Reflections in a Winter Pond

17 - Reflections in a Winter Pond

The days between Christmas and New Year's slipped through the new couple's fingers like pearl beads from a broken string. They spent a great deal of time together simply talking, sharing memories and dreams... though it was difficult to get Severus to admit he had any of the latter. But it seemed that they were not as dissimilar as they had thought; both wanted a quiet home and plenty of time to work in peace. Hermione wanted to pursue her Arithmancy studies at Oxford, possibly attempting to read Mathematics at one of the Muggle colleges there as well. Severus merely wanted to get out from under the thumb of Albus 'I Own You' Dumbledore. And, reading between the lines, Hermione found that Severus wanted recognition, not for his espionage, but for his contributions in both Potions and Defense tactics for the Order... something that might never be possible unless they took care of every Death Eater and sympathizer. Severus might yet be forced to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, no matter which side won.

With her friends on holidays away from London, Genie found herself at loose ends and often tied them by "pestering" (his words) Professor Snape. Still, the sharp-tongued man was surprisingly patient and restrained with the girl, though Hermione couldn't decide if it was an actual appreciation for the curious child's conversation, company manners, or trying to stay on her (Hermione's) good side. None of them seemed particularly likely. And, after receiving a number of amused looks from Severus himself, who seemed able to read her thoughts, she gave up the question and merely enjoyed the tutorial exchanges.

She left him strictly alone, however, when it came time to watch the films her mother had given him for Christmas. Late at night, after her family had gone to bed, she set up the machine, showed him the controls, and left him to it. Instinct told her that this was time best spent alone. She was not wrong. After both films, Severus remained in his chair, staring at the flames in the fireplace until near dawn. And he was far more subdued the next day, keeping to his room, not forbidding company, but neither did he welcome it.

He never discussed the films with her.

He did, however, ask her to accompany him the morning of New Year's Eve. He said little more, but she promptly agreed and, after informing her parents, was rapidly apparated away.

Hermione found herself in front of a perfectly enormous house... Elizabethan, if she was any judge. It appeared to be crumbling slowly into bits; the paint had peeled and worn and chipped from large patches, window panes had broken and been boarded rather than replaced, and the woodwork seemed to be staying in place only by the grace of God. The gravel drive on which she found herself was overgrown with winter-dead weeds, shrinking to a size barely wide enough to accomodate a modern car, though it might have been big enough originally for three old-fashioned carriages. There was no snow, but somehow that made it worse. The grey slush and broken ice hid none of the disrepair and highlighted the barren nature of the grounds and house.

And this, she realized, had been his childhood home.

Hermione glanced at her silent companion. He said nothing, nor did he move, simply watching her from hooded eyes. Resolutely, she turned and crunched her way up to the front door.

It was neither locked nor warded. Hermione pushed it open and entered. The inside was little better than the outside. The varnish on the wood floors had long since worn away from the traffic crossing it and the bare boards showed signs of hungry termites. Paint and wallpaper was faded, carpets worn through, curtains limp. No one had bothered to shroud the furniture in dust covers and though it had fared better than the rest of the house, it showed the places faded by sunlight. Dust and dirt covered everything in thick layers. The entire house carried an aura of tired despair. And yet...

"It was beautiful once, wasn't it?" Hermione allowed her question to fill the still, stale air, to find its way to the dark man standing in the doorway, watching her. He said nothing. She continued, "It's like a beautiful woman." A pause. "A beautiful woman broken by a life she should never have even seen." Like your mother, she realized and stopped herself just before she said it aloud. She turned back to him.

"Come," was all he said. She followed mutely, knowing better than to offer any sort of comfort, either physical or verbal.

The rest of the house was in similar condition, dying from neglect and from the harshness of the lives... and somehow she knew that the misery had begun long before the last generation... that it had seen. Silence so deep that she feel it around her in a stifling layer, muffling the sounds of her footsteps, even, she felt, trying to muffle the life in her. Severus must have felt it as well, or maybe there were wards she couldn't sense, for once they left the entryway and front parlours, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and kept her tight against his side. It was a little awkward trying to walk, but the feeling that he was keeping the worst of the shadows at bay more than made up for the discomfort. He said nothing more as they navigated the dark hallways, the only light coming from their combined wands, until they reached a dark door.

Nothing distinctive, just aged mahogany that seemed to have never seen anything brighter than a candle. Hermione watched as Severus removed his arm to fish about in his pocket, producing a large key that was so prosaically normal, she had to stifle a burst of hysterical laughter. Severus glanced at her. "This room," he told her, "is the only thing keeping me from tearing this entire place down and selling the land to some ghastly Muggle industrialist. My third great-grandfather set the spells here, both light and dark, and I haven't been able to untangle the whole." With a characteristically wry twist of his lips, he continued, "As we cannot bring the mountain to Mohammed, we shall bring Mohammed to the mountain." He opened the door.

The light from beyond it, far brighter than the minimal illumination from their wands, blinded the girl for a few moments. Once it resolved itself, Hermione found she was looking into a room of walls. A room of walls and... portraits. She was on the threshold of a family gallery. The subject of the wizard paintings all turned to stare at her, the silence palpable as she took her first hesitant steps inside, feeling rather like the main attraction at a side show. Only the realization of how important this must be to her companion kept her from shouting Yes, I'm Muggle-born! Fucking deal with it!

Indeed, Severus had said nothing more himself and a glance showed him standing to one side with apparent diffidence. He wasn't going to guide her through this maze, nor give any hint as to why this particular room mattered far more to him compared to the rest of the moth-eaten pile of architecture. She carefully paced through the dividers, watching each portrait she passed curiously. There were old men and young ones, pretty women and plain, couples, a few children. Some crowded ten to a frame to watch her go by, though they maintained their air of haughty dignity. The Nose was an obvious family trait, used mostly, it seemed, for looking down at people. Women rarely had it, but then, she knew that the tradition was that girls who married had their portraits given to the families they married into. The blood daughters shown here were ones who had been too plain (or, perhaps, too unbearable) to marry or who had died young.

The 'brides', as Hermione thought of them, were more varied in mien and manner. Some were fantastically beautiful, others verging on plain. (Though there didn't appear to be any honestly ugly women among them; did Snapes marry that deliberately? Or was it simply 'a guy thing'?) Many were just as stuck-up as their husbands, though one girl (no more than sixteen, Hermione thought) was positively gleeful and another gazed at Hermione with wistful despondence. The reason for that expression was rather obvious; she seemed to be trying to hide behind the draperies away from the Snape who glared at both Hermione and her with almost murderous rage in his eyes.

The farther in she went, the more modern the paintings became. Finally, she came to the end of the portraits (though not of the enormous vault they occupied) and was arrested by the sight of the most truly beautiful girl she had ever seen.

Like the earlier girl, she was perhaps sixteen. A heart-shaped face was framed by long hair as dark as Severus', though she was almost impossibly pale where he was swarthy. Perfectly enormous eyes glowed an amazing shade of violet. Delicate features; small, delicate body. And an obvious sweetness of character that caused everything to almost glow. Startled, Hermione looked to the portrait frame and somehow was not surprised to find the inscription there: Mme. Sejanus Snape, née Aquilia Evans, m. 19... . Severus' mother. The 'Evans', however, did surprise her. "Evans?" she questioned.

Severus, who had come up behind her, nodded. "Wizard families do throw out the odd Muggle branch, on occasion." Hardly a confirmation, but probably as close to one as she could get from him, and the possible permutations were headache inducing. She decided to leave it alone for the time being; it was not why he had brought her here.

She curtsied deeply. "It is an honour to meet you, madame. I am Hermione Granger." Looking up, she saw the girl's face dimple in amusement as she rose from her chair and curtsied back. Hermione could have sworn she was giggling, but no sound issued from the painting. "Severus?" The girl turned, puzzled.

He gave a small sigh, his hand lifting slightly before he stilled it. "This was painted shortly after their honeymoon. My father silenced it after her death. I'm not sure but that I prefer it this way; it is hard enough to see what was and compare it with what I knew."

Hermione turned back to the painting. The girl had come up to the edge of the frame, her hands held up as though she were only on the other side of a window. Her eyes held a sad longing. Severus turned away and walked back towards the entrance. Aquilia backed away, turning the brilliance of her eyes full on Hermione, who was once again struck by the force of such sheer... gentleness. She was distracted from her musings by the girl's frantic gesturing. Hermione blinked as the girl indicated Severus then her, then tapped her hand against her heart. The inquisitive tilt of her head made it obvious it was a question.

"Um." Hermione couldn't deny she was a little rattled by being questioned by her... lover's?... mother, who was in a painting using rudimentary sign language. "Uh, yes, I do. We do, I think."

Aquilia snickered soundlessly and beamed. More gestures, this time indicating Severus. The girl then crossed her arms over her chest and scowled, so much the spitting image of her son that Hermione giggled. Her hands moved again Wait, wait. Another indication of Severus and a strong thump over her heart. Hermione wrinkled her brow for a moment before she was suddenly illuminated.

"Oh. Yes, he does have a good heart. A very good heart." She glanced over her shoulder, no longer able to see Severus through the forest of panels. When she returned her attention to the silent girl, she found her smiling and crying, her hands clasped in front of her face. "I know," Hermione whispered. "I'll do my best to be with him."

Yet another flurry of hands. Severus. Hermione. A number of different heights from the floor. Finally, a pantomime of rocking a child in her arms. Hermione could feel the heat rising in her face. "You want a lot of grandchildren?" she choked out. Aquilia nodded vehemently. "I, um... Well... It's a bit early for that, don't you think? I mean, we're just starting... " The interruption of a lifted eyebrow... so that's where Severus got it... and the indication of Hermione and pointing to the ground. You're here, aren't you? "Oh. Oh!" I must be insanely dense today! He brought me here to meet his mother! "I see. Well, um, I'll see what happens. I don't know about a lot, but if, um, anything happens, we'll let you know." That was the best she could do. After all, how do you talk about procreating when you haven't even progressed to the sex part of the relationship? Particularly to a man's mother, oil-based or not.

Aquilia merely grinned.

When Hermione reappeared from the forest of paintings to find Severus waiting at the door, she thought of a million and three different things she wanted to say. And realized silence was probably best. He, in turn, said nothing as he led the way back to the upper levels of the manor. After all, what could either of them really say? If it had been anyone else, Hermione might have found the situation farcical. As it was, it bordered on the heart-rending. Once outside, she breathed in large gulps of fresh air, relieved to be out of that mausoleum. After a few moments, she returned her attention to Severus, a still, black column facing the ghostly brown and grey of the grounds. She slipped her hand in his and squeezed. His face turned to her, expressionless, just before she felt the tug of Apparation. But she could have sworn she felt the slightest pressure enveloping her own hand.

^{On names:}

'Sejanus' is from Lucius Aelius Sejanus, a nasty character if there ever was one. For more info, go read some Roman Imperial history (Julio-Claudians) or watch I, Claudius, which should be available at any self-respecting library.

'Aquilia' is from Julia Aquilia Severa, who was from the Severan dynasty and (briefly) married to the emperor Elagabalus. (And, oddly enough, if you look at her coins, she appears to have the Severus nose...)

Anyhow, this story was so far off by the time HBP was written, I decided to make/keep Snape's family as totally AU characters, rather than trying to fit them awkwardly into canon.