Archive of Our Own

Is this really the place? Calliope thought. 

Even though she didn’t say it out loud, Charlotte heard her sister’s thoughts loud and clear. Even had they been ordinary identical twins it wouldn’t have been hard to guess what she was thinking from her expression, but for mind readers like them, there wasn’t always a clear place where one of their minds ended and the other began. For four years now, ever since they had discovered their powers, they had spent their nearly every waking moment seeing through each other’s eyes. 

Thinking directly to one another was also just more convenient, faster than words could ever be. 

The address is right, Charlotte thought back, glancing down at her phone again. It looks pretty much like how it did in Petunia’s memories. 

And we’re sure he lives here? I mean, I wouldn’t. This town’s a dump. 

Let’s hope that wizards have different sensibilities than we do. 

The house was a rather old and dilapidated-looking place, one of countless others that constituted the residential areas of Cokeworth, England, a distant suburb of Birmingham which Wikipedia charitably described as a “declining coal mining and industrial centre.” Calliope’s blunter judgement was closer to the truth. It had clearly seen better days, but those better days just as clearly hadn’t been all that much better. Perhaps half the houses in the town were empty. The roads were as cratered as the moon, and the few cars they spied were on blocks when they weren’t just wrecks left to rust. The man they were looking for, one Severus Snape, stupid name, had been a friend of their mother’s while she was growing up here, and this house had belonged to his family back then. 

He was also apparently a wizard. 

The twins had known they were different even before they started manifesting superpowers. They had always seen things others could not- trees that walked, fairies fighting with crows in the park, giant squid in the sea, snakes that spoke English. Nobody believed them when they tried to talk about the weird things. But they hadn’t known to call it magic until last month, when their Aunt Petunia had told them that their mother, her sister, had been a witch. She had known about their powers long before they ever discovered them, and she feared them for it, feared them desperately. When their parents had died while they were toddlers, she and her husband had been abruptly saddled with two little nieces she’d never asked for, a wholly unwelcome eventuality, about which Petunia had never been shy to remind them. For the first few years of the girls’ lives she and her husband Vernon and their repulsive son Dudley had made their meagre existence a living hell for reasons they could not have fathomed at the time. 

That had changed rather abruptly around the time they turned eight. Callie had been the first to notice that she could command animals to do things and read the thoughts and feelings of people. They’d practised and practised and practised until they were certain it would work before finally turning that power on their relatives. No longer would they do all the cleaning, or ever again sleep piled on top of one another in a cupboard under the stairs, and when they cooked it was because they liked it, not because Petunia made them. 

But the victory had proven short-lived. When they had attempted to use their powers to make the other children school leave them alone, they had been discovered by Sister Matheson, the abbess of St Catherine’s Academy for Girls, where the Dursleys sent them to school in the hopes that archaic Catholic rigour might ‘reform’ them. Matheson was a telepath like them, and a much stronger one, and she had used her power to keep them on a short leash while she taught them the ins and outs of how to and how not to use it. 

In the years since they’d discovered they could do all sorts of things with their powers aside from telepathy: move objects with their minds, produce light and fire and electricity from thin air, change the colours of objects with a touch, fall lightly from high places, walk on water, climb walls like a gecko, change the colour of their hair and nails and eyes, and more. And now they knew those weren’t just superpowers, but magic. 

But Sister Matheson had died that spring, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were not having any more of that funny business in their perfectly-normal-thank-you-very-much house, not for another minute, do you hear? So, Petunia had given them the address of the only wizard she knew about, and told them to pack it up and fly all the way to England the moment their passports came in. It was still a bit surreal that they’d just gone along with being shipped off across the Atlantic so readily, but they hadn’t wanted to spend any more time with the Dursleys than the Dursleys did with them, and evading CPS while chasing wizards in decaying English industrial cities seemed preferable to surrendering directly to foster care. 

Charlotte pursed her lips in thought before trying the gate. What should we say? I don’t think ‘hey uncle Sev, we’re your long-dead childhood friend’s long-lost kids, also we’re kind of homeless, how about you let us stay over for a while?’ is going to get us the reaction we want. 

It would be funny, though. I’d definitely say it like that. 

Which is why I’m in charge of talking to grown-ups. 

Neither of them were particularly social, partly by disposition but also because being creepy devil children made making friends rather difficult, so they weren’t entirely sure how. Callie was better with people overall, more at ease in company than Charlotte could imagine being, but had a talent for putting her foot in her mouth at inopportune moments, especially around authority figures. She also had something of a quarrelsome and competitive streak which led her to confrontation where it might be unwise - although their magic powers had improved that particular matter a great deal. Callie knew this about herself though and was happy to let Charlotte take the lead, to act like the big sister (they didn’t actually know which of them was older, or really even which of them was which, the Dursleys could never tell them apart despite them making no effort to look identical, but they both agreed that Charlotte was the big sister regardless). 

The gate opened without resistance. Charlotte thought she felt a slight rush of something cold as she touched it, but it was probably just her own nerves talking. They walked tentatively up the short path to the front steps, and Charlotte gave the doorbell a ring. 

Nobody home? 

It is like ten a.m. on a Monday. He might be at work. 

Charlotte tried the bell again. A minute later, she tried a third time. 

The presence of a mind appeared suddenly inside, as if out of nowhere. It had a bright and crackly feeling to it, one Charlotte had only ever felt from her sister and Miss Matheson. Undoubtedly magical, then, and it had the sharp and steely texture of a mind well-guarded, likely that of another telepath. 

Do you feel that? 

Just like her, yeah. We’re not going to get anywhere trying to read a mind like that. 

Are all wizards like us, do you think?  

God I hope not… 

The door opened to reveal a man all in black. He stood tall, with a slender frame beneath a long black coat that looked rather too hot for summer. His face was all hard lines and sharp angles, surrounded by loose shoulder-length black hair that could probably use a wash. 

“What is it?” he said sharply. He had an accent strikingly like Petunia’s, though that was perhaps to be expected.  

Is that him? 

It could be. The boy they saw in Petunia’s memories when they read her mind was also pale and dark-haired, but they hadn’t seen him clearly enough to say one way or another. Only one way to find out. 

“Hello,” Charlotte said. She felt suddenly very small under the man’s glare, but she took a deep breath and continued, gripping Calliope’s hand. What else was there to do? “We’re looking for a man named Severus Snape.” 

“Americans?” he muttered. A thin black eyebrow crept up the man’s forehead. “I am Severus Snape, yes.”  

“Oh! Good. Um. I’m Charlotte, and my sister here is Calliope. We understand you were friends with Lily Evans growing up?” 

The man’s - Snape’s - eyes narrowed. Then his whole expression changed, eyes wide, body tensing and shifting uneasily. “No, that’s not… but- I was there, I saw the house… how?” 

He looks like he’s seen a ghost, Callie thought with a flicker of amusement. 

Petunia did always say we looked just like Lily. 

Not that they could say one way or another, Petunia hadn’t kept any pictures of Lily around, but she always said they looked exactly like their good-for-nothing layabout mother, especially her bright green eyes. Except for their ruffian father’s unmanageable black hair. They’d made sure to keep their normal colouration for today instead of using their magic for more exotic colours for that reason. 

Apparently, it had worked. Indeed, for a moment, Snape’s guarded mind slipped, and they got a wash of complicated feelings coming from him, despair, depression, anger, confusion. Charlotte had no idea how to interpret any of it. Snape quickly regained his composure, though. “What are you doing here?” he asked. His voice was tight, carefully neutral, but lacked the sharpness of before. 

Charlotte’s discomfort deepened. There just wasn’t an easy way to say what she was about to say, or ask of him what they planned to. “We… our mother was a witch, apparently, and we can do magic too. Petunia told us we should be with ‘our kind.’ You were the only wizard she knew about.” 

Snape’s jaw clenched. “Petunia,” he said, the word dripping acid. “You were raised by Petunia Evans? ” Judging by his expression, it was clear he understood all too well what that meant. 

Charlotte nodded. Apparently she hasn’t improved over the years. 

We beat a little sense into her eventually, didn’t we? 

Not really, no. She still hated us too much not to be stupid. There was something rather sad about that, Charlotte felt, but she couldn’t say what exactly and didn’t care enough to think about it more. 

“Dare I ask, where is Petunia? Is she here?” 

“Well…” Charlotte couldn’t quite meet his eye. “No, she’s back in New York.” 

“And she sent the two of you here. Alone.” 

“... Yes.”

Snape grew distant, looking away and thinking hard about something. Charlotte could feel the gears spinning in his head. Eventually he met their eyes again. “Come in,” he said, turning around and heading back into the house without waiting for them. 

That easy? Maybe we should have done the whole Uncle Sev routine after all. 

We’re not in the clear yet. It doesn’t look like he’s going to send us back or call the cops, though, which is a step in the right direction.

Severus Snape’s house was amazingly normal for a wizard’s house, or at least Charlotte had expected it to be more obviously magical. Not that she knew what to expect, having never met a wizard before. It was mostly bare wood, covered on the floor by dark muted rugs and interrupted by patches of white tile. The furniture was mostly old and there wasn’t a lot of it. The only real concession to anything magical-looking were the bookshelves that lined every wall in sight except the one surrounding the fireplace, containing as many titles in Latin and French and other languages as they had in English. 

Very normal. Except for the part where it was bigger on the inside than out. 

That is fucking awesome! Callie thought loudly. 

It is. It really is. 

Imagine if they could do that for pockets? 

Snape led them to the sparsely-appointed kitchen and sat them down at the table, then set about making coffee. That part was obviously magical, he literally waved his hand over the pot to fill it with water, and then again to make it boil in about two seconds. Had they ever actually seen anyone else do magic before? After the drinks were poured (taken black, he didn’t offer cream or sugar, but the twins preferred their coffee black anyhow, they’d never had much of a taste for sweet things), they all sat in awkward silence, no one apparently knowing where to begin. 

It wasn’t every day that one had their life completely overturned in an instant, after all. 

“So,” Snape said at length. 

“So,” Charlotte repeated. 

“How is it, dare I ask, that you two came to be raised by Petunia Evans? In New York, was it?” 

Charlotte bit her lip, trying not to squirm, or laugh out loud at the idea that Petunia had done anything that might be characterised as raising. “We… don’t know the details, exactly. Petunia said one of our father’s ‘ruffian friends’ showed up one day out of nowhere and told her that our parents were dead and that she needed to look after us for a few days, and then never came back. She didn’t even know his name.” 

Snape’s thin eyebrows knit. “One of his friends? Black, perhaps? It must have been…” 

“She said he looked like a dirty bum, and was half-mad.” 

Snape nodded. “I believe I see the picture now.” 

“You do?” 

“Yes. I don’t suppose Petunia would have told you anything about how it was your parents died?” 

“She always said they died in a car crash. We always felt that was a lie, but I don’t think Petunia knew how it really happened.” 

Of course, they’d read her mind to learn that this was in fact the case: the wild-looking man who had delivered the twins to her back then hadn’t explained anything at all about their parents’ deaths. He’d been in near hysterics at the time, actually, hardly able to hold a conversation, looking over his shoulder all the time like he was being chased. It was no wonder that Petunia had been so upset at being handed a pair of toddlers out of nowhere. 

“I take it that’s not how they died?” 

“No. No it is not. Lily and James Potter did not die in a car crash. ” Snape avoided their gaze, contemplating his drink. “Naturally she told you nothing about the magical world, either?” 

“Not really. We learned about magic on our own a few years ago, though we didn’t know it was really magic until last month. We’ve always called them psychic powers. We know that there’s supposed to be a school. Hagsfort, or something.” 

“ Hogwarts. ” 

“Right. That.” 

“I suppose I should not have expected any different,” Snape muttered, sighing wearily. “For now I shall be brief; we will discuss these matters at length later. Behind the world you know, there is another world, inhabited by wizards and magical creatures. I imagine you have seen hints of this already.” 

“Like, the fairies that go rooting through dumpsters, or the giant squid in Long Island Sound?” 

“Yes. Such things are hidden from the eyes of normal people - muggles - by the Veil of Secrecy, which you may think of as a spell of sorts that separates the magical from the mundane. 

“Here in Britain, the world behind the Veil constitutes a separate nation, its affairs its own, generally called the United Kingdoms - not Kingdom, as the muggle nation. Starting around twenty years ago, the United Kingdoms faced a civil war, during which a man known as the Dark Lord attempted to overthrow the present government. It was he who killed your parents.” 

“Our parents were murdered.” 

“They were.” 

“But… why?” 

“They were among the Dark Lord’s greatest enemies.” 

“Oh. That doesn’t actually answer anything, though?” 

“As I said, I must be brief now. I could divulge the intricacies of the civil war now, if you wish to spend the hours that would take.” 

“Alright, alright. What happened then?” 

“No one is certain precisely, except that the Dark Lord was destroyed. I believe it was something your mother did- she was among the greatest mages of her generation, and had fought the Dark Lord to a standstill on multiple occasions previously.” 

“So, he’s dead, then?” Charlotte asked. But Snape’s hesitation to answer told her otherwise. “I suppose that would be too much to ask for, wouldn’t it.” 

“I could not say either way. Though I suspect not.” 

Dark Lords are like that, aren’t they? Charlotte mused. 

Ask him if there’s a Ring we need to destroy. 

Charlotte fought the urge to pinch her nose. I’m not going to do that, Callie. 

Why not? He already looks like grumpy Strider. 

… Are you blind? If he were any skinnier he’d be a Nazgûl. 

“What I cannot figure out,” Snape said tentatively, “is how it is that you both survived, where your parents did not. As far as the magical world is concerned no one survived the Dark Lord’s fall.” 

Oh. “Um. I’m sorry, we can’t help you there.” 

“I would not expect you to. I believe I know who it was who delivered you to Petunia, if it helps.” 

“Who, then?”

“Sirius Black. He was your parents’ closest confidant, and James’ cousin. He is currently serving a life sentence in Azkaban for betraying your parents to the Dark Lord, and the murder of Peter Pettigrew and several muggles.” 

The conversation reached a lull for a while, neither party knowing exactly what to say next. Charlotte noticed her coffee wasn’t getting any colder. A magic cup, perhaps? Or magic coffee? 

“Your names were Charlotte and… Calliope, was it?” Snape asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Dare I ask, where are you two staying?” 

“We’re, um, we have a room in a hotel. The Railview- it's the red one next to the train station.” 

“Right. Follow me.” Snape rose abruptly and headed out from the kitchen. The twins scrambled after him, and he led them up and then to the end of a short hall that seemed to curve around the back of the house. When he opened the door on the left, they saw what looked to be a spare bedroom, bare of anything except a bed and a desk. “Are you two willing to share a room?” 

“You’re letting us stay with you?” Callie said, her disbelief obvious. 

“For the time being. I cannot simply leave you to your own devices.” 

“Then that’s fine!” Callie said, jumping on the opportunity without a second thought, before either of them could second-guess it. “We’d probably end up in the same bed anyway.” By choice or no, they’d shared everything since forever, even before literally sharing their brains. Charlotte couldn’t remember the last time they’d slept apart. 

Snape nodded in acknowledgement. “Here is the bathroom. There is only the one, I’m afraid.” He turned around and headed back towards the front of the hall. “I am here,” he said, indicating the first door from the kitchen. “I will close the door if I do not wish to be disturbed, but knock anyway if there is an emergency.” From there he led them out of the hallway and past the landing to a set of stairs. “The basement contains my laboratory. Do not go there; meddling would be ill-advised, and potentially fatal. If you wish to read any books, be careful with them, for many are rare or even unique volumes, and most certainly do not attempt to replicate any spells or rituals you find in them without supervision. You are free to use the kitchen as you wish, though I fear it is not well-stocked with anything except coffee and bread. There is no machine for laundry, I will teach you the spell for that once you have wands. Through that door is the back garden, though I fear it is mostly weeds, but for a few rare specimens that are clearly marked and which I would suggest you not injure yourself by touching. Should you wish to practise any magic I would advise you do so outside. 

“Now, go, retrieve your things and check out of your hotel. I will have your room prepared by the time you get back.” 

A little over an hour later, Charlotte and Calliope returned to find that preparing the room hadn’t just been a matter of finding some spare sheets. The room was now twice the dimensions it had been before, spacious and well-appointed with everything they might need, including two desks and two wardrobes and several empty bookshelves, and the bed was now an elegant four-poster with curtains (curtains!) and soft, silky sheets in green and silver. 

Callie flopped down on the bed with a whump almost as soon as the door was closed and rolled around like a dog in mud, taking in the feeling of fineness and all but glowing with satisfaction. Charlotte sat down beside her more hesitantly, running the fabric through her fingers. 

Being here was weird. She didn’t have a good word for the feeling - which was annoying, she loved to collect new words, having the right name for something felt like a superpower, and that was coming from someone with quite a few real superpowers. Never before had anyone just given them a room before. They had been consigned to a cupboard under the stairs, and after that had taken Dudley’s second bedroom by force of mind. Other than that were only hotel rooms paid for with stolen money. They had never even managed a sleepover at a friend’s house, since the other kids at St Catherine’s had to a one either despised them, or been terrified of them, or mostly both. The idea that this stranger would just… give them all this was unsettling in a way she found hard to articulate. 

Oh my god, Charlotte, can you not just be happy for once? Look at this place! It’s amazing! 

I am trying, you know. It’s not like I can just turn the happy on whenever I want. 

Charlotte thought about unpacking, just to give herself something to do with her hands that wasn’t fidgeting, but decided she’d at least give it until after lunch. Just in case. 

Lunch, incidentally, turned out to be takeout from a Chinese place. Fried rice, egg rolls, chow mein, the standards. Authentically Chinese, too, much to their surprise, not Panda Express or the like, the twins had taken enough lessons from Sister Meiling and spent enough time in restaurants where nobody else spoke English to know the difference at a glance, though it wasn’t as good as what they could get in New York. 

There wasn’t much in the way of conversation over the meal- none of them were at all adept at or fond enough of small talk for much to be in the offing. Eventually, Snape decided to get to the point. “Understand,” he said, drawing out his words, “that this arrangement is intended to be temporary. You have living relatives on your father’s side who you will likely find to be more suited to your accommodation. Dorea Black, your second cousin, is around your age and will be starting at Hogwarts this fall with you. There are also the Tonkses, who have a daughter a few years older, and your great-aunt Cassiopeia Black, though I believe the prospects with her are… less favourable. I intend to write to them this afternoon regarding your circumstances. There are other options as well, should they not prove suitable- the Longbottoms, or the Prewetts, perhaps.” 

Ah. There’s the other shoe dropping. 

Oh, please, it’s not like he’s kicking us out tomorrow. Besides, we might have actual family who are wizards. That’s kind of exciting to think about, isn’t it? Let’s try meeting them first. 

We don't have a great track record with relatives. Still, Charlotte nodded tentatively. “That’s… okay, then.” 

After another lull, Callie spoke up. “Hey, mister Snape, may I ask you a question?” 

Charlotte tensed, seeing the question forming in her mind. Callie, don’t. 

What? It’s fine. He’ll find out pretty quickly anyway, if he hasn’t already figured it out. 

Snape didn’t seem bothered, however. “You may.” 

“Are you a telepath, like us?” 

That caught his attention. “Telepath? Do you mean-” 

Charlotte felt her sister reaching her mind out to touch Snape’s directly, then retract immediately. Snape’s own mind flared bright, then slammed shut further than before. 

“You’re a legilimens- you’re both legilimens?” His gaze was distant, voice almost, what was that, despondent? 

“We don’t know that word,” Charlotte clarified, “but yes.” 

“Already? How old were you?” 

“Eight, I think. Is that not normal?” 

“Eight years old.” He paused a moment, lips pursed. “A natural legilimens, a mind mage, normally awakens in their teens, as is the case for most nonstandard gifts. To awaken in someone younger implies…” 

“Bad things?” 

“Adversity, yes.” 

“So, not all wizards are like us? Is legimancy rare?” Callie said, brushing the tenseness away. 

“ Legilimency. And, yes. In my life I have met only one other, until now.” His expression on that point was hard to read, though Charlotte could feel the gears turning in his head. He didn’t seem especially pleased, but it was hard to say. 

“So… we probably shouldn’t tell anyone, then?” 

“I would leave that decision to you- though, you may find many among your peers are not comfortable in the knowledge.” 

“That’s pretty much what we were expecting.” 

Depressingly on the nose, actually. 

Charlotte grimaced. “I guess that complicates the whole staying with our relatives thing?” 

“It may. It may not.” Snape paused to consider something. “Either way, you should be cautious about the use of your abilities on other mages, or adult mages, at least. They are far more likely than muggles to realise what is happening.” 

“Oh, yeah, we know all about that. Sister Matheson taught us how to be subtle,” Callie said, with a mixture of pride and irritation. “Ask, don’t tell, make everything a suggestion, that kind of thing.” 

“Sister Matheson?” 

“She was the headmistress at our school. A telepa- ah, legilimens. She caught us commanding the other kids and made us stop doing things like that. Showed us how to be proper little devil-children instead of monsters. She died though, a couple months ago.” She hadn’t been shy about using her own powers to punish them either, though thankfully Callie didn’t say that part out loud. She probably didn’t need to, but Charlotte didn’t really want to talk about it. 

Snape’s thin eyebrow was halfway up his forehead. “Proper little devil-children,” he repeated carefully. 

“The sisters at St Catherine’s called us that a lot. Except Sister Meiling, actually, she was nice. She taught us cooking.” 

Charlotte couldn’t quite keep herself from squirming in her seat. She tried to make herself smaller, avoiding Snape’s gaze. 

How are you so blasé about this!? 

What? It’s not like we’re there anymore. 

Still… 

Charlotte, we’re free. 

But that was a thing easier thought than felt. 

“This… St Catherine’s, I assume that must be your previous school?” 

“Yeah. The Dursleys sent us there for ‘discipline,’ but mostly it was just like normal school only they made us write in Latin or read the Bible for detention. The nuns were a lot nicer than the Dursleys at least.” 

Snape put down his chopsticks with the slow care of someone trying not to snap them in a clenched fist, and said nothing for a long time. In the end, he said, “it seems I have more letters to write.” 

Charlotte decided to change the subject. “Um. Speaking of school- Hogwarts, right? How will that work? We don’t have any magic things or books. Do we need those? How do we get there? Is there a uniform?” 

“You should be receiving your admission letters in a few days, as soon as the Defence curriculum is finalised. I will take you to acquire your school supplies then. Incidentally, it may be of interest to you to know that I will be your professor of Potions at Hogwarts.” 

Charlotte struggled to imagine the man before her as a teacher. Even Sister Matheson hadn’t been quite so… dour. And frankly awkward. He clearly wasn’t comfortable just dealing with the two wayward children in front of him, and teaching a whole classroom of twelve-year-olds didn’t seem like his first choice of occupation. 

“Oh, neat. Should we call you Professor then?” Calliope asked. 

“If you wish. I will not insist on it at home.” 

Charlotte couldn’t help but notice the word home. She could feel Callie hadn’t missed it, either. It felt somehow wriggly and hard to grasp as she rolled it around in her head. But it was a good word, she felt that for certain. And he’d said it so casually. Had he even noticed? Snape’s face was impassive, blank, mind flickering but unreadable. 

“On that point,” he continued, “while we acquire your school supplies, we will need to visit Gringotts for funds, and it would behove us to examine your parents’ estate then. Perhaps sooner. During your absence and apparent deaths, it has been the subject of no small contention.” 

“Estate?” Callie repeated. “As in, an inheritance?” 

The thought had, at no point in their lives, occurred to them, not even once. Even doubting that their parents had died in a car crash there seemed to be no denying that they had simply disappeared from the face of the earth. Charlotte could still hear Petunia’s voice and echo of dirty bums! and useless layabouts! echoing in her head. 

Snape opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, and raised a hand to rest his chin on. His expression was one of careful but thinly-stretched control. “Truly, nothing… ” he muttered. “Yes, an inheritance. Your father was Sir James Charlus Potter, Earl of Gloucester. I’m not aware of the extent of your family’s properties, I’m afraid- there is the family seat at High Heart and at least one house in Ireland which your mother was fond of, and the cottage in Godric’s Hollow, where… Hmm. Perhaps it would be best to sort that out sooner rather than later. Tomorrow, even.” 

 “ Earl of- ” 

“Our father was a lord? Like, real one? I mean, I knew you still do that here, sort of, what with the Queen and all, but…” 

“Hey, Charlotte, does that make you a lady?” 

“I- I suppose? Wait, does it?” 

“If you are the elder, Charlotte, then you are indeed the current Countess of Gloucester. However, Potter consigned his estate to the guardianship of the goblins of Gringotts, who for more than ten years have refused to share the contents of his will except to say that they are awaiting the appearance of his designated heir. As your parents were in hiding from before you two were born and had contact with only a few trusted friends, not even I knew whether the Potters had a son or a daughter, much less twins. 

“It has become something of a serious diplomatic dispute, actually- the goblins constitute a separate nation in personal union with the United Kingdoms, and as the they adhere strictly to the letter of their contracts, which does not include disclosing the details of those contracts to the public, your family’s seat in the Wizengamot has been left in abeyance for years during a sensitive time, a state unacceptable to wizards. It would be best to settle the matter promptly.” 

Charlotte sank back into her chair, eyes unfocused. The knot of anxiety in her chest tightened. 

Is this really happening? she wondered. Are we sure this isn’t a dream? 

I’m pretty sure it isn’t. We’ve been in each other’s dreams before, they’re usually weirder. 

Weirder than discovering that instead of an orphan I’m actually a countess of a hidden magic country? That only happens in stories. 

Apparently not. 

Charlotte couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d wake up tomorrow back in their hotel - or worse, back in New York, still lost and with nowhere to go and nothing to their names except for what they could steal. Or that this Snape man would decide they were in need of correction after all, little freaks and devil-spawn with no place in his good house. 

“I, um… I’m sorry, just, this is a lot to take in.” 

“I imagine it is. There are several matters to which I must attend today, so if you wish we may leave it for the time being. I imagine you two have had something of a long journey and may wish to rest.” 

“That sounds like a good idea, actually.” Charlotte couldn’t imagine that she’d be able to rest much given the circumstances, but taking a moment sounded good. 

“Then, we shall continue over supper.” 

Snape rose, and drew a small stick of plain wood - a magic wand, apparently - from his sleeve, and waved it a few times over the table. The scant leftovers of lunch vanished, gone in an instant as if never there. He then nodded stiffly and left them there at the table without another word. 

Charlotte exchanged an awed look with her sister. Magic just kept getting more amazing all the time. They had definitely made the right choice in coming here. 

Snape’s business kept him occupied well into the evening, mostly shut up in his office. Though there was still a whole world of things for them to discuss, they had ultimately left it until the morning, instead talking little over their short dinner and mostly about trivial subjects when they did. Charlotte and Calliope spent the afternoon keeping themselves busy with reading and drawing and poking around at Severus’ extensive library, most of which was either in foreign languages or English so technical it may as well have been one. 

Ultimately they turned in late that night. They usually did, sleep did not come easily for them at the best of times, much less in a stranger’s house on the other side of the Atlantic, and even Calliope was feeling a hint of apprehension now. 

Before finally heading to bed Charlotte drew a proper bath. It was a luxury Petunia had denied them when they were small, insisting they wash off quickly every few days so they could get back to their endless chores or return to their cupboard to continue a punishment. After they came into their powers though they had made a habit of taking their time showering, just because they could, but soon enough their evening soak had become a sacred ritual. Safety, peace, warmth, oblivion, a door that locked from the inside. They hadn’t had a proper one in days, least of all at the Railview Hotel where they had stayed the night before, a dingy place full of damp musty yellow sheets and cloudy foul-smelling water they had dared not drink or bathe in. 

For a while they neither said or thought anything in particular, letting the heat of water pull the anxiety out of their bodies. 

Hey, Callie thought to her. 

Hey. 

We made it! 

We did, didn’t we? 

He could have turned them out. He could have called the police. He could have simply never answered the door. But instead, Severus Snape had invited them right in and given them a home fifteen minutes after meeting them. He… he’d even gotten angry on their behalf. It had taken a long time for Charlotte to see that clearly. Had anyone ever done that for them, even once? 

He wasn’t going to turn us away. 

He could have. 

He wouldn’t. You saw the way he looked at our mother in Petunia’s memories. 

When he was sixteen! Besides, it’s not going to stick, you know. He said it himself, this is temporary, we’re going to have to find somewhere else. 

Charlotte, were you even listening? The memory of their conversation earlier floated to the front of Callie’s mind. 

“… that you may find more suited to your accommodation…” Snape had said. 

To our accommodation. He wasn’t telling us to leave. Just offering. 

That… huh. That made its own sort of sense, when she thought about it. Snape came off as standoffish, but as the day wore on it had become clear that he was mostly awkward and rigidly formal. It was apparent that he talked to them in his mannered professor voice because he wasn’t sure how to talk to children otherwise, and was carefully refraining from likely blunter and more profane language. You didn’t need to be a mind reader to see that much. And of course, his house was rather small, and Cokeworth wasn’t all that nice either. 

Apparently he was concerned about them. About their well-being. Usually, when people were concerned about the twins, they were concerned about what the twins might do, not about what might happen to them. 

I bet he thinks a countess shouldn’t be living in a place like this, Callie thought, smiling. 

Her sister was trying to tease her, but Charlotte wasn’t feeling up to the task. We have a house of our own. Houses, actually. And other relatives. 

We do. 

But we’re staying here, aren’t we? 

Naturally. 

Calliope pulled Charlotte close and wrapped her from behind in a loose hug, and they stayed that way for what felt like hours as years of fear and anxiety gave way to tentative relief.