Rattling Teeth
Severus sighs into the bitter cold, though sorely wishing he were anywhere else, all foreign students eligible for Hogwarts were paid a visit by a professor. Beside him equally as unfortunate though much more eager, professor Flitwick hums merrily in his frankly ridiculously fluffy fur robe.
The dour Professor had lost the annual straw drawing competition of who would be sent to visit the foreign students. The loss only stung in the wake of Sprout’s smug smile, the Herbology Professor having lost five years in a row. But as language barriers were a very real concern, Flitwick who was fluent in several languages was sent along to accompany him in this…venture.
Why Albus just didn’t send Flitwick on his lonesome for this, instead of the damnable straw drawing, he would never know.
Either way the apparition coordinates has lead them to the stoop of a, quit frankly, ridiculously over sized steel door and not much else. Squinting down the mountainside behind them Severus can see a ramshackle factory of a sort, and beyond that a quaint muggle village, all of it draped in snow and ice. Beside him Flitwick pulls his wand from the depth of his fury robes and uses an improvised Wingdarium Leviosa to utilize the garishly oversized steel door knocker some thirty feet up. Just above the knockers, forged into the door itself, is the emblem of horses head. Honestly, the sheer size of the door is staggering, he truly hopes this is not indicative to the size of the child they are about to meet.
Three great knocks echo down and through the mountain, yawning and ominous. The professors stand and wait.
It’s not five minutes later Severus hears footsteps crunching in the snow behind them. The professors turn as one and Severus blinks at the roguish man stomping up the steep hill towards them. Startlingly tall, broad of shoulder and scruffy in the face, a long heavy coat sways in the winter wind heavy boots thudding on snow trodden stone. The man looks nothing like a wizard, for surely an…abode so eccentric could belong to no other, though Severus supposes he’s seen weirder.
“Gentlemen,” the stranger greats them in heavily accented English, crooked grin pulling at his mouth. “I suppose you’re here about this?” Held aloft by thick, gloved fingers is a Hogwarts acceptance letter, red wax seal broken.
Once gaining their confirmation his grin widens into a smile baring far too many teeth, stepping past them and towards the stupidly big doors of what is apparently his house. “Well then, suppose you better come on out of the cold.” And with a casual beaconing, something sparks across his fingertips and the great steel door grinds open revealing the yawning depths within.
10 years and several months ago
Petunia paces through the hotel suite, twelve steps to the window, twelve steps back again and again. On one side of her her darling Duddy babbles happily in his crib, on the other laid out on the armchair she’s been using to feed her son his midnight meals on is her—her niece. Her niece, daughter of her perfect sister and her unnatural husband, now apparently dead sister and unnatural husband. Aside from a distant pang of melancholy, and her usual derision of anything having to do with those people, Petunia can’t bring herself to feel much else in the face of her sisters demise. So, not much out of the ordinary then. No, the thing that’s set this particular bee loose in her bonnet is the sudden acquisition of her sisters spawn.
Petunia does not want her sisters daughter. Though she’d hoped for a girl, she’d been gifted Dudley instead, and that was more then enough for her.
In Surrey Petunia had hatched a rather ingenious plan, and it hadn’t taken anything to convince her husband to take her along with him to Romania to foist Lilly’s daughter off an an unsuspecting distant relative. Only. That relative didn’t exist. Both of their parents had been only children, and both sets of their grandparents were long since passed. Petunia had know distantly what she’d been planning on doing, though faced with the immediate execution of that plan she found herself hesitating, refusing to let herself feel that creeping horror trying to set in and yet still finding herself trapped in it.
Petunia forced her pacing to a halt, coming to stand over her napping niece. She’d already made her decision, she would not hesitate any longer.
____
Heisenberg releases an explosive sigh, rocking back into his creaking chair. Experimentation was fun, though rarely ever rewarding, but this week had been a terrible slump. He turned to look out the window combing fingers through his hair, nose wrinkling at the grease clinging to the strands. It was nearing evening and, after dragging himself free from the working frenzy he’d built up for well over a month, he found himself questioning when his last bath had been.
The Inventor digs fingers into his head seeking to soothe the slowly building ache there. Perhaps a walk would do him good, the frigid cold was always a good way to cleanse the soul.
Present
The professors pause only to spare each other a glance, before following the tall man inside. The inside of the mountain is industrious, all steal and well oiled gears and machines humming and turning in some unknown purpose. So vast is the mountain great metal staircases and catwalks careen into the darkness walls and ceiling unidentifiable from the shadows. Gas lamps provide minimal but bright lighting. It’s a bit chilled, though much warmer then outside, and Severus finds himself leaning closer to one of the many steaming, massive pipes in the steel foyer.
A click sounds from somewhere far up, then something not unlike air being let out of a muggle tire descends. He and professor Flitwick look up and to their right, at what appears to be a fancy service elevator descending from a lit opening carved directly into the steel walls some three stories up. A tiny figure stands on tip toes, waving down at them, or more likely the man making his way towards the descending platform.
With a soft ‘ding!’ the lift gate slides open and the little girl flings herself forward, giggling with a cry of “Tata!”. Severus watches as the scruffy man swings his daughter up and into his arms, planting a kiss on the wiggling girls cheek, and allows himself to feel content. It’s not always a happy family the professors visit, and sometimes MSCPS must get involved.
The man gestures for them to follow him onto the lift, and once situated it’s a short ride up to the lit opening.
It’s honestly a touch disorienting.
From cold steel industrialism to a hallway of warm, hardwood floors and soft, green carpet. It’s almost a physical jolt. The wall sconces diffuse warm light across cream wallpaper, subtly patterned in battle axes and medieval swords upon closer inspection. There are three doors in this hall and at the end he can see the beginning of a staircase.
The man leads them into the parlor, and Severus finds the black leather furniture sinfully comfortable.
Taking a deep breath Severus speaks, “I am Professor Severus Snape of Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, this is my fellow professor Filius Flitwick and we are here today to give a formal introduction and inquiry to ascertain if your daughter would be willing to attend our school.” He pauses here, awaiting the customary surprised exclamations, though judging by the sheer oddity witnessed so far perhaps he has nothing to worry about. He moves to continue, looking to the child sitting beside her father. Then promptly freezes, a torrent of long buried emotions and regrets surfacing all at once. Sensing his colleagues silent distress Flitwick, sending a sad knowing look at Severus, picks up the conversation seamlessly.
The dour Professor strangles his sudden affliction into submission, quietly observing the girl sitting across from him listening enraptured to Flitwick’s speech. She is, to put it mildly, an absolutely adorable child, though it’s more her coloring that had stunned him. Her hair was a startling red, far darker then hers had been leaning more towards glistening blood then rubies, and her eyes a sea foam green. Her hair has been woven into two braids, gold rectangular glasses perched on her nose, wire gears detailing the sides. Other then her coloring this little girl likes nothing like Lilly, truly, though her face did look oddly familiar.
Her father, introduced as Karl Heisenberg, finishes his discussion with Flitwick and Severus takes this as his chance to rejoin the world of functioning adults.
“You must be Costache yes?” The child in question turns sea foam eyes to him, observing him as of just noticing him for the first time before she nods happily.
“And what do you think about all of this young lady?” She appears to ponder this, turning back to look at her father for a moment and what ever she sees in his scruffy face makes her shoulders straighten in determination.
“I think, I would like to go to Hogwarts very much Professor!”
Ten years and several months ago
Petunia forges ahead in the biting cold of a Romanian winter afternoon, snow crunching beneath her feet. Her niece, wrapped first in the blanket she’d arrived on her stoop with and then the hotel sheets, was mumbling quietly in her arms. The gnarled old woods surrounding her creaked and groaned in a none existent wind, the midday sun doing nothing to warm her. Petunia came to a frigid halt, breath coming out in shivering pants, turning slowly, eyes alighting on a particular tree. It was old and huge, bark nearly black and split neatly into two branching trunks creating the perfect cradle. Hurrying Petunia set her now squirming niece into the oak niche and, refusing to hesitate anymore, promptly turned and walked away steps weighing heavier and heavier eyes trained firmly on the path before her.
She tells herself that this was really her only choice, that trying to cast the girl off to some other facility or family would only bring negative attention to her own, she tells herself it’s for Dudley and his happy normal future. She tells herself she was merciful.
_________
Heisenberg has an odd feeling building on his gut, like the premonition of a great storm. Or maybe food poisoning. Tromping through snow covered woods the Horse Lord ponders this odd feeling a bit longer before something catches his eye. He freezes, turning to openly stare at the yellow bundle shoved into the boughs of a burned out old oak. He steps forward, suddenly wary, odd feeling turning into something lined in horror and smelling of blood. Gently, the Lord reaches out a gloved hand to nudge open the swaddled cloth worst fears confirmed at the sight of a babies blue tinted face. Carefully, more gently then he’d ever thought himself capable of, he scoops up the baby. One little foot falls free of the blanket, tiny toes frighteningly black.
His hand finds its way to their icy chest and, miracle of all miracles a heart still beats in their chest. Heisenberg has never held a baby before, hasn’t ever seen one either not up close not in person, but it’s something frantic and small shrieking in his head that has him pulling off his gloves and opening his coat, and then his shirt. He holds the baby as close as he physically can and closes his coat over their tiny icy body. Indecision halts him then, he doesn’t know what to do now. The insistent voice has suddenly shut up, the frost bitten woods are silent and isolated.
Against his chest he feels something shift, minute and weak. Pulling back a fold in his coat he stares down at the bundle in his arms, the baby is moving just barely, but moving. Bright, sea foam eyes peel open and one tiny hand breaches his coat to reach toward his face. Small fingers brush against the stubble along his chin, a weak smile sets into the infants face.
In this moment Heisenberg feels…humbled? In the middle of gnarled old woods, with naught but snow and dead wood as witness, the Horse Lord is brought to tears by a babes dying kindness.
Heisenberg runs. He runs and thinks naught of the future, of himself, or of anything at all really. He runs and feels nothing, but this tiny life in his arms.