Title: HP&THBP 1.6180339887...
Genre: Fan Fiction, Spiritual/Drama
Current Chapter: 3 - The Prince's Humble Abode
Chapter Word Count: 3,210
Total Story Word Count: 8,111
Summary: Two years after the Final Battle, Harry Potter receives an unexpected and rather unwanted letter amidst his already tumultuous life. He embarks upon a new quest, this time a more deeply interpersonal one as he blazes a trail down what's left of Severus Snape's memory lane. Is he truly ready for his parents', or more accurately, Severus Snape's history?
III
The Prince's Humble Abode
APPARITION always made Harry quite dizzy. He stood for a moment staring at the cracked cement beneath his feet, getting his bearings back and his faculties functioning normally before he took his surroundings in. It didn't take too long and soon his eyes were roving over a dilapidated, dingy, near-deserted spread of outdated brick houses with an old factory chimney looming on the hazy grey horizon. Harry himself happened to be on a street corner near a small, gross-smelling brook, which wended its way on his left and on towards another grouping of slightly nicer houses.
Harry began to recognize the area from the memories he had witnessed of his mother and Snape as children, although the years had made the area itself worse for wear. The rusted, crooked street sign did, in fact, read "Spinner's End".
Being on the correct street, Harry decided that the only way to go was forward and so forward he went. He began to wonder, after passing what had to be the seventh-or-so boarded-up house, if anything still lived in these sad little dwellings at all anymore.
Not that he was worried about being seen or anything (he was usually most comfortable in Muggle jeans and t-shirt anyway) but he found the lack of people rather comforting, oddly enough. At least he felt that no-one was going to bother him about anything he was or wasn't doing here.
Here, he was only here for one thing, a thing of his own choosing again, with no-one to bother him except the memory of a dead man.
Harry felt the house before he actually saw it. For a dead wizard's house, the levels of magic were still immensely powerful. Harry could tell which house was his former Professors' purely by the magic it radiated though, true to his word, the Potions Master's' house was indeed the very last house on the street, which ended into a patch of trees through which Harry could glimpse an empty lot surrounded by chain-link and a bit of old church or factory in the background (it was hard to be sure which it was, everything had the same dull grey and washed-out brick-red hue).
Harry turned his attention to the house he had now approached, stopping at the tiny walkway to the front door to adjust the feather-light bags on his shoulder. It was quite a foreboding house - the small second-story windows bored down darkly onto him as his Potions Professor's eyes had done and the gnarled oak that stood sentinel to the house loomed over him menacingly, bringing to mind that fume-induced anxiety over hot, bubbling cauldrons.
Truly nothing compared to, say, a basilisk, but none-the-less Harry's stomach felt queasy again. He clenched his teeth and treaded down the path.
Due to this bout of nervousness, he almost forgot about the wards (and to think he was a trained Auror!); he stopped himself just before he ran into them (invisible though they were but their magic felt a tad prickly due to the age of the spell). Harry now pulled the envelope with the key and the page with the ward-unlocking incantation in it out of his inside jacket pocket. He took the piece of paper out of the envelope and looked at what was written there.
Harry groaned.
Of course the old bat would have an essay-long dissertation for Harry to read through before he could even enter the stupid house! And of course Harry had not even bothered to look at these "instructions" before he left on this adventure.
Harry suddenly wished Hermione were here.
Sighing, Harry accepted his fate and skimmed over the parchment until he found a stand-alone Latin phrase:
Amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus.
This had to be the incantation (trust Snape to pick a whole sentence instead of a compound word). Harry now scanned for an explanation on wand movement.
There is no need for foolish wand-waving - this particular incantation merely utilizes the projection of the will, being the speaker is pure of heart and intention.
Pure of heart and intention? Harry thought that this was a strange concept to associate with Snape...and not to mention a ward-unlocking spell. But the longer he puzzled over it, somehow the more it made sense.
And doesn’t “amor” mean “love”? He was sure it did, but Harry couldn’t translate out the rest of the Latin and he didn’t feel like bothering to do so at the moment (again he wished Hermione were here).
He took another cursory glance over the rest of the instructions and garnered the gist of how to unlock the wards surrounding Snape’s house; it was basically just carefully directed wandless magic. Pocketing the parchment, he faced the walkway head-on and squared his shoulders.
He wouldn’t claim to be the best at wandless magic, but he could do it, as long as he directed the stream of magical energy through his hand (soon he would master wandless magic without having to use his hands at all, like other witches and wizards of advanced skill). At least it wasn’t nonverbal, as well.
Harry cleared his mind of all current noise and allowed his “pure intentions” of the situation to come forth: I am here by permission of the master of these premises; I come bearing no ill will (or at least with as little resentment as I can honestly muster up); I seek the truth. For good measure he raised his wand-arm up, palm vertically aligned with the barrier, which was glimmering visibly due to his connecting with the magic within and around himself. When the feeling of connectivity seemed harmonious, and he could more clearly see the glimmering of the wards, Harry then softly, albeit firmly spoke the “incantation”, “Amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus!”
The translucence of the barrier undulated a few times before finally bursting like a blister at the top and then it began to melt like hot beeswax. Harry kept firm his concentration lest he was forced to begin breaking the spell all over again, which would take more energy than it was worth.
With one last final push of magic through his palm, the ward disappeared with a small sizzle. The surrounding air immediately felt more open, less strained, but vulnerable, too. Distantly behind him, he heard a car’s door being shut and he was glad he had finished his job quickly. So Harry took a cautious step forward and when he was met with no resistance, he squared his shoulders and walked on down the path and to the entryway of the dismal brick house.
A shudder passed up his spine as he crossed the last step onto the wooden porch. But none-the-less Harry pulled the key out from his inside jacket pocket. He examined it for the first time since receiving it, standing on the tiny and horribly slanted landing of the last house on Spinner’s End. The key was large, old fashioned, and looked like the silhouette of a moose facing you front-on. Harry was reminded of Divination, but could not for the life of him remember what a moose represented as an omen. He shrugged his shoulders and almost got the key shoved in the keyhole when a suit-clad man approached him saying, “Oh thank God that someone is finally here!”
The man was obviously a Muggle. It wasn’t just his garb nor the habit of exclaiming to a debatably existent deity that gave it away, Harry just had a pretty good eye for this sort of thing now.
“Er, and you are?”
“Oh, do excuse me! My name is Russell Slater, and I am the Solicitor assigned to take over Mr. Snape’s Last Will and Testament as the courts could not get in contact with the named executor.” Russell Slater extended his hand stiffly.
Harry grasped it. “Harry Potter, er, Private Investigator.” Which was about a stone’s throw away from the truth as far as how the Aurors operated these days.
Slater the Solicitor gripped Harry’s hand more tightly. “I had a weird hunch, a lucky feeling today when I left my office to come here.” Harry’s stomach dropped. The man’s eyes were shining in a way that was eliciting an anxiousness in Harry. “It felt a little crazy, driving all the way out here on just a lucky feeling, I’ll admit, but the stars must be right because not only do I run into someone here but I run into the named executor himself! It is very splendid to finally meet you, Mr. Potter!” And with one final stiff squeeze, he let go of Harry’s hand and lapsed into small talk. “Did you hear about that Y2K problem that the Americans were all head over heels about? ‘Lotta nutters ‘cross the water.”
“Er, yeah,” Harry airily replied, having no clue what nonsense this Y2K problem was and having never been to the United States himself. He felt a little dazed and confused, but mostly relieved that the man hadn’t known who he was really.
“Well, I suppose we ought to get to business, then!” Slater said and began rifling through his briefcase. “I just have a few documents for you to sign and then I’ll answer any questions you have about, well, executing. Do you have any identification on you, Mr. Potter?”
“Er, yeah,” Harry said again, fishing around in his back pocket for his Auror-issued ID card. Harry showed it to Mr. Slater, who squinted briefly and then nodded his head after the card showed him whatever necessary form of identification he needed to see. Harry stashed the card back into his pocket as Mr. Slater thanked him and bent down to rifle through his briefcase for some documents.
The situation suddenly dawned upon Harry. I thought Snape was crazy, but leaving me all his possessions and entrusting me with the care of his ‘estate’...? “Why would he name me the executor?”
A brief silence from Mr. Slater and then a curt inclination of his head as he said, “Were you not close with Mr. Snape?”
Apparently Harry had said his thoughts aloud again. He sighed, “...he was only my Professor...”
Mr. Slater looked around their surroundings. “Oh? What on Earth did he teach?”
“Er, at the police academy, which is where I went to school before becoming a Private Investigator, y’know, he taught...chemistry...and, er, self-defense...” Harry knew he still needed work on his exposition, but now was not the time to nitpick proper form when dealing with the Muggle Public in an Auror undercover-type situation!
“And who would’ve thought, living here... It always fascinates me, little pieces of past people’s past... Now, if you would just sign these documents relinquishing the will to you...” Here he flopped a stack of documents in front of Harry’s face.
The will?! Harry’s heart began to beat uncontrollably. He wasn’t prepared for this! He was just supposed to come here to view some left-over memories in a long-forgotten deserted Muggle house! Inheriting the Snape Estate was not something he had ever thought or imagined or hoped for! Not ever! Not even in his nightmares!
But the man had left it to him, Harry.
Kreacher’s words flitted through his mind, “Good luck at the Prince’s abode, Master.” Harry looked around the humble surroundings and something twinged in his heart...
...and so he grabbed the papers and the proferred ballpoint-pen out of Mr. Slater’s hands and began just signing away on the documents.
"The only thing is," Mr. Slater said.
“What’s that?” Harry asked, wary of the hesitation he heard in the man’s voice.
"The only thing is, I have no key. There wasn’t one left with the Solicitor’s Office... terribly sorry for that slip-up but you must understand my cause for urgency in your signing of these documents here...I mean, this has been left in my care for over two years and frankly -”
“Don’t worry, sir, Snape actually left one with me. I just had, er, forgotten about it; y’know how sometimes the post can get mixed in with the ads and magazines lying around, eh?”
Slater the Solicitor looked immensely relieved. “You’re a true hero, Mr. Potter.”
“I get that a lot.”
“I bet you do in your line of work!”
There was a moment of awkward foot shuffling.
“Well, then! If you’re done signing away on those, I’ll just have a little look-over and then we can both be about our merry business!” Mr. Slater cleared his throat as Harry returned to him the stack of documents. The manner in which Slater looked them over nearly screamed, ‘The Nagging of the Boss and Wife Shall Finally Come to Rest and I Shall Have Peace Once Again!” The man tore off the yellow paper copies to hand to Harry as fast as he could, which wasn’t that fast as the man had to flip to each page and tear it out and then hand it to Harry individually. Harry had to stifle his laughter throughout the whole ordeal.
Once all the copies had been transferred to Harry, Slater asked, “Before I depart, do you have any questions? The documents themselves ought to outline what possessions goes to whom and whatnot, but I can answer anything general for you. Speaking of documents!” He reached down and pulled out a thick scroll from his briefcase. “Funny way to write one’s will, but I’ve seen worse - at least it’s not on a napkin!” He held it out. Harry took it.
“So, any last questions?” Slater prompted.
Only if you could tell me why Snape left me all his stuff, Harry thought. To Slater he said, “No, I think I can manage from here. ...Thank you for your persistence on this, I’m sure it wasn’t easy holding onto this for so long.”
“Just doing my duty! Anyways, good day! Nice meeting you! Take care!” And with a last curt wave, Slater the Solicitor scuttled off the crooked porch and back down the road to his car.
The air felt heavy with the quiet that settled in after the car rumbled to life and drove off around the corner and out of sight. Alone again, and again with another stack of stuff from dead Snape, Harry wasted no more time in shoving the old key into the keyhole and turning the handle.
The door swung open with a creak that could have had its own debut in a horror flick. Harry flinched on principle. And true to Ron's forecast, at least five spiders scuttled out from inside the dark entryway and onto the porch. Harry had a good laugh then, imagining Ron at his side whimpering in thinly veiled disgust and horror.
The laugh dissipated, seemingly into the darkness of the threshold before him. He poked at the door a little with his foot, nudging it open ever so slightly. A musky scent wafted out from the wider slit, something old and threadbare, something spicy yet musty, something Harry could almost place, like when a word was just on the tip of your tongue but you couldn't quite grasp it for the life of you.
Harry Potter stepped over the threshold and into Severus Snape’s former house.
“Lumos”, whispered Harry. His wand tip lit up the room before him in a soft blue-white light.
“Hermione would feel right at home here,” he said aloud, just because; the little sitting room looked like it was trying to be a grand library in what little space it could manage with as it was packed with layer upon layer (Harry could see double layers of books on some shelves) of books on shelves with only a couple pieces of furniture in the entire room. Strangely enough, Harry himself felt right at home here!
It was perhaps the same thing as when he had set foot in the Weasley’s place the first time - it was cluttered with objects and nick-nacks and always had a distinct smell; or perhaps it was when he went to Hermione’s parent’s place for the first and nearly only time - it was well-put together, very prim and proper but with an air of homey comfortability; it was perhaps even the same thing with the Dursley’s place - though he hated it and the people who owned it, it had a certain homey-ness to it in its preciseness, not to mention the familiarity it had, despite his hatred of it... He certainly felt more at home here than he ever had in Grimmauld Place...
...or perhaps it was because this place was Muggle by nature?
Never-the-less, Harry’s head was beginning to hurt with all these deep thoughts so he decided to continue exploring on to the only other room to his left, which he presumed was the kitchen.
The kitchen it was indeed and there was even another envelope addressed to Harry on the dust-laden table.
“Merlin’s bollocks! More to read? What, didn’t give me enough as a student?”
Although he had to admit the level of thoroughness and having some sort of directions helped the situation quite a bit. He set his bags and papers down on the table, disturbing a significant amount of dust in the process. He picked up the new envelope addressed to him and fanned the dust a bit, but that proved to worsen the dust cloud as everything else was covered in thick dust. Harry retreated back into the front sitting room and very gingerly sat down in an armchair and opened the envelope. He adjusted his glasses and his lit wand and began to read.
Mr. Potter,
Welcome to my former humble abode (or shall I call it yours, now?). If all went according to plan, you’ve received my Last Will & Testament from someone representing the Muggle Solicitor’s Office. That document will outline what to do with my possessions (for instance, most of the books are going to Miss Granger), so worry about that as you see fit. I’ve other documents for you, though. Important documents. Some corporeal, others more cerebral...no...more spiritual in nature.
The memories are currently stored in the heirloom chest up in the crawl-space. You’ll have to activate them to view them, though I do not possess a Pensieve. Rather, I have modified them so that they behave more interpersonally with the viewer; instead of being an outside witness to the events, the viewer is now the experiencer of the memories, though the viewer’s own sense of self and ability to think critically with their own faculties remains intact (to a certain extent - like this, the memories are much more immersive and it is often easier to make mental note of important instances to then analyze them once “woken up”). I must caution that this method of viewing is quite intense (and completely unorthodox as it is the culmination of a near lifetime of experimentation on my part) but it was the only way to preserve these memories and the only way to string them together into a coherent picture of the whole.
Why go to such a length to preserve my own memories? you’re most likely wondering. They are not merely my own.
Harry Potter, I also have memories from both your parents.
Harry Potter, I also have memories from both your parents.
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