SUMMARY: After the debacle in the Shrieking Shack, Severus finds himself in a dreary, greyed-out existence... a Waystation—how will the others there affect the choices he's been given? Will he choose what he envisions as a peaceful, well-earned, eternal rest? Or will he leap into the pain and uncertainty of an unknown future? A Severus & Hermione Short.
ANTI-LITIGATION SPELL: Not my Universe, no financial gain made nor sought; anything you don't recognise is me pontificating.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: No Beta, we die like flobberworms—squelch…all our mistakes are belong to Owl 🦉
WAYSTATION
This grey place was not what he’d expected after sinking into the soft ink of death—grateful for the receding pain, though prickling with anger at dying here, in this detestable shack. He fervently wished he’d had the nerve to act upon one of his many urges to attack this place with a mighty slash of fiendfyre as the darkness sucked him down, down, down….
Unexpectedly, the inky blackness began to seep away, and he awoke again upon the old wooden floor. Thankfully, he felt none of his age-old aches and recent injuries, the piercing fire of his venomated bloodstream also absent. Flexing different body parts carefully, the creaks and moans of the aged floor began rising from beneath him. A roll of his head revealed that he was—as he expected—still in his Death Place, though not. He was in an oddly sanitised version of the Shrieking Shack, and a side-eyed glance proved that his blood had disappeared along with years of accumulated filth. Unfortunately, it was a morbidly daguerreotype-grey in colour everywhere he looked—apart from the view above his dragonhide-booted feet. There sat an open doorway, and beyond it, a swirling cloudy mass of light grey and black was creating a tunnel that led to a warm, soft light, until....
A tiny imp marched into view, blocking his assessment of the intriguing passageway.
It appeared female in looks, one metre in height, and its anger boiled ten times larger than its diminutive size. Sparks in the twisty blackness on her head shifted in the faint breeze of the vortex beyond the doorway, and her large black eyes were narrowed in a dreadful scowl. Her little dungarees were rolled up at the bottom—one knee dirty, the other torn away from a skinned knee—and her tiny green tee had a splotch in the middle of…lingonberry jam…? He frowned slightly at knowing this simple truth.
She stood with arms akimbo, glaring down at him fiercely. “Go away!”
“I beg your—“
“Go ‘WAY! You mustn’t be here; I won’ let you stay,” the imp reiterated with a stomp of her tiny black trainers.
Severus Snape frowned at his personal imp-from-hell and rose further on his elbow, intending to rise from the floor.
“No! You mustn’t move, you mustn’t!” The imp moved quickly from his feet to his side with arms outstretched as if to physically pin him to the floor.
An eyebrow ticked upward, and the imp stepped back, biting her lip in indecision…an oddly familiar visual. Severus raised his arms then, crossing them behind his head as a pillow, and eyed her sharply in the process. “And how do you think you’ll stop me, imp; you’re no bigger than a flobberworm; I could flick you awa—“
He was unable to finish this thought as 15 kilograms of small person had flung themselves across his chest and began wriggling. She eventually got a leg flung over his broad chest, straddling him before planting her hands on his collarbones and leaning forward.
“Puh-lease don’ get up; you hasta go back!”
Severus was disconcerted at her earnest yet slightly fearful expression planted so close to his long Roman nose.
The subtle lighting in the room dimmed momentarily, and then another more familiar voice came from the open doorway. “You should listen to her, Sev.”
“Lily,” he breathed, confused, as he turned toward the door.
“Daft cow,” huffed the little imp under her breath. Then, louder, she said, “Go ‘WAY, you daft cow; dis MY job…we don’t need you here.”
The Headmaster found himself chuckling. “So true, my little imp; go away, Lily. You’re not welcome or wanted here—by either of us, it seems.”
“Well,” the young woman harrumphed, glaring at them. “You told Harry you did everything because of your love for me, Sev; was that a lie?”
“Of course it was, Lily, as you should well have realised. You had ceased to be a true friend long before I called you the name you pretended you couldn’t forgive—even after seeing my circumstances at the time. People like you were the worst kind of friend; you’re practically the equivalent of almost every Death Eater I’ve ever known—befriend someone, use them up, discard them.
“So I let Dumbledore believe what he wanted,” he shrugged. “I could have told Harry the truth about you, but it wasn’t what the old man wanted, and it would have served no purpose,” Severus replied. “Besides, any feeling I had left for you stemmed merely from an obligation—with maybe a dash of guilt—and memories of a very short childhood friendship. According to Dumbledore, who constantly attempted to exacerbate my guilt, your foolish boy needed to believe certain things; Albus the Manipulator needed your boy to offer himself up to die, to walk to his death as planned. And you are the last person I’d want to see as I lay bleeding to death in this fecking Shack—it’s your son you should be hounding.”
Two dirty little hands clamped down on his mouth as the curly-haired monster on his chest shook her head. “Atsa bad word! Mummy will be sooo mad at you!” she exclaimed sternly. She turned toward the frowning girl in the doorway and waved an imperious hand. “Begone, daft cow!”
They both watched as the huffy young redhead disappeared into the misty corridor.
When Severus attempted to shuck the leech on his chest off and rise again, a shriek of “NO!” found him pinned to the floor by a fierce blast of uncontrollable, sparking magic. The earlier anger had dissipated, and what it was morphing into had him more startled than ever—the imp was having a meltdown. Her large, dark eyes had filled with tears as her bottom lip trembled. She flung herself forward, little monkey arms clutching around his neck, and started to cry quietly. “Go back! P’ease go back…”
“Go back where little imp?” he asked with some confusion. He barely heard her reply, muffled as it was into his throat, but it became much more evident as he comprehended her meaning.
“Go back to dat fecking shack, p’ease.”
He ignored the swearing as he pondered her words, “…back to the fecking shack.” The Shrieking Shack; she was trying to keep him from dying.
“Ah, little imp,” he replied, patting her awkwardly yet gently, “There’s nothing there for me anymore.”
“M-maybe not y-yet… P’ease don’ make me stay here with that bossy cow and her dunnerhead fwiends. I wan’ Mummy, Mac, Bas and Cheesy…” she wailed.
Mummy, Mac, Bas and Cheesy? How odd.
“I’m sorry, little one; I’ve no idea how to return there, and it truly wasn’t a very pleasant place. I’ve done what I had to do, and even though I thought I’d prepared for all contingencies, I was incorrect in my conclusions….” His voice faded off—it mattered not, he sighed—the world would be better off without him…he would be better off.
Her little body jerked away from his chest, head accidentally clocking him in the jaw. Ow. He blinked hard as the pain in his face began travelling to his… throat? What the hell?!
“I know!” the imp said brightly, “I know how; I can he’p you!” She wiggled off his chest and was once more standing next to his prone self, tapping a dirty finger to the bow of her lips, concentrating. The imp nodded once and skipped to the other side of his legs, wiping her damp eyes with her sleeve. He began to lean up further on an elbow when, to his surprise, she pulled back a leg and kicked him in the calf as hard as she could.
“Oy! What the he—"
But his voice faded into a garbled gasp as the pain from his leg multiplied whilst it migrated to his neck…again…and again…and again as she kicked him. She walked up to his head, peering closely at his gasping visage. “Go back,” she whispered solemnly.
He glared hard at her after she kicked him in the ribs, skittering backwards, away from his flailing hand. She glared back, repeating her request. “What’s your name, little imp? Who’s your mother,” he croaked, the pain in his jaw almost unbearable now.
“My name is Laney, and my mummy is Hoominey Jean Gwanguh,” she replied smugly.
“Fecking Gra—" But he never finished the thought as his peripheral caught a little black trainer aiming for his left temple.
The inky darkness was harsher this time, viciously grasping, pulling him downward, crushing and tossing him about. The last thing he heard, though not with any coherent comprehension, was a tiny voice whispering in his ear, “Bye, Daddy…”
UNDEATH
Severus gasped in a sharp, ragged breath, seizing from the burning throb of venom still coursing through his bloodstream, but a weight on his chest kept him from thrashing into the unknown. As the tremors faded, he attempted a weak shove at the weight on his chest. “Off me, imp, or I’ll…” His harsh whisper was cut short by a painful, grating cough and the lack of the correct amount of teeth, the remnants of which he spat onto the green shirt still hovering over him. The face hovering over the green shirt, attached to the legs straddling him, broke into a beautiful but filthy smile that immediately melted into fresh tears that began rolling through the muddy tracks on her gaunt cheeks.
“You’re back,” she whispered wetly, smearing the muddy tears on her face with a sleeve, “Thank the goddess.”
“No damn goddess,” he croaked, “Imp…your imp.” She looked down at him quizzically, and he rolled his eyes. “Off.”
Her eyes widened, and she blushed. “M-merlin! I-I’m sorry…your heart stopped, and I was doing CPR,” she explained, swinging herself off of him. “I’d run out of healing potions, an—"
A limp wave of his hand interrupted her. “All wards failed?” he whispered hoarsely, reaching a hand up to his throat. Long fingers stroked some kind of soft fabric wrapped snuggly around his neck. Glancing up, Granger was nodding in response, so he attempted to rise.
“Sir! What are you doing? You mustn’t….” She abruptly stopped herself and considered the fierce expression on his face, the simple question, and his pained, struggling actions. “Where do you need to go, sir?” she asked quietly. He gave her a gimlet eye as he squatted on his knees, waiting for his nauseous, lightheaded sensations to pass.
“Office,” he croaked.
She nodded. “Headmaster’s office?” After his nod, she continued. “If you can stay on your feet for a few moments, I can help you apparate there.” The second, smaller nod of acquiescence proved once again that he needed to monitor his movements carefully so he didn’t pull away when she grasped his non-mangled arm to assist him to his feet. She held his wrist and quickly ducked under his arm, wrapping her arm around his waist. “I’m sorry, Severus, but there’s no way this isn’t going to hurt…turn now.” She didn’t wait for his startled look at using his given name but turned gently on the spot.
Upon arriving, his loud gasp of pain incited her to wandlessly accio a padded bench to catch him as he collapsed. He sat completely still for quite some time, eyes closed, before looking up at her and scanning the empty frames in the room. With a wave of his shaking hand, an empty case swung away from the wall, revealing several shelves of potions, salves and powders. “Bic,” he rasped, and a house elf appeared before them.
“Bic is pleased to serv—” The elf froze upon seeing his Headmaster injured, and immediately, elvish diagnostics appeared over Severus’ head.
“Miss Granger,” he whispered painfully, pointing at the pensieve as Bic bounced efficiently from patient to cabinet and back again, “Not the whole truth, but important…” Bic shushed him fiercely, and Hermione backed away, giving the pensieve an apprehensive look.
She was frowning when she turned back to him. “I won’t like what’s in there, will I….”
“You will not,” he whispered, holding the bandage Bic gently removed from his neck. One glance at it caused an eyebrow to tick up. Hermione, one hand on the rim of the pensieve, shrugged.
“Then I will apologise for that now,” she said, nodding at the unicorn-covered purple flannel in his hand, “...while I can. It was the only clean thing I had to make a binding with.” Then she plunged her head into the gleaming surface and disappeared into his memories.
Bic pressed Severus onto his back and placed two heated bezoar siphons over the two open snake bite injuries at the top of his shoulder. Thankfully, Nagini had only bitten him once, and aside from the venom, the worst damage was from her hammering him several times about the face, head, chest and one arm with her massive blunt snout. Granger had thankfully mended the broken bones that she could, but he knew there would be quite a lot of Skelegro in his future.
The siphons had been primed specifically for Nagini’s venom, and they rapidly began to suck the poison from his bloodstream. The next few minutes were excruciating, and as Bic spelt the venom-filled bezoars away from his wounds—replacing them with fresh ones—Hermione flung herself from the pensieve with a yell.
She staggered backwards with wide eyes. “No!” she spat in a garbled whisper, “Nooo….” She stared at the barely conscious Headmaster, shaking her head. She glanced up at the old Headmaster’s empty portrait and back to the current Headmaster, weakened by venom and scowled. Turning back to the golden frame, she shot a silent, wandless confringo at it before muttering, “Perimetro ignis,” setting it aflame.
Severus struggled to one elbow, raised his eyes to the grim-faced girl and spoke. “Go, Miss Granger; he’ll need you…I’m afraid it isn’t over yet.” He collapsed back onto the bench as she backed away, simultaneously wanting not to believe what she’d seen, to rush to Harry’s side, and—confusedly—to stay with the injured man.
“Bic,” he said weakly, “Take me home.”
Severus and his loyal house elf disappeared as Dumbledore’s portrait smoked, and Hermione Granger turned and raced out of the Headmaster’s office.
HAPPILY EVER
He leaned back in his comfortable reading chair, the hand holding his book dropping to his lap as he smiled at the pair before him—his wife and their youngest son. They were lying on their bellies before the fire, perusing a colourful book about dinosaurs and prehistoric magical creatures. Sebastyn Michael, whisky-eyed like his mother, was an ‘oops-surprise!’ baby, arriving only ten-and-a-half months after his middle child and older sister—definitely unplanned. Especially considering his oldest son and only daughter—both planned down to the minute—were nearly three years apart.
Sebastyn growled like a sabretooth tiger, and Hermione laughed as he pounced on her, trying to wrestle himself onto her back. Severus smiled at how enjoyable a lazy Sunday felt when you had a family to share it with.
The front door banged open and closed, and the clatter of brooms and trainers being dropped into their stands echoed down the short hallway. A pair of eight-year-olds with unruly black hair sprinted toward the sitting room, sliding on their stockinged feet to the edge of the fanciful floral Axminster as they grinned widely.
“Well,” Severus drawled, “Let’s hear it, then…”
“We WON!” they crowed together, “And you owe us twenty sickles!”
“210 to 80, Da!” his son, Macsen Colin Snape, reported happily.
“Uncle Viktor’s team beat the pants off ‘em, and we had the best seats EVER!” Jamie Potter said with glee, “Only we had to sit with Victoire because Freddy was sick this morning, ugh.”
The best-friends-since-birth troublemakers grimaced from the horrific pain of this remembered torture.
“I can’t figure out why she was even there, Da; she didn’t look like she was enjoying herself much,” Mac shrugged.
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out in about seven years or so, son,” Severus replied drolly while his wife cackled from the floor. “So, did the two of you, in fact, have twenty sickles to bet?” he asked with a smirk, knowing the answer as he floated two stacks of ten silvery sickles into their outstretched hands.
“Course not,” Mac scoffed, “But you always bet against Uncle Viktor’s team, and they always win, Da. You should have figured that out by now…” The boys rolled their eyes at each other as Severus curbed his chuckle.
Jamie grabbed Mac’s arm in an attempt to drag him kitchenward, saying, “C’mon, McSnape…I’m starving!”
Mac held his ground, and he and his father simultaneously cleared their throats, cocking an eyebrow. Jamie looked from one to the other, then pinked.
“Sorry, Uncle Sev. Auntie Mia? May we have a snack?” he asked politely, blushing and slightly embarrassed.
“Yes, you may, Jamie; Mac knows where everything is, but you have to take this growly little monster with you,” Hermione laughed.
“No problem!” Jamie said cheerfully. “C’mon, Bas-monster; you know what to do…” Jamie turned and crouched down as Bastyn made a running leap onto his back. The older boy hooked his arms under the wiggly boy’s knees and reminded him not to choke him so tightly. “Or I’ll drag you to the kitchen by your toes!”
“Toes! Toes!” shrieked Bas as they disappeared down the hall.
As the trio of noisy boys made their way to the nosh, Hermione planted herself on her husband’s lap, chuckling at Jamie’s parting remark:
“You do know how weird it is that you and your Dad do the same thing at the same time, right, McSnape?”
“It is weird, you know,” she murmured, snuggling into her husband’s chest, feeling the low rumble of his answering laugh.
“I, too, find it disconcerting. Just when I’m beginning to think Mac and I have nothing in common, he does something like that.”
“It’ll probably get worse as he gets older, love…his teenage years just might be hell for you; I can picture it now. Two stubborn men, equal in grump and glare, arguing everything to death,” she chuckled.
“Wicked woman,” he murmured onto her cheek, “You shou—”
Suddenly, a shriek rent the air, coming from upstairs, and two worried parents leapt to their feet upon hearing the running child above them. “DADDY! Da-a-addy!”
Severus sprinted towards the stairs. “Elena!”
As he reached the bottom step, a tearful little wild-haired person flung herself towards her daddy from halfway down the stairs. None too gracefully, Severus caught the human missile and fell onto his arse. Thankfully, his wife threw cushioning charms on the floor and wall as he slid awkwardly after landing, crashing into it. She also waved away the three little faces peering out the kitchen doorway with a finger and a stern look.
“Oh, Daddy…you camed back,” Elena sobbed, “You came.” Severus glanced at Hermione in confusion, then back to his weeping child, one arm wrapping her more firmly to his chest, the other hand stroking her back.
"Laney, my little love... Daddy has been home all day and yesterday, too. Where did you think I went?"
“No, no, Daddy, not in the now time,” she sniffed, burrowing into his neck, “It was a big time ago, when I was at the Other Place…wif a daft cow,” she tried to explain around her hiccoughing sobs. “It was a h-horriblest dweam…, but you camed back—I’m so, bery happy, Daddy….”
Hermione slid down the wall to sit beside her husband and daughter, though the glance at Severus’s stunned expression surprised her. She stroked the top of her daughter’s head and lifted the blanket of curls covering her face to kiss the damp little cheek. “Daddy’s here, my little Laney ‘Nerva; we’re all here, and we’re all safe…” Hermione’s questioning look at her husband caught the subtle shake of his head.
He gave his worried wife a small smile and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. “Elena?”
“Yes, Daddy?”
“Are you wearing a green tee with a smear of lingonberry jam on the front and black trainers?”
“Mm-hic-hmm,” Elena hiccoughed.
“Oh, my darling little imp,” Severus replied softly, voice hitching, holding her close, “Thank you for sending me back.”
Elena pulled back from her father to put her tiny hands on his cheeks. “You bemember!” She gave him a brilliant smile and a sloppy kiss before frowning and ducking her chin. “I’m bery sowwy I kicked you head, Daddy,” Elena said contritely.
“It’s quite all right, love; thank you for sending me back. You and your mummy saved my life that day.”
Elena’s dark eyes became big and round. “We did?” she whispered.
“You did, but I hope you never, ever have to kick me again,” Severus replied, rubbing his left temple like it still hurt. With the quickness only a four-year-old can manage, Elena grabbed his nose in one hand and an ear with the other to leverage herself up high enough to kiss his temple several times. Severus tried very hard not to wince.
“I’m sooo glad we’s all h-here—you an’ Mummy an’ Mac an’ Bas…”
“But where is Cheezy?” Severus asked.
“Oooh, poor Cheezy Kneazy…she hided under the bed ‘cause I yelled too loud, an’—”
Daddy poked her in the ribs and pointed to the top of the stairs where an irate-looking cheese-coloured kneazle sat, flicking her tail puff in a fit of pique.
“Here, Cheezy-cheezy,” Elena called a bit shrilly. The kneazle stood and turned around to sit facing the other way, promptly beginning to wash her bum. They all chuckled as a burst of boyish laughter erupted from the kitchen. Elena immediately began to wiggle, pushing herself away from Severus’ chest. “Jamie’s here! An’ Bas an’ Mac! Lemme go, Daddy; Jamie’s here!” Her parents smiled as she hot-footed into the kitchen to find her ‘boys’.
“Hey, Zany Laney!” Jamie called. “Oof! Careful, huggy monster; you’re squeezin’ my guts out!” As Jamie made barfing sounds, the chatter and squeals from the kitchen increased tenfold. Hermione and Severus removed themselves from the floor and settled back into his chair next to the fire.
After her husband tucked her under his chin and wrapped her in his arms, Hermione murmured, “There’s an interesting story that explains all that, isn’t there….”
“Very much so,” Severus replied softly, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly—Hermione felt his body relax. “Do you remember what I said to you in the Shack when I began breathing again, and you were sitting on my chest?”
She chuckled. “I do, but it made little sense to me—I’d assumed you were just discombobulated.”
“I’m quite sure that I was, but the memory of it all faded away until this morning—when you attempted to charm the lingonberry jam off Elena’s shirt and she sucked it off and sprinted away. Since then, there’s been a small, insistent niggling in my brain, and then Elena leapt down the stairs…” he paused momentarily then, collecting his thoughts.
“I remember you calling me an ‘imp’ that day, then you changed it to an imp that was mine. Whenever you’ve called Elena your ‘little imp’, it always made me smile. I just never thought it was important enough to ask you about,” Hermione said softly.
“Well, the story begins after I died in the Shrieking Shack, then woke in a place much like the Shack, but not,” Severus began with a smile, “And there was a tiny wild-haired imp scowling down at me…”
-- Finis --