Disclaimer: JKR owns it all. I’m just having fun.

Living Legacy
Chapter Three


May 5, 1998
Mousehole, Cornwall


His eyes opened.

Pain such as he had never before experienced ripped through him, and he closed his eyes once more. What was happening? If he were dead, he would feel nothing. He wriggled his fingers, causing spasms of pain to shoot up the nerves from his hand to his spine.

If he could have screamed, he would have done. Why couldn’t he?

“Severus? Wake up, love. I have some nice potions for you that will help you feel better.”

The woman’s voice was familiar, but his mind was foggy. He could not remember. All he knew, his entire world, was the pain. It was like fire, consuming and devouring him.

Cool, slender fingers touched his brow, and she clucked her tongue.

“Oh, dear. You’re burning up.”

Her soothing touch and gentle tone were calming, and he unconsciously turned his face toward her hand.

“That’s right. Everything is fine. Now, open your mouth a bit and … yes, like that.”

He trusted her. He did not know why; he only knew that he did. His lips parted, and his mouth was filled with a bitter liquid, but he could not swallow. He panicked, his eyes opening with terror as he choked on the foul substance, causing waves of pain to wash over him.

The tender touch returned, this time massaging his throat as she helped him to swallow.

“I’m so sorry, Severus. This would be easier with a spell, I know. There. That’s better. Yes?”

Yes. It was better. The fire was receding, fading until it was only a warm ember rather than a raging inferno.

His body and mind relaxed, and he found himself drifting back into the darkness.

Then, he heard her. She was humming. He knew that song. He knew her. It had been so long since he had seen her—much too long. He slipped back into unconsciousness, soothed by the sound of the familiar lullaby.

Mum.

---

May 21, 1998


“Severus Snape! What do you think you’re doing?” Eileen scolded as she rushed to the bedroom. “I could hear you all the way in the kitchen!” She sagged against the doorframe, one hand clutched to her heart as she caught her breath.

“Damn it!” Severus groaned and hit the carpeted floor with the flat of his hand. The muffled sound was utterly unsatisfying. He was aware he should have waited for her assistance before testing the strength in his legs, but he was tired of displaying his weakness before her. Lying on the floor in a crumpled heap, however, was not exactly what he had intended.

“Let’s get you back into bed.”

He allowed her to help him, his cheeks flushed with exertion and embarrassment. He could hear the exhaustion in her voice, and he felt a twinge of remorse.

“I apologise,” he said, looking at the wall.

Eileen pulled the sheet over his legs and then fluffed a pillow before placing it behind his back. “Yes, I know.”

Severus watched as his mother puttered about the room, his keen eyes greedily watching her every movement. By his own choice, he had not seen her since he had joined the Death Eaters. Their estrangement had initially been due to his hatred for his father and thereby anything Muggle. He cringed inwardly as he vividly recalled the day he had stormed from the house in Spinner’s End, proudly declaring his loyalty to the Dark Lord and announcing that he would have nothing more to do with either of his parents. Later, when he had turned spy, he had believed his mother would be safer if she had no contact with him. He had attempted to find her when the Dark Lord had disappeared after the attack on the Potters, but to no avail.

Seeing her now, he was as confused about his feelings toward her as he had been when he was a child. They had been very close for a time, and he had shared everything with her. When he left for Hogwarts, his father’s abuse had intensified. By the end of his fifth year, his mother had been akin to an emotional whirling dervish, alternating between cool detachment and loving warmth. Would she blow hot and cold now as well?

He slid another glance in her direction as she pulled a large quilt from the wardrobe, and he noted the changes in her appearance. Her raven hair, so like his own, was streaked with silver, and she seemed taller, somehow. In his mind’s eye, he remembered her as painfully thin and stooped. Yet, as he truly looked at her for the first time in the three days he had been fully conscious, he noticed that she appeared stronger, healthier. She stood straight and tall, and the lines on her face, which he remembered as deep, heavy creases, had smoothed and relaxed. Her eyes, which had typically been glazed over with lingering pain, were sharp and clear … and looking directly at him.

He cleared his throat and glanced away, like a small boy who had been caught nicking a biscuit before dinner. “You look well.”

Her thin lips twitched, and she appeared amused. “Thank you. You, on the other hand, have seen better days.”

Severus scowled.

His mother merely arched an eyebrow, as if daring him to disagree.

He glared.

Eileen laughed and shook her head, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. “Always so surly. I see I shall have my hands full with you.”

She tucked the quilt around him, as she had done when he was a boy, then tilted her head to one side and looked at him with serious eyes.

“I know some of what has happened to you over the last twenty years, and I do not wish to know anything more. The letter that Dumbledore sent with the phoenix that brought you here was explanation enough, and while I cannot say that I condone all of your decisions, I do understand them. And …” She paused when her voice cracked, then straightened her spine and continued, her tone clear and direct. “I am very proud of you, Severus, for admitting your mistakes and attempting to rectify them.”

Severus’ face maintained its impassive façade, but internally, he was shocked beyond measure. Before he could ponder her words, she spoke again.

“Who is Hermione?”

Severus stiffened but said nothing.

“You cried out for her many times while you were unconscious,” Eileen said gently. “Was she someone special? Your wife, or your daughter, perhaps?”

An inexplicable anger rose within him, and his eyes turned cold and hard. “I will not discuss her. Do not speak of her again.”

He turned his face to the wall, resolutely ignoring the guilt he felt when his mother nodded sadly and left the room.

---

May 27, 1998


Severus was sick of lying in bed all day, of never leaving his room. The room was nice enough; the soft white walls and cream carpeting were light and calming. The glow of the Muggle lamps softly illuminated the room, providing adequate lighting for reading. Granted, he would much rather be reading his favourite potions journals than outdated issues of Gardener’s World and his mother’s favourite novels, but beggars could not be choosers.

The paralysis had abated some over the past week—he was slowly regaining feeling in his legs, but he was still unable to walk unassisted. Severus was not sure why the venom’s effects seemed to have impacted his legs so severely. After Nagini’s failed attack on Arthur Weasley, her venom had been altered; he was the only person to have survived a bite, since then.

He suspected what he truly needed was a Healer, but it was impossible to go to St Mungo’s. Severus was without a wand and was in no physical condition to Apparate. His mother had used only the most basic magic for almost three decades and was uncomfortable with the thought of attempting Apparition. She did not even have an owl. Even if she had, Severus knew he could not risk attempting to contact anyone in the wizarding world without knowing the outcome of the battle at Hogwarts. According to the local newspaper, all was business as usual in the Muggle world, so he was fairly confident that Potter had been victorious. However, he was not so confident of how he was now viewed by the wizarding world. He assumed they believed him to be dead, but had Lupin and Bill managed to convey his true loyalties? Had Potter revealed the contents of his memories?

Had Hermione and their child survived?

He slashed an angry hand through the air. No. He would not think of her, of them. If she had not survived, it was better that he did not know, and if she was alive ….

Eileen entered the room, a bowl of hot porridge held in her hands.

“Good morning, Severus. I hope you slept well.”

He grunted a reply.

“So, it’s to be like that today, is it? I see.” Eileen placed breakfast tray over his lap and sat in the chair next to his bed, her expression serious. “You are dangerously thin, Severus. Obviously you have not been eating properly for quite some time. That ends today.” She picked up the spoon from the tray. “Now, open up,” she said, scooping up a spoonful of porridge and holding in front of his mouth.

Severus’ jaw dropped in affronted outrage, and Eileen took advantage, shoving the spoon into his mouth. He sputtered and coughed before swallowing.

He wiped his mouth with a proffered napkin, his eyes narrowing into angry slits when she brought forward yet another spoonful.

“You overstep your bounds, Mother,” Severus snarled as he pushed away her hand, causing the spoon to clatter to the floor.

“Do I really?” she replied blandly as she retrieved the utensil. With the regal carriage of a queen, she walked to the wash basin. She washed the spoon and wet a towel before returning to his bedside. Calmly, she cleaned the mess on the floor as Severus watched warily.

When she completed her task, Eileen returned the spoon to his tray and sat down, her hands clasped in her lap as she looked at him directly. “I realise that you are in pain and feeling frustrated with your current limitations. However, I suggest you take a different tone with me, young man, and I would advise you not to touch me in anger again. I may have put up with such things at one point in my life, but I will no longer tolerate abuse to my person in any form. Is that understood?”

Severus blinked and looked away. Ashamed of his display of temper, he sullenly asked, “When did you grow a spine?”

“The day I left your father. Now eat up.” She smiled, nodding toward the bowl and spoon.

“I hate porridge,” he grumbled as he grabbed the spoon and began to eat.

Eileen’s mouth opened then closed. She shook her head and said, “But it used to be your favourite!”

Severus focussed on the bowl in front of him, scooping another disgusting bite into his mouth.

He glanced at her and saw her eyes moving to and fro in intense concentration. Suddenly, her eyes widened, her mouth forming a small circle.

“Oh.”

Severus nodded as he concentrated on his food. As a boy, he had learned not to complain about a meal when the result involved his father’s fist slamming into his mother’s face.

He ate all of the porridge in silence and then placed the spoon on the tray next to the empty bowl.

“He’s dead, you know.”

Severus turned his head to face her. “Yes, although I was not provided any details.”

“The factory closed a year or so after the last time you came to see us, and the company offered him a position with another factory near Manchester. I had already left him by then, and rather than deal with me, he abandoned the house in Spinner’s End and moved north. Five years ago, there was an accident at the factory, and he was killed. Since we were never legally divorced, I received a large settlement from the company. I put most of the money into an account in your name, but I used a small portion to start my baking business.”

Severus arched a questioning eyebrow, an unconscious imitation of his mother. “A bakery?”

Eileen smiled. “Not exactly. I supply … unusual baked goods to the local baker. He sells them and takes a small percentage as a fee. Didn’t you wonder how I was able to be at your beck and call so easily?” she teased.

He hadn’t, actually, but he nodded anyway. “You said you left him.”

“Yes.”

“Why? Why leave then and not before?” Old hurts and resentments began to resurface, and Severus needed to hear her answer … he needed to know why.

She smiled sadly. “One day, I woke up and thought, ‘I’ve had enough.’ I left that very day—the day after I last saw you.”

Eileen stood and removed the tray from his lap, her hands trembling slightly. “Perhaps later you can tell me what foods you prefer.” She turned to leave, but as she reached the door, Severus could not stop the words from bursting forth.

“Where have you been all this time? I searched for you and found nothing. It was as if you disappeared from the face of the earth. I even spoke with him. He said you had left and then told me never to return.”

Eileen turned. “I was here, dear boy, waiting for you.”

And with that, she swept from the room, leaving Severus alone with his thoughts.

---

June 3, 1998


“Would you like to read today’s Daily Prophet?”

Severus went completely still, his fingers tightening on the year-old issue of The Times Literary Supplement. “I beg your pardon?”

His mother entered the room, covered from neck to knee in flour, a few streaks of the white powder slashing across one cheek. In her hands, she held the Daily Prophet.

“Here, see for yourself. It’s today’s issue,” Eileen said, holding out the wizarding paper.

Slowly, Severus lowered the magazine to the bed.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, staring at the paper as his fingers closed around it.

“Fawkes brought it. Damn bird scared me to death, popping into the kitchen like that. He dropped that on the floor and then disappeared before I could say a word.” She leaned against the chair by his bed. “Well? Are you going to read it or stare at it all day?”

Severus ran his fingertips along the edge of the roll of parchment. His heart felt as though it might pound out of his chest, and his stomach roiled.

“Whatever is in there,” Eileen said softly, “it won’t change by you not knowing. Open it, Severus. Find out what happened to her.”

The door clicked, and Severus looked up to find that he was alone. He simply held the parchment for several minutes before he rolled his eyes and quickly opened it, his gaze immediately falling to the photograph in the centre of the front page.

Hermione.

She was kneeling at the base of a black obelisk—Potter and Weasley stood grimly nearby—with her head bowed and one hand flat against the surface of the stone. He watched as she stood and kissed her fingers before touching the memorial. Then the scene restarted.

She was alive.

Relief flooded him, and he watched the photograph for several long minutes, the tips of his fingers hovering over Hermione’s form. He wanted to rush to her side, to touch her until he was satisfied that she was well and truly alive. Finally, he tore his eyes away from her image to read the caption.

Harry Potter and friends attend memorial service for Death Eater-turned-spy, Severus Snape. See article, Potter Claims Snape is Hero on page 2.

Potter had done it—and managed to live. He moved to the article, scanning through Rita Skeeter’s rather loquacious commentary for information.

Pardoned … Order of Merlin … hero … “bravest man I’ve ever known.”

Severus blinked several times—the room must have been dusty—and then continued to read, until he came upon a listing of those who had been killed during the battle at Hogwarts. The list was not as long as he had feared. Scanning the names, a few stood out in his mind.

Colin Creevey, Nymphadora Tonks Lupin, Remus Lupin, Fred Weasley.

Lupin, the last of the Marauders, was gone. Severus felt no sense of triumph, but only an overwhelming emptiness, as though something was now missing that could never be replaced. An image of Fred and George Weasley pulling a prank in his classroom flashed in his mind, Lupin teasing Molly about her cooking, a pink-haired Tonks tripping over a carpet, Colin Creevey smiling enthusiastically with his camera draped around his neck ….

Dead. All of them.

An unexpected pain washed over him as he read the list again, filled with the names of former classmates, students and colleagues, and his vision blurred. He turned his head toward the window, the bright morning sun causing him to close his eyes as the Prophet slipped from his fingers to the floor.

---

June 5, 1998


Severus could hear the loud knocking at the front door all the way from his room on the top floor. He looked at the clock; it was rather late in the evening for visitors. Who would be coming to see his mother at this time of night? He turned a sickly green as the thought of a gentleman caller came to mind.

He heard the door open and then his mother’s muffled greeting, followed by another voice. He could not make out what was being said, but after a few moments, it seemed as if his mother was pleased to see whoever had come to call.

The sound of the front door closing drifted up the stairwell, and satisfied that all was well, Severus returned to his reading. The Lady was most certainly not his typical fare, but at least it kept his mind occupied—somewhat.

He often found his thoughts drifting to Hermione—where was she, what was she doing, how was the child? Stranded as he was at the moment, he felt it best to keep thoughts of her at bay as much as possible, else he would go mad.

A quarter of an hour had passed when he heard a knock at his bedroom door.

His mother rarely encroached up on his privacy at this time of night, and Severus was immediately concerned. “Come in,” he said as he placed the magazine on the side table.

The door slowly opened, and there, framed by the dim light in the hall and face hidden in the shadows, stood a much shorter person than he was expecting to see. Before he could demand to know what was going on, the person spoke.

“Hello, Severus,” came the nervous greeting.

His eyes widened. He recognised that voice ….

“Hermione?”

---

A/N: Mousehole is a lovely village in Cornwall and is pronounced "Mowzell."

Thanks as always to my very own golden trio: Subversa, DeeMichelle, and LettyBird. You are amazing!