MAN OF PROPERTY, Post 1
Title: MAN OF PROPERTY
Subtitle: First Installment in the Man of Property series.
Author: Josan
Posted: December, 2004
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: SS and House Elves, BUT it’s GEN.
Feedback: Leave a comment or jmann@pobox.mondenet.com
Disclaimer: the usual one about me not owning and therefore not financially profiting. If only!
Beta: Bounced this one off several people, including kaiz, the Ottawa Slashers and my flist.
A.N., added July 2005: This was supposed to be a standalone. It turned out the characters had different ideas.
(:(:(:)
It had begun life as a farmhouse: one of those three-storey child’s designs, all straight lines, slanted roof with chimneys at either end. Then someone had added, centred at the back, at a right angle to the main house, another similar though much smaller, two-storey house with an enclosed solarium. Continuing that line, someone else had added a one-storey greenhouse, complete with glass roof which was perfect for capturing as much sun as possible. However, that obviously hadn’t been enough for some subsequent generation, who had added to it an enclosed section, slightly longer than the greenhouse, with a slanted roof and a single, solid door at the end. The only thing that held the entire design together was the building material: flat field stone with tiled roofs in various tones of brown, depending on age.
And there was land with the house, some eighteen acres. More than enough for specialised gardens, though the greenhouse would be perfect for the more delicate plants he needed. There was a trout stream running through the property, at the bottom of a small slope upon which the house was built. The grounds around the house had already been terraced with small flower and herb beds.
The boundary lines between the properties to either side were hedges composed of hawthorn mixed with some damson, yew with holly: the third, narrower, farthest hedge was a mixture of elder, hazel, sycamore and rose. Most of the hedges were a good 15 feet high, some dating from the early 1700's, and in dire need of a good pruning. Their density also acted as a wind barrier, a practical decision made by whichever owner had orchestrated the initial planting.
A Muggle owner.
Because, of course, no wizard would sell him property, even if he had been awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class. And that he hadn’t been bothered to pick it up had only added to their mistrust of him.
Severus Snape carefully walked over the property whose purchase he was considering. He needed a place to live, now that he had officially left Hogwarts. And thanks to Albus Dumbledore’s uneasy conscience, he had more than enough gold in his Gringotts vault to live the rest of his life, such as it would be, in a certain ease and comfort. Other than an extremely decent donation to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and specific gifts, Severus Snape had been Albus Dumbledore’s sole heir. Much to the displeasure of some few, who thought there were far better and more deserving recipients for the contents of Dumbledore’s library and vault.
Especially vault.
The Muggle estate agent who was showing him around kept pointing out what he considered to be relevant features. Snape nodded as he plotted out the probable placement of wards and the power such would require from him.
He was getting better, having graduated, according to the healers at St. Mungo’s, to mere convalescence. They would be on his case when he returned, the slow ache in his still-repairing body indicating that he had done enough walking for the day. It annoyed his healers, this body of his did, refusing to heal as they wanted. They took it as a personal affront.
Snape had few complaints. If Lucius Malfoy had had his way...
Well, in spite of Lucius, he was alive, a fact that still had the ability to amaze him now and then.
With the excuse of making his healers happy, he used a cane whenever walking more than a couple of feet. He loathed the need for it but he truly had no choice: he required it for balance and probably would for some time yet to come. Still, it represented freedom after lying in a hospital bed for almost two years. Today was the first full day he had been permitted away from the healers’ eagle eyes.
He trod very carefully on the uneven ground, hating to admit - especially to himself - that they might have been right in their reluctance to allow him out for this length of time.
The agent was very aware of his infirmity. Snape had to give the man points for at no time did he offer his hand or arm. He did slow his pace and stop often, pointing out the grounds, the trees, casually throwing in a piece of local history or even gossip as Snape’s breathing settled.
They discussed the practical details inside the house, whose ground floor had been the extent of Snape’s inspection. They sat in the solarium, on two dusty chairs that had seen far better days, property surveys and architectural prints of the house laid out before them on a battered, rickety table.
The structures were sound and the roofs tight. There were fireplaces in most rooms, though the main heating was a radiator system that had recently passed inspection by the proper authorities. The taxes on the property were well within reason and his pocketbook. Both of his neighbours farmed and both had houses well away from the boundary lines so that he was ensured as much privacy as he wanted. A couple of spells would take care of the drive and gate.
The near-by village had several shops that would satisfy his needs and most of them would be pleased to arrange deliveries, once he’d opened up accounts with them. If his needs were more sophisticated, Nottingham was a mere 40 minutes away. And there was always London.
In an attempt to discover if there were other Snapes who would be joining him, the agent did observe, very discreetly, that the residence was quite large for just one person. Snape gave a small smile as his answer and the agent had to settle for that.
Two days later, in the estate agent’s office, with some additional conditions agreed upon, Snape wrote a cheque for the entire, undisputed amount and handed it over.
In return, he received a sheath of documents indicating that he was now a man of property.
#####
Knowing one was a man of property and having to deal with the reality of it were, as Snape was all too quickly discovering, two very different matters.
The house came as was, with smatterings of furniture that had been assessed as having no value, neither monetary nor family. There was dust everywhere. Snape sighed as he sat on one of the sturdier couches left in what had been the parlour. He realised now that he should have taken the agent up on his offer of having the house cleaned, in spite of the cost, before his taking possession of it. Still, he was a frugal man by nature and previous circumstances, and that was not something that was going to change.
He had accepted the man’s help in setting up accounts for him at the post office and other shops necessary for his needs. He’d even accepted a small stocking up of his pantry with some few provisions for his arrival, three weeks after signing all the papers.
To satisfy local curiosity, Snape had assumed the persona of a Muggle writer in need of uninterrupted privacy. This had come in handy when he’d asked the agent to inform the local shops that he would be dealing with them by mail, since he would not be putting in a telephone. He knew that his inability to move quickly or well would soon be village gossip.
In his planning, he had thought that his Magic would be strong enough for him to deal with the issue of housework and the such, but it seemed that, once more, the healers were being proven right. They had been very much against this move. They’d thought and said so - ad nauseam - to him often over the last three weeks that he was overestimating his abilities.
Snape rubbed his hands over his face. Well, maybe he was, but the need to get out on his own was stronger than his incapacities. He sat back, forcing himself to ignore creaking sounds, hoping the back of the couch would hold.
Well, first things first. He needed a cup of tea.
The agent had assured him that water and electricity would both be functioning when he moved in. Snape could tell that he’d been a little taken aback at Snape’s insistence that, as part of the deal, all the fireplaces and their chimneys be immediately usable as well.
The electricity had indeed been turned on as Snape had discovered when he’d cautiously flicked the switch by the front door per the demonstration the agent had provided on request. He wasn’t certain he liked this manner of lighting and wondered how long before he reverted to candles. The house was certainly old enough to be more used to that method than this newer one.
He’d moved in under cover of night, knowing that his Muggle neighbours, like wizardry ones, would be more than curious. That he carried all that was his in his pockets might engender a little too much nosiness from his neighbours if he moved in during daylight hours. Hence the midnight hour.
A good idea strategically, a bad one for himself.
He’d spent the entire day at Hogwarts, which had been stressful beyond belief. Both for him and for the remnants of the staff he’d once worked with.
Minerva, now Headmistress, had been gracious. Which had made matters a little easier. That and the fact that she had had the generous courtesy to seal up his personal laboratory and private quarters so that no one had ventured into them while he’d been ‘indisposed’, as she so diplomatically called his stay in St. Mungo’s. She’d even seen to the packing of Albus’s library and had stored the boxes in his quarters.
She’d assigned one of the better seventh years, a Ravenclaw, to help him miniaturise and pack his belongings once he’d gone through his lab to chuck out now-useless ingredients and the contents of whatever potions he’d been brewing that day he’d last been summoned to Voldemort. Knowing how uncomfortable he’d be dining in the Great Hall, she’d invited him to her rooms, a first in all his years at Hogwarts, for a private supper. Unlike the healers, she did not encourage him to delay his leaving, but neither did she indicate how happy she’d be to see the last of him and his belongings.
Anyone associated with Voldemort, even one who had spied for the Order of the Phoenix and been awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, was not very popular. The actual war had been quick and, because of that, extremely brutal. No wizard family had been without loss. And though it had been very publically acknowledged that Severus Snape had worked for the Light, there were too many who preferred to believe the faded mark on his arm.
Now Snape acknowledged that his day with its portkeying and apparations had over-used his Magic and his body. He was tired, too much so to do more than hobble into the kitchen behind the solarium and hope to find a pot in which to boil some water.
Ah, the agent must have had an idea that he’d be a little worn. There was a new kettle sitting on the stove, a small teapot with matching mug on the counter, along with a small pan, some cutlery and both a plate and a bowl. He would have to remember to thank the man for his thoughtfulness.
In the cardboard box on the table, he found a pack of tea. Not one that he preferred, but he was in no shape to try and locate the box with his personal items. There was sugar along with bread, a small container of Nescafé, tinned fruit and a can opener. There was even a small bag of apples and a package of chocolate covered oat biscuits. The refrigerator housed a carton of milk, one of cream, a small pack of butter, some orange juice along with a half dozen eggs and some sliced ham.
His Magic was strong enough to boil the kettle and, though his body ached, he took the time to drink a cup before he swallowed the potion the healers insisted he take daily in order for his body to function.
Too tired even to consider the stairs, and leaning heavily upon his cane, Snape made it back to the parlour. The couch had held up to his sitting on it: with luck, it would hold up to his lying on it. He took the precaution of setting up a secure ward on the house before arranging his ‘bed’. Wrapping himself up in his cloak, his robe rolled up for a pillow, Snape lay down and went to sleep.
#####
The morning was a little better. Though his bed at the hospital was more comfortable, the fact that he had slept under his own roof made it easier to ignore the aches and pains of straightening and of initial movement. Several cups of tea and an egg sandwich later, Snape was ready to put into action some decisions he had made about his new residence.
But first, a fire. Even in his dark and dank dungeon rooms, a fire had had the ability to raise his spirits. Not in the parlour, though he would set one up there later, but in what he was going to use as his library.
Among the documents he’d been given were the plans to the house. To the left of the front door were two square rooms that had served as someone’s office and the formal dining room. The wall between the two was not a bearing one, so, with a flick of his wand and a few well chosen spells, that wall and its debris disappeared. Another few spells and what furniture there was, other than the chair upon which he was sitting, picked itself up and moved out into the large entry, stacking itself up in a variety of ways. He would deal with those later.
He took a small rest, needing to hoard his strength and Magic. He’d been assured that now that they had developed the proper potion for his body, his Magic would grow stronger and stronger. Oh, he’d never be the wizard he had once been but his power would be sufficient for him to use it as he pretty much wanted. So long as what he wanted, they’d warned, did not require extreme concentration.
When he felt up to it, he removed one of the small boxes from his robe pocket and placed it on the floor, far enough away from him so that when he returned it to size, it would not crush him.
He found himself relaxing as it uncrated itself to expel box after box containing his books. With a smile, he directed the large boxes around him, stacking them, three high. Damn, of all the things he’d missed while lying in that bloody bed, his books had been those he’d most wanted. The friends of his childhood, of his student days, of his days as a teacher and a spy. His most trustworthy friends.
He must remember to send Minerva a small gift as thanks for having protected them for him. A potion for the arthritis he’d noticed was affecting her hands, once he set up his laboratory in the newest addition.
He managed to find the box labelled with his bookcases and placed them carefully around the room before returning them to their original size. By then it was time for lunch and it irritated him that had been the extent of his accomplishments for the morning. Once...
But, no. He would not permit himself to compare what he was now with what he had been. This would take time and that was all there was to it. Not as though he had a schedule to satisfy. He would do this properly and, Merlin, he would enjoy it.
As he ate his ham sandwich sans any mustard, he pulled out a notebook and began writing up a list of items he would need from the green grocer, the butcher shop and the bakery. He inserted each in envelopes that he’d prepared just for this purpose and, carefully stamping each - a novel concept in his mind - he sent them on their way out of a nearby window, down the walkway to the mailbox at the end of the drive, by the road. It was taking a chance, he knew, but he needed to conserve his physical strength for more important matters.
Washing his few dishes, he wondered if and when he should add an owl to his household. For the present time, he could take care of his needs with Muggle solutions, but he hoped that eventually...
But that was for another day. Now he had another important matter to deal with: that of his bed for the night.
Back in the entry, he paused at the foot of the staircase leading up to the next floor, the one with four bedrooms and two bathrooms. He shook his head. For the foreseeable future, he would have to keep to the small loo off the kitchen and be satisfied with sponge baths. Stairs were a little too tricky for him to manoeuver on a daily basis. The parlour would have to do. Merlin knew, it was large enough, equal in size to his new library.
The entry was soon filled with additional, precariously balanced piles of battered, old furniture. Once the room had been cleared and somewhat cleaned, Snape repeated the enlarging spells on the container with the items from his bedroom at Hogwarts. It took the rest of the afternoon for him to set up the parlour so that he had his things about him in such a way as to conserve his energy. The last thing he did before leaving for yet another cold sandwich in the kitchen was spell a proper wizard fire in the fireplace. He nodded in approval. With the heavy Muggle drapes drawn, his furniture in place, it felt...right.
He chewed his sandwich slowly, his energy levels low but his morale high. It helped him through a sponge bath that was more of a lick and a promise. His cropped hair, a style imposed on him by the healers while he’d been unable even to protest its selection, was easy to wipe clean with a face cloth. His footsteps were a little unsure as he made his way to this new bedroom of his. Still, the pleasure of undressing amidst familiar and much loved items, of hanging up his clothes in his own wardrobe, of pulling on a nightshirt that was truly his buoyed up his spirits. He didn’t even mind that he had to wear socks to bed, Albus-style, in order to keep his feet warm.
As his bones settled in the small hollow that they had worn into the mattress a life-time ago, Snape allowed himself a small moan of aching pleasure. He used his wand to turn the lights off, then spelled the fire to burn embered.
He fell asleep, a small smile on his face.
#####
The knocking woke him. He reached for his wand before he realised that it was the sound of someone at his front door. Heart beating a little too rapidly, he sat up, waiting to see if his wards against entry would hold.
They did. After about five minutes, he heard the gravel in the drive rustle as some vehicle went away.
Cautiously, wand securely clasped in hand, Snape stiffly moved out of bed, pulled on his dressing gown, grabbed his cane and went to investigate. There were two, small, narrow windows in his front door by which he could see that his drive was indeed clear. He was moving away when he caught sight of something with the corner of an eye.
Opening the door, wand and cane ready to deal with any kind of attack, he found three large cartons containing the orders he had mailed in the previous day.
Well, that was faster service than he had thought he would receive. Checking that he truly was unobserved, he waved the boxes inside the house and shut the door before sending them on their way to the kitchen. There, he discovered from the old clock on the battered sideboard that it was far later than he thought. Closer to lunch than breakfast.
Which explained his aches.
The healers had been very specific that he had to take his potion at the same time every day. He’d now not done so two in a row and he was definitely feeling it. That wouldn’t do, not if he really intended to live on his own. It had been one of the conditions of his release that a healer examine him at least once a month until St. Mungo’s was certain that he would survive on his own. More, he thought, out of concern for their reputation than his health. He knew that there were several of the healers assigned to him who would have preferred not to be.
He accio’ed the potion to him as he brought the kettle to a boil. He would have to set up an alarm spell to wake him at the proper time. There was no way in hell that he was ever returning to that place.
Consequently, he set a much slower pace this second day. He took the time to prepare some of the food, using a limited knowledge of cooking with his more extensive one of potion brewing. The stew he’d put together would provide meals for several days. Satisfied that he’d done his part for his body, he went off to deal with nourishment for his mind.
By the end of the day, he managed to unpack one entire box of books. He’d sat and inspected each, refamiliarising himself with its texture and feel. He’d read bits and pieces, now and then finding passages that he’d once chanted to himself while dealing with the pain of recovery.
Snape scoffed when he realised how little he had actually accomplished. But, he reminded himself, he had nothing else to do. No classes to deal with. No more balancing act between Voldemort and Albus. No healers to endure. Just time to himself.
That evening, he settled himself in his comfortable bed, the pillows piled high behind him. He had placed a small glass of apple brandy - that he knew the healers would not have approved - on the nightstand, just within reach. He drew up his knees and used them as a support for his reading matter, a journal on potions that he had just received the very day of Voldemort’s summons.
The only thing that would have made him happier was to be reading by candlelight rather than Muggle electricity, but in the scheme of all things, that really was a minor matter.
#####
He’d been in residence a week when the first really bad storm of the autumn season hit. Oh, there had been the occasional shower but nothing like the lightning and thunder that were accompanying the torrents of rain falling.
In his library, Snape looked up from the book he was perusing in time to see a flash of lightning blue the late night sky. The following crack of thunder made the windowpanes rattle a little, though he was pleased to see not a hint of moisture make its way around the frame or sills.
So this time, when the knocking occurred at his door, he thought, at first, it was the storm. But it continued even as the storm moved on.
He leaned back, closed his book and rested it on the shelf by which he was sitting. Other than that first day, there had been no attempts to contact him. Oh, he knew that there were people who walked by or stopped their cars in order to peer into the property, hoping to get a glimpse of the new proprietor. But one of the wards he’d set up - he managed his power by layering on a new one every day - suddenly reminded them they had other things to do and off they went.
That someone had breached his wards was cause for concern. Especially in this kind of weather and at this time of night.
Still, he was curious. He might not be at his best, but the wards he’d set up were fairly simple: the layering was what made them so secure. He’d set them up particularly against Muggle and wizard visitors. So who could have passed through?
His picked up his wand from one of the still empty bookshelves and, as quietly as he could, made his way to the door.
Not that he expected to see anyone looking in from the other side of the door. So he was not disappointed when he didn’t.
Still the knocking continued, a little less confidently and, dare he think, a little more desperately.
“Who’s there?” he croaked, suddenly aware that these were the first words of conversation he was speaking in his house since he’d taken possession of it.
“Professor?”
Snape settled his weight on his left and more stable hip.
“Please, Professor Snape,” whined a thin, reedy little voice, barely audible through the oak of the door.
He thought a moment and slowly shook his head. The ‘professor’ was what did it, convinced him it was safe to open the door. In all his time at St. Mungo’s, he’d been Mister Snape. To hear himself called by his proper honourific, after all this time...
He shrugged and waved his wand, unlocking the door and ordering it to open to the one who stood in the rain.
“Come in, Dobby,” murmured Snape, not trusting his voice any louder. He really must remember to use the darn thing more often or he would lose that as well. The occasional spell was most certainly not enough.
The house elf, nervously tugging at his ears, took a step into the entry and jumped even more nervously when the door closed.
“G..g...good eve...ning, Pro...f...fes...sor,” Dobby stuttered, shifting from one foot to the other, hands wringing the rain from his long, floppy ears.
“Dobby,” Snape acknowledged. Then, when the elf seemed unable to say any more, he prodded, “What are you doing here, Dobby?”
Dobby left off wringing his ears for his hands. He ducked his head all the while looking wildly around the entry as though expecting to be attacked in some manner.
“Dobby.” Snape made his voice more authoritarian than he’d had to in over two years. It pleased him to note that the tone still had the ability to make the house elf jump a little. It had been a long time since he’d elicited that kind of response to anything he said.
“Dobby sorry, Professor. He is wetting the Professor’s lovely floor.”
Snape sighed and knew that whatever the reason the house elf had for showing up at his door, it would take time to get to it. With a gesture of his cane - which caused the elf to cringe in a manner Snape associated all too well with Malfoy house elves - Snape indicated the library and went into it. He was sitting in his chair when he noticed Dobby had made it just as far as the entrance to the room. It was obvious that the elf was waiting for permission to enter.
“Well, come in,” he growled. “It’s warmer here by the fire.”
on to the next part
Subtitle: First Installment in the Man of Property series.
Author: Josan
Posted: December, 2004
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: SS and House Elves, BUT it’s GEN.
Feedback: Leave a comment or jmann@pobox.mondenet.com
Disclaimer: the usual one about me not owning and therefore not financially profiting. If only!
Beta: Bounced this one off several people, including kaiz, the Ottawa Slashers and my flist.
A.N., added July 2005: This was supposed to be a standalone. It turned out the characters had different ideas.
(:(:(:)
It had begun life as a farmhouse: one of those three-storey child’s designs, all straight lines, slanted roof with chimneys at either end. Then someone had added, centred at the back, at a right angle to the main house, another similar though much smaller, two-storey house with an enclosed solarium. Continuing that line, someone else had added a one-storey greenhouse, complete with glass roof which was perfect for capturing as much sun as possible. However, that obviously hadn’t been enough for some subsequent generation, who had added to it an enclosed section, slightly longer than the greenhouse, with a slanted roof and a single, solid door at the end. The only thing that held the entire design together was the building material: flat field stone with tiled roofs in various tones of brown, depending on age.
And there was land with the house, some eighteen acres. More than enough for specialised gardens, though the greenhouse would be perfect for the more delicate plants he needed. There was a trout stream running through the property, at the bottom of a small slope upon which the house was built. The grounds around the house had already been terraced with small flower and herb beds.
The boundary lines between the properties to either side were hedges composed of hawthorn mixed with some damson, yew with holly: the third, narrower, farthest hedge was a mixture of elder, hazel, sycamore and rose. Most of the hedges were a good 15 feet high, some dating from the early 1700's, and in dire need of a good pruning. Their density also acted as a wind barrier, a practical decision made by whichever owner had orchestrated the initial planting.
A Muggle owner.
Because, of course, no wizard would sell him property, even if he had been awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class. And that he hadn’t been bothered to pick it up had only added to their mistrust of him.
Severus Snape carefully walked over the property whose purchase he was considering. He needed a place to live, now that he had officially left Hogwarts. And thanks to Albus Dumbledore’s uneasy conscience, he had more than enough gold in his Gringotts vault to live the rest of his life, such as it would be, in a certain ease and comfort. Other than an extremely decent donation to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and specific gifts, Severus Snape had been Albus Dumbledore’s sole heir. Much to the displeasure of some few, who thought there were far better and more deserving recipients for the contents of Dumbledore’s library and vault.
Especially vault.
The Muggle estate agent who was showing him around kept pointing out what he considered to be relevant features. Snape nodded as he plotted out the probable placement of wards and the power such would require from him.
He was getting better, having graduated, according to the healers at St. Mungo’s, to mere convalescence. They would be on his case when he returned, the slow ache in his still-repairing body indicating that he had done enough walking for the day. It annoyed his healers, this body of his did, refusing to heal as they wanted. They took it as a personal affront.
Snape had few complaints. If Lucius Malfoy had had his way...
Well, in spite of Lucius, he was alive, a fact that still had the ability to amaze him now and then.
With the excuse of making his healers happy, he used a cane whenever walking more than a couple of feet. He loathed the need for it but he truly had no choice: he required it for balance and probably would for some time yet to come. Still, it represented freedom after lying in a hospital bed for almost two years. Today was the first full day he had been permitted away from the healers’ eagle eyes.
He trod very carefully on the uneven ground, hating to admit - especially to himself - that they might have been right in their reluctance to allow him out for this length of time.
The agent was very aware of his infirmity. Snape had to give the man points for at no time did he offer his hand or arm. He did slow his pace and stop often, pointing out the grounds, the trees, casually throwing in a piece of local history or even gossip as Snape’s breathing settled.
They discussed the practical details inside the house, whose ground floor had been the extent of Snape’s inspection. They sat in the solarium, on two dusty chairs that had seen far better days, property surveys and architectural prints of the house laid out before them on a battered, rickety table.
The structures were sound and the roofs tight. There were fireplaces in most rooms, though the main heating was a radiator system that had recently passed inspection by the proper authorities. The taxes on the property were well within reason and his pocketbook. Both of his neighbours farmed and both had houses well away from the boundary lines so that he was ensured as much privacy as he wanted. A couple of spells would take care of the drive and gate.
The near-by village had several shops that would satisfy his needs and most of them would be pleased to arrange deliveries, once he’d opened up accounts with them. If his needs were more sophisticated, Nottingham was a mere 40 minutes away. And there was always London.
In an attempt to discover if there were other Snapes who would be joining him, the agent did observe, very discreetly, that the residence was quite large for just one person. Snape gave a small smile as his answer and the agent had to settle for that.
Two days later, in the estate agent’s office, with some additional conditions agreed upon, Snape wrote a cheque for the entire, undisputed amount and handed it over.
In return, he received a sheath of documents indicating that he was now a man of property.
#####
Knowing one was a man of property and having to deal with the reality of it were, as Snape was all too quickly discovering, two very different matters.
The house came as was, with smatterings of furniture that had been assessed as having no value, neither monetary nor family. There was dust everywhere. Snape sighed as he sat on one of the sturdier couches left in what had been the parlour. He realised now that he should have taken the agent up on his offer of having the house cleaned, in spite of the cost, before his taking possession of it. Still, he was a frugal man by nature and previous circumstances, and that was not something that was going to change.
He had accepted the man’s help in setting up accounts for him at the post office and other shops necessary for his needs. He’d even accepted a small stocking up of his pantry with some few provisions for his arrival, three weeks after signing all the papers.
To satisfy local curiosity, Snape had assumed the persona of a Muggle writer in need of uninterrupted privacy. This had come in handy when he’d asked the agent to inform the local shops that he would be dealing with them by mail, since he would not be putting in a telephone. He knew that his inability to move quickly or well would soon be village gossip.
In his planning, he had thought that his Magic would be strong enough for him to deal with the issue of housework and the such, but it seemed that, once more, the healers were being proven right. They had been very much against this move. They’d thought and said so - ad nauseam - to him often over the last three weeks that he was overestimating his abilities.
Snape rubbed his hands over his face. Well, maybe he was, but the need to get out on his own was stronger than his incapacities. He sat back, forcing himself to ignore creaking sounds, hoping the back of the couch would hold.
Well, first things first. He needed a cup of tea.
The agent had assured him that water and electricity would both be functioning when he moved in. Snape could tell that he’d been a little taken aback at Snape’s insistence that, as part of the deal, all the fireplaces and their chimneys be immediately usable as well.
The electricity had indeed been turned on as Snape had discovered when he’d cautiously flicked the switch by the front door per the demonstration the agent had provided on request. He wasn’t certain he liked this manner of lighting and wondered how long before he reverted to candles. The house was certainly old enough to be more used to that method than this newer one.
He’d moved in under cover of night, knowing that his Muggle neighbours, like wizardry ones, would be more than curious. That he carried all that was his in his pockets might engender a little too much nosiness from his neighbours if he moved in during daylight hours. Hence the midnight hour.
A good idea strategically, a bad one for himself.
He’d spent the entire day at Hogwarts, which had been stressful beyond belief. Both for him and for the remnants of the staff he’d once worked with.
Minerva, now Headmistress, had been gracious. Which had made matters a little easier. That and the fact that she had had the generous courtesy to seal up his personal laboratory and private quarters so that no one had ventured into them while he’d been ‘indisposed’, as she so diplomatically called his stay in St. Mungo’s. She’d even seen to the packing of Albus’s library and had stored the boxes in his quarters.
She’d assigned one of the better seventh years, a Ravenclaw, to help him miniaturise and pack his belongings once he’d gone through his lab to chuck out now-useless ingredients and the contents of whatever potions he’d been brewing that day he’d last been summoned to Voldemort. Knowing how uncomfortable he’d be dining in the Great Hall, she’d invited him to her rooms, a first in all his years at Hogwarts, for a private supper. Unlike the healers, she did not encourage him to delay his leaving, but neither did she indicate how happy she’d be to see the last of him and his belongings.
Anyone associated with Voldemort, even one who had spied for the Order of the Phoenix and been awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, was not very popular. The actual war had been quick and, because of that, extremely brutal. No wizard family had been without loss. And though it had been very publically acknowledged that Severus Snape had worked for the Light, there were too many who preferred to believe the faded mark on his arm.
Now Snape acknowledged that his day with its portkeying and apparations had over-used his Magic and his body. He was tired, too much so to do more than hobble into the kitchen behind the solarium and hope to find a pot in which to boil some water.
Ah, the agent must have had an idea that he’d be a little worn. There was a new kettle sitting on the stove, a small teapot with matching mug on the counter, along with a small pan, some cutlery and both a plate and a bowl. He would have to remember to thank the man for his thoughtfulness.
In the cardboard box on the table, he found a pack of tea. Not one that he preferred, but he was in no shape to try and locate the box with his personal items. There was sugar along with bread, a small container of Nescafé, tinned fruit and a can opener. There was even a small bag of apples and a package of chocolate covered oat biscuits. The refrigerator housed a carton of milk, one of cream, a small pack of butter, some orange juice along with a half dozen eggs and some sliced ham.
His Magic was strong enough to boil the kettle and, though his body ached, he took the time to drink a cup before he swallowed the potion the healers insisted he take daily in order for his body to function.
Too tired even to consider the stairs, and leaning heavily upon his cane, Snape made it back to the parlour. The couch had held up to his sitting on it: with luck, it would hold up to his lying on it. He took the precaution of setting up a secure ward on the house before arranging his ‘bed’. Wrapping himself up in his cloak, his robe rolled up for a pillow, Snape lay down and went to sleep.
#####
The morning was a little better. Though his bed at the hospital was more comfortable, the fact that he had slept under his own roof made it easier to ignore the aches and pains of straightening and of initial movement. Several cups of tea and an egg sandwich later, Snape was ready to put into action some decisions he had made about his new residence.
But first, a fire. Even in his dark and dank dungeon rooms, a fire had had the ability to raise his spirits. Not in the parlour, though he would set one up there later, but in what he was going to use as his library.
Among the documents he’d been given were the plans to the house. To the left of the front door were two square rooms that had served as someone’s office and the formal dining room. The wall between the two was not a bearing one, so, with a flick of his wand and a few well chosen spells, that wall and its debris disappeared. Another few spells and what furniture there was, other than the chair upon which he was sitting, picked itself up and moved out into the large entry, stacking itself up in a variety of ways. He would deal with those later.
He took a small rest, needing to hoard his strength and Magic. He’d been assured that now that they had developed the proper potion for his body, his Magic would grow stronger and stronger. Oh, he’d never be the wizard he had once been but his power would be sufficient for him to use it as he pretty much wanted. So long as what he wanted, they’d warned, did not require extreme concentration.
When he felt up to it, he removed one of the small boxes from his robe pocket and placed it on the floor, far enough away from him so that when he returned it to size, it would not crush him.
He found himself relaxing as it uncrated itself to expel box after box containing his books. With a smile, he directed the large boxes around him, stacking them, three high. Damn, of all the things he’d missed while lying in that bloody bed, his books had been those he’d most wanted. The friends of his childhood, of his student days, of his days as a teacher and a spy. His most trustworthy friends.
He must remember to send Minerva a small gift as thanks for having protected them for him. A potion for the arthritis he’d noticed was affecting her hands, once he set up his laboratory in the newest addition.
He managed to find the box labelled with his bookcases and placed them carefully around the room before returning them to their original size. By then it was time for lunch and it irritated him that had been the extent of his accomplishments for the morning. Once...
But, no. He would not permit himself to compare what he was now with what he had been. This would take time and that was all there was to it. Not as though he had a schedule to satisfy. He would do this properly and, Merlin, he would enjoy it.
As he ate his ham sandwich sans any mustard, he pulled out a notebook and began writing up a list of items he would need from the green grocer, the butcher shop and the bakery. He inserted each in envelopes that he’d prepared just for this purpose and, carefully stamping each - a novel concept in his mind - he sent them on their way out of a nearby window, down the walkway to the mailbox at the end of the drive, by the road. It was taking a chance, he knew, but he needed to conserve his physical strength for more important matters.
Washing his few dishes, he wondered if and when he should add an owl to his household. For the present time, he could take care of his needs with Muggle solutions, but he hoped that eventually...
But that was for another day. Now he had another important matter to deal with: that of his bed for the night.
Back in the entry, he paused at the foot of the staircase leading up to the next floor, the one with four bedrooms and two bathrooms. He shook his head. For the foreseeable future, he would have to keep to the small loo off the kitchen and be satisfied with sponge baths. Stairs were a little too tricky for him to manoeuver on a daily basis. The parlour would have to do. Merlin knew, it was large enough, equal in size to his new library.
The entry was soon filled with additional, precariously balanced piles of battered, old furniture. Once the room had been cleared and somewhat cleaned, Snape repeated the enlarging spells on the container with the items from his bedroom at Hogwarts. It took the rest of the afternoon for him to set up the parlour so that he had his things about him in such a way as to conserve his energy. The last thing he did before leaving for yet another cold sandwich in the kitchen was spell a proper wizard fire in the fireplace. He nodded in approval. With the heavy Muggle drapes drawn, his furniture in place, it felt...right.
He chewed his sandwich slowly, his energy levels low but his morale high. It helped him through a sponge bath that was more of a lick and a promise. His cropped hair, a style imposed on him by the healers while he’d been unable even to protest its selection, was easy to wipe clean with a face cloth. His footsteps were a little unsure as he made his way to this new bedroom of his. Still, the pleasure of undressing amidst familiar and much loved items, of hanging up his clothes in his own wardrobe, of pulling on a nightshirt that was truly his buoyed up his spirits. He didn’t even mind that he had to wear socks to bed, Albus-style, in order to keep his feet warm.
As his bones settled in the small hollow that they had worn into the mattress a life-time ago, Snape allowed himself a small moan of aching pleasure. He used his wand to turn the lights off, then spelled the fire to burn embered.
He fell asleep, a small smile on his face.
#####
The knocking woke him. He reached for his wand before he realised that it was the sound of someone at his front door. Heart beating a little too rapidly, he sat up, waiting to see if his wards against entry would hold.
They did. After about five minutes, he heard the gravel in the drive rustle as some vehicle went away.
Cautiously, wand securely clasped in hand, Snape stiffly moved out of bed, pulled on his dressing gown, grabbed his cane and went to investigate. There were two, small, narrow windows in his front door by which he could see that his drive was indeed clear. He was moving away when he caught sight of something with the corner of an eye.
Opening the door, wand and cane ready to deal with any kind of attack, he found three large cartons containing the orders he had mailed in the previous day.
Well, that was faster service than he had thought he would receive. Checking that he truly was unobserved, he waved the boxes inside the house and shut the door before sending them on their way to the kitchen. There, he discovered from the old clock on the battered sideboard that it was far later than he thought. Closer to lunch than breakfast.
Which explained his aches.
The healers had been very specific that he had to take his potion at the same time every day. He’d now not done so two in a row and he was definitely feeling it. That wouldn’t do, not if he really intended to live on his own. It had been one of the conditions of his release that a healer examine him at least once a month until St. Mungo’s was certain that he would survive on his own. More, he thought, out of concern for their reputation than his health. He knew that there were several of the healers assigned to him who would have preferred not to be.
He accio’ed the potion to him as he brought the kettle to a boil. He would have to set up an alarm spell to wake him at the proper time. There was no way in hell that he was ever returning to that place.
Consequently, he set a much slower pace this second day. He took the time to prepare some of the food, using a limited knowledge of cooking with his more extensive one of potion brewing. The stew he’d put together would provide meals for several days. Satisfied that he’d done his part for his body, he went off to deal with nourishment for his mind.
By the end of the day, he managed to unpack one entire box of books. He’d sat and inspected each, refamiliarising himself with its texture and feel. He’d read bits and pieces, now and then finding passages that he’d once chanted to himself while dealing with the pain of recovery.
Snape scoffed when he realised how little he had actually accomplished. But, he reminded himself, he had nothing else to do. No classes to deal with. No more balancing act between Voldemort and Albus. No healers to endure. Just time to himself.
That evening, he settled himself in his comfortable bed, the pillows piled high behind him. He had placed a small glass of apple brandy - that he knew the healers would not have approved - on the nightstand, just within reach. He drew up his knees and used them as a support for his reading matter, a journal on potions that he had just received the very day of Voldemort’s summons.
The only thing that would have made him happier was to be reading by candlelight rather than Muggle electricity, but in the scheme of all things, that really was a minor matter.
#####
He’d been in residence a week when the first really bad storm of the autumn season hit. Oh, there had been the occasional shower but nothing like the lightning and thunder that were accompanying the torrents of rain falling.
In his library, Snape looked up from the book he was perusing in time to see a flash of lightning blue the late night sky. The following crack of thunder made the windowpanes rattle a little, though he was pleased to see not a hint of moisture make its way around the frame or sills.
So this time, when the knocking occurred at his door, he thought, at first, it was the storm. But it continued even as the storm moved on.
He leaned back, closed his book and rested it on the shelf by which he was sitting. Other than that first day, there had been no attempts to contact him. Oh, he knew that there were people who walked by or stopped their cars in order to peer into the property, hoping to get a glimpse of the new proprietor. But one of the wards he’d set up - he managed his power by layering on a new one every day - suddenly reminded them they had other things to do and off they went.
That someone had breached his wards was cause for concern. Especially in this kind of weather and at this time of night.
Still, he was curious. He might not be at his best, but the wards he’d set up were fairly simple: the layering was what made them so secure. He’d set them up particularly against Muggle and wizard visitors. So who could have passed through?
His picked up his wand from one of the still empty bookshelves and, as quietly as he could, made his way to the door.
Not that he expected to see anyone looking in from the other side of the door. So he was not disappointed when he didn’t.
Still the knocking continued, a little less confidently and, dare he think, a little more desperately.
“Who’s there?” he croaked, suddenly aware that these were the first words of conversation he was speaking in his house since he’d taken possession of it.
“Professor?”
Snape settled his weight on his left and more stable hip.
“Please, Professor Snape,” whined a thin, reedy little voice, barely audible through the oak of the door.
He thought a moment and slowly shook his head. The ‘professor’ was what did it, convinced him it was safe to open the door. In all his time at St. Mungo’s, he’d been Mister Snape. To hear himself called by his proper honourific, after all this time...
He shrugged and waved his wand, unlocking the door and ordering it to open to the one who stood in the rain.
“Come in, Dobby,” murmured Snape, not trusting his voice any louder. He really must remember to use the darn thing more often or he would lose that as well. The occasional spell was most certainly not enough.
The house elf, nervously tugging at his ears, took a step into the entry and jumped even more nervously when the door closed.
“G..g...good eve...ning, Pro...f...fes...sor,” Dobby stuttered, shifting from one foot to the other, hands wringing the rain from his long, floppy ears.
“Dobby,” Snape acknowledged. Then, when the elf seemed unable to say any more, he prodded, “What are you doing here, Dobby?”
Dobby left off wringing his ears for his hands. He ducked his head all the while looking wildly around the entry as though expecting to be attacked in some manner.
“Dobby.” Snape made his voice more authoritarian than he’d had to in over two years. It pleased him to note that the tone still had the ability to make the house elf jump a little. It had been a long time since he’d elicited that kind of response to anything he said.
“Dobby sorry, Professor. He is wetting the Professor’s lovely floor.”
Snape sighed and knew that whatever the reason the house elf had for showing up at his door, it would take time to get to it. With a gesture of his cane - which caused the elf to cringe in a manner Snape associated all too well with Malfoy house elves - Snape indicated the library and went into it. He was sitting in his chair when he noticed Dobby had made it just as far as the entrance to the room. It was obvious that the elf was waiting for permission to enter.
“Well, come in,” he growled. “It’s warmer here by the fire.”
on to the next part