In the early morning, as Severus Snape leisurely ate his breakfast, he heard a soft tapping sound. Looking up, he saw a plump barn owl perched on the windowsill outside the living room, pecking at the closed glass with its talons.
Setting down his cutlery, Snape rose and walked to the window, gently pushing it open.
The owl immediately extended a leg, where a small, tightly rolled piece of parchment was tied with thin string.
Snape retrieved the letter, and before he could offer the owl any treats, it shook its fluffy feathers and flapped its wings, soaring away.
Dumbledore's letter had finally arrived. Unfurling the parchment, Snape saw a few lines scrawled in black ink: "Dear Severus, I shall arrive in St. Catchpole this evening at six o'clock. I hope this does not inconvenience you. — Albus Dumbledore."
Reading the brief message, Snape reckoned that the O.W.L. results were due soon. Uncertain of the headmaster's purpose for this visit, he decided to write the letter for Barty Crouch Jr. today.
Since Barty's father never paid him much attention, Snape didn't mind stepping in to fulfill that responsibility on old Mr. Crouch's behalf.
He finished his breakfast in a few quick bites, and with a flick of his wand as he headed upstairs, the dishes floated into the sink.
Seated at his desk, Snape picked up a quill, dipped it in ink, and began writing earnestly:
"Dear Barty,
First, heartfelt (preemptive) congratulations on passing all twelve O.W.L.s. By the time this letter reaches you, I'm certain you'll have those twelve certificates in hand. Well done!
You're practically a genius to have slogged through something as tedious as A History of Magic.
I'd wager that man gave you some stiff remark about 'upholding the Crouch family standard' or 'maintaining focus for the N.E.W.T.s,' didn't he? Ignore him. If you ask me, you deserve a proper celebration!
Yours,
S.S.
P.S. I'm proud of you. Also, does Winky know the Black family's house-elf?"
After finishing the letter, Snape carefully folded the parchment and called for his elegant eagle owl from the doorway. She had a new name now: Nocturna, meaning "night."
Nocturna perched quietly on the desk, motionless as Snape tied the letter to her leg.
He gently stroked her small head and opened the window for her. Nocturna affectionately nipped his finger, then spread her wings and glided out, swiftly becoming a dark speck on the horizon.
Turning back, Snape resumed his idle wait for the headmaster's arrival.
That evening, to welcome Dumbledore, Eileen prepared extra dishes and a dessert.
But as the minutes ticked by, even past seven o'clock, Dumbledore still hadn't appeared at the doorstep.
With no other choice, they ate a simple dinner and cleared the table.
"Are you sure you didn't misread the date?" Eileen asked, puzzled, as she used her wand to tidy the dishes.
Snape pulled the crumpled and smoothed-out parchment from his pocket, though he'd checked it at least five times already.
"'I shall arrive in St. Catchpole this evening at six o'clock. I hope this does not inconvenience you,'" he read aloud, word by word. "It says the same thing every time."
"By all accounts, Dumbledore isn't one to be late," Eileen said, frowning. "Back at school, I never heard of him missing an appointment."
"Who knows what's going on," Snape shrugged. "Maybe even he gets his days mixed up sometimes. It's fine, I'll keep waiting."
Eileen flipped through some copies of Witch Weekly borrowed from Mrs. Weasley while keeping Snape company.
Time slipped by unnoticed, and as it passed nine o'clock, only at Snape's insistence did Eileen agree to head upstairs to rest.
"You go rest," Snape said. "I'll head up soon too. If Nocturna returns before Dumbledore shows, I'll write him a letter to check."
Alone in the living room, the candlelight flickered softly in its glass holder. Snape stared at the dancing flame, lost in thought. Before he knew it, sleep overtook him, and he drifted off, slumped over the table.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed when a sharp alarm bell jolted him awake—someone was near the house.
Grimacing, he shook his numb arm, drew his wand from his robes, and silenced the bell.
Blearily lifting his head, Snape glanced at the wall clock—it was past one in the morning.
Outside, a storm raged, rain pelting the windows and wind howling fiercely.
Gripping his wand tightly, Snape cautiously used magic to open the front door and tossed out a balled-up piece of parchment.
"It's me, Severus," came Dumbledore's weary voice through the storm.
Snape hurried to the door and peered outside.
Dumbledore stood in the rain, water streaming down his black traveling cloak, merging with the rivulets on the ground.
A flash of lightning revealed another figure behind him, hooded and trembling in the storm.
"Come in, Professor. Er—and you," Snape called, ushering them inside. He cast a Muffliato charm toward the staircase to avoid waking Eileen.
Dumbledore stepped slowly into the wooden house, letting rainwater drip onto the floor.
Snape was taken aback—this was unlike the headmaster's usual refined demeanor. He was never careless about inconveniencing others, just as he was never late.
Dumbledore removed his hood, revealing his silver-gray hair.
Snape had never seen the headmaster like this. His face was terrifying, far worse than Snape could have imagined.
Gone was Dumbledore's kind smile, and the usual spark of joy in his blue eyes behind half-moon glasses was absent. Every wrinkle on his aged face radiated cold fury.
An aura of power emanated from him, as if he were burning, evaporating the rain from his body.
The figure who followed Dumbledore inside stood trembling, hair plastered wetly to their body.
"Professor, dry your robes with magic, or change into something else revolution," Snape hesitated. "I'll get some clean towels and robes for you both, and I'll brew some hot tea. There's a spare room here—"
"Severus…" The figure lifted their head.
In the dim candlelight, Snape recognized those green eyes.
Lily Evans.
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