Walking Together

Harry Snape looked out of the window, over his neighbourhood. There was Miss Pollie’s house. He could see her sitting on her small, but neat, front lawn, playing with her baby Peter. There was Mr and Mrs Janson’s house, all neat and pressed as usual. Harry grimaced when he saw the two returning from their morning walk, arm in arm, a dignified and slightly haughty expression on both of their faces.

Harry turned away from their house, and his attention was immediately drawn to the house directly across the street from his. The big white and red ‘For Sale’ sign dominated the front garden. Harry couldn’t imagine anyone who would want to buy the house. It was shabby and the garden was overgrown and full of weeds. No wonder it was put up for the cheapest price he’d ever seen on a house.

He dragged his attention away from the Number 16, and looked down at his front garden. There was his dad, jet black hair falling over his slightly sallow face, pulling weeds from the garden bed. Harry gave a small grin when he saw a bird land just behind his dad, who continued pulling weeds. With a sigh, he left his window-seat and dragged his way downstairs.

In the living room he stopped, just for a moment, thinking that he had caught the smell of peppermint. Then he suddenly turned to the side and went over to a picture. There were 3 people in the picture. A small baby with green eyes that repeatedly opened and closed, and soft, downy, black hair. A tall man, a small smile playing now and again upon his lips, with slightly sallow skin and chin length black hair. But the person that Harry’s eyes were drawn to was the woman holding the baby.

Her lips were a lovely red colour, and her cheeks had the palest pink shading. Her skin was soft looking and pale, and her eyelashes were thick and black. Her auburn-red hair flowed, rippling, down her back, the colour of autumn leaves. Her eyes were a deep, emerald green, sparkling with mischief and happiness. She was laughing.

A sob caught in Harry’s throat. His mother, Lily Elizabeth Evans-Snape. The sound of a door slamming caught his attention, and he turned, struggling not to cry.
“Dad-“ he stopped. The expression on Severus Snape’s face was one of pure sympathy and grief. Harry said nothing, but simply fell into his father’s open arms.

Severus wished he could do something. Wished he could help more or take away his son’s grief for his lost mother.
“I’m sorry Harry. I-I wish I could help you more.” He stumbled over his words.

“It’s fine Dad.” The words were mumbled into his t-shirt. “I’ll be all right.”

Severus sighed. His son was so independent, but he still worried about him. Ever since Lily’s note, things had been getting a little bit better, but they were still far from fine. And it didn’t help that Harry didn’t really have any friends. Of course, there were the Weasleys, with their insufferably loud children. One of them was even Harry’s age. But they lived quite a while away, and Molly was busy as well.

Harry started to squirm slightly, uncomfortable in his father’s grip. Severus released him.
“Sorry Harry. Come help me in the garden?”
Harry shrugged, but followed his dad outside. Digging in the dirt seemed to calm him. He had dirt under his nails, but he didn’t care. The soil was cool and moist, and clung gently to his fingers. He stood up, stretching his back, then brushed the soil off onto his jeans.

It was then that he noticed the ‘For Sale’ sign. A label was slapped over it, reading ‘Sold’. His dad came up quietly behind him, a questioning glance on his face.

“Harry? Are you okay?” he asked. Harry spun around quickly.
“Oh, Dad. I was just wondering who would buy that dilapidated old thing,” Harry said, gesturing to the house across the road.

In all honesty, Severus was wondering the same thing. The house really was a bit of a wreck. The paint was chipped, and he knew for a fact that there were leaks in the roof and cracks in the walls. Every time a storm came through, he worried that it would fall over completely. He didn’t want to admit all this to Harry though, just in case he judged the people who lived there for being poorer.

“Harry, maybe they can’t afford any better. Or maybe they want to fix it up. Who knows, but I think that we should withhold judgment until we meet these people and get to know them.”

Harry tilted his head to one side, considering this. The he nodded.
“I guess you’ve got a point Dad. I never thought of it that way before.”
“Always glad to do what I can,” Severus commented, slightly mockingly.

Harry rolled his eyes at his father, and went back to pulling the weeds from the flowerbed. Severus got back down on his knees and patted a bit more dirt around a marigold. He’d wanted to plant lilies, but he didn’t think that he and Harry were ready for that yet. Maybe next year. He sighed, pushing his hair back from his face. Would the death of his wife, his beloved Lily, never leave his mind?

A tear fell on the earth in front of him. He quickly wiped his eyes, ashamed to be crying in front of his quite stoic son. Gulping hard, he got to his feet, dropped his gardening gloves, his trowel and spade into his bucket. Turning on his heel, he hurried into the shed, brushing angrily at the flimsy cobwebs hanging in the entrance.

Momentarily stopping, he took a deep breath, and put his bucket more calmly on the shelf.
“Harry?” he called. “Put your gardening things away. Unless you want to miss helping me brew Dreamless Sleep!” Harry came promptly into the shed and put away his (still shining) trowel, spade, and bucket. Then he followed his father into his small lab.

Severus lit the fire under the cauldron and started adding ingredients. He dropped in a tiny pinch of powdered root of asphodel, and stirred gently. 1 clockwise, 1 counter-clockwise, 2 of each, 3 of each…

Harry carefully sliced Camptin roots. He added them one by one to the potion. Severus reduced the strength of the flame so it was barely a flickering light. He gave it one more clockwise stir and left it to stew. Harry put his ingredients and equipment away, and headed up the stairs. Glancing out of the window, he gave a small gasp. Severus was at his side in an instant.

“Harry? Harry, what’s wrong?” he asked frantically. His son wasn’t bleeding, he didn’t look faint… What could be wrong.

“Dad,” Harry said calmly. “I’m fine, I was just a bit shocked. Look at that.”

He pointed out the window.

Across the street.

To House Number 16.

There was a moving van outside of it.

Severus stood idly looking out of the living room window. He would never have admitted this to Harry, but he was perplexed as to why anyone would want to live in Number 16. As he watched, a small, slightly dilapidated car pulled up to the curb just outside of No. 16. Harry joined him, and they watched curiously. Then Severus gave himself a mental shake and left the window.

“Come on, Harry. We can’t stand there looking all day. And anyway, I need help making dinner.” Harry reluctantly left the window, and followed his father into the kitchen. Severus pulled some potatoes from the cupboard, and started to peel. Beside him, Harry softly hummed a tune. Severus recognized Beethoven’s ‘Fur Elise’, and a tear came slipping down his cheek. Angrily wiping it away, he turned and started chopping roast chicken with a vengeance. He sensed, rather than saw, Harry look sideways at him, slightly alarmed.

“Dad… I—I’m going upstairs.”

Harry turned suddenly, and ran up to his room. Severus cursed himself for reacting so strongly to Lily’s favourite song. He sat down with a thump on a chair, and sobbed as if his heart would break.

“Lily… Oh, Lily!”

***

Hermione Granger slowly swung open the door of the car. Swallowing a sob, she squared her shoulders and got out. Her mother reached down and took hold of her hand, and the small bit of familiarity gave Hermione courage. Together, they walked towards the house.

***

Harry sat on his window seat, crying bitterly. Why did he always make his Dad sad? He didn’t mean to, but sometimes he just couldn’t help it. He hadn’t even realised what he was humming, until the small motion of his dad wiping away a tear had alerted him.

The door to Harry’s room creaked slowly open. Harry didn’t acknowledge his father’s presence, burying his head in his arms instead.

Seeing the reaction of his son, Severus sighed, feeling horrible for making his son so sad. He sank onto the window seat beside Harry.
“Harry.”
It was just one word, but it was enough to make Harry fall into his father’s arms, and sob as if his heart would break.

***

Hermione read the number on the leaning mailbox. 16. Number 16. She raised her eyes from the mailbox. The house was small and shabby. The paint was peeling, and one of the stairs leading up to the porch was broken. Hermione followed her mother into the house, avoiding the broken step. The hall was dark, and Hermione gave a small start when the floorboards creaked under her feet.

She followed her mother down the hall, turning left into a small kitchen/dining room. Her mother bit her lip as she looked around, and placed two shopping bags on the counter. Hermione sat on a chair at the little round table, and waited while her mother put the cheap mince, cheese, half-dead vegetables and milk in the fridge, the cornflakes in the cupboard, and the bread in another cupboard.

Then she turned to Hermione.
“Come on ‘Minny. I’ll show you the rest of the house,” her mother stated in a falsely cheery tone. Hermione shrugged, got off the chair, and followed her mother directly across the hall to the bathroom. She took in the cracked mirror, flimsy toilet, and the dirty shower glass.

Her mother showed her the living room, through a door at the end of the hall, then two doors off of the living room, which led to a tiny laundry room, where their washing machine had already been installed, and one which went to a creaky set of stairs.

Hermione climbed them apprehensively. Her mother opened one of the two doors leading off of the tiny hall upstairs. In this room was a double mattress on the floor, and a dresser. Several boxes were stacked on the floor, and a blanket and some sheets were piled on the bed.

“This is my room,” Jean Granger told Hermione. “I haven’t unpacked yet. But now we’ll go see your room.”
Hermione cautiously peered through the next door. The door creaked as she opened it, and stepped into the room.

To her left was a mattress lying on the beige carpet. It was covered with rose-patterned sheets, and her favourite blanket, which depicted a unicorn drinking from a sparkling blue stream in a clearing. To her right was a small built in cupboard, where some of her clothes were already folded. Some boxes were stacked neatly next to Hermione’s small desk. But the thing she was drawn to most was the window seat. It had a long cushion to sit on, and a small cushion was in the corner. It was covered in a hand-embroidered pillowcase that her father had made.

Hermione flung herself down on the mattress and sobbed as if her heart would break.

***

Harry leaned against his father’s shoulder drinking hot chocolate, his father’s special recipe. His plate, with the remnants of a casserole sitting on it, was beside him. Severus was smiling. They shared a memory of Lily, the time when Harry caught her and Severus in the middle of wrapping his first broom.

“Harry! What are you doing here?” The question came from his mother. The soon to be 6-year-old stood wide-eyed in the doorway to the living room, his eyes drawn to the Mini-Comet 200. It was a broom designed specially by the broomstick company ‘Comet’, just for children. It had speed and height restrictions, but they were looser than the regular children’s brooms.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Harry said, his eyes still on the broom. “What are you doing? Can I have the broom?” Lily looked at Severus, panicking. Severus thought quickly.

“Not right now Harry. Right now, you have to go to bed. Come with me, I’ll tuck you in.” Harry considered this for a moment.

“’Kay,” he stated, as his father took him by the hand and led him up the stairs. Lily smiled at their backs.

Harry’s smile was like pure gold to Severus as he remembered the broom that he’d gotten 2 days afterwards, and how he’d driven his father crazy, constantly asking if her could go to his Grandma ‘Leen’s small farm every day, so that he could fly without risk of Muggles seeing him. His father had finally put a disillusionment charm over him and the broom, but had cast a complicated charm on himself so that he could see through the illusion.

“Harry, I’ve enjoyed reliving these memories with you, but you have to go to bed,” Severus told Harry. Harry mock pouted, but trotted up the stairs to brush his teeth. Severus stretched, and slowly walked up after him.

Severus kissed the top of Harry’s tousled black hair and gently pulled the covers over him. He stopped at the door to turn out the light, and whispered into the darkness, “I love you Harry.” He hardly heard the quiet reply from the bed.

“Love you too Dad.”

Walking Together Chapter 3

Harry woke up early, rubbing his eyes. He reached for his glasses, and shoved them onto his face. The clock on the wall read 6:45 am, and Harry got out of bed. He pulled on his slightly raggedy pair of slippers and padded downstairs to the kitchen. His father was not yet awake, so Harry sat for a few minutes at the table, thinking of his mother.

A flash of gold caught Harry’s eyes. His mother was running across the garden, a bunch of carrots in one hand. Harry’s eyes widened behind his glasses as his father chased her across the yard, jumping over the flowerbeds.

“You give me back my spade Lily Evans!” his dad yelled as he chased his mother. He was out of breath from laughing, and Harry grinned, then ran for the door. The screen banged closed behind him as he ran towards them.

“Run Mummy! Run!” the little boy called. He stood in front of his tall father, arms crossed, a little hero. His dad grinned and promptly scooped him into his arms, tipping him upside down and tickling him. Harry squealed in delight.

“Mummy, Mummy, save me, save me!” he shrieked. Laughing, the woman that Harry envisioned as an angel in disguise ran across the lawn. Her red-gold hair flowed behind her as she took Harry from his father’s tickling hands. They all collapsed in a heap on the garden, laughing helplessly in the warm sunshine.

That was three years and thirty-six days before Lily Evans was hit by a speeding car.

***

Hermione set her chin determinedly as she tugged at the bathroom door. She wouldn’t cry. A 10-year-old should not have managed to lock herself in a bathroom. And above all not when her mother was busy cleaning. With a last hard tug, the door burst open, shoving her onto the hard tile. Hermione caught her breath, and walked across the hall to eat breakfast.

“Morning ‘Minny!” her mother called from the living room.
“Morning Mum!” was the reply. “Are you going for an interview today?”
“Yes honey, I’m leaving at 10. But first, we’re going to go across the road and meet the people over there. I’ve already made a hamburger casserole to take over. I thought I saw a boy about your age in the yard this morning. So, hurry up and finish your breakfast!”

Hermione gave a small smile at her mother’s excitement. Then it slipped from her face as she realised that she’d probably be alone in the house while her mother had her interview. She bit her lip as she spooned up her cornflakes. Oh well. She would live. There were people out there who didn’t have any parents to take care of them. Compared to them, she was lucky.

***

Severus opened the door to find a neatly dressed woman standing on the porch, holding a dish in one hand. Her other hand was firmly clasped around a small girl with a frightfully bushy head of brown hair. The woman had a resigned expression on her face, and blue eyes. The girl’s eyes and hair were brown, and she was staring at her feet.

The woman spoke clearly and calmly. “Good morning! I’m Ms. Granger, and this is my daughter, Hermione. We’ve just moved in across the street, and I thought I’d bring over a hamburger casserole.”
“Delighted to meet you both. I’m Severus Snape. Won’t you come inside?” Severus stepped to one side as the Grangers went in. A little gasp came from the girl – what was her name? – Hermione.

“Harry! Come down please! We’ve got visitors!” Severus called up the stairs. “Just put the casserole on the counter please, Ms. Granger. My son, Harry, will be down in a moment.”

Hermione turned slightly as she heard a noise on the stairs. A boy with chin length black hair and emerald green eyes appeared there. He grinned a slightly crooked smile.

“Hi, I’m Harry,” he said.
“Harry, this is Ms. Granger and her daughter, Hermione. Do you want to show Hermione your room? Or perhaps play outside?” Severus asked.
“Sure Dad. Come on,” Harry said, the last statement being addressed to Hermione, who looked questioningly at her mother. Ms. Granger nodded and Hermione followed Harry up the stairs.

Once Harry was settled on the floor of his room, he looked at the girl.
“I’m ten. How old are you?” he asked her.
“I’m ten too. Is that your mother? She’s pretty,” Hermione said, pointing to a picture on Harry’s nightstand. Harry swallowed, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes and blinking them away.
“Yes. That was my mum,” Harry told her. “She – she’s dead now.” He sniffed and looked away.

A hand brushed his arm, and he looked around, startled. Hermione was looking into his eyes, as if she could see his soul. A tear was tracing a path down her cheek.
“My daddy’s dead too,” she told him. And she started crying, softly, but Harry could tell that there was pain in every tear.

Everything was grey and white. The walls were white, the floor was white. The blanket on the bed was grey, but the sheets were white. The hospital gown was white. The chairs were grey. Her father’s face was white and his hair was grey. The only colour was on the screen of the monitors as they disturbed the silence with their hums and beeps. Clear fluid flowed from a bag on a stand through a tube and into his arm.

“It’s often very traumatic for a child. I wouldn’t recommend it.” The voice was a whisper from outside.
“It’s her father,” another voice said. Hermione’s mother. “I can’t just keep her from seeing him.”
“Do you really want a 10-year-old to see her father die? Of cancer?” the first voice asked. “I know this is extremely stressful Ms. Granger, but you have to think of your daughter too.”
“I know what I want to do, and I’m going to leave the choice up to Hermione,” Ms. Granger said firmly. The doctor sighed, and Hermione heard his shoes squeaking on the floor as he walked away.

Her mother came in through the door. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her hair was coming down around her face. Hermione swung around.
“Hermione, I –“ Her mother broke down sobbing.

***

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Harry said.
“Thank you,” she sniffed. “I’m sorry for getting all upset. I – I’m sorry about your Mum.”
“It’s okay.” Harry looked at his hands. “Ummm… do you wanna play a game or something? Or…”
“Okay.” She offered him a smile.

Sometimes, true friendships take years to make. Other times, they only take minutes.