And Counting || Silvanna Snape

Chapter Ten

I'm back in time for the school year!!! How's it going?

 Snape he had said. Not Vanna, or even Silvanna, just Snape. And the care home hadn't had a 'Snape' in any of Jim's records, but a nurse remembered a woman from not long ago, the one who now funded his place there along with some of the renovations.

 So the receptionist got to work trying to find a Snape. There'd been debate about what to do with him after his mother passed, whether to keep the money and send him to some city-owned institution, but the nurse had warned against it. "She was well posh, she was. Probably got buckets of them lawyers, she'd have the hair from our heads."

 In the end it was the accountant who found 'Snape'. Generous donations, made monthly, from the account of Mrs Silvanna Black. They sent her a letter via the bank, and two days later she arrived, shaking the raindrops from her umberella as she stepped inside, a polite smile on her face.

 Silvanna received a warmer welcome than the last time, a chipped mug of tea thrust into her hands, her wool coat taken from her to dry, a comment from one of the younger nurses about how nice her dress was. She hadn't taken much notice when she'd pulled it from her wardrobe; she didn't these days. It was black, that was all that mattered. "To keep up appearences," Evelyn said.

 Evelyn could get fucked.

 There was a yellow glow about the place from the cheap lightbulbs, fending off the gloom from outside as the heavens poured, pounding on the windows in a sleepy rhythym. She followed the receptionist through to the same communal hall as before, and this time Jim was sat away from the piano, closer to one of the windows. He stared out, eyes flicking as water droplets skidded down the glass.

 She followed the nurse up to him and drew up a chair, watching him eagerly. She wasn't sure what she was watching for, but she knew the eagerness was for the hope of ceasing the monotony. Everything was the same now, every day. She did charity work to build a family name she had no connection to, instead of fghting the war she was supposed to. But short of becoming a Death Eater, Dumbledore had no further guidance.

 "Jim?" asked the nurse, leaning down to catch his attention.

 He snapped his head round, eyes suddenly focused, and said, "Snape." And then it was gone, the same clouds fogging his eyes.

 The nurse pressed on. "Yes, it's your friend, Snape. She's come to see you, like you asked."

 His eyes darted from side-to-side as if he was watching a game of tennis in the drizzly car park outside. "Snape," he muttered.

 The nurse looked at her apologetically. "I'm sorry for wasting your time," she said, taking Silvanna's empty mug from her. "He's been erratic lately, and he used to be so still. We thought he remembered you."

 Silvanna bit her lip and frowned. "It's odd," she confessed, "he never called me Snape."

 "Is there someone else he could've been talking about?" She pulled up a chair and placed a light hand on her knee. Silvanna started. It had been a while since someone had touched her like that. It wasn't stiff like Regulus dancing, or forceful like Evelyn with photographers, or affectionate like Marlene. It was soft, and warm, like Remus.

 She cleared her throat. "We spoke of my family. Perhaps it was one of them he meant."

 Perhaps.

 Silvanna had worked hard at school, and when she thought about why it was because she had nothing better to do. But she was glad she had, because she'd read about all kinds of spells. And their failures, and what such a failure may look like.

 "I've spoken to a specialist in forceful brain damage," she lied, "I wondered if I could take him to see them?"

 "Well with his mother gone, I don't see why not," the nurse said, standing up. "That'd make you his primary carer."

 She hadn't realised about Marianne. She looked at Jim now with the same sympathy people had looked at her with in the Great Hall all those years ago. She wondered if he registered it.

 "I ought to pack his things then."

*****

 Outside Mulberry House there was still a team of journalists, even though it had been months sine the funeral. There was always one, hoping to catch a glimpse of a swollen belly or Healer inside.

 Silvanna dropped the curtain and turned back into the guest bedroom, crossing her arms in front of her as Healer Marsden leaned over Jim, poking around his eyes and squinting as he attempted to diagnose.

 "You are certainly correct Mrs Black, this was a poorly performed memory charm," he said, standing back on his heels and frowning. "It's all knots and frayed edges I'm afraid. There's nothing I personally can do."

 "What about another Healer?" she pushed. She knew it had been magic, she knew it!

 "Family Healers work with lawyers to maintain privacy," Marsden explained, tentatively perching on a chair, "I cannot promise the same of a specialist." Seeing the disappointment in her eyes, he prompted, "Is there any other information Mrs Black? Anything that might leave us a loophole - so to speak?"

 "What do you mean?"

 "He's a muggle," he said, distaste on his tongue as he did, "so the magic of his memory is weak - only the spell that muddled it in fact. I may - and I say this with no promise - be able to reach some memories."

 "But you can't undo it?"

 "No I can't."

 Disappointment seeped through her but she pressed on. "He kept saying 'Snape' at the care home. I don't know if its relevant - he just never called me that."

 Marsden sat by Jim again, taking his jaw into his hand and raising his wand, staring directly into his eyes. "We shall see."

 He began to mutter things, a spell she had never seen before, long and complex. From his temple he drew a shining string of pearly white, headed into a small vial. Jim shook with the spell, but seemed in no pain so she allowed it to continue. And then he fell back onto the bed, breathing heavily and asleep.

 "There we are," Marsden said triumphantly, waving the vial in front of her. He seemed rather pleased for someone treating a patient with such a serious condition, "this should be his memory of the spell being cast. I'm sure someone you know has a pensive?"

 She hummed and took the vial, examining it. "I'm sure."