Chapter 272: Clumsy Affection
Croydon.
The streets were piled high with refuse, and everywhere one looked, there were people with sallow skin and glazed, vacant expressions.
Professor Snape quickly located the place known as Hollysey. The building itself was a Victorian semi-detached house, clearly suffering from years of disrepair.
Through the thick glass of the windows, a warm orange glow spilled out. Inside, Roland Taylor, dressed in worn but clean clothes, was looking out with bright, pale blue eyes.
She was always watching the twilight beyond the window, waiting for the one person everyone in this orphanage knew.
A few children stood outside her door, watching her—watching their Director. She was always so full of anticipation. She even insisted on taking every letter to the post office personally, as if dropping them into the green pillar box on the corner would somehow slow them down.
Finally, just as the setting sun withdrew its last rays, she spotted two strange visitors in black robes.
Her movements were surprisingly agile for a woman of her age; she practically sprinted out of the room.
Outside, beside the peeling paint of the door, hung a crooked, faded nameplate: The Oak Tree Children's Home.
Seeing Ms. Roland rush out, Snape's expression shifted minutely. He seized Sean by the shoulder, jerking the boy behind his own back—his mind flashing to the dazed, unstable figures loitering in the streets.
Sean could only poke his small head out from behind the Potions Master's billowing black robes.
Seeing this protective gesture, Ms. Roland let out a soft, dumbfounded laugh.
"You must be Mr. Snape. Please, do bring Mr. Green inside."
She looked at the man's gloomy, slightly hostile face, and then at the small face peering out from behind him. For some reason, her eyes grew moist.
He looks so much healthier. That is good...
They walked through the courtyard, which now boasted a few more pieces of play equipment, and entered the house. Sean noticed that the interior had changed even more than on his last visit.
In stark contrast to the dilapidated exterior, the inside of the orphanage was up to standard—for this impoverished district, it was exceptional.
A warm fire crackled in the grate, evaporating the rain that lashed against the windowpanes. The soot-stained walls had been painted a pale yellow; it was cheap paint, but it made the room feel comforting. The iron beds were new—hard, perhaps, but sturdy, with clear numbers painted on them. Every child now had their own tin bowl and wooden spoon.
In the center of the room, a large cauldron was bubbling with stew. The rich aroma of meat and vegetables wafted through the air, drawing a crowd of hungry, eager-eyed children.
When Snape and Sean entered, dinner began.
There was no distinction of status here. The Director, the rosy-cheeked and stout care workers, and the children all gathered around a long wooden table to eat.
Snape and Director Roland sat at the head of the table, with Sean seated right beside his professor.
Although there were no formal rules, whenever Sean reached for a dish, no one else dared to move their knife or fork until he was served.
Seeing this, Snape let out a cold snort. Boring theatrics.
Director Roland, sharp as ever, noticed his reaction. She gazed at Snape's cold profile for a moment, her eyes dimming slightly.
"Please forgive them, Mr. Snape," she said softly. "The children here only know how to express themselves in a slow, clumsy manner. If they cannot find the right words... well, God knows the fault does not lie with them."
Snape felt a strange prickling sensation. When he turned his head, the Director was looking at him with an expression he couldn't quite understand—a look entirely alien to him.
It made him detest this place.
As dinner ended, night fully descended, and the irritability in Snape's heart grew sharper.
Orphanages... places like this only reminded him of one person.
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Wizards who provoked the Dark Lord never met a good end. The inhuman cruelty of that man manifested vividly in Snape's mind, and naturally, his gaze fell upon Sean, who seemed blissfully ignorant of the danger.
Too stupid... just how foolish do you have to be to offend the Dark Lord for the sake of someone so insignificant?
What weighed on him most was that he was the one monitoring Quirrell. He had had the chance to stop this, yet he had known nothing... just like with the gold in the vault.
He stood in the courtyard, forcing himself to analyze every detail. Against the impending return of the Dark Lord, no amount of caution was excessive.
Suddenly, a memory surfaced—something about a certain Gryffindor Head of House spending time in the Forbidden Forest. The anger he had been suppressing surged violently. His voice dropped to a sinister whisper.
"Did Minerva McGonagall know about this?"
Sean sensed the shift in the atmosphere, but he nodded. "Professor McGonagall also discovered that Professor Quirrell was acting abnormally."
Snape's eyes swept coldly over the courtyard. His voice was raspy, vibrating with suppressed rage.
"Tell me. What happened in the Forbidden Forest—and exactly how much does Minerva McGonagall know?"
The night was silent, save for the occasional caw of a crow. Snape, who had managed to calm himself slightly during dinner, was now trembling with fury.
An ignorant child, daring to confront Quirrell without anyone knowing.
"How many lives do you think you have?!" Snape snarled. "You simply do not comprehend the danger and terror of the Dark Lord, you dunderhead! Stupid beyond belief! Do you think anyone will mourn you? You have the brain of a mountain troll! Let me tell you—only fools try to be heroes! Do you know what is truly remarkable? Living! Staying alive!"
His mockery came like a violent storm, but beneath the anger lay a deep, fragile fear that could be pierced with a single touch.
"Why..." His voice cracked, dropping to a hiss. "Why did you not tell me..."
He stared dead into Sean's eyes. Those green eyes were dim in the low light.
It will all come out eventually.
Sean knew this. But until it was over, he would not say a word. Because there was one person at Hogwarts who absolutely could not know Quirrell's true identity.
Just as Snape never spoke of the vows he had made, Sean was equally cautious about handling Voldemort's dormancy at Hogwarts.
For a double agent, any suspicion was fatal.
Until Sean possessed the power to decisively turn the tide of the war, he could not allow any deviation in Snape's position. He had to protect the spy.
Sean remained silent, but Snape saw his own reflection in the boy's eyes.
He had seen eyes like that before. He knew exactly what that silence meant.
The sky was as dark as spilled ink.
In the courtyard, only two figures in black robes stood facing one another.
The children here loved in clumsy, slow ways. They rarely spoke; they only acted.
Director Roland had appeared unnoticed in the doorway. She watched silently as the streetlamps flickered to life, illuminating the desolate street; as the fire inside roared; and as something seemed to ignite deep within Severus Snape's frozen heart.
"Remember your detention," Snape finally forced out through gritted teeth.
A short while later.
Far away, in the industrial gloom of the Midlands. Spinner's End was as dirty and dilapidated as ever.
In a house at the very end of the row, which seemed uninhabited to the outside world, a cold fireplace roared to life with green flames once more.
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