Chapter Text
In each century since the beginning of the world, wonderful things have been discovered. One of the things that magical people have always known is that thoughts, mere thoughts, can be as powerful as love or as deadly as poison.
So long as Harry thought he was unwanted and disliked, he was a lonely and unhappy child, watching the world from a distance without being a part of it. Forced by circumstances from his safe, if unhappy, nest, his mind gradually filled itself with robins, and moorland cottages crowded with children, with cheerful gardeners and kind-hearted housemaids, with springtime and with secret gardens coming alive day by day, and with a moor boy and his creatures. Once he started noticing and caring for other people, he discovered that there was a wonderful and interesting world out there, and that there were things better than being safe. He found that participating was better than watching, and that when you risked loving others, you might be hurt, but you might find that love returned.
So long as Draco shut himself up in his room, and thought only of his fears and weakness, reflecting hourly on his own death, he was a hysterical, half-crazy, hypochondriac. He didn't know that he could get well and could stand upon his feet if he tried to do it. When new, beautiful thoughts began to push out the old hideous ones, life began to come back to him. His blood ran healthy through his veins and strength poured into him. His acceptance of his own magical abilities opened the floodgates and let him discover a part of himself that was missing. New and better thoughts, good exercise, and magic were making him into the strong, healthy boy he was meant to be.
While the secret garden was coming alive and two children were coming alive with it, there was an unhappy man wandering about in the far-away places of the world. He was a man who for ten years had kept his mind filled with darkness and with revenge. He had spent his years hunting down dangerous wizards, former Death Eaters, and attempting to pacify his damaged heart by seeing that they rotted in prison. Once that was done, he had continued to travel, brooding over his unhappiness and ruined plans. He had never tried to put any other thoughts in the place of the dark ones. He had wandered by blue lakes, over noble mountains, through verdant forests, and had only thought these dark thoughts.
A terrible sorrow had fallen upon him when he had been so completely happy, and he had let his soul fill itself with blackness. He had refused obstinately to allow any rift of light to pierce through. He had forgotten and deserted his home and his duties to those depending upon him. When he travelled about, darkness hung over him so that the sight of him was like a wrong done to other people, because it was as if he poisoned the air about him with gloom. Most strangers thought he must be either half mad, or a man with some hidden crime on his soul. He was a tall, thin man with a drawn face and lank hair, and the name he always entered on hotel registers was, "Severus Snape, Hogwarts, Scotland."
He had travelled far and wide since the day Harry Potter came into his study, since the day when the sight of bright green eyes had sent him flying from the house like a man pursued by the Furies. He had been to the most beautiful places in Europe, though he had remained nowhere more than a few days. He had chosen the quietest and remotest spots. He had been on the tops of mountains whose heads were in the clouds, and had looked down on other mountains when the sun rose and touched them with such light as made it seem as if the world were just being born. But the light had never seemed to touch him, until one day when he realized that, for the first time in ten years, a strange thing had happened.
On the same day that Pettigrew was captured and the true story revealed, Severus Snape was staying in a valley in the Austrian Tirol. He had been walking alone through such beauty as might have lifted any man's soul out of shadow, had walked a long way, but it had not lifted his. At last he had felt tired and had thrown himself down to rest on a carpet of moss by a clear little stream that ran quite merrily along on its narrow way through the luscious damp greenness. Sometimes it made a sound rather like laughter as it bubbled over and around stones. It seemed like a thing alive, and yet its tiny voice made the stillness seem deeper.
As he sat gazing into the clear running of the water, Severus Snape gradually felt both his mind and body grow quiet, as quiet as the valley itself. He sat and gazed at the sunlit water, and his eyes began to see things growing at its edge. The leaves were green, as green as a pair of eyes that had once been so dear to him, as green as the eyes he had seen a few months earlier in his gloomy study. The green leaves danced close to a shadowed area so dark that it almost looked black, and Snape idly thought of unruly black hair above green eyes. Their child--had they had a child--might have looked like that, with Rose's green eyes and his black hair. Rose had wanted a child, but he'd been so besotted with her, so unwilling to share her with anyone else yet…and then she was gone.
For once, the thought didn't fill him with devastation, but rather an aching sort of tenderness, as a wound feels when it is beginning to heal and scab over. He thought of a timid voice asking for nothing more than a wand and a bit of earth, and it was as if a well of clean water had risen up, sweeping the dark water away. The valley seemed to grow quieter as he sat and stared at the bright green leaves. He didn't know how long he sat there or what was happening to him, but at last he moved as if he were awakening. He got up slowly and stood on the mossy carpet, drawing a long, deep, breath and wondering at himself. Something seemed to have been unbound and released inside of him.
"What is it?" he said, almost in a whisper, and he passed his hand over his forehead. "I almost feel as if I were alive!"
This singular calmness remained with him the rest of the evening, and when he fell asleep, he began to dream. His dream was so real that he didn't feel as if he were dreaming. He remembered afterward how intensely wide awake and alert he'd thought he was. He was sitting in a garden in the springtime. He dreamed that, as he sat and breathed in the scent of roses, he heard a voice calling. It was sweet and clear and happy. It seemed very far away, but he heard it as distinctly as if it had been at his very side.
"Severus!" it said, and then again, sweeter and clearer than before, "Severus!"
He thought he sprang to his feet. It was such a real voice, and it seemed so natural that he should hear it.
"Rose!" he answered. "Where are you?"
"In the garden," it came back like a sound from a golden flute.
And then the dream ended, but he did not awaken, and slept soundly and sweetly all through the night. When he awoke at last, it was brilliant morning and a servant was standing, staring at him. This servant was accustomed, as all the servants of the villa were, to the master's inability to find rest while he slept, as well as his early waking habits. And yet Snape had slept deeply though the night, waking only now, midway through the morning, so the servant had finally come in to see if the master was well. The man held out a breakfast tray, and after Snape had accepted a cup of coffee, he left.
Snape sat for a few moments, holding his coffee cup in his hand, staring at the wall where a picture of a beautiful garden hung. That strange calm was still upon him, and something more--a lightness, as if the cruel thing which had been done to him had not happened as he thought, as if something had changed.
"In the garden!" he said, wondering at himself. "In the garden! But the door is locked and the key is buried deep."
He began to think of Hogwarts, and to wonder if he should not go home. It had been a long time since he'd seen an English spring. Thoughts of the two boys there occurred to him, and the image of two young faces, so sweet and so unalike, drifted into his mind. But unlike times in the past when those thoughts had caused him to feel anger and despair, this time he felt only a sweet longing.
He immediately got out of bed, called for the servants, and prepared to return to England.
In a few days he was in England again, walking through Kings Cross station. He found himself thinking of Lucius's boy as he had never thought in all the ten years past. During those years he had only wished to forget Draco. Now, though he did not intend to think about him, memories constantly drifted into his mind. He remembered the black days when he had raved like a madman because the child was alive and his father had killed Severus's only love. He had refused to see the child after he was born, and when he had gone to look at Draco at last, he had been such a weak, wretched thing that everyone had been sure he would die in a few days. But to the surprise of those who took care of Draco, the days passed and he lived -- but even then everyone believed he would be a deformed creature from the convulsions that racked him.
He had not meant to be a bad guardian but he had not felt like an uncle at all. He had supplied doctors and nurses and luxuries, but he had shrunk from the mere thought of the boy and had buried himself in his own misery. After a year's absence, he had returned to Hogwarts. The small, miserable-looking thing had languidly opened those large grey eyes with black lashes round them, so horribly like the eyes of the brother he had adored, the brother who had murdered his happiness, that he could not bear the sight of the boy and turned away, pale as death.
After that, he scarcely ever saw Draco except when he was asleep, and all he knew was that the boy was a confirmed invalid, with a vicious, hysterical, half-insane temper. He could only be kept from rages dangerous to himself by being given his own way in every detail. All this was not an uplifting thing to recall, but as he boarded the express train that would take him to Hogwarts, he began to think of the boy in a new way.
"Perhaps I have been all wrong for ten years," he said to himself. "Ten years is a long time. It may be too late to do anything, but still…"
He thought then of the other boy, the one who had stood in his study a few months earlier, his features barely discernable in the firelight. Lily's eyes, Rose's eyes, eyes that had looked so large behind those hideous glasses. He should have had the boy's eyes taken care of -- he had meant to mention it to Mrs McGonagall, but he'd forgotten…just as he'd forgotten the boy's very existence for ten years.
He couldn't forget, now, the look on the child's face as he spoke casually of never having toys of his own, of his resigned air. He'd seen that face in his mind the next day when, after having made arrangements with Ollivander to see to the fitting of the boy's wand, he'd passed by a toy store. On impulse, he'd gone into the store and had the clerk make up a bundle of games and books to interest a child that age, and then he'd allowed himself to forget the boy again.
"The boy is no doubt used to being forgotten," he thought with a sigh. "Still, there must be something I can do…"
A tapping on the train window caught his attention. It was a familiar looking owl, one that he recognized as belonging to Remus Lupin. Suddenly frightened that something had happened at home, he opened the window and took the letter, then tore it open.
Dear Severus,
Although you informed me when I accepted the position as tutor to your nephew, Harry, that you did not want regular reports, or, indeed, any communication from me, I feel that I must write to you now. Much has happened--too much to tell in a letter. I will only say this: I would come home if I were you. I think you would be glad to come and--if you will excuse me, Severus--I think your lady would ask you to come if she was here.
Your obedient servant,
Remus Lupin
Snape read the letter twice before he put it back in its envelope, and he couldn't help thinking about the dream. "In the garden," he murmured. "In the garden."
Although he was tired from his long trip, he was unable to rest and kept staring impatiently out of the window. He regretted now not having a Portkey made to take him directly home.
When he arrived at Hogsmeade station, he was surprised to be met by smiles and greetings from everyone he passed. It appeared that something of great importance had happened, but what it was he could not determine. The carriage ride across the moor seemed twice as long as usual, and he jumped out of the carriage before it had come to a complete halt in front of the castle steps.
Mrs McGonagall met him on the steps, looking excited and flustered. "Professor Snape! We weren't expecting--what a wonderful surprise!"
Snape frowned; he'd never seen the housekeeper looking anything but calm and collected, at least in his presence. "What's happened, Mrs McGonagall?"
"Master Lucius has come home," she said, beaming. "He arrived not thirty minutes ago. I've given him his old room, sir. The maids are airing it out right now and putting fresh linens on the bed. He's in the library resting; the poor dear looks half-starved to death, and it's no wonder. It's a miracle that he's not mad, being in that place."
"Lucius?" Snape said, his voice tight as memories, good and bad, rose up and nearly choked him.
"He was found innocent of all charges this week," Kingsley Shacklebolt said, coming out of the library to greet Snape. "The real culprit was Peter Pettigrew."
Snape gaped at him. "Pettigrew? We thought he was dead."
Shacklebolt shook his head. "Merely gone to ground. He was captured, thanks to your two nephews and the youngest lad of Arthur Weasley's. Confessed everything under Veritaserum." He reached out to touch Snape's shoulder, and said gently, "Pettigrew didn't mean to kill Rose. She died instantly, and without suffering." Unlike Narcissa, his expression seemed to say.
"The boys? My nephews--where are they?"
"Just what I was wondering myself," said a voice from the library doorway, a voice whose familiar silkiness was now rough and hoarse. Snape looked over to see Lucius standing there as straight and proud as ever, although frighteningly thin as he leaned on the silver cane that had once been for show. There was a haunted look in those grey eyes.
"Lucius," he breathed. Slowly, hesitantly, he walked over to his half-brother and then halted before him, uncertain. "Is it really you?" Memories of a garden and of betrayal hung between them both for a moment. Snape tentatively touched his brother's arm, wanting to believe, wanting the older brother he had loved back. But ten years of hatred and bitterness were hard to move past, and there was his own guilt to assuage.
Lucius seemed to understand his brother's confusion. He gave Snape a wry half-smile and covered his hand with his own. "It's not your fault," he said quietly. "Pettigrew fooled everyone."
"I should have known," Snape muttered. "I should have known that you wouldn't…that you couldn't…"
"Even I wasn't certain that I hadn't done it under Imperious at first," Lucius said, then arched an eyebrow. "Although I must say that if I were to do such a thing, I wouldn't have been foolish enough to get caught. A Malfoy would never make such a clumsy mistake."
"Of course," Snape said drily. "I should have known you were innocent, for that reason alone." He hugged his brother briefly. "Ten years. It's a wonder you're still sane."
Lucius's lips twisted in a parody of a smile. "More or less. There were one or two happy thoughts those bastards couldn't take away from me. Speaking of which, my son…?"
Snape nodded. "Draco is alive. I wish I could say that he was well, but…the doctors think he might have been damaged by the curse."
Lucius' face shadowed. "I understand. Still, he is my son, and I would like to see him."
"Of course," Snape said, and started towards the stairs to the first floor.
"Excuse me, Professor," Mrs McGonagall said. "But they're not upstairs."
Snape turned and frowned. "Not upstairs? Then where would they be?"
"Master Draco, Master Harry, and young Mr. Weasley have taken to spending their days in the garden, sir."
Lucius turned to Snape and raised an eyebrow. "I need hardly ask which one."
Snape shook his head. "I locked the door and buried the key ten years ago, Lucius. They can't--"
"My dear brother, are we wizards, or are we not? And if Harry is anything like young James was, I will wager the lad found a way into that garden, key or not."
"In the garden," Snape murmured then, at Lucius' puzzled look, he flushed uncomfortably. "A dream I had. She--Rose was calling to me, and when I asked where she was, she said, 'In the garden'."
"Then I suggest we make our way there with due haste," Lucius said. "Your arm, brother? I find that I am not quite as steady on my feet as I once was."
Snape led the way, as Harry had done, through the door in the shrubbery and among the laurels and the fountain beds. The fountain was playing now and was encircled by beds of brilliant spring flowers. They crossed the lawn and turned into the Long Walk by the ivy-covered walls. He did not walk quickly, in deference to Lucius's health, but slowly with his eyes fixed on the path. Snape felt as if he were being drawn back to the place he had so long forsaken, and as he drew near to the garden, his step became still slower. He knew where the door was, even though the ivy hung thick over it.
Outside the door, he stopped and stood still, looking about him and listening. Inside the garden were sounds. They were the sounds of muffled cheering, of a whooshing sort of noise, exclamations and smothered joyous cries. It seemed actually like the laughter of young things, the uncontrollable laughter of children who were trying not to be heard, but who in a moment or so would burst through the door. Without quite meaning to, Snape grasped the handle of the door and pulled. It opened quite easily, and he stepped inside the garden, into a world he had nearly forgotten.
There, before his eyes, were Remus Lupin and a redheaded boy who could only be a Weasley, sitting on the ground and staring up at something in the air above them. A whoosh caught his attention, and he looked up to see two figures on brooms flash by, both in pursuit of something small and golden. Two heads, one pale and one dark, were side by side, two hands stretched out. And then one of the hands closed over the golden ball, and there was a cry of triumph as the boy nearly tumbled off his broom in his excitement.
"I did it! I caught it!"
The other boy laughed and gracefully landed on the grass beside him. "Once. How many times have I caught it now?"
"Oh, belt up, Potter!" the boy with the snitch replied cheerfully. He gazed down at the thing in his hands. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
Snape could hardly believe his eyes. There, standing before him, was a tall, handsome boy. He was glowing with life, and flying had made his cheeks rosy-coloured. He pushed back the thick blond hair from his forehead and laughter shone in those large grey eyes.
"Draco?" Snape said, disbelief in his voice.
Draco swung around, appearing surprised. For a moment, he seemed to be disappointed to be found like this, and then he looked down at the snitch in his hand and smiled. He drew himself up to his fullest height and stepped forward.
"Hello, Uncle Severus. Welcome home."
"Draco," Snape repeated. "Is it really you?"
Draco gave a regal nod. "Yes, Uncle, it is I. As you can see, I am feeling much better these days. Also, I am not a squib, so perhaps I might have a wand like Harry?"
Snape's mind whirled. Draco, the boy everyone had told him was so near death that a breeze might kill him, the boy everyone had said was certain to be a squib, was standing before him: a healthy young wizard. He said the first thing that came to his mind.
"Perhaps we had better ask your father."
Draco's eyes automatically went to the silent figure standing behind Snape, and his eyes widened. "Father?" he said hesitantly.
Lucius stepped forward, leaning heavily on his cane. "Hello, Draco," he said, a hesitant smile on his face. "Your garden appears to have worked a miracle for you; perhaps it will be able to produce such wonders for me as well."
"Father," Draco whispered, and then he was in Lucius's arms, and they were hugging each other so tightly that it was a wonder either could breathe, both oblivious to the tears that were running down their faces.
Snape turned away from them to give them privacy and then he saw Harry Potter. The boy was watching him, wariness and a hint of defiance in those expressive eyes.
"Mr Potter," Snape said, his voice cool. "I see that you have managed to disregard my rules regarding this place."
"Yes, sir," Harry said, quietly.
"When you asked for a bit of earth, I had no idea that you meant this particular piece."
Harry lifted his chin and met his uncle's eyes without flinching. "No one wanted this garden except me. I'll apologize for breaking your rules but I'm not sorry for doing it. And you said I might have a bit of earth that no one was using."
"So I did," Snape said, nodding his head. "And it would be wrong of me to go back on my words now."
Harry blinked. "You mean…do you mean that I may keep it? This garden, I mean?"
Snape looked around at the garden, no longer neglected and abandoned, but once again restored to its former beauty by a loving hand. "I would say that you have earned it, Harry. Yes. This garden is yours."
Harry was so overjoyed by this that he threw himself at his uncle, wrapping his arms around Snape and hugging him tightly. For a moment, Snape was startled, and then he slowly folded his arms around the boy.
"Thank you!" Harry was saying, over and over again.
The shell around Snape's heart, the shell that had been frozen in place for ten years, broke open then. Feelings that he had locked away for all those years slowly unfurled, and he found himself hugging the boy back. "Harry," he murmured softly.
"You're not angry, then?" Harry asked, venturing a look up. "You won't send me away?"
Snape smiled and hugged the child once again. "This is your home, Harry, for as long as you like. Will you stay and help me make it into a proper home once more?"
"Home," Harry breathed. "A real home, forever." Suddenly a thought seemed to occur to him. "What about Draco?"
"While Draco will always be welcome to visit here, I have no doubt that he and his father will want to reclaim Malfoy Manor," Snape said.
They looked over at the other pair. Lucius was now sitting on one of the benches with Draco at his feet, clasping his father's hands and talking as fast as he could.
Harry smiled. "Yes." He looked up at his uncle, uncertainly on his face. "You won't be going away again, will you?"
"No, Harry," Snape said, smiling down into the child's face. "I won't be going away." He looked around the garden and caught sight of Remus Lupin and the redheaded boy standing quietly under the apple tree, watching them.
"Remus," he acknowledged. "Thank you for the letter, and for all that you've done for my nephews."
He didn't mention that he'd already been on his way home when he received Lupin's note. The dream of Rose and the garden was too private to be shared with anyone but Lucius and perhaps, one day--when they got to know each other better--with his nephews.
Lupin smiled. "It was a pleasure, Severus. They're both very bright, and I've enjoyed teaching them." He smiled at Harry, visibly pleased at his newfound happiness. "Hagrid peeked in a moment ago and then slipped off; perhaps I should do the same, and give the four of you some privacy."
Snape nodded. "You will be remaining to teach the boys though, won't you? Harry will still need a tutor, and even if Draco returns to his own home, I'm certain Lucius will want him to continue his lessons here."
Lupin's smile widened. "You don't get rid of me that easily, Severus." He put his arm around Ron and said, "You know, we should consider adding more students. Ron has been doing very well, and there are a few other children in the area who could benefit from schooling." His smile turned wistful. "It would be like the old days."
Snape looked around the garden, sorrow mingling with pleasure at the memory of happy days spent here. "Not entirely."
There was a tug on his sleeve and he looked down to see Harry looking up at him, sympathy in his face. "Sir?"
Snape managed a small smile. "Just remembering, Harry. Not all memories are bad ones." He put a hand on the boy's shoulder and said, "And now, take me into your garden and tell me all about it. I imagine it is quite a story."
It was the strangest story Snape had every heard. Robins and magic, the strange midnight meeting between Harry and Draco, the coming of spring, the secret kept so carefully from everyone else. The listener laughed until tears came into his eyes, and sometimes tears came into his eyes when he was not laughing. The shy, scrawny child had become a laughing, lovable, healthy young boy.
"Now," Harry said at the end of the story, "it need not be a secret any more. I dare say it will frighten them nearly into fits when they see Draco walking, when they see the four of us together."
It seemed that all the staff of Hogwarts had guessed that something of great moment was happening, for all of them appeared to have found some reason to be in the great hall that afternoon. Even Hagrid had found a reason to be there, weeding the great pots to either side of the door.
"Did you see any of them, Hagrid?" Mrs McGonagall asked.
Hagrid looked up from his work. "Yes, I did," he said, smiling.
"Together?" said Mrs McGonagall.
"Tergether, ma'am," he affirmed.
"Where were Master Draco and Master Harry? How did Master Draco look when he saw his father? What did they say to each other?"
"I didn' hear that," Hagrid said. "But I'll tell yeh this. There's been things goin' on outside that yeh house people knows nothin' about. An' what yeh'll find out--well, yeh'll find out soon enough."
He glanced over toward the lawn, and a smile crossed his face. "Look over there if yeh're curious. Look what's comin' across the grass."
When Mrs McGonagall looked, she threw up her hands and gave a little shriek. Every man and woman within hearing bolted across the hall and stood looking through the window with their eyes almost starting out of their heads.
Across the lawn came the Master of Hogwarts, looking as many of them had never seen him and as others only distantly remembered. By his side walked young Harry Potter, his hand firmly clasped by his uncle, the young boy talking and the older man listening with a faint smile on his face. Beside them walked another pair, this one in silence, but it was a contented silence: Lucius Malfoy, master of Malfoy Manor, and by his side, Master Draco, with his head up in the air and his eyes full of laughter, walked as strongly and steadily as any boy in England.
The End