Obiter Dictum

13

Snape immediately followed his children down to the front door to greet his eldest son, not bothering to look back at his sister-in-law.

Hermione followed suit, not wanting to be alone with the newcomer and figured it was only proper to follow the man wherever he was leading.

The boy at the door was tall for his age, and gangly. His winter cloak was a little large and hung awkwardly from his frame. His shoulders slumped forwards ever so slightly, closed inward.

Striking green eyes that peeked through a forest of wild curls and a smattering of freckles that covered every part of his face.

There was no mistaking who's son this was.

The boy was Vance through and through.

Though, the subtle raise of his brow when he saw Hermione and the ever familiarly pursing of his lips... That was all Snape.

He eyed her warily, looking away to his father as he shook the leftover snow from his hair. "Papa," he stated, reaching out a mittened hand.

Snape took his son's hand and shook it firmly, his eyes soft and somewhat sad. "Good to have you home, Linden."

The relationship between them had been tense for years now. The apprentice could see it now, in the stiff greeting by the door as the other children huddled around the eldest boy. She understood what Daphne had meant when she said he was the mirror image of his mother. It would have been hard on the Potions' Master to see this wife's face reflected in that of the boy who blamed him for her death.

Turning to his siblings, the boy's face relaxed, a crooked smile reminiscent of his father graced his face as he lifted Olive into his arms. "Well, hello, you. My stars, look how big you've gotten! I've only been away a few months."

After having greeted all the others and the house elf, he walked straight past Hermione without so much as a second glance and right into the arms of his aunt who stood a few feet away.

She cooed as he ducked his head and wrapped his arms around her, holding him close to her chest. Snape let out a disgruntled sort of sound and shook his head, walking past them and disappearing into the library, shutting the door to his den loudly.

Confused, Hermione nearly jumped when small fingers wrapped around hers. Briar gave her a sneaky little smile for half a second before it went away as quickly as her father had. She tugged the witch by the fingers toward the library, away from her older brother and aunt. "Linden likes Auntie Ellie and it upsets Papa. They used to be real close, but Mama's death made him hate her."

She couldn't help herself and the question left her mouth before she could stop it. "How close?"

The girl shrugged and looked toward the door of her father's den, where he was no doubt brooding. "Mama used to say it would have made more sense if he had married Auntie Ellie. They had all the same friends, went to all the same parties. And they knew each other from school. They were both in Slytherin, Miss Hermione."

'They had all the same friends, went to all the same parties.'

Severus Snape didn't have any friends as far as anyone was aware of. Then again, he didn't have a wife and six children either, now did he?

Still... There was an uncomfortable churning in the pit of her stomach that she couldn't ignore. Call it prejudice or house rivalry, though she could only think of one group of people who fit all those categories.

"Her brooch, at her throat. That's a family crest, isn't it?" Asked Hermione, her heart beating faster in her chest.

A Purist, who went to all the same parties and had the same friends as Severus Snape? She hadn't been in the Order, of that the witch was absolutely certain.

She wasn't an academic. Or at least, Hermione was highly doubting it.

Briar's response made her feel sick. "Oh, that ugly thing. She's rather fond of it, always wearing it. Papa hates it. Mama did too. It's her husband's family. We never see them. Mama forbade it. I think his name was Rosier."

Head spinning, heart racing, the apprentice sat in one of the armchairs by the fire. "Rosier?"

Briar nodded, ignorant of the storm within the elder witch. May 2nd 1998 stamped on the backs of her eyelids every time she closed her eyes. "I only met him once. He died though. He had the same tattoo Papa tries to hide. She married his brother after. Never met him."

'He had the same tattoo Papa tries to hide.'

That confirmed it.

She ran with Deatheaters.

Snape's sister-in-law married into the very terrorists that killed his wife.

No wonder he hated her. She no doubt knew the truth of what had happened. Or at least had suspicions. And yet, she hated Snape with a venom that was impossible to ignore.

And Linden... Did he know? He couldn't possibly know. They were all very young still, the children. How could they possible understand the complexities of their situation? Of their reality?

"Oh dear," sighed the witch, her hand coming up to her mouth.

There was a sigh and her head shot up. The employer stood in the doorframe of his den, looking at her. "Oh dear, indeed."

He sat in the other chair, pulling his daughter into his arms as he did. "Madam Rosier is every bit as Purist as you think she is. Stereotypically so. Never would she marry the likes of a common half-blood traitor. No. Heavens, no." He said idly, though his words held a darker note. "Bereft was she when her sister did exactly that. She was so very disappointed in the both of us. Never understood the wrong in what the Dark Lord was doing. 'The greater good' They called it. The betterment of wizardkind. The protection of our bloodlines."

He sighed again, this time is was slow and forlorn. "I miss her, Briar. I miss Mama terribly."

The girl nodded and hugged her father tightly. "Me too. She's not happy Auntie Ellie is here. It's cold and the lanterns won't light right."

He nodded. It was true. The coldness of the nursery had extended through the rest of the house. There was none of the warm, happy thrum the apprentice had gotten accustomed to. Only bleakness and something hollow. As though it had gone.

For reasons he could not explain, the man reached out and touched his apprentice's fingers. The slightest, most delicate of touches. And suddenly, there was an echo of that warm, comforting air. Like daylight breaking through the crisp, dark sky at dawn. A gentle hum accompanying it. A feeling Hermione could only describe as coming home.

Briar smiled as the adults jolted apart. "Again, Papa. Touch her hand again!"

He frowned, and acquiesced. Just as confused as the witch. This time, he took her hand in his. His warm fingers sliding across the back of her hand and curling around hers, his palm pressed to her hand.

Again, the air felt lighter and warmer. Something bright and welcoming surrounding the three of them. Briar giggled and Hermione's face reddened in reaction. A sly smile danced along the corner of the man's lips. "My wife likes you, Miss Granger." he noted, something curious lining his tone that she couldn't quite place. "More than her sister, of that I am quite certain."

He traced a half moon along her thumb, his fingertip grazing the inside of her wrist which cause goosebumps to rise along her arms and she shivered. With that, he took back his hand and the glow of the room dimmed ever so slowly back to cold, grey, lifelessness.

Briar giggled again grinned at them. "Mama thinks you belong here. I think she's right. Don't you, Papa?"

The man smiled gently at his daughter and kissed her temple. "I do, darling. I do think your mother is right. She belongs with us at Foxhole."

And Hermione nearly swooned.