Epilogue - 12 August 1996

"It is not fair!" Heather stamped her foot and sparks of magic chased over the windowpanes. "Why does she get to go? I'm only a year younger—"

"Heather Snape." Grammy's sure voice was a whip and Poppy was more than happy to see her younger sister snap her teeth together. Though that flip of hair would stop her from a second helping of Grammy's muffins. "You are not yet ready for your wand. Poppy is eleven. You are ten. You're a clever girl and can remember when your time at Hogwarts will begin…can you not?"

Heather's lips pressed together, and she looked so like Father… "Next year," she bit out. "I will be allowed next year."

"Exactly that. Now, we will stay here and you will help me with the sticky toffee pudding. Let's channel that excess magic into something useful."

It was the first day that the new intake to Hogwarts could officially have their wand chose them…and it would be a crush in Ollivanders. Her best friend, Megan Moody, and her dad would be there to collect her at nine sharp. Her parents would meet them at the shop…as they couldn't guarantee to be prompt. Mum had something on…and Father had the final stages of something unexpectedly foul and unstable in his basement laboratory. And his potion was the reason Poppy and her three sisters had been at Grammy's for the past few nights.

A curl of worry twisted in Poppy's belly. She wanted her parents there, to witness her first rite as a witch. A smile twitched at her mouth. But she supposed that was turning Heather's hair the colour of ripe blueberries when a greedy two-year-old stole a pot of her favourite fruit.

The chime of the front door had Poppy racing to it. She checked —as had been drummed into her from a tiny age— the foe-glass and then peeked through the spyhole. The hulk of Uncle Alastor surged there. He leant forward filling the spyhole with his magical eye, where it span and whirled, and Poppy grinned.

She flung open the door. "Uncle Alastor, please come in."

He wasn't her real uncle, of course. Neither of her parents had any brothers or sisters. But he'd been her life forever. When he wasn't being the Hogwarts Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts, that was.

She waved at Megan who stood shyly by her famous father. It wasn't easy having such a famous parent. The man who single-handedly removed a dark wizard and his followers from their world. She suspected it was a lot to live up to. It was bad enough being the daughter of two Masters…

"Alastor."

The Defence against the Dark Arts professor gave a polite nod to Grammy, his mouth twitching upwards. His strange eye whirled, darting about the room and fixing on the four girls, before fixing back on Grammy.

"Madam Randall. Only four girls? I could bring you some spare girls if you have need them."

Grammy snorted and pushed herself out of chair to lean heavily on her walking stick. She waved him into the little parlour set above her pub. "I believe your latest is to be a girl too?"

"So the healer says."

The old woman patted his arm, her fingers twisted and gnarled against the brown leather of the professor's sleeve. "Seven girls, Alastor. Seven." She shook her head. "Will you stop now, or still try for a boy?"

There was a softness to the wizard's craggy face. "I was happy with my first, with my little Lisa. More than happy. Me with a daughter. But, my Nora…wanted a quidditch team. And I…I can deny her nothing."

"You're a soft touch, Alastor."

He barked a laugh. "That I am." He looked to Poppy and Megan. "Time we were off. It'll be a busy first day at Ollivanders."

Grammy caught Poppy's sleeve as she pulled on her thin summer cloak. "Your wand, child, it will show you things. Be ready."

Poppy frowned. Mum had said to her that there was something in the Prince line, a knowing, that found the eldest girl in a descended family. Magic will out, as the old woman before would say. Poppy's heart squeezed as a thought chased, leaving hot panic in its wake. The reason why her parents weren't there… Oh…oh. "I…I am a witch though, aren't I, Grammy?"

"Oh, my dearest and sweetest girl." She pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You are such a witch. The world will fall before you."

Another of Grammy's strange and sweeping statements. Mum would frown at them, her look thoughtful and sharp, as if she'd stumbled on a new arithmantic equation. Father simply rolled his eyes. Especially as over one family dinner, their Grammy had declared he'd make a fine Minister for Magic. Mum had grinned and said he could perfect his best scowl for the press. He'd glowered at both of them for the rest of the meal.

"I just want to find a wand."

"You will. Magic churns and rushes through your family, Poppy, have no worry."

But how could she help but worry as she trotted after Uncle Alastor, silent, as Megan chattered away, half to her, half to her father. She wanted the warm hold of Mum and Father's surety to drive away the wild churn of her nerves.

She was a witch. She was. Heather had had blueberry coloured hair for six months. Proof. It was proof…and she was feeling better until they moved into the surge of people crowding Diagon Alley and knotting around Ollivander's shop.

"Alastor!"

A voice, a wave and a wild tangle of curls declared Mum was in the queue forming outside. Father stood beside her, tall and pale and with a distinct gap around him. His infamous scowl was in play.

Poppy grinned. They'd kept her a place in the queue, so that they were near the front. Second after a blond boy, a younger, sandy haired boy and a girl with almost as wild a head of hair as Mum. Poppy frowned at the dark brown…nest. Definitely worse than Mum's.

Mum drew her into an enveloping hug, squeezing her tight. "Oh, this so exciting, my lovely Poppy."

"Wife, she needs to breathe," Father murmured, his black eyebrow arched.

Mum stuck out her tongue and his mouth twitched upwards. Behind them, a long-haired man huffed and muttered something to his glasses-wearing friend but Uncle Alastor fixed his magical eye on them and the first man blanched. "Good morning, Black."

Black gave a curt nod. "Professor Moody."

The door to Ollivander's opened and the man himself appeared. "Welcome, welcome…we have a busy day today. Will the first three families please come inside?"

They all shuffled forward into the shadowy shop, thick with the smells of wood and hair and other strange...animaly things Poppy did not want to dwell on. With a clatter of the bell, the door closed behind Black and his group. Poppy's heart thudded, but Mum gave her hand a comforting squeeze, as her other sought out Megan's. She bit her lip, her face pink as Mr Ollivander narrowed his eyes on the first young wizard of the day. "Ah, Mr Granger, you are very welcome today."

Mum sucked in a breath and blinked, staring at the boy with short, sandy hair and sticky-out teeth. He grinned up at the girl with the wild hair, who urged him forward. She looked…familiar. More than her hair. Something…

The boy took up the wand and trailed magic in a glittering silver wave. The girl with him clapped, as did Mum, her eyes bright. Was she…crying? Did she know them?

"A perfect fit, Mr Granger. Yes, walnut, springy, dragon heartstring and 12 inches. A fine wand. You will do very well with it."

And as galleons slipped into the hand of the wandmaker's assistant, Poppy edged forward.

"Are we late? Has Elizabeth chosen her wand yet?"

An older boy with glasses and wild scruffy hair and another with burning orange hair burst into the wand shop and the wandmaker narrowed his creased eyes on them.

"Mr Potter, Mr Weasley. This is a solemn rite. Control yourselves or remove yourselves from my shop. Your sister is next, after Miss Snape and Miss Moody."

The orange haired boy flushed a purplish red to the roots of hair and the other boy mumbled his apology under the glare of his father. Poppy assumed the man with equally wild hair and glasses —another Mr Potter?— was his relation. Mr Black —the man Professor Moody had glared at—had his gaze fixed on her. He was scowling and Poppy blinked, her pulse jumping.

"Black." Father growled the name, low and hard and the hairs on her neck lifted. "We can quite easily step outside." He flicked a glance to Uncle Alastor. "Alastor will you act as my second?"

Mr Potter the Elder but a firm hand on Mr Black's arm. "Not here and not now, Sirius. I will not have Elizabeth's day spoilt. Do you want to explain how you got in duel to Lily?"

Mr Black paled and his grey eyes skirted over Poppy and away.

"Miss Snape?"

Poppy snapped her eyes back to the elderly wandmaker and reached into the velvet lining of the wand box he presented to her.

"An unsual wand this. Vine with inlay of ebony. Dittany stalk as its core. Almost...unique. I have sold one other. To Madam Madelaine Randall, I believe."

The hum of it tickled Poppy's fingers before she touched the wand, magic curling up to her skin. She breathed, letting it reach for her. Magic was her right. She glanced back to Mum and blinked. What…?

Threads of silver chased all around her, stretching out to swamp the girl with the wild hair who was still fussing over Granger. Strange connexions that didn't make sense.

Time. Change...

The words whispered through her thoughts.

More of them woven all around the shadowy shop, snaking to everyone in it.

"Pick up the wand, Miss Snape. It will become…easier."

Mr Ollivander's words were a soft whisper and she blinked back at him and eased the long, straight wand from its box—

Her chest hollowed the wild rush of…something chasing through every inch of her. Her hair…lifted, a wild cloud around her head, so for the first time, her straight black locks looked like Mum's…

"Garrick…?" Father's voice somewhere off to the left, quick and concerned.

"Madelaine Randall was the same, Severus. The first touch of a wand, opens some to a family…talent."

Mum gasped and Poppy looked to her. She froze.

Words now chased through the air, flowing along the lines of silver. Mum…she was also the girl –Hermione Granger— with the wild hair. And shadows chased around those who…should not be there. Her…her brother…David. A brother never born. The girl, Elizabeth. And…and Megan. Her best friend, a phantom.

Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy…all turned and twisted. The blond boy, had a different family, was an enemy of the girl he'd accompanied to the wand shop…not, brought up in the same house. So different. So much difference.

And Harry Potter had a cut of evil under his flesh, something so foul and rotten she wanted to run from it.

James Potter, and the odious Sirius Black, were grey, more wisp of smoke than flesh…because they were... Merlin, they were dead. Professor Moody and Father…changed, grew wizened and gaunt and weighted with darkness.

Even the air, the walls, the glass was shuttered with a strange and heavy darkness…and evil. Such evil.

Trembling Poppy held up her own hand and found herself…insubstantial. Tears broke free.

"What's wrong with her?" The orange boy –Ron Weasley— scoffed…and Uncle Alastor glared at him. He clamped his mouth shut.

"Mum…?"

Poppy was swept up into her mum's arms and Father's too. The rightness, the safety bled down into her bones and the wild rush of panic faded and died. And the world she knew slipped back. Light and secure, and filled with the people she loved. Whole and well. And she knew, just as Grammy had said. She knew.

"You… Everything? You changed… You did all this." Poppy stared up at her mum. A Master Arithmancer. A brilliant witch, everyone said. But no one could ever know how brilliant. "Thank you."

Mum snorted. Half laugh, half sob. "You are very welcome, my lovely girl. Now, let's pay Mr Ollivander, then, when Megan has her wand, its back to Grammy's for her very special and gooey stick toffee pudding. Yes?"

"Yes."

Father offered a snowy white handkerchief with a brief smile and Poppy was glad to clean up her face.

Yes, sticky toffee pudding –especially so early in the morning— would be wonderful.

Hermione closed the door to the kitchen and stepped out in the little courtyard behind the Bow-Legged Witch. She sucked in clean, warm air, the hints of lunch still drifting. Poppy had Grammy's talent to see time, to see how everything should have fallen.

She'd have to contact Minerva and have a…special waiver for Poppy to have regular contact with her Grammy. Her daughter would need the older witch's vast experience with her unique Prince family gift.

But beyond that, the image of a sandy haired boy of eleven was stuck in her head. David Granger, Poppy said was his name. Named after his father… Her father.

"I…she has a brother, Severus. A magical brother." She sucked in another wobbly breath and looked to the dark and still figure of her husband. "My mother admitted, what I was, the strange happenings around me, made them reluctant to bring another child into the world. Fearful of what I would d…do."

Severus wrapped his arms around his sobbing witch and pressed a kiss to her tamed hair. It had been a full and trying day and it was still only one o'clock. And Hermione, his Hermione, to have Poppy's talent explode as so many other things had her caught and twisted… "Your initiative brought it about, my clever wife. Her parents would've been approached by the time she was two."

Moody had talked Headmistress McGonagall around. And who would ignore the wizard who —apparently single-handedly- took down Voldemort and his followers? Especially after Dumbledore's ignominious removal from the post of Headmaster. Hermione had brought evidence on him too. As she'd said so many years ago, his witch was thorough.

Muggleborns were sponsored now by good wizarding families. In the Grangers' case, by Andromeda and Ted Tonks...a couple –Moody said— who'd also taken in Andromeda's nephew Draco as Moody has put his parents in Azkaban.

Yes, the packed wand shop had been heaped with revelation. From his daughter learning the truth about her mother, to Hermione's meeting herself and a brother…and the wizards who'd lolloped in after Potter and Black.

A wry smile pulled at his mouth. "What by Merlin's grey and grizzly beard, did you ever see in him?"

Hermione stilled and frowned up at him. She sniffed. A conjured tissue wiped her face. "My brother?"

"That red-haired ape, Ronald Weasley? At least this timeline's Hermione is full of derision. I think she has her eye on a certain fellow Slytherin."

His wife shuddered. "Poor addled witch."

"Well, there is only one of me."

"And you're mine, Master Snape."

"I don't contest it." He shook his head. "You bound me so tight with marriage spells I squeak when I walk."

Hermione's bark of laughter warmed around his heart. "I did, indeed." She stretched up and pecked a light kiss from his lips. "Ron was…limited availability under stressful conditions. But," her smile softened, "at least Harry seemed happy. A sister for him."

"You're a one woman population explosion."

She smirked. "You've had more than your hand in one or two…or six."

Severus froze. No…no. His heart was a stone in his chest. "You're…?"

"The healer did the test this morning, which was why I was late."

Late. His gaze swept over her, cataloguing her expression, her posture. She was happy. Unworried. Fine. It was fine. His heart started beating again. He expelled a slow breath. "It's…?"

"It's twins."

"Merlin's wormy kidneys!" His backside hit a chair his –pregnant with twins— wife conjured. "Witch, are you competing with Nora Moody?"

She lifted an eyebrow and smirked at him…and looked more like him than he did. "And if I was…?"

"Now who's the addled witch?" But he drew her to him, his face pressed to the warmth of her breasts and sighed. Her familiar scent wrapped around him, sweet smelling skin with hints of jasmine and vanilla and the notes of India ink and silk. She kissed his hair and he couldn't help the grin that escaped him. He was the most fortunate wizard. Something he would never have been without the witch who was more than happy to carry yet more of his children.

"Girls again?"

His tone was deliberately glib and he got a deserved thump on the shoulder for it.

"Yes."

"Definitely competing with Nora Moody."

Hermione laughed, a low and rich and happy sound. One he treasured.

Yes, all was well with his world.