MetaFic

4 Nov 1981

“Yes,” Severus said slowly. “I see what you mean.” The letter from the great Albus Dumbledore was quite clear in what was required and yet oddly contained a glaring loophole. Given the man's failure to protect Lily, he supposed he should not have been surprised.

Standing, he tried to ignore the slight pounding in the back of his skull as he paced to the window. It was just past one of the clock, and the children were sleeping. Petunia was anxiously wringing her hands behind him, and the sound was miserably amplified by his lingering hangover. Three nights of drinking himself into unconsciousness took more than one day to fade.

The view out of her window was bleak. The uniformity of the homes, the street, the gardens was enough to further entice his body toward rebellion. It was a perversion of the chaotic beauty in nature to force such regular and mundane scenes as these. “What is it that you propose, then?”

Petunia's voice took on a cloying tone, something he had not heard in years. “Surely you can see that I'm not the right one to raise the boy. I don't know anything about, well, magic or your world. Shouldn't he be taught all of those things growing up?”

“ Obviously,” Severus grunted. “But you know more than you're implying, Petunia. I agree you would not be my first choice, but you know enough to prepare the boy.”

He turned at her tut-tut sounds, somewhat annoyed that she was taking an almost Dumbledore-ish tone with him, chiding him for failing to see the obvious. “That just won't do, Severus,” she said finally. “My Vernon would never tolerate any of it. I think that boy truly needs to be raised in a magical home.”

Severus regarded the woman closely for a few moments. He easily recalled the descriptions Lily had given him, how her sister was drawing away from her and becoming short-tempered about anything to do with magic. This person in front of him was at odds with the reality he expected. “What is that you want, Petunia?”

She smiled at him, and were he more of a fool, he might have believed it. “You were good friends with her. She told me so. Would you consider taking him? Raising the boy? For her sake?”

Shuddering at the mere thought, he shook his head once in a sharp negative. “Never.” The woman was a fool of the first order if she thought he would ever consider such. But then, she did not know what his life had been comprised of in the years since they had last talked. “I have no job. I have no immediate prospects for one. I have absolutely no pleasure in seeing a whelp from a Potter. It is trying my patience merely being in the same house as one. And Lily and I . . . had a bit of a falling out.”

“ Oh, Severus,” Petunia said dramatically, though it was clear her interest had been piqued, “I'm so sorry. I didn't know.” She winced at what he could easily tell was a lie, before she corrected herself. “Well, I knew you two had a bit of a dust-up during school, but that was years ago. I thought, well, it was just one of those things, forgotten and forgiven.”

The irony of her description did not escape him, for neither of them were the types to forgive or forget. And she knew that just as well as he did. “I repeat, never.”

With a sigh, she almost flounced back into the cushions of her chair. “Then help me, Severus. You're the only wizard I know personally. Surely there is someone out there that would be willing to raise the boy? One of your kind?”

Grinding his teeth at the mere thought of how many people would flock to raise the child, he waved her to silence. Yes, there were a great many people who would love to have the boy to raise. The boy was already being proclaimed a hero, and the papers were competing over which could come up with the most ludicrous title for him. That very morning, the Prophet had declared him the 'Boy Who Lived' on the front page. While Severus, personally, would rather die than raise the child, by honoring Petunia's request he could – in some small way – potentially be aiding Lily.

But therein was the problem. Petunia needed someone who would raise the boy but never try to get the boy to think of the proxy environment as 'home' – which would be extremely difficult. Moreover, if what Dumbledore had confided to him was correct, the Dark Lord was not truly vanquished but only diminished for a time. As tempting as it would be to put him with someone that would teach the boy a strict sense of manners and propriety, eradicating all trace of Potterness from the child, the boy would need a family of the so-called 'light' side. And yet, any family of the 'light' would almost certainly seek Dumbledore's intervention should they be contacted over such a scheme.

He had no desire to explain to her the fame that was coming toward the child. That would be a problem for another day. In all, Severus could think of only two possibilities. And neither was particularly likely. “It would seem,” he said finally, “that the options are limited. I must do some investigating into what options may exist. Due to the contract, you probably must either agree to a Fosterage or to an arranged marriage. I can think of no other choice. Given the need for . . . discretion, I would suggest the former. The latter is far too complicated.”

“ Fosterage?” Petunia looked shocked at the idea. “You still do that?”

“ It is not unheard of, though it is becoming less common. Your own ancestors continued the practice a mere one hundred years ago.” Severus tapped on the window pane slowly in idle thought. “The Potters are an old family. They used to have substantial wealth, but not so much today. However, they may very well have vassals or clan alliances still in effect. One of those families would be ideal.”

“ I see.” Petunia remained quiet for a moment. “Then you'll let me know?”

“ Precisely,” Severus said with a grunt. “I expect it will take a week or two of digging through records. Should you need to contact me in the meantime, send another letter to the Gringotts mail gateway service. Their owls will locate me wherever I may be.”

“ Oh, thank you, thank you so much, Severus,” Petunia said, rising to her feet.

Before she could move to say anything else, he simply held her gaze for a moment. The woman was so unlike her sister. In personality, intellect, and beauty, her sister had received the lion's share. This woman had received the ant's share. With a nod in acceptance of her pointless platitudes, Severus turned on the spot and Apparated away.