"I'm becoming more and more inclined to believe what you told me," Snape said, once they were back in the cottage. "But you look less and less like the Hagrid I remember. You even move differently."
"Do I?" Andrei adjusted his silhouette with both hands. The Polyjuice still had over half an hour to run. "And how often were you watching Hagrid, exactly?"
"That's not what I meant," Snape said, glancing at the elderly lady's chest and going slightly pink.
"I know. Look—I'm aware I don't talk the way I used to. But your former colleagues hit us with so many curses it still makes me shudder to think about it. And the fall… it must have been that, I was certain I was dead. Or everything at once, all piling on together. The motorcycle, if you can believe it, was cut to pieces—lucky it was enchanted, got a bit further before it came down. Otherwise we'd have dropped right on their heads."
"That would have been the end of the battle, wouldn't it?" Snape said drily. "Served them right."
"And left me with a fur coat to wash," Andrei said, pulling a mock frown. "Come on, let's get some sleep while we can." He cast Tempus. An hour and a half. "Not much, but it's ours." He kicked off his boots and lay down as he was, shifting carefully toward the sleeping Harry, then patted the space beside him—a half-giant's bunk had more than enough room for all three.
Snape stood there looking uncertain.
"Don't worry—I'm a respectable woman, and a widow besides," Andrei decided to wind him up a little more, and was rewarded with the sight of Snape pressing his lips together against a smile. "Throwing myself at young men is not my style. I may put an arm around you, but I won't try to kiss you."
At that, Snape sat down on the very edge of the bunk, quietly shaking with laughter—then let out a jaw-cracking yawn, turned face-down into the makeshift pillow, and within minutes the cottage was completely silent.
"Hagrid," Severus said suddenly, and Andrei nearly sat bolt upright.
"What's wrong?"
"I… I don't understand any of this. Everything's happened so fast." A pause. "Lily." His voice cracked on the name, but it didn't sound like raw pain—more like something being swallowed down carefully. "She's gone, and I'm…"
"And you're going to live, raise her son, and make someone pay for what happened to her," Andrei said. He could feel the half-giant's voice returning and dropped to a murmur. "Seems like a decent plan to me."
"I suppose. But I thought… it was all pointless, meaningless, I wanted to die—and now…"
"Now you've got a better option, and being not entirely stupid, you've decided it's worth taking seriously. What exactly are you surprised about?"
"I didn't think I could live… without her. And yet here I am. Living. Even laughing," Severus said, dropping his voice as though confessing to a mortal sin.
"Dreadful," Hagrid rumbled. "Shall I get up and find you some sackcloth? A bit of ash to sprinkle on your head, perhaps? What are you, the widow of a maharajah, about to throw yourself on the funeral pyre?"
Snape inhaled sharply.
"How do you do that? I'm being serious…"
"Offended?" Hagrid propped himself up on one elbow. In the pre-dawn half-dark, Snape's features looked softened somehow.
"Strangely—no."
"Good. Look—if you take every rotten thing that happens in life entirely seriously, you'd have been better off not being born at all."
"Agreed. Will you teach me that?"
"Not a problem. Just meet me halfway."
"You can count on that."
***
When full daylight finally came, they were woken by a hungry Harry, who was doggedly clambering over Hagrid to reach Snape. Both adults came awake at the same moment and immediately twitched their noses.
"Excuro," Severus said fondly—he seemed to have slept with his wand in his hand. "Good morning, everyone."
"Ah," Andrei said, sitting up and stretching. "Morning. And we're out of milk. What are we going to feed the boy?"
"We could send an owl to the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. Three Sickles," Snape offered, rubbing his face with both palms and yawning.
"Excellent. Now we just need an owl."
"Don't you have one?"
"What would I want one for? The school has plenty."
"Then go and borrow one. Who's stopping you?"
"Oh, I'm an idiot!" Andrei said. "We could just go to the kitchens. The house-elves."
"There you go—wake up and the brain starts working…" Snape stopped himself and looked at him with a question in his eyes.
He's really relaxed after yesterday, Andrei thought. Listen to how comfortably he's talking. And this from someone who was supposedly completely antisocial. He's a perfectly normal person. Or maybe that was the magic porridge.
"Here's what I suggest," he said to Severus and Harry. "You two have tea and biscuits for now—there were some little cakes on the shelf too, plenty to be going on with. I'll pop up to the school, grab some food, and pinch a newspaper. I'm curious what's in it. We did good work yesterday. Wondering what the… social impact was."
Snape opened his mouth, breathed in, then closed it again.
"What?"
"Don't talk like that around other people. All right?"
"Wot? I dunno wot yer on abaht. I'm just tryin' to 'elp, ain't I? I always—"
Snape smiled despite himself and nodded.
"Was that convincing? Right, don't be bored. You'll manage the kettle, and anything you find in here is yours to use."
Severus snorted.
"Sure you won't regret that?"
"Planning to ransack the place?"
"Just a small inventory. Given the interesting things you apparently keep in your larder."
"Larder's in the outbuilding, out back. And don't leave Harry on his own—bring him along. It's warm in there."
"Obviously. Go on, off with you."
***
The Great Hall was full of its usual morning hum, except that today everyone was discussing the post—specifically the Daily Prophet, which had printed: Iron Lady Longbottom vs Four Death Eaters. Andrei read the headline and felt a surge of sincere appreciation. The Headmaster was absent from the staff table, which was simultaneously reassuring and mildly worrying. Hagrid tried to get hold of a paper from someone, but it seemed nobody had finished reading theirs yet.
Damn, he thought. I could Wingardium Leviosa it right out of their hands, but that would draw attention. Though I could just ask.
He made his way to the Gryffindor table and asked for a copy.
The older students gasped, cast the spell—several of them multiple times—and both a delighted Gryffindor and a delighted Hagrid ended up with fresh copies of the press.
He thanked the curly-haired redheaded boy who'd handed his over, and headed for the kitchens. The house-elves, visibly startled, assembled a rather substantial breakfast, so he was heading back with a basket heavy even by half-giant standards—which wasn't surprising, given that the enthusiastic little creatures had also managed to fit a portion of meat for young Fang somewhere at the bottom.
Andrei opened the cottage door to find it empty. He'd momentarily forgotten his own suggestion—Snape was rummaging through the outbuilding. He took the dog's meat from the basket, went outside, and Fang came bounding joyfully out of his kennel, was rewarded, and neutralised, and then Hagrid made his way to the outbuilding.
There he was warmly informed that he was a barbarian, a man of considerable hidden wealth, and something else that was muffled by the depths of the largest cupboard in the larder—he couldn't make out the rest of Snape's commentary, but the tone was thoroughly satisfied, so he didn't press for details. He waited, and eventually retrieved Snape from the inner sanctum.
The young man's eyes were bright with excitement, his face flushed—if any girls had seen him like this, they'd have been lining up, he thought, like children following that piper.
"Breakfast is served. Wash your hands and come eat before it goes cold."
"You can always reheat it," Snape tried to slip back into the cupboard, but was caught and escorted firmly into the cottage, Harry in tow as well.
"How did he behave?" Andrei asked.
"Fine," Snape said, shrugging. "Didn't get in the way at all."
"Then you can feed him."
"Self!" Harry announced suddenly, and reached toward Snape. "Mama! Gib!" he added, making a grabbing motion with his fingers.
Snape, who had gone pale at mama, lit up entirely and placed a spoon in the small outstretched hand, and they both seemed perfectly satisfied with the arrangement.
"What's on the agenda today? Who are we fighting or saving?" Snape enquired, once breakfast was done, Harry had been cleaned of porridge, and the article about the heroic Iron Augusta had been read in full.
Andrei's expression darkened. The next act of this particular operetta was, by rights, supposed to be getting Sirius Black out of Azkaban. But how? He shared the problem with Snape—there was no choice. The man was his partner now, and a decent one at that, despite his age.
Snape's own expression darkened—he had no love for Black. But his sense of fairness won out in the end.
"I despise Black. I'd happily rearrange his face. But if you're certain"—he paused, and Andrei nodded—"and I've already seen enough to believe that things do tend to happen the way you say they will—then you genuinely saw one possible future. And the innocent have no business being in Azkaban. Even if that innocent person is Black." He paused again. "No ideas yet. We could try bribing the guards—I've heard there are people there, not just the Dementors, and some of them aren't weak wizards."
"Maybe they're not weak, but someone handed them amulets?" Andrei suggested.
"Any amulet is anchored to personal magical strength. Same as a potion's effect, same as a spell."
"Is that so?" Andrei raised an eyebrow. "Good to know. Thank you." He paused. "One more thing for today—you both need clothes. Show me what you found in the larder. Pull out anything you can bear to part with."
And while Hagrid carefully played with Harry—folding animals out of paper, something the grandchildren had been obsessed with once upon a time, and the habit had stuck—Snape sorted through his findings. And not only sorted, but provided a thorough briefing on prices and the best places to sell each item.
"We're out of Polyjuice," Andrei said with a sigh.
"Do we need it?" Snape asked—apparently having exhausted his opinions on Black for one day.
"Well… you're right, actually. Except—what if someone reports that I bought a pile of things that clearly weren't for my personal use?"
"You're paranoid."
"In my experience, it helps."
"All right, I'll go."
"You shouldn't be seen anywhere right now. The Headmaster is looking for you, your former colleagues might be too, and the Aurors have probably been tipped off by now if they haven't been already. The world is full of helpful people."
Severus snorted in agreement, but Andrei continued:
"There are also good ones, though. Who do you think we could ask about the clothes?"
"Muggles, obviously."
"Exchanging Galleons first…"
"We can wait."
"Actually—what about the outbuilding? You said you hadn't been through everything yet."
"That I'd enjoy."
"Right. I'll lock the door behind you, just in case. In case the wrong sort decides to pay a call."
And as it turned out, he'd said exactly the right thing.
***
Hagrid headed off to Diagon Alley, with a detour through Knockturn—including a visit to an old acquaintance. The barman tried to play difficult at first, but when shown an almost-intact unicorn horn and a vial of blood, became remarkably cooperative. Andrei wasn't planning to sell everything at once, though—neither he nor Snape had any money, which meant bargaining was in order. And so he bargained.
Meanwhile, the school's Headmaster, his beard carefully tucked inside his robes, was hunched over a cauldron, occasionally invoking the name of his missing—or possibly abducted—Potions master. He'd worked every contact he had in the Auror Office, and the conclusion was now inescapable: Snape wasn't there. Despite Albus's own tips, despite the full list of Death Eaters who had been rounded up, Snape was conspicuously absent. Which left one remaining option: a tracking potion keyed to blood. He had plenty of blood to work with, but the potion itself was far from simple. And Albus had lost the knack rather quickly—since parting ways with Flamel, he'd touched potions exclusively as a consumer. Hence his desperate need for his own Potions master.
But the potion was done, and Dumbledore could at least assess its quality. He straightened with an audible creak, rubbed his back, and raised his wand.
"Point me to Severus Snape!"
The potion rose from the cauldron and shaped itself into a gleaming golden arrow, which promptly led him out of the castle and flew off in the direction of… Hagrid's cottage.
Well. I never would have thought. And the Headmaster quickened his pace—there was no telling what his well-meaning half-giant might do to such a valuable specialist, particularly given the thoroughly negative attitude toward Slytherin and its graduates that Albus had personally cultivated in the gamekeeper over the years.
***
When a satisfied Hagrid Apparated home, weighed down with a pleasantly heavy pouch of Galleons and a medium-sized trunk of clothing for Harry and Snape, and glanced out of the window—his heart nearly stopped. The esteemed Headmaster of Hogwarts was actively attempting to break into his outbuilding.
"Professor Dumbledore!" he bellowed, hurtling into the yard and arranging his face into its most guileless, wide-eyed expression. "What are you looking for in there?"
"Rubeus, my boy—what have you done with Severus?" The great man's voice was laden with reproach.
"With which Severus, Professor?" Andrei barked—loudly enough that Dumbledore actually flinched, and something inside the outbuilding went clatter.
"You caught him, but why didn't you hand him over to the Aurors? Vigilante justice is very, very dangerous for the soul, my boy…"
What followed was a peculiar speech about the law, pure souls, and the importance of obedience, and Andrei was momentarily stunned into silence.
"W-what vigilante justice? Caught him where?"
"Don't try to deceive me, Rubeus. That is not good."
Right—this is coercion. How did he find out Snape was here? Tracking spell, or some kind of amulet on him—whatever it is, I need to break the signal. But where is it and how do I get to it? Thoughts raced. He needed to decide fast. He could, of course, simply sit down directly on top of whatever had led Dumbledore here—in apparent bewilderment, naturally—but there was nothing useful in the immediate vicinity. Only whatever was in the Headmaster's pockets. And the arrow from the rather mediocre tracking potion had dissolved the moment Dumbledore reached Hagrid's property—though of course Andrei had no way of knowing that.
He sent up a silent prayer that Snape had heard him, because the outbuilding door was going to have to be opened regardless—Snape couldn't Apparate silently. Maybe he could hide in the larder?
"Professor, really now, what do you mean! What Sneverus?"
The way his face fell—entirely for different reasons—and the mangled name fit the moment almost perfectly. But more importantly, he threw open the outbuilding door, through which Albus immediately slipped, lighting the space with a powerful Lumos. The Supreme Mugwump's sharp eyes wouldn't have missed a thing—if Andrei had stayed still. That luxury, however, was not available.
"There's nobody here!" he announced, and began flinging things around—rattling shelves, tossing a pile of old rags in the corner—before finally inspiration struck and he let out a wounded sniff. "After everything I've done, and you come here and… I would do anything for you, sir, anything…"
He was already preparing to sit down and weep properly when—
Dumbledore, keeping one suspicious eye trained on the larder, made an attempt at reassurance. It came out somewhat forced. Andrei crossed himself mentally and flung the larder door wide open—hard enough that the old lopsided cupboards inside shuddered—and pressed himself against one of them.
"And in here I keep my… fire crabs," he said, reaching toward the cupboard. "Hibernating at the moment. Lovely little things…"
"No need, Rubeus," the Headmaster interrupted, at exactly the right moment. "Best not to disturb the animals unnecessarily. I'm glad things are not as I feared."
He didn't look particularly glad—his expression suggested he'd bitten into something sour—but Andrei made a show of an emotional sniffle and followed him out into the yard.
"And what did this Sne… Severus do?"
"You really don't remember him?" Dumbledore looked at him with suspicion.
"Well I… I fell, didn't I, with the motorbike. All in little pieces it was," he began, but Dumbledore stopped him with an imperious gesture. "What's his name again?" Andrei pressed on, improvising freely. "Peculiar surname, that. Is he one of ours, then?"
"One of ours, yes," Albus sighed. "Snape is the surname. Severus is the given name."
Andrei put on his most cheerfully dim expression and brightened.
"See, I thought so! Snevrus did sound more like a first name, didn't it? So I had it right, did I?" He beamed up at Dumbledore with every appearance of delight.
"Yes, my boy, well done…" Something like quiet despair settled in the blue eyes.
"Professor… will you tell me about Harry? How is he getting on?"
"He's very well, he's with his closest family."
Andrei launched into an extended tribute to the Headmaster's wisdom, punctuated by irresistible tangents about retrieving Harry from Godric's Hollow—and Dumbledore lasted through approximately two mentions of the motorbike before he finally gave up and left.
"Phew," said Hagrid, sinking down onto the outbuilding step and mopping his brow.
The door creaked from inside. Snape appeared with a sleeping Harry in his arms. Andrei silently gave him a thumbs up, stood, and they slipped back into the cottage—they had plenty to discuss. But first things first: Andrei woke Harry and insisted they both change clothes. After the rather active days they'd been having, mostly outdoors, what they were wearing had reached a state that could only be described as disreputable.
They had barely managed to get into their new things when there was a knock at the door.
"Rubeus! Since when do you lock up?"
Dumbledore's voice fell on them like thunder from a clear sky. Snape, in one fluid movement, put Harry back to sleep—a half-eaten biscuit dropped from the small hand—and was already positioning himself to slide under the bed with him, when a mad idea struck Andrei.
"Severus—Apparate to Grimmauld Place, number twelve."
"City?" Snape whispered.
"London."
"London, Grimmauld Place, twelve—Apparate!"