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January 9th, 1991
I should simply stay in bed, Severus Snape thought when he opened his eyes. Even the humiliation of Albus and Minerva knowing he hid away had to be better than whatever awaited in the Great Hall. He could not decide what would be worse, utter silence or congratulations.
He would still have to teach his classes.
Surprise tests, he thought. Practical for first- and fourth-years, theoretical for third- and sixth years, merciless repetition for the rest of them. If he stayed in bed until the last minute, the students would be lulled into thinking he was ill. Every point he’d be able to take would be justified, the incompetents more poorly prepared than usual.
Perhaps today would be the day he would find fault in a potion brewed by Percy Weasley.
Marginally cheered, Severus called a house-elf to bring him tea and porridge to eat in to his chamber. “A private celebration,” he would call it. Albus would have to understand.
January 9th, 2001
“I will get you for this, Malfoy!” Neville shouted, furiously brushing snow from his face. Laughing, Draco rose up in an attempt to escape his wand’s reach. From his place on the porch, Severus could not hear the words the young man muttered under his breath, could only be certain that it was not “Accio broom”.
When a previously harmless ivy vine grabbed hold of his Firebolt, Draco let out an unholy shriek.
“WAR!” Teddy yelled and soared upwards on the tiny broom Potter had given him.
“What a juvenile idea,” Severus had said when Remus had produced a box of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes’ Instant Winter Joy. It was his forty-first birthday, after all, and he’d rather have started in on the tea and cake and biscuits right away.
Watching Remus hold his own against the youngsters, now, he would maybe admit, if pressed, that being outvoted had not been entirely horrible.
A steaming Butterbeer warming his hands, shielded from outsiders by the most trustworthy Fidelius imaginable, in front of his own house, amidst his own family… There might even have been a no longer wholly unfamiliar sense of contentment.
Imagine the surprise on everyone’s faces if I joined in, he thought, but found that he was no longer twenty, and Contrary to Remus, I have dignity to preserve. Nevertheless,
“When in a tight spot, a Syltherin knows to make allies!” he called out. Draco dodged the snowballs Teddy threw at him and gestured toward the two figures on the lawn. With a delighted laugh, the little boy shifted his allegiance.
“Patricide!” Remus howled from the ground.
January 9th, 2011
Severus surveyed the remnants of his birthday party on the table before him and found a ginger pastry that had escaped Draco’s reach. The others had gone back to Hogwarts, but he didn’t want to leave the Hog’s Head yet. Even with Remus teaching every other year, it wasn’t all that often that Severus himself strayed from their house, after all.
The meal had been delicious. Severus had always suspected that Aberforth could put in an effort for customers he liked. While the man could take or leave Severus, he always greeted Remus friendly enough, and he certainly liked Neville.
Professor Longbottom. Even after seven years, it was strange that he was supposed to call him that now.
“Another nettle tea,” he ordered. From behind the counter, Aberforth grunted his assent.
Later, Severus would never understand how he could have missed the arrival of a new customer. Had he grown complacent after so many years out of near everyone’s sight? Had he grown so old that a single glass of spiked pumpkin juice was enough to dull his senses? When Minerva McGonagall sat down in front of him, it was all he could do not to Disapparate from fright.
They stared at each other for a long moment. Severus thought of letting his fingers creep toward his wand, but her hands were on the table, wand-free and visible.
“I thought that was you,” she said at long last. “You know, last year I started wondering why Teddy Lupin always earned himself detention with Professor Longbottom around this time, especially since Neville hardly ever gives detention to anyone.”
Damn that boy, Severus thought. He didn’t ask how she could spot him through a myriad of protective enchantments. If Albus had been able to see through nearly everything, why not she?
“Even Hermione Granger believes your portrait never appeared in the headmaster’s office because usurping my position, you didn’t deserve it,” Minerva said thoughtfully. “But to me, it never seemed enough of an explanation. The portraits don’t care much about political circumstances.”
Severus blindly took a sip from the tea Aberforth sat down in front of him. Only with the warmth of it running through his body did he feel the strength to say, “I believe that will be determined when I truly die.”
“He’s a happy boy,” Minerva observed, as if Severus hadn’t spoken at all. As if that, after everything, was all that counted.
Maybe it was.
**