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Letters From America	By : tambrathegreat Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 1912 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: All recognisable Harry Potter characters and settings belong to JK Rowling. All others are my own. I make no money from this endeavor.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
Mr. Longbottom,

Thank you for your well-wishes. It seems that you have gained a great deal of courage over the years. I am glad of it.

I would like to say, now that I am no longer your resident Death Eater Headmaster and evil Potions Professor, had you not been who you were, I still would have found your efforts execrable in Potions. I do hope your efforts have improved with age.

That last year, the year of my tenure as headmaster, I do regret having to punish you in any way. Albus and I secretly rejoiced in the strides you made in growth and leadership. You became the man that Albus always knew you could be. Your parents would have been proud of you. I know I was, though I could not show it at the time.

That being said, please let me talk shop for a moment. I have read your articles in the Practical Potioneer and the International Herbologist. Your treatises on the cultivation of plants for mass production of potions have been informative and well thought out. My wife and I (Yes, I did marry, and I have children... Oh, the humanity!) are working on an especially fiddly potion that needs a certain plant native to this region of the States. Knowing your abilities in with plants, if we forwarded a cutting via Mr. Potter, could you attempt to foster its growth in the greenhouses at Hogwarts? I know, there is a certain irony in my asking a favour from you, yet I find myself needing your particular expertise. Please let me know post haste, as the plant's seeds are rather delicate and require a certain finesse to germinate.

Respectfully,

Severus Snape

Harry couldn't help but feel a sharp pang of pity for Snape as he made his way back to the porch swing on the silverish metal crutches that had brought him to the edge of the structure. Snape, for all his former menace, was just a man after all, and Harry was saddened by the signs of infirmity he saw marking him. He followed and waited for an invitation, choosing to take his cue from Draco who stood beside the benched porch swing. Harry glanced at the direction of his companion and saw the cool, Malfoy mask slip over his features. He thought the look had to be genetic, or at least taught since birth.   Harry knew he could never attempt to cover his emotions so well.

Snape looked out over the lawn, a mixture of tiny wild flowers and some sort of tawny grass shot with patches of green. Harry noticed with some interest that while Snape’s expression was harsh, set as if in some kind of quick-drying plaster, his features did not show the strain of constant tension. His lips, though thin, were softened with a small smile, his hooded black eyes were no longer coldly assessing. He held himself still, the only thing to belie that he was a breathing entity and not a statue was the riffling of his hair in the soft, easterly breeze. Harry knew that Snape observed them both, but his assessment of them was somehow less scathing, less accusatory. Harry inhaled deeply, catching the faint whiff of sandalwood and bitter herbs amongst the foreign, dusty scent of the land. Draco said, "May we have a seat, sir?"

Snape huffed and motioned with his wand as chairs from another seating area hurtled towards them. Harry caught one with his hand, but Draco gave an undignified yelp as the metal chair cut into his knees and made him sit rather forcefully. Harry swallowed a laugh as the one-time git's teeth clicked rather loudly in the charged silence. It was Snape's low chuckle that undid him.

"I see you have not lost your grace, Draco," Snape observed drily as Harry swallowed a snort of laughter.   For a moment, as Snape's eyes met his in a communicating mirth, Harry felt strangely at ease. The atmosphere was broken as Snape turned his scathing attention fully on Harry and asked, "You couldn't leave things as they stood, Potter, could you?"

Harry swallowed, his mouth drying and face flushing as the words sunk in. He bit out, "No, sir, I couldn't. We owe you… I.. owe you... so much."

Snape's frosty glare softened as the screen door to the house opened and a very pregnant woman holding a jar of pickles asked, "Severus, could you open this for me, please?"

The woman glanced nervously at Draco and then at Harry. Snape stood and reached for the bottle, "My dear, I would like to introduce you to two of my former students, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. Gentlemen, my wife, Dr. Antonia Dance-Snape."

Harry was the first to his feet, extending his hand in that entirely American way. "I'm glad to meet you.”

Draco bowed as he stood, "Doctor."

She gave a wan smile as Snape handed the jar back to her sans lid. She was rubbing her lower back with her other fist, something that Ginny did just before she started her final weeks of pregnancy. She said, ”I've heard a lot about both of you, it's nice to finally put faces with names. You will be staying for lunch, won't you? It's nothing special, only goulash and a salad."

Both Harry and Draco answered in the affirmative as she retreated back into the house. Harry ventured, "I never pictured you married." Draco groaned as Harry realised how the comment sounded, "Not that I didn't think you could find someone to marry, or that you would be an ogre or anything. I just thought that you hated kids and... I just didn't expect to find you alive... is all."

Harry spread his fingers on his thighs, trying to cool the sweaty palms that had sprung up over his daft comments.

"No doubt, Potter, you certainly are your father's child with tactless statements such as that," Severus drawled in that strange combination of American twang and posh tones of British public school that he had acquired over the years. "But, you are much more like Lily than I ever admitted."

Harry felt his breath catch at the words. "Thank you. I think."

Draco withdrew a packet of letters from his robes. "Severus, these are for you."

He passed the neatly tied pile to the Potions Master. Severus took them, glancing down at the name on the first envelope. "Ian Cavanaugh? I don't remember teaching any..."

"He's not a student, Severus." Draco said, his face blanching white under the tan he had acquired over their journey. "He's your cousin on the Snape side. He is the one who... saved me from myself. He is Scorpius' uncle. His sister is the one Aunt Bella told me to kill that night."

Snape's hand shook and his face drained of colour as he touched the top envelope. "I had... I told myself they... he was better off not seeing me... after all that happened. Ian had a sister? How is she?"

"She died." Draco said succinctly, keeping his tone matter of fact even though Harry knew the pain her death still caused. "She had a bad reaction to the Cruciatus curses she received during her captivity and she developed Hodgkin's lymphoma. It's been six years."

Snape remained impassive, yet Harry could sense the internal battle for control in his clenched jaw and whitened fingers. Harry rose and paced a few steps to the porch railing, his back to his former enemies. He caught Draco's eye. Malfoy stood, his starched linen robes rustling in the southerly breeze. "I think I'll see if your wife needs help with the luncheon. "

"Yeah, I think I will too." Harry followed Draco into the dim interior, the only sound interrupting Snape's solitude was the screeching of the screen door as it closed.

&*&*&

Hermione,

We're finally here, and well, it's different than I expected somehow. Snape has mellowed; I guess that's the word. He gone a little soft in the middle, put on some well-needed weight (from the way his wife watches him, I'm sure she had a lot to do with that) and he's got children. He's just ordinary. If you didn't know his past you'd just think he was some average bloke who ended up in Oklahoma, not the master spy that he was. It's strange, really, thinking of Snape in a normal kind of life.

There is one thing that gave me pause. He's pretty eaten up by Cruciatus sickness. It doesn't affect his mind, but his body... His wife says the muscles and nervous system go through times when they fire constantly, just like under the curse. He's on a regimen of Muggle drugs, potions, and regularly sees a pain management physician. Toni, his wife, says he's been in remission for the past few years. There was a scare around the time his son was born, she didn't go into it, but I think he had a series of seizures that left his legs rather weak and the bones prone to breaking. She says he's doing better now, but I know she worries about his future health.

It's funny to see how Snape and his wife squabble as they go about their daily business. She’s a little like you, with her intelligence and her inquisitiveness and a little like Ginny in her protectiveness of Snape. She has a rather tart sense of humour, especially when she deals with him. Snape doesn’t get by with much. He still scowls and grumps about, but it’s tempered with good humour and a great deal of love, I think. When she leaves the room, his eyes follow her with a kind of joy that I never thought I'd see him have. They do well together.

And can you imagine? He adopted two children during his travels and has two toddlers (a bossy girl and a boy) about James and Al's age and another on the way. I just can't get used to seeing him with his children. He's so patient and not at all like I would have expected him to be as a father.   It makes me wish I had been fairer to him when I was younger. I think he makes a great dad.

Oh, and they will be moving back to England. His wife is going to be taking over the research department at St. Mungo's and Snape has bought Squidgely and Beasle's near Hogsmeade. He says that was where he worked right after he received his mastery.

He's quite well off and expecting to be better situated now that he, Toni, and his oldest son, a Lokota man they call Joseph Pony, have developed a real treatment for lycanthtropy. I don't really understand how they did it—it’s some kind of Muggle science stuff-- but they've made the curse act more like a transfiguration. Did I mention that Snape's daughter-in-law is a werewolf? How's that for irony? Hasn't Ginny made my vocabulary better?

Severus watched Potter, Malfoy and his assembled children play a ridiculous card game entitled Bull Shit. Normally, he would not have found the resulting ruckus amusing, nor would he have allowed his younger children to blurt out the name of the game with abandon, but since Potter blushed painfully to the roots of his still-messy hair every time his youngest two said the words, he allowed it. Draco was currently in conference with Valecia, whom he had taken on as a partner. Snape had to admit that the spoiled, self-absorbed boy had grown into a good man. He was far steadier than Severus would have ever thought him to be. He was much more forthright than Lucius was at any age, and certainly less of a snob than his mother.

Potter was attempting to hold his own against Joseph Pony, who had shrewdly guessed his tell. Potter, whenever he became nervous, tugged at the ridiculous fringe he still wore to cover the curse scar. Constantine, who had dogged Potter's steps since meeting the man, much to Severus' consternation, was currently helping to hold the excess cards that Potter had been forced to take after Joseph Pony caught him in a blatant falsehood. Potter leaned in to listen to Constantine, his handsome features mirthful and warm. Severus was struck by their similar expressions.

In one of those shifts of perception to which Severus had been prone since his former students arrived, he saw Potter for what he was, a lost boy turned man much like himself. Their histories were certainly similar. He had seen that much during the Occlumency lessons. Albus had either been a fool and a canny bastard when he charged Severus with the onerous duty of teaching the younger Potter such an invasive form of magic. His mentor must have known that Severus could not help but come away from those sessions with a better understanding of the boy.   Severus had gone so far as to visit his old nemesis, Tuney Evans, in hopes that what Potter remembered had been an exaggeration. It wasn’t, and Severus had dealt with Lily’s sister in such a way that Potter never knew. The boy was hopeless at Occlumency at the time simply because he lacked the focus and didn’t see the need. Sometimes Severus did wonder if he had seen the boy for what he was in the beginning that his life would have turned out differently. It was a useless exercise, and he rarely dwelled on the possible futures he might have lived had he seen things more clearly. Severus became aware of the scowl marring his features as he felt a cool hand on his neck, and Antonia slid beside him on the couch.

"You're especially quiet tonight, Honey." She ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, sending chills down his back and warmth into his belly. She had changed from the elasticised denim trousers and unbecoming maternity tunic she had been wearing earlier to a loose frock and a cardigan worn against the late September chill of the evening.

"I suppose I am." Severus replied, his eyes still on Potter.

Antonia asked, "Have you been thinking about what you could have had, if things had been different?"

He heard the worry in her tone, though she masked the emotion behind a carefully constructed facade of humour. Severus placed his hand on her cool thigh. He would never understand how a woman who seemed to be fuelled by and inferno in her core, could be so cold in her extremities and her buttocks, especially in the cooler months of the year. He gave a soft puff of an exhalation before he spoke, his words as carefully measured at her mask of unconcern. "No, my dear. I have learned a great deal since my youth. My fate was always entwined with yours."

"That's good to know," she answered drily as she ran a hand over her tight belly. "I got a chance to speak with Draco this afternoon. He set my mind at ease."

"Ah, he poses no threat to your future dreams of home and hearth?" Severus' tone was equally arid.   "That's good to know also. It wouldn't do for you to be a wealthy widow whilst you had young children."

"Jerk." She shoved his shoulder with her closed fist. "It's a good thing I love you for just that trait, or I might tempt Draco to do something reckless." She rubbed her back, a pained expression crossing her features. "Ooh."

Severus' attention turned fully to her. "What is it? More Braxton-Hicks contractions?"

"Uh, no this is the real thing. My water broke about thirty minutes ago." Antonia's smooth answer unsettled Severus more than a panicked pronouncement might have.

He started forward, "Shouldn't we be...? Did you call...? How far apart are your contractions?"

The last part was said in a loud enough tone that the hubbub of the game stopped. Potter's head whipped around and both Stella and Joseph Pony stood. Draco, alone, remained calm, thought his eyes glittered with suppressed emotion.

Antonia waved her hand, saying calmly, "It's okay. I already called Phuong. She and Dicky will be out here soon enough, and my contractions are about ten minutes apart."

"Bloody hell, Severus," Draco finally broke in. "I thought you had ice water in your veins. Do you need us to do anything?"

Antonia grimaced, exhaling through compressed lips, before saying, "Can you get the kids to bed?"

Potter was the first to stand, "Sure thing. Do you need a bath, little man?"

The card game was abandoned as the younger people went about their business. Stella moved to Antonia’s side to help her to the bedroom as Severus gathered his crutches to follow.

&*&*&

Once both Valecia and Constantine were freshly scrubbed, Potter came hesitantly to the master bedroom door, a child on each hand. Draco and Joseph Pony stood together in the dim light of the hallway still as sentinels. "They wanted to say goodnight."

Severus swivelled his head sharply as Antonia gave a low moan whilst panting through what appeared to be another contraction. A delicate-boned Asian woman was on the other side of the bed casting a complex of monitoring spells over her patient. Another man with wispy brownish-blond hair had just emerged from the en suite, laden with towels and other linens, followed by Stella who carried a potion in each hand. Severus opened his unoccupied arm and the children tore to him, both appearing more shaken than they had only moments before.   Harry paused, struck by the sight of Severus showing such patience with his frightened children even as his wife throttled his fingers as she rode through the rest of the contraction.

&*&*&

“Potter, come,” Severus commanded as he beckoned Harry with his free hand. Harry shook his head and rose from the couch, snagging his thumb on his glasses and flipping them up expertly to his face. It had been a long night with the birth of a new Snape. Harry had just fallen asleep on the leather couch when Severus woke him.

Harry followed him to the pantry. Snape opened the door and bade Harry with a curt nod of his head to open a trap that lay on the floor. Harry felt a giddy sense of discovery as he lifted the door to reveal a basement underneath. Snape shifted his weight on the cane he relied upon in the house, and he flicked his eyes at Harry, signifying with a sharp shake of his head that Harry was to enter first. Harry slid his wand into his hand, ready for anything and with a nervous laugh began his descent down the rail-less stairs. Snape stumped after him after huffing something about how well Harry had learned caution since his youth.

Once they were both in the dark room, Snape waved his wand and witch-lights winked on, their luminous orbs dotted the concrete ceiling.   Harry noted with interest that the space did not have the normal small windows that most below-stairs rooms had to let in light. “Why no windows?”

“This, Potter, is a storm shelter as well as a root cellar. Windows would defeat the purpose of the structure.” Snape drawled as he made his way to a trunk in the corner of the room.   “This area is prone to cyclonic activity. We have had to repair to this room at least twice a year since we’ve lived here.”

“Cool.” The word slipped from Harry’s mouth before he thought. “I mean, not that you feared for your life but that… I’ve never… I always wanted to see… “

“Potter!” Snape’s quiet exclamation stopped Harry’s verbal regurgitation. When Harry chanced a look at his former nemesis, he expected thinned lips and a brow drawn down in a scowl. Instead, he received a knowing glint and a nod. “My first tornado was exhilarating. It occurred in October and was… quite an experience. Now, come over here and open this trunk. It’s yours.”

Harry approached the area, his wand lit to aid his sight. The trunk was old, battered from years of use. It folded out like the old-style steamer trunks that Harry saw at jumble sales and the like. He ran his hand over the name plate. The cramped letters on the face proclaimed the trunk to be property of the Half Blood Prince. Harry shot a look of incomprehension at Snape. The older man scowled and flicked his wand and the trunk shot open. Inside, pinned to the dingy blue velvet were all manner of pictures of a younger Snape and a girl that could only be Lily Evans. Harry touched several reverently, before he turned to Snape who had retreated to the narrow stairs, as if to escape the memories.

“I don’t think she should have turned her back on you… when you called her that name,” Harry said to the void between the two men. “I know… I never knew her, but it just seems…”

“Potter,” Severus warned.

“I suppose everyone goes through this. When they discover their parents aren’t perfect. But for me it was worse, somehow, since I never had them really.” Harry offered. “It was hard for me, seeing my dad torturing you like he did, and then you blew things with my mum. That’s what I saw in the Pensieve, you know. Nothing else.” Harry licked his suddenly dry lips. “The thing is, I get why you did that, why you called her that name. I mean, at the end of the day, a bloke only has his two balls and his pride.” Snape snorted but made no reply, “I even understand why she did what she did at first. But if it had been Hermione you did that to, she would have forgiven you eventually. God knows she forgave Ron and me for a lot of things that would have been unforgivable to other girls. That’s just what friends do, you know?”

Snape had drawn his robes around him in one hand as if to ward off the emotional outburst he had so obviously expected. He leaned against the wall, one hand splayed against it. Harry continued keeping his tone even, “I know I don’t know everything about you, Severus, but you didn’t know anything about me until my fifth year.”

“Why, then did you glare at me that first night after you were sorted?” Snape asked. “I assumed that Tuney would have told you all sorts of stories about my evil nature.”

“She never talked about my parents and their friends except to tear them down. I didn’t even know I was a wizard before my letter. Besides, she was always too ready to comment on my own evil nature,” Harry responded and then with a nervous twitch of his shoulders he added, “You were sitting next to Quirrel. You know, the Professor that had the Voldemort transplant? You remember how my scar hurt when I was around him, don’t you?”

“Look in the rest of the trunk, Potter,” Snape commanded as he relaxed infinitesimally. “When I discovered what a wonderful home life you had, I took the liberty of securing some items for you from Godric’s Hollow in my vault, with Albus’ help. It was my way of apologizing for my hasty judgment of you. When I learned you were searching for me, I asked Aberforth to send it.”

Harry opened one of the drawers, and ran his hand over a water-damaged wooden box. Snape drew closer, “That is what was left of your grandmother Evans jewellery. She loved the pearls especially. I was there when your grandfather gave them to her. It was Christmas. Go ahead, open it. There are many stories to be found in an old jewellery box. Stories that you should be able to pass on to your children.”

&*&*&

Gin,

I spoke with Severus at some length over a trunk of my mum’s things that he had saved for me. I think things are resolved as far as they can be between us. I don’t know that we’ll ever be as close as friends, but I think we can both be civil to each other now.

His wife had their third (and she says emphatically, last) child. It’s a boy and Antonia named him after her father, Robert.   Snape added a name but he wouldn’t let me and Draco see it. Toni showed it to us before we departed for the Portkey office this morning. Their son’s name is Robert Wulfric Snape. That was one of Dumbledore’s names. He had a string of them.   I always suspected that Snape thought of him as a father figure. It was easy to see Dumbledore like that, for both of us, I think. Neither one of us had such a good home life. Snape’s was especially terrible. I don’t know if I would have turned out half as well as him if the Dursleys had beaten me like his dad beat him. Of course, the verbal abuse still leaves scars, but it’s not the same. They picked on me. His dad beat him and his mum. I think in a way he’s like those survivors that we read about from the concentration camps. That level of violence, no matter how shared it is, leaves a hole in you, a black spot that can never be filled. To Snape, I think it was like taking a slow poison. Gods, I sound morose today.

We’ll be home before you get this letter. I just wanted to let you know that all was well here.

Give the kids a kiss from me. I miss you all so much.

You all are my reason for living,

Harry

Fin
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Letters From America