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Severus raised a hand and knocked on the door of 12 Grimmauld Place. After a moment (and a small amount of chaos audible through the door) it was pulled open by a miniature redhead.
“Have you come to sing pumpkin carols?” Asked Lily Potter the Second.
“What,” Severus asked, “is a pumpkin carol?”
The girl shrugged. “Uncle George said you can sing pumpkin carols. He said to ask you what they were.”
“I regret to inform you that your Uncle George has told you a terrible and fearsome lie, and you shouldn’t share any of your candy with him. He’ll never learn, otherwise.”
She nodded with the arrogant wisdom of youth, then opened the door a little wider. “Would you like to come in, Uncle Snape?”
Severus thanked her gravely and stepped into the grand entryway, removing his hat and coat. While he was not Lily’s actual uncle, she - like Draco so many years before - had adopted the title and refused to be deterred, and he in turn had made it his mission to secretly spoil her rotten. A Muggle mind-doctor would probably have Things to say about this, given his attachment to her dearly departed namesake, but he liked to think of it as honouring his friend’s granddaughter instead of something more macabre.
He had far better and more reciprocal targets for his affections, these days.
“Teddy! James! Albus! Uncle Snape is here!” Raising the hue and cry, Lily dashed upstairs.
“Snape?” The eternally ruffled head of one Harry Potter poked out at a strange angle above a bannister two floors up. “Sorry - James got into a spot of trouble; we’ll be right down. Make yourself at home!”
In the interest of communal peace, Severus held his tongue and did as he’d been asked.
Grimmauld Place bore little resemblance to the dark, dreary Black family residence it had once been. The last of the Black house-elves had put up quite a fight, but after old Kreacher peacefully passed away in his sleep the Potters had gutted and renovated the place within weeks. It had become bright and classy, cheerful paint and dark wood, modern glass chandeliers and tall windows. It fit with the area: originally a dark street of decrepit houses with broken windows, Grimmauld Place had been gradually bought up by Order members after the war. It was thoroughly transformed into a safe, modern enclave for Wizarding folk, somewhat to the confusion of the local Muggle council.
Severus had decidedly not been one of them, of course. He was no Potterite, no greedy hanger-on. He wasn’t even technically a member of the Order, though he’d worked with them closely. No; he was content in his little cottage near Swadlincote, several counties away from all the ruckus.
Lily bounded up to him, apparently content with her efforts to rally her siblings. “Uncle Snape, is Aunt Hermione coming too?”
“Of course she is. She will come straight here as soon as she can.”
“…Do you promise?”
Severus leaned down and looked the little girl in the eye. “On my honour,” he said, “your aunt will be here as soon as she’s able, or I will go get her myself.”
She grinned and gave him a hug, then ran off again.
“That never fails to surprise,” said Ginevra Potter, appearing from the kitchen. “You’re good with her.”
“I should be, after all the practice.”
“Take the compliment, Uncle Snape. You’re not scary anymore.”
“How…unfortunate. And on today of all days…”
She laughed. “And your merry band of ragamuffins? They’re coming by soon?”
“If your clock is accurate, they should be here any minute. My apologies; my portkey arrived early.”
She hummed and turned back to her work. “No bother. Come through and have a cup of tea while you wait! I’m almost done with supper.”
He did so. Long experience had taught him that offering to assist with supper would be seen as an insult, so he refrained, even if the gravy was bubbling over.
The tea was…almost acceptable. As he was on enemy territory without backup or distractions, he drank it without complaint.
On the topic of distractions, where were they? He hadn’t heard of any change of plans…
A knock sounded at the door. “That’ll be them, then?” Ginny asked.
“Likely,” he responded.
“No, no, sit; I’ll get the door.”
He settled himself back into his seat, considering whether he could Vanish the contents of his cup discreetly enough. The bloody woman always seemed to catch him disposing of her inferior brew, and he was trying to be civil for the evening.
The first sign of the impending onslaught was the call of “Trick or Treat,” screamed with great enthusiasm. He rolled his eyes at the Americanism.
“Well aren’t you lovely little dears,” Ginny exclaimed. There was a great deal of shuffling - the door was slammed closed at one point - as hats and boots and coats were removed. “I have a surprise for you in the kitchen.”
“Is it cauldron cakes?” A little voice asked.
“Better. Go through and see!”
Severus turned just in time to catch the small body that leapt at him with near-suicidal recklessness. “Daddy!” shrieked a voice directly into his left ear. “You’re back from the conference!”
“I told you I would be, Helen,” he grumbled, burying a kiss in the head of curls. “Have you been good for your mother?”
“Yes! And see, she made me a princess dress!”
He let his daughter down and watched her twirl, showing off the Transfigured dress. “It looks lovely on you,” he said dutifully, though he was hardly an expert on such matters and no princess he’d ever seen would be caught dead in such a…poofy confection of a garment.
“Lily is upstairs if you want to show off your dress to her.”
“Oooh, yes!” She dashed back out in search of her friend, which freed her father up for a double attack.
Two boys crashed into Severus with the force of a freight train. It never ceased to amaze him just how much sturdier his sons were, compared to his tiny little daughter. Helen was no fainting flower, but Regulus and Brandon could have been made of bricks for all the force they could muster.
“Yes, yes, hello,” he said ruffling their hair.
“Hey, dad,” they chorused.
“Have you been good for your mother?”
The boys looked at each other, shifty-eyed. “Yes…”
“They’ve been trying to brew potions in the cloakroom again,” said a voice from the doorway.
He sighed down at his sons. “And what have you been told about that?”
They looked away guiltily.
“And what were you trying to brew? Have you raided the store room again? Better to tell the truth now.”
“We only borrowed a little bit of flobberworm mucus,” Regulus said, meeting his father’s eyes. “We were trying to brew a Sleeping Draught for mum, since she doesn’t sleep well when you’re away.”
Severus glanced up instinctively at his wife, who blushed at this revelation. “I see. How…unfortunate. Perhaps, in a few days, we can brew some together, hmm? Instead of stealing from my supplies?”
The boys responded with enthusiasm, as he’d known they would. While years of teaching seemed to prove that brewing with him was most decidedly a punishment, the pair of them never passed up an opportunity to do so.
“They are very much your sons,” he informed his wife once the boys had been shooed off to collect their honorary cousins for supper.
“Oh?”
“Stealing from my supplies? Brewing in the toilet? It must be hereditary.”
She blushed, but gave him a rueful smile. “Then the spell they invented to attempt to hide their deeds must be your influence.”
“Spell…?”
“They found my spare wand while I was out at the shops with Helen. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Severus sighed, but gathered his wife into his arms. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that alone, Hermione.”
“Nonsense,” she said, wrapping her arms around him in turn. “I know how important this conference was to you. We survived for a few days in your absence. I left the marks on the wall, though - they were told they would have to explain that to you.”
“But of course.” He was, usually, the disciplinarian of the house. He was almost embarrassingly attached to his children, moreso than he ever would have believed, but sometimes he felt that Hermione was more likely to join in their chaos than put a stop to it.
“If you’re done,” came an amused voice from behind them.
“Apologies,” Severus said, moving aside to let Ginny back through.
“Oh, don’t mind me.”
“Gossip.”
“Sappy bastard.”
He rolled his eyes but chose not to respond: to Mrs. Potter’s prodding or to his wife’s wide grin.
“Come on,” Hermione said, pulling him along. “Let’s go see Harry.”
Severus allowed himself to be dragged along, leaving his teacup abandoned on the kitchen table. Oh, the tragedy.
Hermione and Ginny took the children out guising after supper, leaving Severus and Potter behind to operate the candy bowl. Potter had dressed up in a rather insulting parody of a vampire, complete with a red-lined cloak reminiscent of Christopher Lee’s Dracula.
“And what are you supposed to be?” Potter had asked him, once their families had been ushered out the door.
“A very tired, very overworked potioneer.”
“Terrifying.”
“You have no idea.”
Potter grinned and left it at that.
Halloween still gave Severus nightmares, even when the First Wizarding War felt like it happened to another man in another lifetime. The dread, the destruction he’d found in that house in Godric’s Hollow, the sinking knowledge of what had happened…the sight of Lily’s still face, eyes wide in horror…
Even after all this time, when his near-obsessive attachment had faded into bittersweet memory, when his wife’s face often overlaid Lily’s in his nightmares, sitting next to Harry Potter on Halloween was one of the last things he ever wanted to do.
“Thanks for doing this,” Potter said, apparently incapable of sitting in silence for five concurrent minutes. “I know the turnaround was tight but the kids were really happy you were able to make it, especially Lily.”
“She’s a good girl.”
“Yeah. And your kids…I don’t know how you do it, but they’re so well-behaved.”
“They tried to brew their mother a Sleeping Draught in the toilet last week,” he admitted.
Potter threw his head back and laughed uproariously. “Oh wow - I bet that brought back memories for Hermione! And they’re alright?”
“They’ve survived the most dangerous part of their ordeal: they’ve weathered the wrath of their mother. I imagine they’ll be fine.”
Potter laughed again. “Oh, sure. I guess I thought you’d be the one to get angry.”
“I taught at Hogwarts for decades. Nothing my own children can do would inspire me to rage.” Compared to the average Hogwarts student, his children were a delight. Compared to Potter’s year, they were angels.
Not that he would say so aloud. It would get back to his wife, and they’d discussed her school years more than he ever wanted to.
“Thank you,” Potter said, suddenly serious. “Thank you for letting them come over so often, for being so kind to Lily and the boys. It’s…”
“Oh, do shut up, Potter, before you embarrass us both. Your children are…surprisingly tolerable.”
“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“No. The nicest thing I ever said to you was on your wedding day, when I told you that your parents would be proud of you.”
“True.”
Oh, Merlin, the boy was going to cry.
Thankfully, a handful of goblins came up and rang the doorbell, giving him an excuse to glower and Potter a chance to play the comedic villain. A flash of teeth here, a swish of a cloak there, and the children - all of whom had grown up with the Boy Who Lived as a neighbour - were shrieking in delight and faux terror.
“Enjoying playing the villain, Potter?”
The boy shrugged and adjusted his glasses. “Of course. We’ve seen evil. We know what else happened on Halloween. Those kids? They just know it as a fun holiday, an excuse to dress up and be no different from Muggles. If the scariest thing in their lives is a grown-up in a funny cloak who gives them candy, I think we’ve done a right fine job.”
Severus privately agreed. “You’re still a dunderhead, Potter,” he said instead.
“Oh, of course.”
They had almost an hour - an agonising hour - of small talk and strange insights before their wives and children (and Teddy Lupin, who was practically a Potter) swarmed back in. Severus submitted to the affection showered upon him with stoic dignity, sparing only the briefest of smiles for Helen and Lily and a kiss for his wife while the children were distracted by Potter’s theatrics.
“Have you defrauded the entire street?” He murmured into her hair.
“Oh, of course. We met up with Ron’s tribe and they took their share of the loot, but I believe we made an admirable showing nonetheless.”
“Excellent.”
“Can you help me get them changed?”
“I’ll take the boys.”
“I love you, dear.”
The words made Severus’ heart skip a beat, as it always did. “And I, you.”
There were giggles as the children cottoned on that there was something romantic going on, but Severus decided that for once, he didn’t care. He collected his sons and retreated to the guest room the Potters had set aside for them without a single harsh or defensive word.
“Alright,” he said, once his offspring were lined up before him. “Clothes off. Brandon, hold still a moment while I remove the ears. Regulus, those feathers will need to go.”
“But Dad…”
“You’ve had a good evening with them. Your mother can put them back at any time. Now, we have an important event.”
“But does it always have to be on Halloween?”
Severus closed his eyes against the memories. “Yes.”
The boys, thankfully, obeyed without much more fuss.
Once the boys and their clothing had been Untransfigured, Severus gave them a brief examination. They were remarkably free of dirt and other stains, and with their coats they should hold up to the evening chill.
“Now, you remember what we’re going to do?”
“Yes,” both boys said.
“And you’ll behave yourselves?”
They nodded.
“Alright. Downstairs with you.”
It was a point of pride that Severus and his boys made it downstairs while Potter was still struggling with his own brood. Hermione gave him an exaggerated eye roll, but didn’t comment.
The bonfire in the centre of the street was already burning. The Muggles had all retreated back inside with their sugar, except the few rogue teenagers who were deterred by the anti-Muggle wards. The only ones out were the magical inhabitants of Grimmauld Place.
All down the street, parents ushered their children towards the bonfire. The few older Order members who lived alone hung back, letting the children warm themselves and checking on the backup wood reserves.
Minister Shacklebolt, who had recently married, left his wife in the circle and stood before the bonfire. At his call for attention, the entire group fell silent.
“Tonight,” he called, his resonant voice echoing across the cobblestones, “we remember those we have lost at the hands of evil. We remember, of course, Lily and James Potter. We remember Frank and Alice Longbottom. We remember Gideon and Fabian Prewett. We remember Cedric Diggory and Amelia Bones. We remember Charity Burbage and Albus Dumbledore.”
Severus felt his throat and chest tighten for a moment, and only Hermione’s subtle hand on the small of his back allowed him to breathe again.
“We remember Sirius Black and Alastor Moody. We remember Remus and Nymphadora Tonks, and all the rest of the Fallen Fifty of the Battle of Hogwarts.
“Tonight, tradition holds that the border between our world and the afterlife is thinned. If this is so, then I believe our beloved dead are with us tonight. Let us remember them all, and let us remember how their sacrifice allowed all of us still here to live lives of freedom and peace. Let their memories live on in us, in our children, in our deeds and our words, and may the lessons we have learned from them never be forgotten.”
A brief speech, for a minister, but it was well-received. Severus found himself joining in the general applause.
The bonfire would burn until morning. The children usually retired around midnight, and their parents kept watch over the fire in shifts.
Many of the older, single crowd kept watch all night. Once, Severus had been among them, certain that it would always be his fate to stare into the bonfire, alone with his thoughts and his ghosts.
And then Hermione had stormed into his life with the force of a hurricane.
Ten years, they had been together. Ten years they had watched the Halloween bonfires hand in hand, remembering the dead, so many of whom had left such a lasting impact on their lives. And for the past eight, they had stuck to a particular routine.
At midnight, Severus and Hermione gathered up their brood and the Potter contingent and herded them back into 12 Grimmauld Place. They oversaw pyjamas, tooth-brushings, and sleeping arrangements. They fended off the usual complaints from the very big boys and girls who insisted that this year, they were finally ready to stay up all night.
“Not until you start at Hogwarts,” was always the reply.
At three, the Potters returned, having kept their vigil, and he and Hermione headed back out.
Each year, the bonfire was different. Sometimes it was quiet, especially if there had been a death among the older war veterans. Sometimes there was a party atmosphere, with stories and spirits passed around with equal generosity. Sometimes the air was more contemplative.
This particular year was a louder one. Severus and Hermione walked into the tail end of a raucous retelling of the Battle of Hogwarts, complete with old Elphias Doge - now nearly 130 - bravely playing the role of Neville Longbottom slaying Nagini to the cheers of the gathered onlookers.
“How d’ya like that, Snape?” Doge asked, eyes bright from the excitement of his performance.
“Well done,” Severus said. “You’ve avenged me admirably, Doge.”
The laughter among the crowd felt far less malicious after all this time. And, perhaps, it was.
“Say,” Doge said, “I don’t think we’ve ever heard your story of the Final Battle.”
“I…I don’t often tell it.”
“Come, Snape. I don’t have many years left in me. Tell us the tale! The real one - not Skeeter’s version.”
Severus looked down at his wife, who reached into his pocket to squeeze his hand. Whatever he chose, he knew, she would be there for him. Whatever he chose, she would accompany him back to Number 12, half-drunk on sleep deprivation and good humour and the kind of love that moves mountains. Nothing he said would change what they had.
With a deep breath, he clasped her hand tightly and began his story.