It naturally caused quite a stir when Minerva McGonagall first notified the rest of the faculty that the Quill of Acceptance had written this eye-opening, enigmatic announcement in the Book of Admittance:
Orphaned at birth, yet loved and cared for
Miss Rosemary L. Snape
Great Niece of Severus
Investigation quickly revealed that Rosemary was in the care of her grandfather Sylvester, who resembled Severus Snape very closely indeed, and the faculty even discussed briefly the idea of contacting Sylvester Snape early, while Rosemary was yet an infant. But they finally concluded that it was best to leave the Snapes undisturbed until the time came that she was old enough to enter Hogwarts, and so began the eleven-year wait. This policy of secrecy didn’t prevent several interested witches and wizards from rendering covert assistance to Sylvester and Rosemary, who lived a difficult life filled with struggles and setbacks. Finally the years of waiting were shrinking to minutes and seconds, and as Harry and Neville climbed with anticipation up the stairs, they proved to be the most eager audience Lakshmi had had for quite a while.
–It’s always a joy when someone comes to see Mr. Snape,†Lakshmi spoke as she led Harry and Neville energetically up the stairs. Her thick, lush silvery hair framed her smiling dark face, and she climbed the stairs rather energetically for a lady in her sixties. –He can be a bit gruff, but he’s all heart. He’d do anything for you if he’s on your side, but everything he does is for that girl Rosie. She dresses a bit oddly, and I can’t stand that snake of hers! But she’s truly sweet, and smart as a whip, and the way she can draw! Mr. Snape taught my children chemistry, you know. He’s my daughter Sapoora’s favourite, but it wasn’t that way at first. Sometimes she would come home crying because he was so demanding, but Mr. Snape saw something in her, and challenged her to her limit and beyond. Now she’s a doctor, and …â€
–Excuse me, Mrs. Dasari, but is Dr. Sapoora Dasari your daughter? †Harry broke in, not letting on that he already knew she was.
–Oh, yes, Mr. Potter, my daughter, the surgeon! I’m so proud, and so is Mr. Snape! Seems she’s become his most famous former student!â€
–And well you should be proud, Mrs. Dasari,†Neville spoke up. –Her restorative surgery for victims of the Scar-Maker attacks is truly amazing.â€
–Oh, thank you, Professor Longbottom. I do hope that the Scar-Maker is caught soon, before anyone else is hurt or killed.â€
–We couldn’t agree with you more, Mrs. Dasari,†Harry replied. What Harry couldn’t tell her was that the Scar-Maker was currently the wizarding world’s Most Wanted. The attacks clearly bore the signs of the Dark Arts, with each victim suffering strange internal burns and being marked by the same serpentine scar on the neck. The Auror Office sadly knew no more than Muggle police about the Scar-Maker’s identity, but they were investigating the attacks, and also covertly protecting Dr. Sapoora Dasari, as they feared that her medical knowledge of the Scar-Maker’s scars and burns would put her at risk of becoming the Scar-Maker’s target herself.
But this wasn’t the time to discuss it. Lakshmi, Harry, and Neville had arrived at Sylvester’s door. Lakshmi knocked and said –Good morning, Mr. Snape,†and a startlingly familiar, dignified voice resonated from behind the door.
–Good morning, Mrs. Dasari. If you would, please show my guests in.â€
She opened the door and said with a chuckle, –Hello, Mr. Snape, how did you ever guess it was me?â€
Sylvester simply rolled his eyes, flashed Lakshmi a slightly pained look, then smiled at her. –Would you please thank Sapoora for me. It appears that she stopped in while I was yet asleep this morning and fed Mr. Snakey-Poo. I’m glad someone around here doesn’t mind handling a dead rat,†he said, nodding with a pointed glance to Lakshmi, as if he were lecturing a misbehaving student.
Lakshmi simply burst out laughing. –You’re too much, Mr. Snape! Well, here are your guests. May I introduce to you Professor Longbottom and Mr. Potter. Good morning!â€
As Lakshmi stepped out, Sylvester turned an unflinching gaze towards Harry and Neville, and said, rather emphatically, –Be it known, gentlemen, that I had nothing to do with the naming of the snake ... nor of the bird.†The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly, and his body quaked subtly. Then he coughed deeply and abruptly stopped quaking. Harry and Neville realized that he had been stifling a laugh, and that it hurt him to laugh.
Sylvester Snape was nearly a twin to Severus in his face, and had the same piercing black eyes, but had slightly wild silvery-grey hair that came just over his ears. Sylvester’s posture conveyed the impression of calm serenity, nothing at all like Severus Snape’s buttoned-up severity. Sylvester had a nonchalant poise and a relaxed dignity. He wore grey sweatpants and an unbuttoned red-gold plaid flannel shirt, worn over a black t-shirt which featured a design that intrigued and puzzled Neville. It looked scientific enough, as Sylvester’s t-shirt bore an illustration of a prism refracting a beam of white light into the colours of the rainbow. But Neville had no idea who Pink Floyd was, nor what any of it had to do with the Dark Side of the Moon. Harry smiled, realizing that Neville was having yet another Muggle Cultural Moment, and made a mental note to explain the shirt to Neville later on. Ever since Neville had joined the Hogwarts faculty, Harry had often accompanied him on visits like this to the homes of Muggle-born students, partly to help Neville navigate through the Muggle world, but mostly because it was such an enjoyable way to catch up as friends. They often made such a visit on one of their nearly-shared birthdays, as they were doing today on Neville’s thirty-eighth birthday.
Neville suddenly realized that they had let a few too many awkward seconds go by without saying anything to Mr. Snape, so he spoke up. –We’re honoured to meet you, Mr. Snape. I’m Professor Longbottom, and this is Mr. Potter. We, uh, we have taken notice of your granddaughter’s gifts and talents, and we’d like to tell you a bit about a special opportunity to which she’s entitled …â€
Sylvester broke in. –Thank you, gentlemen. I’m a man without much time, so I thank you for honouring me with your punctual arrival, and when Rosie arrives shortly we shall have plenty of time to hear about your school. By the way, pardon me if this sounds daft, but I have a theory that you either are representing a school for the artistically gifted, or …†Sylvester paused, –or else you represent a school called Hogwarts.â€
Harry and Neville stood speechless for a moment, and then Sylvester continued. –I can tell from the way you’re looking at me that I’m on to something. I’m a man of science, not easily swayed by tall tales. But I’ve seen many strange things in my life, both good and ill, and some time ago I realized that these strange phenomena made the most sense if certain things my estranged father told me years ago were, in fact, the truth. So if you would please indulge me for a moment, I would like to test my theory. I have a simple question for you to start with. Could you please tell me if Rosie’s castle looks familiar to you?†Sylvester gestured for Harry and Neville to turn about and look at the wall with Rosie’s drawings. What they saw transfixed them.
After a few moments, Harry spoke up. –Mr. Snape, this isn’t just any castle. This is an utterly perfect drawing of Hogwarts Castle! Every turret, every tower is in place, just as if she has seen it with her own eyes.†Harry and Neville saw that the creatures Rosemary had drawn, including centaurs, unicorns, a giant squid, and even a couple of giant spiders, were all creatures present at or near Hogwarts, though Rosemary had not drawn the creatures to scale with the castle. –Mr. Snape, have you watched Rosemary doing her drawings? Does she say where she gets her ideas?â€
Sylvester smiled and replied –Rosie is very private about her art, and she simply says that she draws things that she sees clearly in her mind’s eye. I rarely can catch her in the act, and in our old flat she would close her bedroom door if she caught me spying on her while she drew. Lately since we’ve been here, I pretend to be asleep and crack my eye open. Most fascinating ... she works very quickly, and it is almost as if details splash and spill out of her charcoal stick beyond what she’s actually drawing. So, gentlemen,†he said, sitting himself up straight, –Here is my wild theory, briefly stated. My granddaughter Rosemary has magical powers, you have come to admit her to a school of magic, named Hogwarts, and when my father was ranting about wizards and witches, it was really the only time he was telling the truth. So, gentlemen, is my theory true, or have I gone completely off my crumpet? Whatever be the case, I ask you to tell the complete truth.â€
–The complete truth is that your theory is absolutely true, Mr. Snape,†Neville replied. –I represent the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and we’re here for exactly the reason you have guessed.â€
–I see,†Sylvester added, with a quizzical smile on his face. –If you would please indulge me further, I beg you to listen to my story, and I shall have a few more questions.â€
–Of course, Mr. Snape. To tell you the truth, we’ve been waiting for a long time to learn your story.â€
–Very well then, sirs. Please take a seat; as you see there are chairs at my table. To be quite honest I’m very pleased to be able to tell my thoughts to someone. This isn’t the type of thing one tells just anyone, especially in my scientific circles. I’m about to tell you things that I’ve never told anyone.â€
Mr. Snape cleared his throat, then began to tell his story. –I was born in Leeds, West Yorkshire, on March the 28th, 1965. My mother was a fetching young bank teller named Emily Shotwell, who attracted the fond gaze of many bank patrons, particularly a certain Tobias Snape, my father, whose name I think you know. Mostly it was just Mum and I, but every month or two, Tobias would be in town, claiming to be on business, though I never knew what he actually did. He would stay with us and speak sweetly to Mum, stringing her along with promises that he would someday leave his wife and marry her. He would bring me sweets and take me to cricket and rugby league matches. But at night my father would get into drunken fits, and wake me up, berating me, telling me that my science and my chess were turning me into a freak, like his other son Severus … or like the girl down the lane whom Severus adored, whose name, he said, was Lily …â€
Sylvester paused, deep in thought, then continued. –He would continue ranting about witches and wizards, and his wife Eileen and the Princes, and the Blacks and Malfoys and Gaunts, and a school called Hogwarts, and a Professor Dumbledore, whom my father despised. Half the time he pronounced the name Dingledorf, and I would feel guilty for laughing, because even when I was a small boy I knew in my heart that a professor should be respected. Then in the morning, when my father was sober, he would deny that he had ever said any of it. Such was life with Tobias, that is, with Father. I’ve been working on forgiving him, though I haven’t gotten used to naming him Father instead of Tobias. But I’ve learned the hard way in life that harbouring a grudge is futile, like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.â€
Harry spoke up: –I regret to point out that in the Dark Arts there are several dreaded potions that work essentially in that fashion. But I understand what you mean, and agree completely.â€
–I see,†Sylvester answered, looking quite disturbed at Harry’s information. –I see … anyway, when I was seven my mother had finally had enough of his lies, not to mention the gossiping neighbours. She planned our escape quite cleverly. When Father made his first visit after I’d finished school that spring, Mummy told me, ‘Your father and I are going somewhere today. While we’re gone, why don’t you play a little game? I have our suitcases and trunk sitting in your bedroom. Pick out all your favourite things and mine, and pack them up, as if we’re going on a long trip.’ It sounded like an intriguing game, and I’d always wanted to go on a long trip. I did the best job I could, and when Mum got back, it wasn’t a half-hour after Father had left that Mum said, ‘Good work, Sly, it’s time for us to go on our trip.’ Stunned but excited, I went with Mum to the station, and we caught the train heading south. I’d never been farther south than Sheffield, but we kept on going for hours and hours, finally reaching London. It was more amazing than I’d imagined. We traveled the Underground and caught another train going yet further south. I wondered if we were going to the Channel, or even to France,†Sylvester chuckled, then coughed, –but when the train was coming to a stop at Guildford, Mum suddenly said ‘Get ready, son, here’s where we get off the train.’
–And that was my first sight of Guildford, where I’ve spent most of my life since then. Mum got a new banking job, and I made more real friends here than I ever had in Leeds. Amongst the neighbourhood children was a lovely girl named Rosemary Jane Rickles, and along with Rosie Jane came her great-grandfather. His name was Nick Rickles, but every boy and girl in the neighbourhood called him Grampy Nick. Grampy Nick was a jolly old chap, and very eccentric. He was incredibly old, one hundred and two when I first met him. If you can imagine a century-old long-haired hippie wannabe, bouncing a little blonde girl on his knees, singing ‘Puff, the Magic Dragon,’ that was Rosie Jane’s Grampy Nick.†Sylvester Snape was smiling broadly as he paused for a moment, enjoying the memory.
–Grampy Nick died in 1978, at age one hundred and eight, and his funeral was the first I ever attended. All the neighbourhood children came. We all loved him. But his funeral was my first clue that Father’s rantings had an element of truth in them, first of all, because I learned that Grampy Nick’s full name was Nicodemus Malfoy Rickles, and that he had been an abandoned child taken in by a blacksmith named Isaiah Rickles, to whom he was apprenticed. Furthermore, a number of rather unusual people attended Grampy Nick’s funeral. It appeared to me that Grampy Nick had known all the oldest hippies in Britain. I was thirteen, and a certain old fellow with a very long beard kept eyeing me, and afterwards engaged me in conversation. He was very pleasant. He asked about me and my interests, and even told me his name.†Sylvester paused, making eye contact with Neville and Harry in turn. –He told me his name was Albus Dumbledore.†Harry and Neville’s jaws dropped open, and Sylvester continued. –Mr. Dumbledore nodded in the direction of Rosie Jane, and said with a wink, ‘She’s quite pretty, isn’t she?’ I was tongue-tied. Of course I adored her. She was so terrifyingly beautiful, and I felt terribly awkward and nerdy. But Mr. Dumbledore said, ‘I think she would enjoy it if you taught her how to play chess. I think if you do so, something truly magical will come of it.’ Then he smiled at me and walked away. I looked down for a moment, blushing, thinking about what he’d said, and when I looked up, he was nowhere to be seen. I never saw Mr. Dumbledore again."
–Mr. Snape, can you tell me what Grampy Nick looked like?†Harry asked.
–I can do you better than that. If you’ll please find the file box underneath my bed and bring it to me, I can show you a splendid photo.†Harry did so, and rummaging through the box, Sylvester quickly found a whimsical photo frame adorned with zoo animals. –Here they are, on Rosie Jane’s birthday.â€
The photo decisively answered the question on Harry and Neville’s minds, and told much more besides. Though much older, Grampy Nick appeared a near-twin to Lucius Malfoy, only with a goofy grin on his face unlike any expression either Harry or Neville had seen on Lucius’ face. One hundred and six-year-old Grampy Nick wore dungarees over a tie-died shirt and was seated in a wheelchair. A young girl with long blonde hair sat on his lap, hugging a stuffed toy snake, her face beaming with joy. They were at the zoo, posing in front of the very same Reptile House where young Harry had once talked to a Boa Constrictor. Someone had written on the photo, Grampy Nick with Rosemary Jane on her 11th birthday, 3rd Sep. 1976. Harry’s eyes turned to young Rosemary’s futon, and he recognized the same stuffed snake, now threadbare, in the pile with her other stuffed snakes.
Sylvester continued his narration. –I’m happy to say that Mr. Dumbledore’s matchmaking worked perfectly. Not many days later I gathered all my courage and asked Rosie Jane if she had ever wanted to learn chess. She flashed me a shy smile that made me blush, and said that would be delightful. I let her win on purpose the first time around, but after that it was tooth and nail, because she learned rather quickly and became a most formidable opponent. And the rest is history. We fell in love, dated, and married as we were finishing college. She became a Music Therapist. Rosie Lily’s cello once belonged to Rosie Jane.†Harry’s eyes widened at the mention of the name Lily.
Sylvester continued: –Rosie Lily plays very well, but her greatest gift is her artwork. With Rosie Jane it was her music. The fast passages she played with a cold fire that was truly riveting, and when she played slow, calm passages, her tone was exquisitely rich and soothing. Rosie Jane played her gentle, healing music at the bedsides of ill and dying patients, at hospitals and hospices throughout Surrey and East Hampshire - including the very room we’re in now.
–As for me, I became a chemistry teacher, begrudgingly at first, because I had dreamt of being a research scientist of great renown, but I realized one day, mid-career, that I no longer wished to do anything but to teach. I can tell you exactly what day that was. It was the day that I received the most heartfelt letter of thanks from a once-timid student named Sapoora Dasari, telling me that she had received a full scholarship to Oxford, and thanking me for challenging her to dare to reach for her dream.â€
–That’s wonderful, Mr. Snape,†Neville replied.
–Thank you very much. It was very generous of Sapoora to think of it that way, because to tell you the truth, I think I was overly harsh during the earlier years of my career, but after that I softened my rhetoric and my style - but not my expectations.†Sylvester smiled. –Anyway, during the first decade of my career we resided in Little Whinging, and I taught chemistry at Stonewall High. I …†–Stonewall High!†Harry interrupted. –Before I was admitted to Hogwarts, I thought I was going to be a student there. But instead I went to Hogwarts, where your brother was Potions Master.â€
–Potions Master, indeed. Splendid! I’ve been called Potions Master once or twice myself. So, Mr. Potter, what you’re saying is that, if you had not studied Potions with Severus, you might have studied chemistry with Sylvester. Either way, you were doomed!†Sylvester said, looking very pleased with the thought in a devilish way. Harry and Neville both grinned.
–Anyway, in our early days of marriage it seemed that we had achieved that happiness of which most only dream. Our son Sam came along in 1990. He inherited his mother’s blond hair and musical talent, but with him it was all Rock and Roll. By rights it should have been Sam’s old Dad who introduced him to Pink Floyd, but to be honest it was the other way around.†Sylvester grinned, then his expression changed to one of deep seriousness. –All was well, until the terrible day that I ... that we all lost Rosie Jane.†He paused. –It was on St. Valentine’s Day, of all days, in 1998. I came home from work with a bouquet of roses. We had arranged for Sam to have an outing with his friends, and we had a splendid evening planned. Rosie Jane made her music studio next to the foot of the stairs, and I expected to hear the sweet tones of her cello when I stepped in the door, but instead there was a disturbing silence. I turned the corner into the front room, and … – Sylvester’s voice broke, and he closed his eyes and paused a long while.
Neville spoke up, –We understand, Mr. Snape. Feel free to take your time.â€
–Thank you, Professor. First I saw her cello toppled face-down on the floor. Then I saw her lying there, eyes still open, a look of terror frozen on her face. The only sign of any injury was the mark …" –Sylvester paused again. –She had a horrible mark burnt into her neck, as if seared by a cattle brand. It was a serpentine S, the same mark as with the victims of the Scar-Maker.â€