And Counting || Silvanna Snape

Chapter Seventeen

 Five.

 It was Christmas, Silvanna thought. It must be, because they had decorated the tree in the living room. She fiddled with the ring on her finger, thinking back. Remus had brought it to her a week after the funeral. They had found Marlene after all, and the ring from Regulus. How quickly this year had gone; a whole year since he had died. Yet, she felt as though the person she was now and then were decades apart. Would it always be that way?

 She found it hard, living at Chesire Way, surrounded by the sights and smells of her lost love. Maybe one day it wouldn't be quite so hard, but not today, or tomorrow. Once she had thought red was her favourite colour, and oranges her favourite smell. But now that they followed her everywhere, engrained in her mind, all she could do was despair.

 She wanted to tell them so many things, but never did. About her mother, about Regulus, about the balls and the high teas, but she could never have described it all without the pitying, apologetic looks. It was only Remus that helped, and he would be leaving soon, back to the werewolves for New Years.

 'Stop sitting there looking miserable and help us in the kitchen,' he said, offering his hand to help her off the sofa.

 'I'm greiving.'

 'So are the rest of us.' He flicked his wand, and a sequined, pointy hat flew through the door, landing on her head. It was similar to his, except he wore a glittery bowler hat instead. She conjured a small smile as he put his arm around her shoulders and led her into the kitchen.

 The smells were magnificent, but the gravy was burning as Lily tended to Harry and Sirius and James waltzed in each other's arms. She waved her wand and vanished the gravy, flicking it again to start from scratch, before taking Harry with another smile.

 It was Christmas, and it was as wonderful as it could be.

 She bounced Harry on her knee for a while until his cries resided, and then she rocked him back and forth in time to the Christmas music that blared through the radio. She had never enjoyed Christmas at home, despite her mother's efforts. But this year she would try her hardest. And she'd do it drunk, because how else was it supposed to go?

 So when Harry was in bed, Lily and James cuddled up, and they giggled and hiccuped their way through the rest of the evening. And the words flew to her, like sparrows in migration.

 'I can't believe I'm here,' and although her words were quiet, everybody heard, and everybody paused to listen.

 'Neither can we,' Sirius told her, 'but I'm glad of it. We all are.'

 And her tales gushed from her, every detail she could remember, even the ones about Regulus, even her brother, but not - never - her mother. They listened, alert and careful, until she'd finished, and when Lily said she should write it all down she told her about her notes.

 'But the house will have been searched,' Remus reminded them, 'after the headlines.'

 They'd have been humourous outside of the circumstances: Aristocracy left in despair as Silvanna Black disappears, less than a year after late husband. And there were all sorts of theories as to why or how, all of which were wrong.

 But Remus was correct. The notes would be gone, or kept as evidence against her. All that was left were the awful memories that clouded her head.

 The letterbox rattled as something was delivered, and James interrupted his foot-wrestling match with Sirius to go and collect it. After a few diagnostic spells they established it was from the Order, and when they read it, it contained a summons. 'Looks like you'll be coming to our next meeting,' Lily said to her, reading over his shoulder.

 'Good job you're feeling talkative.' But suddenly she wasn't. Who was she kidding, she was Silvanna Snape. She would recount everything over and over if she must.

*****

 Christmas passed, and in the haze of days between then and New Year's came the meeting. She spent the whole day worrying, although she didn't know why. She felt fragile, like glass, like if one more person wrongfully drew a wand on her, or looked sideways at her she'd shatter. But Dumbledore would have told them everything, she was certain.

 They were not given a location to apparate to, but instead travelled by portkey to a rickety but large house. Inside was draughty and rather dusty, but in the kitchen a fire had been stoked. When they arrived, the table was nearly full of witches and wizards, almost all of them far older than they were. She had expected many more people, but instead there were less than thirty people present. And to her utter distaste, the low rumble of chatter fell.

 She looked around for people she knew. Professor McGonagall was there next to Madame Pomfrey, and Alastor Moody and Dumbledore sat at the head. James was sitting down near his parents, who looked much older than she remembered, and Lily had moved to join him, Harry on her lap.

 As Sirius and Remus shifted to usher her along, years of Prince training seemed to switch on in her head. She drew herself up, and nodded once to the group, before moving purposefully towards the nearest vacant chair.

 It was a tiny, greying wizard in the seat next to her, who twisted round and held out his hand. 'Mrs Black, might I say it is a pleasure to finally meet the mystery who has passed us so much information. It is an honour.'

 She shook it but felt her cheeks threatening to blush, pleased at the thanks and embarrassed at the identification. She could say, "don't call me that," or, "I'd prefer Miss Snape." Instead, she chose, 'Call me Silvanna,' and a tiny, gentle smile.

 He smiled too, despite the awful circumstances. 'Silvanna it is. Dedalus Diggle.'

 'For Merlin's sake, leave the poor girl alone,' McGonagall said. 'I'm sure we have far more important things to discuss than introductions Dedalus!' But she offered a smile when she said, 'Welcome back Silvanna.'

 There were accounts to be taken, missions to be ditributed, meetings arranged, and information to be given. But it seemed unnecessary to have so many there when they finally turned to her.

 'Your report, Black,' Moody said, gesturing around. 'Keep it brief.'

 'Snape will do,' she corrected. 'As you know I've been undercover for about four years now, reporting back individual activity and my personal suspicions. Aside from Peter, and of course Barty Crouch, I don't recall anything else particularly alarming that wasn't already obvious.'

 'Obvious?' asked a witch further down the table.

 'Well, Bellatrix for example.'

 There were hums of understanding while Sirius muttered, 'evil bitch,' and she had to keep from smiling to herself.

 'Barty Crouch?' Madame Pomfrey asked, frowning. 'Surely you don't mean-?'

 'No his son,' she corrected. 'He and Regulus were very close. And the day I discovered Peter he was there.'

 Titters of disapproval whittled through the group.

 'And your husband,' a large man near to Moody began, 'did he leave any clues as to his behaviour or activities?'

 'Only what I've already passed on,' she confessed. The night he died, you have to tell them. He said he loved you, he sent back the locket-

 The locket. She had forgotten his dying wish, that he had entrusted her with completely.

 'If I could go back I might be able to-'

 'Out of the question,' Moody cut in. And with that, the meeting was adjourned.