this one, and brought Padma and Parvati here. He said they spent the entire night scarlet in the face. Ron had no idea why, and they didn’t know how to tell him without everyone simply exploding from embarrassment.”
Harry waits until they have tea before he gives Severus an inquiring look. “Are you regretting coming out with me tonight? You didn’t have to. I’m sure there are much more entertaining ways to try and get revenge against Narcissa.”
“Regret?” Severus considers his teacup. “Not at all. I was just realizing that the last time I was in this establishment, I didn’t expect to survive Voldemort’s war. Then, when I finally get used to the idea that I might actually outlive my parents, someone twenty years my junior nearly died in the blasted Underground.”
“Well, neither happened,” Harry says. “One is now impossible, and the other…”
“What?” Severus asks, concerned when Harry trails off into discomfited silence.
“I’d rather not say. It’s really not good dinner conversation.”
“It’s too damned late for that. You brought it up,” Severus retorts. “What?”
Harry waits until their server stops by, discussing their orders, before leaving again. “You outlive me.”
Severus freeze in the middle of reaching out to reclaim his tea. The word emerges as a shocked rasp. “What?”
“You outlive me,” Harry repeats, meeting Severus’s eyes. “Maybe I die tomorrow, next week, next year—I’m not going to, by the way. Please do not break that teacup,” he adds.
Severus forces himself to loosen his grip. “When?”
“It doesn’t work that way. I’m not in a rush to die, Sev, even if last Thursday might’ve looked otherwise. I’ve just told you all I know for certain. I might have had a conversation with Death, but that’s literally the only real question I asked them.”
“That—that doesn’t actually make me feel any better,” Severus whispers.
“I did say it wasn’t a good conversation to have over dinner,” Harry replies.
“Then why mention it at all?”
Harry sighs. “Because you’ve been worried about it, especially after last week. Maybe you need one less thing to concern yourself with. Maybe it’ll never matter. Jade and Hermione bear the responsibility for repopulating our bloodlines—and better them than us, to be honest. Maybe it’s just because you shared things with me when you didn’t have to, and I wanted to return the favor.”
Honesty. Severus grants him a rueful nod. “On Friday evening, I spent a few minutes wondering what it would be like if you…were not here. I almost had a fucking panic attack.”
“I did have one,” Harry says, “when you had your encounter with Bottled Dementor. Poppy was nice enough not to say anything.”
“She has always been the epitome of discretion.” Severus hesitates for a moment. “If you already knew I outlived you, then why—”
“That would be something else I was told, but I didn’t ask for this one.” Harry smiles. “Nothing is set in stone until those events have already come to pass.”
They find an alleyway and Apparate back to the field in front of the Peverell House, walking through ankle-high grass to go around to the rear courtyard. Winky is thrilled to go pick a wine from the cellar, the first time in years one has been retrieved for reasons other than Hogwarts.
“This fake dating. What are we going to do if it somehow progresses to fake wedding?” Severus asks, enjoying the quiet hush of the back garden at night.
Harry lowers his wine glass and gives Severus an odd look. “For starters, I’d like to think that if we ever made it to wedding, it wouldn’t be a fake one.”
Severus tilts his head. “Good point. There is also the cessation of that annoying, ‘When will you wed and breed?’ that I’m heartily sick of.”
“Trust me; I hear it far more often than you do,” Harry says dryly.
“Are there any other pleasant bonuses to this plot aside from the joy of fucking with Narcissa Black in a vengeful manner?” Severus asks.
Harry smiles. "Well, if there's a wedding, then there are presents and free cake. If you’re going Slytherin levels of vengeance against another Slytherin, you might as well enjoy all of the benefits.”