Begin Again (Severus Snape/OC Love Story)

Chapter Sixteen: Welcome Home

        The ripping sensation staggered me off balance, tugging me haphazardly through a swirling mess of colors and scenery, but as I squeezed my eyes shut and held my grip firmly on the quill only one image was stuck engraved into my mind. It had happened so fast, maybe I hadn't seen or heard him correctly. Maybe he was just there to see Dumbledore. Maybe he wasn't there to stop me from leaving.

Or maybe I was being naïve.

At long last I was thrust out of the invisible force without discretion and, still jarred by Snape's unexpected arrival, barrel-rolled sloppily onto the frosty morning grass. A brief flash of stars tainted my vision as my forehead met solid earth, knocking the breath from my lungs. I waited for my eyesight to clear, flipping onto my back and laying in the clear dawn sunlight for a few minutes until I could blink away the haze. Above my head not far from where I landed was the yellow stucco house that I had barely had the chance to call home.

The moist lawn dampened my clothing quickly, and I could feel loose blades of grass clinging itchily to my bare arms. Despite how uncomfortable it was, I felt rooted in that spot, wondering again and again what he would have said to me had he made it there just a second earlier; had he not been a mere moment too late. A pang of regret weighed down my gut, but I squashed it quickly. I had made my decision. I wouldn't turn back now. I had to accept that I would never know what Snape wanted to say to me.

It wasn't until the mumble of a conversation reached my ears that I snapped out of my own thoughts. The voices were coming from the kitchen window behind me, which from the sound of it must have been cracked open slightly. The exchange became clearer and more audible by the moment, as it seemed the participants were gradually moving closer to the window. I easily recognized my dad's flat timbre, and it sounded like he was arguing with someone.

"I didn't know, I didn't know!" my dad said wearily, finally close enough to overhear.

"That's not the truth, Michael, and you need to take ownership of that," said the second voice, sounding cold and harsh. It was familiar, but I couldn't quite place it.

My father's throat made a noise of desperation that rather resembled a toad croaking. "You can't," he warned darkly, "speak of this to anyone."

"I'm afraid I have no choice. The level of irresponsibility cannot be ignored. Not this time." Seized by a sudden brain wave, the owner the other voice suddenly dawned on me. Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic.

The seriousness of the discussion becoming immediately palpable, I hastily crouched onto my feet, scuffled awkwardly across the lawn, and pressed myself against the stucco wall directly under the open window, careful not to be seen or heard.

"How could you, Rufus? I've just lost my wife..." his voice was heavy with pain.

"Indeed, and had it not been for your lack of vigilance, she would still be - "

"No!" he cut off the minister abruptly, now void of his previously grief-stricken tone. "Don't say it, don't you dare suggest..."

The sound of something banging on the tabletop, probably a fist, halted him mid-sentence. "Suggest?" the minister hissed. "This is not a matter of jumping to conclusions, Michael. Aside from the moral concerns, as minister I have obligations; responsibilities that supersede our friendship and therefore I cannot remain silent on this matter." My heart was hammering very fast, and I could not shake the rapidly amplifying feeling of dread that wrenched in my chest. Something was very, very wrong.

During the few seconds of silence that followed, I imagined a look of aghast painted onto my father's face that probably mimicked my own. I was trying hard not to speculate at what the minister was hinting at before getting the full story, but the unbearable thoughts came anyway. Did my father have something to do with mom's death?