True to form, Severus was waiting for me at the main doors, though I didn’t immediately turn my attention to him. I was busy analyzing the conversation Septima and I had just finished, and puzzling over some of the whisperings I’d heard from students on my less-than-graceful descent to the entryway.
“Good afternoon, Elise,” he greeted in a voice so soft only I could hear it.
“Severus,” I replied, looking up into his eyes. He looked paler than I remembered, and weary. “If you’d rather not do this…” I began.
“Escort you, or attend the tournament?”
“Either,” I answered. “Both.”
“Attendance, unfortunately is a requirement of my position. Escorting you may make the event tolerable. How is your leg?”
From anyone else, such a question would be casual, from Severus Snape a personal query was a rare intimacy. “About the same. I’ve got Muggle painkillers, and charms to lighten the weight of the cast.”
“Be certain to tell Madam Pomfrey exactly what you are taking for the pain. She’ll need to make sure nothing she gives you is contraindicated. I will try to make time to be there if you like.”
“For a price, no doubt?” I teased.
“There is always a price, Elise. In this case, dinner. My rooms. Tonight. There is much of our world you are likely unaware of, and your uncle will not have told you.”
I nodded. “It happens I’m free,” I said.
He opened the main doors, and then came back to me. “Can you walk at all without those sticks?”
“They’re crutches,” I said. “And I can, yes, but I get a bit wobbly. If you take my arm, I can probably manage with one.”
“That will do.”
He arranged my arm through his own, and we slowly made our way across to the Quidditch grounds, which had been transfigured into an arena of a different sort. A few times we were swarmed by groups of students, but Severus merely straightened his stance and arched a brow or started a sneer, and they quickly dispersed. Finally, we arrived at the staff box, and he ushered me to a seat just behind Uncle Albus and Professor McGonagall and next to a blond man I recognized all too well.
Lucius Malfoy turned as I took my seat, and stared at me with his cool blue eyes. “Miss Foster. I wasn’t aware you’d returned to us.”
His tone was on the cool side of neutral, and though I was out of practice when it came to pureblood politics, I matched it with my own, “When I heard about the Tri-Wizard tournament, I couldn’t stay away, Mr. Malfoy. I’m just sorry Hogwarts isn’t represented by our own house.”
“I’d forgotten you were Slytherin, Miss Foster. Do call me Lucius. Tell me, are you still dancing? Narcissa and I attend the Idyllwild Nutcracker tour with our son Draco every year.”
“Sadly, an injury in front of a largely Muggle audience has ended my public career,” I answered, lifting the hem of my skirt to show my cast, “but I’m glad to know you and your wife are supporting the arts. Dance has a power beyond even our mere magic, don’t you think?”
“Too true,” he answered crisply. “I’m relieved you’ve returned here for treatment. A talent such as yours should not be wasted. Does it cause you much difficulty moving?”
“Only a little, and Severus has been gracious about chivvying me around. As has your son, in fact. I met him this morning, and we had a lovely chat.” On the other side of me, I felt Severus touch my hand, so I knew he was listening to everything. I turned my hand beneath his, and squeezed gently, so that he would know all would be explained at dinner. “He’s quite an engaging young man.”
“So he is.” Malfoy took a breath and then asked, ingenuously, “Narcissa would love to hear your opinion of American fashion. Miss – ah – I can’t recall your first name.”
“It’s Elise,” I said.
“Elise, then. I’ll have her invite you for tea while you’re with us. How long did you say that would be?”
“I didn’t,” I said. “And in truth, I’m not sure. But I would never refuse such an invitation.” I wasn’t lying, exactly. While I didn’t particularly like Lucius Malfoy, I’d met Narcissa on a few occasions, and she was never other than gracious.
“Very well, then. Ah, they’re starting.”
We all turned our attention to the center of the arena, which was tricked out with rocks and cliff faces that seemed to double back on one another, as a fanfare sounded around us. Uncle Albus cast Sonorus and introduced the champions – Victor Krum, the Quidditch star was competing for Durmstrang. “A ringer?” I muttered to Severus.
“Returned for seventh year,” he answered.
Next out was Fleur Delacour, representing Beauxbatons. She was pale and delicate, and exuded something that had every male in the vicinity staring at her. “It is rumored she is part Veela,” Severus breathed into my ear, and I nodded.
And then there were two more champions introduced, Cedric Diggory, the favorite, and a scrawny black-haired boy who was also from Hogwarts, and if his presence as a fourth competitor alone wasn’t enough to make me lean closer to Severus and ask for an explanation, his name, once announced, caused me to exclaim in a shocked tone, “That child is Harry Potter?”
“Leaves much to be desired in a prophesied savior, don’t you think?” came the silken tones I knew so well.
“Somewhat,” I agreed softly.
When they next explained the challenge – steal a golden egg from a dragon’s protection, I was unable to keep a Muggle folk tune I’d heard at a Renaissance Festival I’d attended as a student in America from wandering through my head, and leaning close to my black-clad escort, I sang very softly,
“Do virgins taste better than those who are not?
Are they salty, or sweeter, more juicy or what?
Do you savor them slowly? Gulp them down on the spot?
Do virgins taste better than those who are not?”
He did not laugh, of course, merely said, “Elise…” in a warning tone, but I suspected he would be asking to hear the complete tune at some point in the future.
People always ask how I met my husband. Well, first they ask if they’ve heard his name correctly and where it comes from, and we generally confirm the spelling and remark that his family comes from an island somewhere in the North Atlantic. Friends in the know understand we are referring to England, but strangers think we mean some exotic locale.
After we clear up the inevitable “Severus, huh? Unusual name,” conversation, then they ask how we met, and this is when I get to say, “Oh we’ve known each other forever. We met when I was nine and moved in together when I was eleven.”
This, of course, while technically true, is an exaggeration of the facts calculated to make busybodies duck and cover - or flee very swiftly. Either way, it reduces the amount of time it takes to explain why the famous choreographer and former ballerina is married to someone so dour, and so old.
In truth, Severus only has six years on me, though the circumstances of his life have made the years weigh heavily upon him. But that’s another story.
I really was only nine years old when I met Severus, however.
I lived, for the first nine years of my life, with my parents in a small town at the head of the Carquinas Straights. It was a funky town, populated by leftover hippies who had given up their tie-dye and patchouli but kept their love of hand-made art. We were blessed with fair weather, most of the time, and a society of musicians, writers, and craftspeople who had no problem including a small number of witches and wizards among their number. Decades later, our town would be held up as the model of an integrated Muggle/Magical society, but for me, it was just home. It was safe enough for us kids to walk home from school, ride our bikes until the last rays of light were truly extinguished, and hang out at the homes of our teachers on weekends, with nary a thought that this might be inappropriate.
Of course, those of us from Magical families had a couple hours a week of extra classes, but it wasn’t enough to set us apart, really. In fact, only the subject matter made us any different from the kids who went to gymnastics or Hebrew school a couple of days a week.
By the time I was nine, my parents’ marriage was well on its way to dissolving into nothingness as often happens when people marry young without tasting the world. (They’d met, I’d been told, when my mother was on vacation in England, visiting her great-aunt, a formidable witch who lived next door to my father’s family. He’d served as her tour guide of Wizard London, and you can guess what happened next.) When the vitriol between them got so thick that I was releasing wild magic as a stress reaction, my father called an old friend of the family, took a job as the Professor of Ancient Runes at his alma mater, and packed me off to rural Scotland.
We arrived the day after Christmas, and we’d been there for less than a week, when I bumped into Severus. And I do mean bumped. I was late for lunch in the Great Hall, and was running down the corridor when I ran into a wall of unyielding black and landed on my backside on the cold flagstone floor.
“Watch where you’re going,” came the sullen grumble from above me. “That’s five points for running in the halls, and another five for crashing into a prefect.”
“Sorry,” I said from my position on the floor. “But…I don’t think you can take points from me.”
“Five more points for being annoying,” he said, and turned his head toward the four hourglasses full of colored gems, one for each house, where absolutely nothing happened. “Bloody first years. What’d you and your friends do to the glasses?”
“Nothing,” I said. “You just can’t take points from me.”
“Yes,” he said. “I can. Which House are you in?”
I looked down at my red and blue striped shirt that was just like the ones the kids on ZOOM wore, and then back up at him. “I’m not.” I said. “I just live here. My father teaches Ancient Runes.”
He blinked at me. One long slow blink that gave him time to process everything. “You’re Professor Foster’s daughter?”
“Yes,” I said. “Most people call me Elise.” I accented the first two words, as a hint, but he didn’t take it.
He stretched out his hand to haul me back to my feet and I took it. “Thank you,” I said. I looked at his badge, with the serpent on it. “You’re in Slytherin House?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, “why?”
“I’m going to be in Slytherin someday. Dad says his Slytherin students are the most interesting, and I want to be interesting.”
“Your father was a Ravenclaw,” the boy told me.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Does that matter?”
“Sometimes.”
I opened my mouth to ask another question, but my father, apparently sensing my knack for getting into trouble, was approaching us from the other direction. “Elise,” he said, “you’re late.”
“So are you,” I pointed out.
My father laughed at me, “Yes, I suppose I am. Who’s your new friend?”
Severus turned to my father than, and introduced himself, “Severus Snape, sir. Slytherin, fifth year, prefect. Your daughter ran into me and fell. I was helping her up.”
I didn’t know why the boy was lying - well, he wasn’t really, but he wasn’t telling the truth entirely, either - but I know enough to understand than when it comes to adult vs. kid, kids have to stick together. Even if the adult is your father.
“I shouldn’t have been running,” I agreed amiably.
“No, Elise” my father said, “you shouldn’t. If classes were in session you could have run into a lot of people. He opened the door to the great hall and we followed him inside. “Did you apologize to Mr. Snape.”
“Yes.”
“All right then. No more running in the halls.” He patted my hair, and I knew there wouldn’t be trouble.
By the time we three made it to the table, there were only three seats left, and Uncle Albus was beckoning my father to the seat nearest him. I ended up between him and Severus, who, desperate not to talk to the groundskeeper who was in the next chair, asked me softly, “Why Slytherin?”
“Ravenclaw’s are smart,” I said, “but snooty. Gryffindors are all ‘rah rah, we’re so cool.’ Slytherins are kind of scary sometimes,” I met his eyes then so he knew I meant him, “but never boring. And I’d rather be scared than bored any day.”
What about Hufflepuff?” he asked me, as he passed the candied yams. “What about them?”
I thought about it, and finally said, “Harmless. I guess.”
He didn’t answer with words, but he did smile a little at my assessment, and even though my father then commanded my attention, I remembered that conversation for years, because it was the first time I saw Severus Snape smile.
I knew when I woke up on the morning after my return to Hogwarts that either my uncle or Severus had dosed my tea the night before, because even the cradling effect of the mattress and the thick, soft pillows could not have granted me a whole night’s sleep while my left foot was still encased in plaster.
With the help of Mallow, who had been my dresser at the ballet company before my injury, I dressed in a black turtleneck and green wool skirt, and added a silver chain belt around my waist as an accent. We had to charm one of the legs off my pair of black tights, and I could only wear one boot, but with a deep green cloak over everything I was witchy enough to suit even the most conservative member of our society, and still comfortable, and able to move in my cast, the way I would not have been in traditional robes. My hair was pulled into a single braid, which I left hanging down my back, and the earrings I chose were the pair Severus had given me when I’d graduated from college in California, another lifetime ago, it seemed. Nothing flashy, green jade drops on silver French hooks.
As I made my way to the door I noticed a note on the desk instructing me to stop in and see Professor Vector for tea before I meet Severus. I sent Mallow ahead to warn of my impending arrival, shoved my wand into my cast, and grabbed my crutches, heading out to get my bearings. I was expecting to be near the Snake Pit – the Slytherin common room. Instead, I’ve been placed in an obscure corridor that has only one other door at this end, the entrance to Snape’s own rooms. I rolled my eyes heavenward at the Headmaster’s not-so-subtle attempts at getting us back together, and then repeated the gesture when I turned around to set the wards at my door. My entrance was marked by a portrait of a Degas dancer I used to fancy as a child.
I was halfway to the main corridor when a blond student appeared ahead, startling me. One of my crutches skittered out of easy reach, and the noise made him freeze. “Professor Snape?” a young male voice called out.
“Be thankful it’s not,” I answered. “As I suspect you’re not supposed to be down here.”
“Who’re you?” came the response, the tone mixing equal measures of arrogance and fear.
“Hand me that crutch and I’ll tell you,” I said. “Tell me who you are and why you’re here, and I’ll consider not telling your Head of House you were out of bounds.”
The boy collected my crutch and brought it back to me. “Draco Malfoy,” he said. “Fourth year, Slytherin.”
“Elise Foster,” I countered, reclaiming the crutch. “Also Slytherin, though not for many years. Now, why are you in this hallway?”
He was still innocent enough to blush. “Looking for you, actually. Well. Sort of.”
“Oh?”
“We’d heard Professor Snape’s old girlfriend was back. Wanted to get a look. Why is your leg wrapped in that stuff?”
“Take a look, then, Mr. Malfoy, and report that you met an ordinary blond woman who didn’t even draw her wand on you when you strayed into her path.”
His own wand was out, but I wasn’t worried. “Lumnos.” He uttered the spell to make wandlight, and did, indeed, take an appraising look at me. “Are we related?” he asked after a minute or so. “We look a lot alike.”
“It’s possible,” I allowed, which was technically true. If you go back far enough all wizards are related in some fashion. “But probably distant. Now, as I am injured pending the return of Madam Pomfrey, earn the right to secrecy by escorting me to Professor Vector’s offices. I wouldn’t want another stray student to make me slip.”
“Yes ma’am.”
He turned back toward the main corridor extinguishing the wandlight with a hushed “Nox,” and we made our way up the two levels of stairs to the main entry, and then up two more to where the Arithmancy professor kept her office. To his credit, young Draco made sure any passing students gave me a wide berth, and even knocked on Vector’s door for me, before securing his dismissal.
I made a mental note to keep an eye on him then entered the presence of one of my dearest friends.
“Elise Foster, what is that contraption on your leg?” Septima asked me as I entered. “Does it hurt? Is it permanent?”
“A cast. No, but it itches. And no, hopefully Madam Pomfrey will be able to do something about it when she’s back at work,” I said, taking the questions in order. “May I sit?” She’d never been the huggy type, so it didn’t surprise me when she remained seated.
“Please do.” She pointed her wand at one of the many chairs littered with scraps of parchment and cleared it for me. “There will be tea in a moment,” she said. “Unless you’d prefer something stronger?”
In truth, what I wanted was a mug of coffee, but tea would do. “Do you have those pumpkin pinwheel cookies,” I asked as I settled myself into the chair she’d cleared. “I slept through breakfast, and Severus implied there would be a meal after the competition.”
“Oh, yes,” she said. The tea came soon after, and the cookies with it. I took a bite of one, and was instantly back home.
“I love these,” I said with my mouth full, like a child. “I’m sorry, but you can’t get them at ho –” I started to say at home and cut myself off. “In America,” I corrected, after chewing and swallowing. “So how are…things?”
Septima ran long delicate fingers through her wispy blonde hair. When we go out to restaurants, people mistake us for sisters, or, less commonly, for mother and daughter, and we really do look alike: slender, lanky honey blondes with large eyes, but decidedly olive complexions despite being relatively fair. We are blondes who tan easily, and we both tend to spend as much time as possible enjoying the outdoors. “Things are…interesting. I suppose you know Harry Potter is here at Hogwarts.”
“Even in the States we’ve known that for years,” I confirmed. “Isn’t he supposed to be the wizarding messiah or some such?”
“Some think so,” Septima told me. “Myself, I think he’s just a boy with too much on his frail shoulders. Not that I know the child.”
“He’s not Arithmantically inclined?” I sipped some tea while she answered.
“According to Severus, he’s not educationally inclined, though admittedly the old bat seems to have a personal dislike of the boy. And speaking of Snape, are you two getting back together? He was bad enough when you were dating, and then when you stopped writing…I’m sorry Elise, but if you’re not taking him back, you should leave, before his hopes rise. I love you like a sister, but I have to work with him.”
I swallowed the bite of cookie in my mouth before responding, “I don’t know. I - he seems so much darker than I remember, Septima, and yet there’s still something.”
“And you haven’t been dating any of those attractive young men in tights you surround yourself with?” Her tone was teasing, but I knew she meant the question.
“Most of those young men are only interested in other young men, to be honest. And even if they weren’t…”
“Mercy, child, you still love the man.”
She made it a declaration, and I didn’t have to confirm, but I did. “I don’t know. I think so. But then I think I’m still competing with Lily, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
She opened her mouth to answer me, but a knock at the door interrupted her, followed by the sound of a student’s voice asking for input on a project. “You’re going to love this,” she whispered to me, before inviting the youngster in.
The door opened to reveal a small Gryffindor –garbed girl with masses of the bushiest hair I’d ever seen. “Professor, I’m so sorry to interrupt but there’s only an hour left before the tri-wizard challenge and – .”
“Breathe, Miss Granger,” suggested my friend, and the girl closed her mouth, apparently taking the advice.
“I should go,” I said, as I used one crutch to hoist myself up. “Thank you for the tea, Septima. We should have lunch soon.”
Septima nodded, and turned her attention to the Granger girl, but the child was now staring at me.
“You’re Elise Foster,” she announced, as if I was uncertain of that fact. “I’ve seen you dance Giselle, but I didn’t know you were a witch.”
“Well,” I said, trying to remain pleasant. “Now you do.” And I left the room as gracefully as I could.
Hogsmeade Station was busier than I had ever seen it when I got off the train there, on that June day, but it shouldn’t have surprised me. After all, my arrival coincided with the opening challenge of the Tri-Wizard contest, an event which I did not fully understand, but seemed to be the only news in the Daily Prophet.
Honestly, I would have preferred my return to Hogwarts, and Wizarding Britain, to be a quieter one, but at least the fanatical attention to the competition drew the attention away from me, and my crutches. Well, mostly. Witches and wizards are so accustomed to healing injuries and ailments with a dose of potion or a well-placed swish and flick – sometimes both together – that the sight of a woman hobbling on crutches with her lower leg and foot in a cast was bound to draw some interest.
Still, most people merely arched their brows, or looked pointedly away, and at least my injury caused me to be so slow that by the time I had collected my luggage, with no small thanks to Mallow the house-elf, the platform had emptied.
Almost emptied.
For a moment, when I saw the tall, lean figure waiting silently at the end of the wooden walkway, I thought it must be some other wizard, but the very air seemed tense around him, and a stray movement caused his robes to swirl in a way that was achingly familiar. Stopping in front of him, I looked up into his dark eyes. “Severus.” I made his name both an identification and a greeting, not sure what my reception would be, but I did not reach out – could not, actually, as I was holding tightly to my crutches.
“The Headmaster sent me to meet you,” he informed me, his voice betraying no hint of his thoughts. “I’ve a dose of Pepper-Up if you are tired,” he continued, and though his tone remained neutral, I could see a slight softening of his eyes. “He neglected to share that you are injured. What happened?”
“Snapped my Achilles tendon during a show, and the Muggle press had the story before I had a chance to have the troupe Healer look at it,” I answered, pulling my gaze from his. “Pepper-Up would be helpful,” I admitted a second later.
He nodded once. “In the carriage.” I nodded, then inched toward it, hearing him instruct Mallow to move my things to the back. The house elf handled everything smoothly, and then snapped his fingers, Disapparating. I knew he would be seen a second later, walking through the castle gates, only to Apparate again once inside. I lifted my crutches onto the carriage seat, and reached for my wand, only to have Severus stop me. “Let me,” he said, and cast a slight levitation spell. He guided me into the carriage, and then joined me, tapping on the ceiling to signal the thestral pulling it, to move. It occurred to me that he could see the winged horses, though I could not, and I looked away long enough for him to reach his hand inside his robes and pull out a green glass bottle. “Drink it all,” he told me.
Obediently, I swallowed the liquid within, and almost immediately I felt its warming effect spreading through me, as if I was being hugged from inside. I smiled to myself – Severus Snape would never have actually hugged me in public, but this was almost the same. His head was tilted slightly, and he was watching me with unasked questions in his dark eyes, but I just offered a more obvious smile, and said, “Thank you, Severus, for meeting me, as well as for the potion.”
“I could not let you arrive on your lonesome,” he stated, a hint of softness in his clipped tones. “I would have preferred that you let me know you were coming.” There was regret in his voice, and an admonishment as well.
“I should have,” I admitted. “To be honest, I’m surprised my uncle didn’t tell you sooner. He can be an awful busybody when he’s not pretending to be a doddering old – ” Severus arched a single black eyebrow at me and I cut myself off before the Muggle epithet left my lips. ” – wizard.”
“Indeed.”
“The castle must be crawling with guests with the contest going on,” I ventured, more to keep the silence at bay than because I truly cared.
“Full to brimming,” he confirmed in a tone that left no room to doubt what he thought of the situation.. There was a beat of silence, and the mood in our carriage shifted slightly. “You stopped writing to me, Elise,” he stated, his flat tone conveying no hint of hurt, though I knew him well enough to see it in his eyes.
“You’d stopped replying, and I thought you wanted silence.” It sounded petty even to my own ears. “If it matters, there hasn’t been anyone else.” He bowed his head in response, and I took it to mean that he’d accepted my left-handed apology. I reached for his hand, touched it gently then pulled back.
He started at the brief contact, seemed to think over a million possible outcomes then crossed both arms across his chest, in a gesture that would have been intimidated had he been standing. Here in the carriage, however, it seemed protective, as if he was guarding himself.
We sat in silence for the rest of the ride, up the road, through the gates, and under the main portico, and I wondered if he was reliving old memories of our relationship, or just devising new ways to torture potions students. I didn’t ask, of course, but the way he gripped my hand as he helped me out of the carriage revealed more than he probably intended, and while it was neither the time, nor the place to question his intent, I took it as a positive sign.
Severus stayed by my side as I used my Muggle crutches to navigate the stairs, drawing slightly away when we entered, and found Albus Dumbledore waiting. “Ah, Severus. Thank you for bringing home our injured bird. I’m afraid Madame Pomfrey won’t be able to tend to you until Monday, Miss Foster.”
“I’ve gotten quite accustomed to the crutches,” I confessed. “But I can’t deny that I’d prefer to walk like a normal person.” I paused, then added, “Thank you for having me back Uncle Albus.”
“You are always welcome here, child,” he responded, stepping forward to enfold me in a gentle hug, in which I felt how slight and frail he really was. “You are family after all.”
I shivered then, either from the slight draft that was always present in the hallways of the old castle, or because I suddenly realized just how old Albus Dumbledore had become, and he pulled away to speak in a voice that included Snape as well. “You must be hungry after your journey, and I know Severus skipped dinner. Come along both of you and we’ll have tea and something warm to eat before I prevail upon Professor Snape to escort you to your rooms. You won’t mind if they’re in the dungeons, I trust?”
Our meal was a simple one of fruit, cheese, hearty bread and strong tea, and our conversation was equally basic. Uncle Albus quizzed me about my life – would I dance again once my ankle had been magically healed, had I been seeing anyone (this served as proof that he was not, in fact, omniscient, since I’d already told Severus I had not been dating). Finally, however, even the Pepper-Up Potion I’d taken in the carriage could no longer keep me from yawning.
“Headmaster, if I may, I believe Elise should get some rest.”
And with that we were dismissed although not without being asked, “Lemon drop, to see you off?”
Back in the corridor, Severus kept close to me since he could not take my arm. “Thank you,” I said softly. “For staying for tea, for escorting me…”
“You will need an escort to the event tomorrow, as well. Be ready half an hour before time, and I will accompany you.” He looked me up and down, and added with characteristic sarcasm that utterly failed to detract from the glint in his dark eyes, “And do remember which house you were in, when you choose your attire.”
I glanced down at my burgundy sweater made a chagrined face. “The house of vert et argent will not be disappointed in me,” I promised. “Nor will its Head of House.”