Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and Co. I am making no money off of this story. Sue me and you will get nothing, because I have nothing to give you.
A/N: This fic will be eleven chapters long; about half of it will be in the present HP universe, taking place in Harry's fifth year, and the other half will be flashbacks. This is *not* a fifth year fic; it is about Severus Snape's past and his relationship with his family. There will be very little action – this is drama, so please don't expect any climactic battles. In this chapter, Snape has been badly injured and may die. Dumbledore contacts his one remaining family member. Rated PG-13 for swearing and violence. Enjoy and review!
Chapter One: Contact
Dear Mr. Snape,
I am sorry to inform you that Severus has been gravely injured and is in danger of death. Although I am aware of the difficult past between you, I hope you will be able to put that aside in this time of crisis. Severus is still at Hogwarts, as it may be dangerous to move him.
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
"Are you quite sure about this, Albus? Severus didn't leave you with the names of anyone he would want to be notified in case of an emergency. Perhaps he doesn't want this man to know," McGonagall pointed out as Dumbledore sealed the envelope with the Hogwarts crest.
"I can't very well sit here and allow Severus to die without any family members by his bedside. He deserves to have someone with him, even if he doesn't think so himself," Dumbledore replied. A moment later a large bird swooped in through the open window and landed on Fawkes' perch. Fawkes ruffled his feathers, giving the other bird a dirty look, and flew onto Dumbledore's shoulder.
McGonagall stared at the newcomer. "A falcon? You're sending the letter long distance? Are you sure it will make it…in time?" Only one falcon was kept at Hogwarts, for especially important messages – since falcons were harder for a potential interceptor to snare – and for the very rare off-continent delivery.
"I certainly hope so." Dumbledore tied the letter onto the falcon's leg and it abruptly took off.
*************************
The great bird flew farther than it ever had in its life, and came very close to losing its way completely. It found its way in the end. The falcon, after gliding across endless miles of the Atlantic Ocean, found itself tiredly circling a tiny island in search of the recipient of the message.
There was nothing on the island but a castle. The castle was so big, and the island so small, that nothing else could possibly fit. To the southwest was the gatehouse and barbican, complete with drawbridge, though it had always been more decorative than functional, as those witches and wizards who were allowed to enter or leave the castle Apparated – and everyone else was kept either out or in.
There were several towers and various other buildings. Among these was a falconry, and this is where the falcon headed. It swooped down to the brick building and entered through a large open window. It landed on a perch not far from the window and immediately caught the eye of a gaping red-haired boy.
"Woah! Where d'you come from, hmm?" The boy smiled a gap-toothed, friendly grin, and grabbed for the letter attached to the falcon's leg. It gave what could only be the bird version of a growl, piercing the boy with it suspicious gaze. "'Ey, look, I know it ain't for me! But I can't 'ave you flying about botherin' people – if you can call the old farts who live 'ere people, at any rate. You'd get fried if you tried to enter one of the towers! There's enough wards on 'em to take down a dozen trolls, or giants even! I'll make sure it gets delivered to whoever it's for, promise!" The falcon reluctantly held out its leg, and the boy untied the letter. As soon as it was off, the falcon ruffled its feathers loudly, disturbing the other birds, and settled in for a nap.
"Aye, that's right, get your rest, an' I'll get this delivered to…" he looked down at the name of the addressee on the letter and yelped. "Ack! You would stick me with 'avin' to go deliver to 'im! 'E's one of those big shots I was talkin' to you about! Ah well, it 'as to be delivered…"
The boy walked none too quickly out of the falconry, letting out a belabored sigh as he left, and made his way to the state rooms. At least he could thank his lucky stars that Seneschal Snape spoke English, because the boy had never been good with Mandarin or Spanish, though he didn't mind those South African languages. He never would have questioned knowing so many languages at such a young age; he was not aware that boys grew up differently anywhere else. Servants were born there, and servants died there, and lived sheltered but happy lives in between. Castle Atlantic had never, in its long history as the headquarters of the International Confederation of Wizards, known anything different. Wars were bickered about there, but fought elsewhere.
Seneschal Snape was one of the six most important people who lived on the island, and thus one of the six most important people in the world. He was the Seneschal of Europe; he, like the other five Seneschals, had the task of settling arguments between lesser Representatives of countries within his sphere of influence, as well as having arguments of his own with the other Seneschals and other duties which mere servants were not privy to. The boy thought it would be grand to be so well-respected just for being able to shout really loudly.
The boy was stopped on his way many times by people wondering what on earth he was doing in that section of the castle – his mother among them – but all he had to do was hold up the letter and he was allowed to pass. By the time he got to the door he was walking with a militaristic gait and feeling very self-important. The hard gaze of the guards at the door soon put a stop to that; one of them snatched the letter from his fingers and scrutinized him and the envelope thoroughly, and he felt like he was six inches tall.
"Get on with you," the guard said sternly, handing the letter to another guard who began unlocking the door to the Seneschal's quarters. "We'll take it from here." The boy gave the guard the dirtiest look he dared to before shuffling away. He needn't have worried about speaking the Seneschal's language – he wasn't going to get within ten feet of him!
*************************
Seneschal Snape rubbed the index finger of his hand against the bottom edge of his patch over his left eye socket. He dipped his quill into the black ink at his desk and wrote three words on the paper in front of him: More black ink. He signed it with his usual flourish, folded it up, and stood to hand it to one of the guards outside to have it delivered to the supply section. The guards were more like message boys, and were a bored lot, really. Just as he stood knocked on the door to his study. "Come in," he called.
The guard entered and bowed. The Seneschal nodded his head and the guard handed a letter to him. He handed him the note about the ink in return, before the guard bowed and made his exit. The Seneschal read the return address of the letter to see whether it was worth his immediate attention.
Hogwarts. He tore the envelope open.
The Seneschal skimmed the short letter. Severus. Dying.
He blinked his eye and remembered.