Harry blinked, wondering if perhaps he’d struck his head too hard. But the vision of Snape remained. Maybe Harry had just been spending too much time staring into a Pensieve lately—or maybe he was seeing ghosts.
The eyes were the same black, as was the long, rather limp hair. The shape of the face and the mouth now set into a rather suspicious line were the same. But everything was on a smaller scale, and as he lay in the grass Harry quickly realized that it was a child looking down at him. The nose was only average-sized, and the complexion actually had a bit of a healthy flush about the cheeks. But, still, he rather fancied this was what just Snape might have looked like if he’d been reincarnated as a small girl.
Harry wasn’t sure which was more horrifying: the idea that he was now seeing a child-sized ghost, or the possibility that Snape had actually procreated.
There were now several children around him, chattering loudly in French. One of them had chased the bull off further down the pasture, where it now stood, staring dolefully at them.
The miniature Snape and another girl helped him sit up. Harry could tell from the children’s expressions they were concerned about him, and he quickly waved them off and got to his feet.
“Are you all right?” The dark-haired child asked him in English.
“Yes, just a little bruised,” Harry told her, brushing dirt from his trousers.
She translated what he had said into French for the other children.
An older boy, eight or nine by the look of him, asked something. Harry made out the word “baton.” Frowning, he quickly retrieved his wand from the grass and stuffed it into his pocket.
The black-haired little girl said something in response, and the boy shrugged. With all the excitement over, the other children quickly lost interest in Harry and went back to their play across the road. Now that he wasn’t distracted by half a ton of rampaging bovine, Harry could see that they had been playing in the orchards, climbing the trees and dangling from the branches.
The girl continued to stand next to him. She was now wearing a scowl that Harry had seen hundreds of times before, only on a slightly different face.
“You really shouldn’t use your wand out in the open. People aren’t used to seeing them around here.”
“I see.” Harry began to walk towards the fence, and she trailed alongside.
“I told Jean-Paul it was a stick you were using to scare off Le Grand Chien. That’s the bull,” she explained, looking steadily up at him. “Jean-Paul doesn’t know about wizards, so I think he believed me.”
Harry climbed over the broken-down barrier and the child went under it. As they did so Harry took the opportunity to study her again. She was about the same size as Artemus, which would make her six or seven. He decided to try another tack.
“Perhaps you could help me. I’m looking for someone. An Englishman. A wizard. His name is Amalfi, or LeBeau, or maybe both. Your father, I believe?”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Why are you looking for him?”
The frank query caught him a little off guard. “Well, because…I’m a friend of his, you see.”
She smirked.
“Did I say something funny?”
“No,” she said quickly. “But I don’t believe you. He doesn’t have any friends. You might have better said you were looking for my mother. That, I might have believed.” She waved at another girl who had been sitting on a lower tree limb watching their conversation. The other child hoped down and came to join them.
“He says he want to see Father,” Harry’s dark companion explained to her.
“Does he indeed.” This child had fair hair, cut short with heavy bangs, but her eyes were every bit as black. Both girls had the same pointed chins, high cheekbones, and, now, the same frown.
“Good God, there are two of you.” Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Twins, maybe?”
“Yes.” The darker child looked pleased. “Most people don’t figure that out so fast, because we do look a little bit different. I’m Annabelle.” She pointed at her sister. “That’s Isabelle.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Harry Potter.”
If he expected his name to mean anything to the children, clearly it did not. They continued to regard him with polite suspicion.
Harry decided that honesty would be the best policy with these two.
“Listen, I don’t want to hurt him. I knew him, a long time ago. I just want to speak to him. That’s all.”
Isabelle looked at him darkly. “Our mother says you shouldn’t trust wizards.”
“And you already lied once,” Annabelle added.
Harry sighed. No amount of Auror training could ever prepare someone for trying to reason with six-year-olds.
“I’m already hopelessly lost,” he confessed. “It’s pure luck I’ve found you two, and I might wander around in these mountains for another month if you don’t help me. So, will you?”
The twins looked at each other, and then conversed rapidly in French. For the hundredth time on this trip Harry vowed to become fluent in that language as soon as possible.
“All right, we’ve decided,” Annabelle told him finally. “We’ll take you to him.”
Harry brightened. “Thank you…”
“But first you have to give Isabelle your wand.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“We’re not stupid. A wand is a weapon, and anyone who carries a wand is dangerous. We’ll take you to see our father, but you can’t have your wand. That’s the deal.”
He took a deep breath. “Girls, a wand is not a toy…”
“Of course it isn’t,” Isabelle said. “That’s exactly why we want it. I’ll carry it—I’m better with magical things than Annabelle.”
“She’s more careful,” Annabelle nodded. “It’ll be real safe.”
“Of course I suppose you could use wandless magic on us, but since most people are rubbish at that this is probably safe enough,” Isabelle added.
He took another deep breath, weighing the value of whatever Snape might be able to tell him against the danger of being held hostage to the whims of two preternaturally precocious children. He thought of the shining, happy memory Remus had shared with him. He thought of Ginny, and their baby-to-be.
Harry carefully pulled out his wand. “I’m breaking at least a dozen laws here.”
“We know,” they both chimed.
He took off his jacket and wrapped it around the wand several times. “For God’s sake, don’t point it at anything. Not even for fun.”
“We’re not babies. We know that.”
Finally, reluctantly, he handed the bundle to Isabelle. She tucked it primly under her arm.
“OK, now we can go. We were tired of playing anyway.”
The children called goodbye to their playmates. Harry followed them back down the road. The sun was just beginning to set, and there was a growing chill in the air. They walked for perhaps a quarter mile, and went through another broken-down fence into yet another orchard.
“There’s no road here,” Harry observed.
“No, there never has been,” Annabelle said.
As they passed deeper into it Harry realized this was no ordinary orchard. This one was too quiet, too still, without even the rustle of birds to break the silence. Evening fog was beginning to settle on the ground. He suspected they were traveling vaguely uphill, but in a place so obviously protected by magic it was hard to be certain.
“If you don’t know where you’re going in here, where do you end up?” Harry asked.
“I don’t know. I expect you’d go round and round in circles and end up back on the road,” Annabelle mused.
They came abruptly out of the orchard, and Harry could see another, narrower road cut into the mountainside in front of them. It reached upward and then twisted sharply off to the left.
“Quite a hike you girls have to the village,” he observed as they started up.
“Oh, there are quicker ways down, if we’re in a hurry,” Isabelle told him. “But this is the safest way to go when nighttime is coming.”
Harry decided not to ask why.
Once the road turned they entered onto what was clearly an avenue, lined with oaks and firs. It wrapped around a small lake, still and black, and on the other side of that lake was a castle.
It was not on a scale anywhere near that of Hogwarts, but it was a castle nonetheless. Part of it arched over the lake with a covered walkway alongside, and there was a single tower by the front gate. Nestled as it was in such a protected location, it was unquestionably a wizard’s castle. Yet there was something in the mellow color of the stones and the symmetry of the design that was also very French. Harry imagined the place must be part of the vast Amalfi and LeBeau families’ holdings. But he also wondered if Snape didn’t stay here because in some way it reminded him of Hogwarts.
“Mother knows we’re coming,” Annabelle told him. “There, you see?” She pointed across the lake, and Harry could see two figures in an open doorway under the arches. “She always knows we’re coming.”
Harry slowed a bit. He knew making contact with Snape after all this time was unwise, and quite possibly dangerous. Given Snape’s connection to this very powerful family (a connection which, if the twins were any sort of evidence, went well beyond merely working for them), he might very well be walking into a great deal of trouble.
But then again, it wouldn’t be the first time.
The path led them to the part of the castle walkway built out over the lake. This was clearly not the main entrance, but rather one used by the family for daily comings and goings.
As Harry approached he could see Snape, eyes narrowed, watching him.
Isabelle brushed past Harry. She gave Snape the bundle containing Harry’s wand. “He says he’s here to see you, Father.”
“Does he indeed?”
Snape had aged. Of course, that was to be expected--like Remus he was now well into middle age. His arrow-straight black hair was shorter and liberally sprinkled with gray, and his nose was as prominent as ever. But it was more than that. Time seemed to have etched into him an air of sorrow and gravity that had not been there before.
Harry wasn’t exactly sure how to feel about seeing Snape again after so many years. As Ginny had feared he could indeed feel all the old anger and resentment beginning to bubble up inside of him. Harry had never, would never, forgive Snape for all he had done.
He quickly tamped down on those feelings. He stood still, and waited to see what would happen.
Annabelle had gone to stand next to her mother. Ms. Amalfi-LeBeau (or was it Mrs.?) was watching Harry closely. She was tall, fair-haired and dark-eyed. The children had gotten their high cheekbones and narrow chin from her. In fact, she was attractive enough that Harry could see no reason in the world she would have chosen Snape as a father for her children. But then, if what Tighnaught had told him was true, perhaps the Amalfi-LeBeau predilection for vampires might explain any attraction Snape held for her.
“Girls, come inside now. Your dinner will get cold,” she said without taking her eyes off of Harry.
“But, Mum…!” Annabelle began, only to be swiftly quieted with a look from both her parents.
Isabelle was obviously the less daring of the twins. She obediently followed her mother and sister inside without as much as a backwards glance at Harry.
Harry and Snape were left standing alone outside as the sun curled down behind the mountains.
“You weren’t easy to find,” Harry told him.
“That was the idea.”
“Most people think you’re dead.” Harry thought hard for something else to say. “Look, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”
“Really.”
Harry sighed. “You’ve got my wand. You know I’m not a threat.”
“Oh, you’re always a threat, Potter,” Snape said silkily. “That hasn’t changed.”
“Can we at least go inside so I can explain why I’m here?” Harry said exasperatedly. “Then if you don’t want to help me you can chuck me out.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
But Snape turned on his heel and went into the castle, leaving Harry to follow behind him. The door under the archway led into a wide hallway draped with tapestries. They descended a short flight of stairs. Snape wasn’t wearing his black robes, but his black coat still seemed to billow about him as he walked. He finally stopped and threw open a door, gesturing for Harry to enter.
He did so, cautiously. Snape still had Harry’s wand tucked under his arm.
The room turned out to be a sort of study, with a fireplace at one end and stacks of books all over the painted floor.
“State your business, Potter.”
Harry sat down in a chair by the fire, narrowly missing a teetering pile of leather-bound manuscripts.
“First off I want to say that I’m not here by choice. I would have been perfectly happy to never know where you were or what had happened to you.”
“I might say the same.” Snape continued to stand by the open door, watching Harry warily.
“I need to know everything you know about my parents.”
Snape rolled his eyes. “Not this again.”
“Hear me out. I’m not talking about the old stories, the ones about my dad. I just need any more bits and pieces you know, about who they were, what they were really like.”
“Then why don’t you ask Lupin? I’m sure he could tell you delightful stories about the glory days.”
Harry leaned back in his chair and tried to stay patient. It was clear time had not diminished Snape’s anger. Or his penchant for sarcasm.
“I did ask Remus. He told me everything he could remember, and gave me one of his memories for a Pensieve. But even he doesn’t know everything about them. You were there, too.”
“Usually not by choice.”
“But you were there. There isn’t anyone else to ask—not that knew them so well as you two.”
Snape folded his long-fingered hands and was silent.
“It was actually Remus who suggested I find you. Only a few people know you’re not dead. None of them know where you are or how to find you. That’s been my own doing.”
“Yes, you always were terribly clever, weren’t you, Potter? And how do I know you won’t lead old enemies straight to my doorstep, hmm?”
It was very like Snape to jump immediately to the wrong conclusion.
“I have nothing to gain from doing that. The Ministry is no longer charging you with what…happened to Professor Dumbledore.”
Harry was pleased to see the muscle under Snape’s left eye twitch when the old wizard was mentioned. He decided not to press the matter, though he was sorely tempted to do so.
“You have my word no one else will know where you are.”
“Oh, that makes me feel much better, Potter.” Snape swooped around the room. He sat in another chair as far away from Harry as was possible without being outside in the hallway.
“You and I knew each other for…how long, Potter?”
“Almost seven years,” Harry said through gritted teeth.
“Exactly. And at any time did I ever once give you the idea that I was interested in sharing with you any memories I had of your parents?”
Harry remembered the incident with the Pensieve in his fifth year. “No, you did not.”
“Then why would I help you now? Especially when you’ve shown up here, uninvited and, I need hardly say, most unwelcome?”
Harry smiled. “Because you have children now.”
Snape blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I wasn’t sure before what I would say when you asked me that—and I knew you would. You’re still pretty predictable that way. But I know now. You have children. And, as appalling as I may find that fact, and I do find it appalling, you should also be able to understand why I want to find out everything I can about my parents.”
Sitting back in his chair, Harry was pleased to see he’d rendered his old Potions master momentarily speechless.
He knew from the Occlumency lessons he’d been forced to take with him that Snape’s relationship with his own parents—or at least his father—had been pretty wretched. But the two children Harry had met today both seemed reasonably healthy and well-adjusted, if inordinately suspicious of wizards. Harry had no way of knowing what Snape was like as a father, but he doubted the children were suffering from his presence. Their mother did not strike Harry as the sort of woman who would tolerate any potential threat to her offspring. If she did not believe Snape should be here, he would not be here.
That, now that Harry thought about it, must mean she did not regard him as a threat, either. What had Annabelle said, ‘Mother always knows we’re coming’? Did that mean she had known Harry was with them? Was she a witch, or was it the vampire blood in her veins?
Harry stayed silent, giving Snape plenty of time to think of a cutting retort. But there wasn’t one forthcoming. Harry thought this was a good sign.
“Look, I’ve taken a room down in the village,” he offered amenably. “Why don’t you think about it and let me know tomorrow morning if you decide to help me.”
“I think that is an excellent idea.”
Harry looked up to see Ms. Amalfi-LeBeau standing in the doorway.
Snape’s mouth had settled into a grim line, but he nodded slightly.
“Good.” Harry stood. “I’ll be going, then.” He walked over to Snape and held out his hand. “I’ll need my jacket and my wand.”
Snape stared up at him for a long moment. Then slowly, reluctantly, he handed Harry’s wrapped wand back to him.
For a moment, with Harry’s hand on one end of the wand and Snape’s still on the other, Harry knew he could strike down Snape. He could do it, and although he probably wouldn’t get out of here alive if he did, no one would blame him for it. Harry knew that, and he knew Snape knew it, too. And, oddly, that was enough.
Snape let go of the wand. Harry tucked it back into his pocket and put his jacket back on.
“I’ll walk with you as far as the road,” the woman offered. “It’s very easy to get lost at night.”
“Yes, that’s what the twins said,” Harry said pleasantly. He looked one last time at his old nemesis. “Goodbye, Professor. I don’t expect we’ll meet again.”
Snape cleared his throat. “Let us hope not.”
As he went to the door Harry couldn’t resist asking how old the girls were.
“Six,” Ms. Amalfi-LeBeau confirmed.
“That’s a good age. A friend of mine, Lupin, has a little boy just that age,” Harry said with a smile. As he left the room he was pleased to hear Snape grunt in disgust at this news.
Harry followed her outside, and they walked together in silence for some time. It was full dark now, and there was only the faintest smear of a moon to give them light, but she seemed to know exactly where she was going. The path that had been complicated to follow going uphill was now nearly impossible to navigate. It seemed to have bent itself into more twists and turns than before. And, Harry mused, it probably had.
“This place, this house, is Unplottable, isn’t it?” he finally asked.
“It is. My great-grandfather’s doing, I believe. He was very good.”
“Obviously,” Harry said appreciatively. “Most impressive.”
Silence fell again between them.
“The girls are not allowed to go out at night, otherwise they should have come to say goodbye,” their mother finally offered as they reentered the enchanted orchard.
“You’re not angry at them for leading me here?” Harry asked. “He won’t be angry at them?”
“No. They have been raised to be suspicious of witches and wizards. But they are bright enough to use their best judgment in identifying potential threats. Obviously they did not consider you a threat.”
“I’m flattered, I guess.”
“You should be.”
They emerged back onto the road. Here the moon seemed to shine brighter than up on the mountainside.
“You’ll be quite safe,” she assured Harry. “There is absolutely nothing magical about the rest of this valley. But do watch out for livestock.”
Harry’s lips twitched. “They told you about that, did they?”
“They did. Goodbye, Harry Potter. As you told Sevrč, I do not expect we shall ever meet again.”
Harry smiled. “Goodbye, ma’am.”
She disappeared back among the trees, and Harry was left alone on the road. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets to keep warm, and started the walk back to the village.