Forgiveness

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Forgiveness

Chapter 11

“...get him in the house. Brick you get his legs, Joseph Pony and I will get his...”

... arms were leaden. Albus had been the one to find him this time. Severus thanked the gods it had not been one of the students. Which time was this? There were so many as Tom became more despotic and vicious. Albus cried over his condition, the sound strangely youthful. The old man would send Severus out repeatedly, but he still cried when the Potions Master returned broken and sobbing. Perhaps the Headmaster was not too...

“... bad before? You told me about his dreams already, but has he ever had an episode like this?”

“Once he had one when I was playing Dragula, you know, Rob Zombie? That wasn't too bad. He just said some weird stuff and then went to sleep. Then there was the time after Nana told him she was gonna die. But he wasn't puking. He did bite his tongue then... I think he really loved her. Nana, I mean, He took it hard. Kept calling her...”

“Albus, leave me,” Severus said between lips too stiff to speak clearly. “I told you I would do what was needed when the time came; must you belabour the point?”

“My boy, it's not everyday that one is asked to execute a friend. I was just wondering how you were doing.” Albus sounded old. The Potions Master sensed the Headmaster's question was motivated less by concern than by needing the younger wizard's forgiveness. Severus remained stonily silent in the face of the headmaster's emotional indigence. After a moment, Severus heard the door close to his dungeon lab. Severus buried his head in his hands and gave in to the desire to howl the anguish that he had felt since he had taken the Unbreakable Vow. There would be no mercy for Severus Snape in any quarter.

“...don't think he'll like you taking off his clothes, just clean them with your wand. That's what Nana did both times.”

“Joseph Pony, I don't dare use any magic on him right now. He's already unstable. I don't know if it's the Datura he was exposed to or a real break from reality. His vitals, right now, are reading like he's been... Cruciated.”

“But...”

“I need to clean him up. Leave, if it bothers you so much. Go. Stella needs you.” A soft rustle of fabric and laboured breathing, and then Severus was exposed. His secret was no longer safe.

“There's nothing for it now. Do it...

...Severus, please.” A lifetime of the Potions Master's anger went behind the curse. His hatred of neglectful and abusive parents... bullying Marauders... James Potter's son... Albus' machinations... Tom Riddle.... Lily... himself... Himself... HIMSELF...

A green flash erupted from his wand and the only person who had ever cared for him, even if the affection came well after the caring would have helped, lay like a discarded parchment at the base of the tower.

Dead.

Severus was on his last bridge, and it was burning.

&*&*&

“Severus? Severus. Severus... Your father's gone for now, come out.” His mother's plaintive tone warned the teen of what he would see. Dammit, he was supposed to meet Lily today. He should have left before his parents' latest brawl, but that would have meant sleeping in the garden shed all night. The row had been bad by the sound of it. “I need your help.”

Severus levered himself off his bed. It was really more of a cot with an ancient cotton-stuffed mattress and distinctive blue and white ticking, the once white linens grey with age and indifferent housekeeping. What he would have done to be able to spend the summer with Lucius, as the former Slytherin Prefect had suggested. Even if Narcissa Black would be there, it would be worth all his scrounged Galleons, Knuts, pound notes and pences to be away from here. However, he would not have been able to devote his time to Lily and their plots against the Marauders had he done so. Well, Severus' plots, anyway. Lily understood he needed to protect himself, so she had helped him memorise new spells. She did not condone overt plans of attack. He supposed she never would understand that if Severus did not strike first, the four bastards would just think him weak and redouble their efforts to humiliate him. He certainly could not count on most Slytherins to back him, except maybe Avery and Mulciber. They did not want to dirty themselves with the poor son of a laid-off mill worker, a suspected half-blood to boot. Rumours did tend to get around the Slytherin common room, even with Lucius' less than benevolent patronage.

His mother was scratching on his door, dragging her nails down the bare wood. Tobias had never gotten around to painting it after he had to replace the original heavily scarred one. He had broken that one during a fit of anger at Severus by throwing the then twelve-year-old into it bodily. Severus still had the scar where his back had been sliced open by a largish splinter of wood. There would be no Healers that might alert the authorities for his injuries. He had suffered through the infection the wound caused until his mother could scrounge enough cash for the potions ingredients to heal it. “Severus, my love, come out. I need your help.”

Oh, shite, she had been drinking too. That must be what they fought about. Some of his parents' worst rows occurred when both of them were pissed. Alcohol did not improve either of their already erratic tempers. He leaned against the door, debating whether he should open it, or whether he should barricade it and sneak out the window. He could wait for Lily in their hideout. Her next words firmed Severus' decision. “Gerrout here now, you useless slug, before I give you the beating of your life...”

The sound of her vomiting outside his door made Severus renew his vow never to partake of anything stronger than Butterbeer. The thought became a mantra as he scooted the ancient wardrobe across the door, and grabbed his satchel of schoolbooks. He hastily stuffed some clothes into the pack and climbed out the window. It looked like he would be sleeping outside for a bit.

&*&*&

It was strange to see the three coyotes, fully transformed, occupying the seats in his dungeon sitting room. How had they gotten to Hogwarts?

The two males bristled at the unfamiliar smells of the human den, and so Kaya spoke, toying with the little spider pendant on her charm bracelet as she did so. “Severus Tobias Snape, we’ve been waiting at least three full moons to speak with you.”

“Why so long?” Severus asked, surprised at the affability of his tone. Were these creatures not the same as Greyback, Lupin or Miss DuPre? But, no, they were all dressed in red, cowboy-style shirts and crisp denim jeans. They had not suffered the depredations of the were-variety to which Severus was more familiar. Coyote was nicer to his messengers than Wolf was. Severus knew this without being told.

Kaya batted her lashes, a peculiarly female thing to do. “We had to wait until you were ready. Everything came together today. Now, listen.”

She waited regally for Severus to nod his head. He felt a little shaky doing so, but nodded anyway. Severus suspected Coyote was the equivalent of Salazar Slytherin in this new world, and so deserved a respectful answer. “Yes, Madam, I await the words you wish to impart.”

She blinked twice slowly, her eyes glowing yellow-orange, the colour of the new moon in autumn. “Listen well, for I will only tell you this once. Your crimes have been forgiven. Brother Trickster says the blood you spilled while in service to the Monster is atoned. Do not mourn those lives you took in battle or because you were instructed to do so. Your days as the Trickster's agent are over, and you have done well. It is time to embrace this new life Coyote has offered you.”

Severus felt his facial muscles tighten, stretching across his aching bones. “Albus sent you, didn't he?”

“No white man sent us. No dark man either,” one of the males growled. “Did you listen? Did you hear our sister? Or will you need help like most of your kind does?”

The other male laughed, the sound derisive and cold. “Yeah, do him like they did Yellow Hair* at Little Big Horn. He heard plenty once they pierced his eardrums.”

Kaya stilled the two with a look of her moon-bright eyes. “We will not arrange for further messages for you. Do you wish to tell anyone in the West anything?”

Severus paused, knowing it was his one chance to spew his vitriol at Albus, and leave his love with Lily. Kaya stilled his mouth with a wave of her hand. “Think well what you want to say. Do not give your love to ones who never saw it was good enough, and do not berate your leader. He needed you as you were.”

“Tell my mother... No. Tell the Old Woman that my charges are doing well, and I have become quite... fond of them.” Severus turned from the Trickster's messengers with their knowing eyes and pointed mouths. He needed rest.

&*&*&

Severus opened his eyes to slits, painfully blinded by the yellow-white light of the glaring mid-morning sun. He was au naturale under the sheet that was draped around his waist. His hair and body had been cleaned of the vomit, and his Dark Mark lay exposed on his sparsely haired arm. He was, as some of his less well-bred Slytherins would have once said, sincerely and seriously fucked.

Too bad, he had no strength to flee. He suspected the MINS** would be here shortly, and possibly the MFBI***. He was wanted for crimes as a Death Eater, maybe. He heard stirring in the kitchen. Severus surmised they were here all ready. The wizard hunted for his wand but it had already been confiscated. At least his luck was constant.

He began sweating, a cold one that drenched him immediately. The only time he had ever been truly frightened in his life was when he had spent those few weeks in Azkaban, awaiting his trial. He could not go there, or to the American equivalent of it. He had read that Shacklebolt had gotten rid of the Dementors, and the Americans were considering it, but was sure it was not the dark creatures that gave him problems. Forever, since his confinement in his room for punishment as a child, he had hated to be enclosed. The hatred of restriction was not claustrophobia, per se. It was more that he needed room for his long limbs to move in ground-eating strides. Severus was restless. He always had been.

The door to the room opened, and an urge to vomit followed its motion. The doctor stuck her head in the room. In a carefully neutral tone she asked, “Are you decent?”

Severus pulled the sheet up to his chin, making sure his left arm was covered. He attempted to give voice to his reply and was surprised hear no sound from his voice. He was certain no magical means had been used to effect this state, so thought he might have screamed his voice out. Antonia levitated the tray while she assisted him to sit. She then floated the tray on his lap, which was populated by broth and weak tea. She sat, looking at him, completely unreadable. Trust the good doctor to be a competent Occlumens.

“Eat,” she said as she pulled vials of Potions out of her pockets and set them on the bedside table. “We'll save the talk for after.”

Severus motioned for his wand. “No, sorry, I'm holding that until I find out what happened.”

He took a tentative sip of the broth, spilling most of the spoonful he brought to his lips in the process. He was right-handed, but strangely unbalanced by not being able to use his left. The doctor barked, “Oh, for heaven's sake, I've seen the damned Mark on your arm, just get over it already.”

Severus ate his broth and sipped his tea, sinking into the feeling, once again, of being hated. Either he had become unused to the scorn heaped on him in the last years of his service to the Light, or he had become attached, in some way, to the woman who glared coldly at him. His heart beat sluggishly and painfully as he began thinking of the arid years, he would spend, once again, thinking of what could have been. He let his spoon drop to the broth, as he pushed it away. He could eat no more.

She stood, moving the tray from his lap, economical in her movements, a trait Severus had always admired and had worked so hard to possess. He cleared his throat and rasped, “When will the authorities come to arrest me?”

“I suppose when you break the law. You weren't planning on stealing company secrets, were you?” the doctor answered tartly as she settled the tray outside the room and took her seat. “Now, don't strain your voice. I'll give you some parchment and a quill in a minute.”

She sifted through the potions on the table, retrieving one as she readied her wand. “Drink this and be still.”

“I am not Stella, doctor.” Severus grimaced as he spoke. His throat was becoming painful.

“No, you're worse,” she muttered. “Drink. It's just a simple diagnostic potion.”

Severus wanted to grace her with his most baleful, Potions Professor glare and a thrown vial, but settled for mild irritation and compliance. He tapped his fingers on the sheet as she began running her wand over his body. She stilled his hand with hers. “What part of 'be still' don't you understand? The Be, or the Still?”

Severus rolled his eyes, the avenue left to him to express his disgust and impatience. He wished she would just quit spinning out the suspense. He was intelligent enough to gather that he might not have spoken clearly enough to be arrested. His identity might still be uncompromised. He could only hope that bearing the stain of his servitude in this country did not carry the same penalty as in Great Britain. His leg began itching and he flicked the muscles to attempt to alleviate the problem. Antonia stopped once more, placing her hands on her hips. “If you don’t stop wiggling like a recalcitrant six year-old, I will place you in a full body bind.”

Several very satisfactory and scathing retorts came to mind, but Severus was again constrained by his physical limitations. He wondered idly if Healers and mediwitches had to take a course in offensive behaviour; or if being in the medical profession was only taken up by a certain managing personality type. If the latter were the case, Miss Granger would probably be running St. Mungo's in a few years. “Okay, all done, wiggle away.”

Severus raised his brow, wishing to convey that he was well past the age of wiggling and had been for some time now.

The doctor settled her wand in one pocket then reached for the promised quill and parchment. “I charmed it so you can reuse it. Drink this potion for the pain.”

She thrust a blue bottle under his nose and tapped her foot impatiently against the wood floor. Severus, against his finely honed sense of self-preservation, snatched the phial from her hand, gulped it down and threw it petulantly against the wall. It made a soft thud, bringing to mind Lucius' thrown bottle when he had discovered the madness brewing inside Severus. He gasped for air, his frame wracked by tremors, and the doctor was suddenly holding him tightly. As his shaking calmed, she released him. “Clearly, you aren't ready for our little talk. Rest a while.”

&*&*&

He woke again well after the sun had reached its zenith. His mouth tasted as if it had been used as a litter box for a colony of Kneazles and his head pounded. The doctor sat reading in a chair she had installed in the room. She wore glasses, a thing he had not known before. He suspected she normally wore contacts, or spelled her eyes with a mild Occularis perfecta charm. He found her horn-rimmed oddities fascinating. She glanced up, holding her place in the book with an index finger. “Are you ready for our talk?”

Yes. He was. He attempted the words, but only managed the accompanying nod. She shoved the discarded parchment and quill in his hand before she stated mildly, “So, you're the famous Severus Snape.”

Severus was certain he could hear the laughing yips of the coyotes corralled safely in their dens.

&*&*&

Author's Notes:


*“...Yellow Hair at Little Big Horn...” This refers to George Armstrong Custer, a Lieutenant Colonel during the Indian wars conducted in the American West in the latter part of the nineteenth century. Custer was known for his victories over the native peoples, really a series massacres committed on Native populations, usually conducted at dawn, while the villages were still asleep. On June 25th and 26th of 1876, Custer underestimated his 'enemy' in the final campaign of a brutal war that was fought over gold found in the Black Hills. He had cornered the Northern Cheyenne, which had been joined by Lakota and Arapaho tribes, led by Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse, at the Little Big Horn River in Montana. Custer split his troops into three groups, possibly attempting a hammer and anvil or pincer attack, by trying to flank the tribes then ripping through the middle of their formation. What occurred is speculated upon, but Custer and two hundred sixty eight men under his command were killed. This marked the last victory for both Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse.

In Son of the Morning Star, by Evan S. Connell, it is portrayed that Sitting Bull pierced Custer’s eardrums after his death, so that he might hear better in the afterlife.

For more information on the battle, consult Wikipedia under the Battle of Little Big Horn. For Custer's battle tactics, refer to the Battle of the Washita on the same site.


** MINS: Magical Immigration and Naturalization Service. The real acronym of the agency is now ICE. If it were Magical it would be MICE, you can see why I retained the older pre-Homeland Security acronym.

***MFBI: Magical Federal Bureau of Investigation, a division of the FBI.



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