Breeding Lilacs out of Dead Land.

Chapter 12 – Where the Hermit-Thrush Sings in the Pine Trees.


Moonbeams slanted through the arched windows, floating in the darkness like visionary sea creatures. It then sank to lay on the rows of beds that lined the hall, moving along flowing cotton screens as if in order emphasize the shape of the unmoving figures behind them. Albus Dumbledore’s gaze strayed along the blackened room, and then roamed back to the still body of his Potions Master. At some point during the last forty-eight hours, Severus’s haunted eyes had finally closed, his grip on Hermione Granger’s hand had finally loosened, and he fell asleep.

The Mental Specialist who had been immediately summoned over from St. Mungo’s, gave orders that no sleep potions whatsoever were allowed, declaring the interaction with the medication he treated Severus with, would deflect its action. The NRP, or the Neurotransmitters Rehabilitating Potion, was a recent development influenced by modern Muggle psychiatry themes, which worked by magically normalizing the neurotransmitters’ activity on the subject’s brain. In order for the NRP to work to its full potential, the patient had to be temporarily clean of any additional drugs.

The expert healer told the three of them that aside from casting Enervate! which might lead to some serious mental side-affects, there was nothing that could immediately be done to shake Snape out of his temporary, coma-like condition. The NRP, he continued, was given in order to improve Snape’s mental state over the next twenty-four hour period. The catatonia, which was a somatic reaction to psychological situations, reflected the patient’s current status. Incapable of dealing with situations which his life presented him, his psyche had chosen to retreat until he was strong enough to react. The moment Snape felt safe enough, the healer explained, he would abandon this temporary retreat and rejoin the living world. They were left with no further instructions other than to try and induce an atmosphere of safety and acceptance. Hermione left shortly after, though she did stop at Snape\'s bedside several times during the following days. Her daughter, on those rare occasions when she joined her mother at the Hospital Wing, was extremely quiet.

The old wizard didn’t pretend to know what had passed between his Potions Master and his former student. Walking in on them on the other night was something even he had not expected. Rumour held that Albus Dumbledore was omniscient. That was hardly true. Phineas Nigellus Black, his own Headmaster, would have dismissed this idea with a snort. Albus Dumbledore, the hot-blooded, temperamental Gryffindor – omniscient? How ridiculous. But the years had taught him patience and had also taught him attentiveness. The things one could learn by simply being attentive to one’s surroundings were amazing. People rarely paid as much attention as they should; everyone was too busy driving toward their own ends, too busy to contemplate the whole picture. His age gave him the perspectives he had lacked at seventeen, fifty, and even eighty. This, and the readiness – which was difficult to master – to acknowledge the sheer power of coincidence to shape hearts and events. At his advanced age, Albus Dumbledore was ready to put Occam’s Razor aside and allow contradictions to exist simultaneously.

There was not much more he needed to know, in order to put two and two together and track the chain of events leading to Severus’s breakdown. He had his suspicions over the last couple of days, and when Hermione repeated the conversation that had preceded Severus’s withdrawal, ending with her physically assaulting him, Albus nodded sadly, and for several minutes remembered, not for the first time, the man who had been Justin Snape and the man he had become. Breaching the Snapes’ defense in order to protect the wife and any of the four children from their abusive father was impossible. Even by the time Justin had lost most of the Snape family fortune, the name Snape was still enough of a threat to hold back the enquiries of the great Albus Dumbledore.

None of Justin’s children escaped their childhood unharmed. Quentin was a violent, angry boy: he governed his Slytherin schoolmates courageously, assisted both by his undeniable charisma and considerable firmness, which sometimes bordered on cruelty. Clair was less of a social star, and more private and introverted. The first and last Ravenclaw Snape, Clair had read a lot – preferring her fantastic realms to these of reality – and achieved outstanding accomplishments in almost every subject. Aurelia had taken after her elder brother. She wasn’t as aggressive as Quentin, nor she was as charismatic, but she was charming in her own way and knew how to use her distinguished Snape intellect in her own way. Severus had some of each of their qualities and also lacked some characteristic that each of them had. He had Quentin’s firmness, but lacked his charisma; Clair’s introvertedness and self-righteousness, but not the inner calm that made her safe and a Ravenclaw. He was ambitious as Aurelia, but not as charming. And he was the cleverest of the four, the youngest, and the least socially skilled. Quite the explosive combination. Add two Gryffindor pranksters into the equation, and Severus Snape’s Hogwarts career was practically doomed.

Albus Dumbledore was probably the one least surprised at young Snape’s decision to temporarily removeselfself from the Wizarding World. Since Snape senior had flatly refused to fund his son’s attendance at Muggle University, Severus Snape applied for a scholarship. Being the prodigy he was, he was granted the cost of his combined honours course in Chemistry and Literature.

It was the hazardous and strange lure of power, which drew him back to the Wizarding World and into Tom Riddle’s arms. The right person was sent to recruit him, but it wasn’t until Severus was exposed to Riddle’s deadly radiance that he was doomed. Dumbledore never shared this observation with Snape; he knew there was no need, in fact, but Tom Riddle had often reminded him of Severus’s own father. Had Riddle been able to provide Severus the reassurance he had been so desperate for? Or perhaps it was the pain Severus could no longer imagine living without? Perhaps it was for both reasons. Most probably, it was.

When Snape turned to him – to the great, powerful, supposedly omnipotent Albus Dumbledore, the same wizard who could not shelter young Severus from his abusive father – Snape was a broken man. “Take my wand,” he had pleaded with him, “take it.” And Dumbledore remembered shaking his head, stuffing the wand back into the hand where it belonged.

“No, my dear boy. There are still many good things you can do with this wand. Keep it.”

And Severus kept the wand; using it to atone for the injustices he did as a Death Eater, in memory of a young girl whose face he could not even remember. How far did one have to escape before he faced those demons he’d been running away from? Some people were lucky enough never to finish their circling of the globe, where they should find their gh had had been waiting for them all along. And some people cut their journey and turned back. During the past few days, Dumbledore had frequently found himself wondering as to the real motives behind Hermione Granger’s return to the Wizarding World. He wasn’t sure whether the girl knew it herself, but Albus Dumbledore had the most persistent hunch Miss Granger was looking for closure. It certainly explained her sudden concern for the man who had raped her. Whether her motivation could actually be fully verbalized was something Dumbledore doubted. But she seemed to be looking for a raw, bleeding wound, which she could seal, and Snape had provided her with one. It rarely mattered who was the one bleeding. And she most probably attended to Snape because he needed to be taken care of.

Once again, the crude incidental randomness of the circumstances was shaping the picture. Severus Snape needed someone to take care of him. Hermione Granger needed to be needed. But alas, it wasn’t that simple. People could hardly ever act as an appropriate substitute for stray animals or even little children. Severus needed someone to take care of him; that was true enough. Nonetheless, he needed someone to take care of him for himself, and not out of selfish, though absolutely legitimate need.

Truth – people had blindly provided their peers with their own misdirected hungers all the time. In the end, it had been these unrequited energies that set the world in motion. Hermione Granger might be able to heal herself through Hogwarts’ Potions Master, but what would become of Severus Snape once she was done with him…? Dumbledore frowned at the darkness. Selfish, old man, that is what you are, he told himself. Universal justice probably demanded that Hermione Granger collect her payment in whatever way she saw fit. She surely had the moral right. But Albus Dumbledore was sitting in the dimness of the Hospital Wing, concerned about the well being of the man he had once taken in. Worrying over the supposed sinner who had been, in fact, the only human being who ever needed him as much as Albus Dumbledore needed to be needed. In an odd way, the one human being Albus Dumbledore had ever given life to.

Severus was breathing slowly. Sleep had granted him the grace of smoothening out his harsh features into an expression of calm Albus Dumbledore couldn’t remember having seen him wear for many years now. The Potions Master’s breaths were deep and placid; matching the slow rhythm of Miss Granger’s who was lying in a nearby bed. The girl wouldn’t, couldn’t let go of Snape. And neither will you, you old, sentimental fool.

Dumbledore was slightly surprised to hear footsteps in the dark. Then he recognized the rhythm of his Arithmency Teacher’s springy, graceful walking.

“Anna,” he said quietly, “isn’t it late for you to be down here?”

Never one for shyness, she leaned to brush her lips against Dumbledore’s crumpled cheek. “No more than it is late for you, Headmaster.”

Quietly pulling a chair next to his bed, she sat by his side. Dumbledore didn’t miss the somewhat wary look she gave Hermione\'s jumper, left for some reason on a nearby bed. But Anna was a Rosier, remarkably subtle at that, and didn’t say a thing. She did speak in response to Dumbledore’s amused glance. “I knew I’d lose him sooner or later,” she admitted with a serenity that never ceased to intrigue Dumbledore, “I simply didn’t think… I would lose him like this.”

There was no need to ask for explanation.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

Anna laughed quietly: the soft, delightful ripples of her laughter babbling into the dimness. “I might be a Ravenclaw, but the core would always remain Slytherin. I don’t think you’re omniscient, Headmaster, and I would rather not be tricked into admission I’m not willing to make. Please be kind enough as to allow me to keep my secrets.”

Dumbledore nodded sadly. “I am sorry, Anna. It was not my intention to hurt you.”

She shrugged. “Well, I seem to be easily hurt nowadays.”

They sat silently for several moments. “Were they involved when she was a student?” she asked.

“You are underestimating me, my dear girl, if you believe I would have allowed such a thing. You are underestimating yourself as well. Do you think your lover’s having an affair with another woman would have had escaped you?”

“No, no,” she agreed. “But then the child…”

“Is Severus’s story to tell.”

“Of course.” Anna huffed, crossing her arms over her chest as if she were cold. His strong, elegant, often restless Arithmancy Professor had obviously been bothered.

“What is the matter, Anna?” he asked softly.

“Oh,” she shook her head. “Nothing out of the ordinary, really, Headmaster. Dark times, the Dark Lord hovering over our heads, a former student returns from the dead with my lover’s child…”

“Is that bitterness I hear?”

“Only partially. And not even on the larger part. Did you know the Rosiers have seers blood?” she asked suddenly. “It’s very far up the line and I’m probably working myself into believing my hunches are more than merely the hormonal drift of a middle-aged witch, but… I’m worried Albus. We have been marching on the spot for so long that Gaia is restless,” she stopped, shaking her head with bitter scorn. “Look at me. I’m beginning to sound like Sybil.”

Dumbledore sighed. “That is understandable, dear. I know what you’re talking about. Sometimes… I should confess, I see omens all the time. But you’re correct; the times are indeed –shifting. Yes,” he hushed her with a swift gesture, smiling. “The centaurs have been telling me so ever since Harry Potter set foot on Hogwarts’ grounds… But now I also have the opinion of a Rosier seer, haven’t I?”

“Rosier amateurish, perfunctory seer.”

“Amateurish? Perhaps. But not perfunctory, Anna dear. Now tell me about Conrad?”

“Conrad and why did I apparently chose him over your pet spy, or simply Conrad Vector?”

Dumbledore chuckled. “Tell me of Amarlyn, then.”

Anna blinked tiredly. “Marly is fine. Taken with University life, that is. She sent me some sensible, practical Muggle walking shoes for Christmas, claiming I’d never purchase a pair if I were left to my own dubious tastes. She was never one to appreciate the lure of stiletto heels,” Anna gave an unhappy laugh. “I am getting old, that’s the problem, shoved into sensible footwear and receiving a reducing trunk from my husband as a Christmas present. Then I see my lover brood unconsciously over another woman, for whatever prosaic reasons, and I begin to ponder over my past choices and regret I haven’t done things otherwise. And I do love Conrad,” she added after some afterthought. “He is good for me. He stabilizes me. Severus and I… we are too much alike. In due time, we would have mingled into each other, and forgotten everything about the other person ever being there… we’d simply forget the other-one is presence. Severus is good for me for short periods… for those brief hours when we’re both looking for relief. I admit to wanting him more than he wants me… But it wouldn’t have worked. Not even if he loved me.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “I was not expecting an explanation, Anna. Your choices were legitimately yours to take. You owe me nothing at all.”

“Oh, it’s not like that.” She waved her hands with frustration. “Damn, I wish I had a cigarette now. What I’m trying to say is, Headmaster… that I don’t want you to think I hurt Severus, or left him on his own. I am a mother, you know. I would have strangled everyone who tries to hurt my babies. I admit to making my choices selfishly… Quite a silly admission as Severus was never even in the picture when I married Conrad. But I’d like you to understand that I’m not good to him for anything more than what we already have, and I don’t and never had in me the things to make him happy. I want you know that I’m sorry that I cannot. For him, and somewhat for me. And for you.”

The older wizard was quiet for a long time, watching the man lying on the bed beside him. “You humble me, Professor,” he said at last, his voice quiet and restrained.

Anna smiled sadly. “I won’t be swayed by your sweet words of temptation, Headmaster.”

“Really?” Dumbledore allowed a faint hue of amusement creep into his voice. “If that is so, then I believe I’ll just have to work my magic on someone who does.”

The Arithmancy Professor outstretched her arm to take his own veiny hand in hers. Her fingers were warm and dry and soft, and had very much induced the impression that was, for the lack of better word – Anna Rosier Vector. “Severus is going to be just fine,” she assured him gently. “He’s been through so much and went too far to miss the end of this.”

“Yes. You are right, of course.”

Anna stood up, and once again, leaned to kiss Albus’s wrinkled cheek. “So don’t worry, Headmaster. Nodens and Sulis will be with him.”

“Thank you, Anna.”

“You are welcome. Goodnight, Headmaster.” He thought she was leaving, but Anna had suddenly stopped, turning to face Dumbledore. “You need your sleep as much as I do,” she told him quietly. “Please, Headmaster.”

He simply shook his head. “Goodnight, Anna.”

“Very well. May the Gods be with you and grant you serenity. You deserve it, Albus. Goodnight.”

Elegantly, she exited the hall, closing the door so gently behind her that the whispered click of the bolt was swallowed by the steady, quiet rumble of the night.

* * *

He was in the Honeydukes Sweetshop.

His first visit to the place after two years of departure from the Wizarding World brought to mind a description from a Muggle folktale, telling of a house made of sweets. A house with walls of wafer, windowpanes of crunchy biscuits, a thatched roof of creamy nougat chunks, with coloured chocolate-buttons and toffee-moss dotting the outer walls of the cabin.

He remembered his younger self thinking the place was Magic.

He remembered entering the sweetshop on his twenty-first year, with the memory of his ashen haired girl still swirling in his mind and the knowledge that the wretched Albus Dumbledore was waiting for him inside. He knew the old wizard would hand him over to Azkaban once he had heard Severus’s confession, and though he feared the prospect, the knowledge was somewhat relieving. So it was with a sense of relief that Snape welcomed the heady, dizzying scent of sweets, which clouded his brain the moment he set foot inside the sweetshop.

And here he was once again, roaming the many shelves of sweets, with the intoxicating scents of chocolate, marzipan and toffee surrounding him. Dumbledore’s voice was playing somewhere in the background. After their meeting, almost thirty years ago, in this place, Snape could no longer enter the Honeydukes without sensing the presence of the old, wizened wizard, lingering on the taste buds of his mind.

Once more, he was pacing along the aisles of the one place in which he always felt secure and sheltered and trusted. The one place where he ever felt warm. How strange it should be a sweetshop.

“I’ll be waiting for you at Honeydukes, February the 11th at two thirty pm.” read Dumbledore’s script. “The shopkeepers are members of the Order, and nobody will ever think spying on us there. Please destroy the message after memorizing its contents. A. D.”

“Here, have a toffee,” those were Albus Dumbledore’s first words to the young Death Eater standing in front of him.

He then popped a honey-coloured toffee into his mouth, and chewing on it thoughtfully, gave Snape a sober look. “Well, young man. I’ve been given to understand you have something to share with me.”

And Snape did.

The ancient wizard’s voice was floating in the back of his brain in those very moments. Unconsciously, Snape reached for a honey coloured toffee. The sweet, glutinous substance stuck to his gums, and he peeled it by slowly sucking it off. The toffee’s rich, heavy, sweetness filled his mouth. Closing his eyes, Snape let himself drift. By the time he opened them, he was comfortably curled into a ball, crouched in a dimly lit corner of the shop with the toffee’s flavour still filling his mouth. Albus voice was now like slow, rhythmic breathing, embracing him like a visionary womb.

He found that his face was flushed. Lifting his hand, Snape touched it to his cheek, sensing the lingering warmth of Hermione Granger’s body still clinging to his skin. She was breathing too, somewhere nearby; though not close enough for him to see her. Snape frowned at the memory that sneaked in to claim his attention. She was crying and yelling at him, or perhaps it was Justin? Justin was insulting the little child and making her cry. It was a deed worthy of Justin. An arrow of pain shot through Snape’s midriff, bending him almost in half. Fuck fuck fuck fuck…. Hurry, back to the Honeydukes, there, a Lemon Drop… he’d chew the lemon drop and think of Albus, think of Albus and everything will be alright… she promised him so. Te jó isten…! He clenched his teeth. Oh, God, make this pain go away… Behind the blur of whirling emotions, he could see a faint glimpse of the infirmary. Hermione Granger’s concerned face hovered over him and her lips moved with words he could not discern. And there was the child, sitting on a nearby bed, watching Snape with guarded gaze.

No. No. The sight of her scorched his corneas. She’d look at him until he was blinded and there would be only Justin Snape in the mirror.

With a strenuous effort, Snape willed himself back to Honeydukes, where it was safe and warm and smelled of sweets- like Albus’s office. He could not leave. Not yet.

Shaking, he lay on the floor, allowing his guilt and self-hatred to wash over him and dissolve into the scent of baking fudge. Once he regained his composure he could experiment with the shops varied merchandise. As a Hogwarts student, his allowance was small and meager, cut down to almost nothing by Justin’s miserliness. He’d have to watch his Slytherin housemates explorihe she sweetshop and its contents from afar, declining these few offers to join them – when he ever received any – because he had no money to spare. And now he had Honeydukes to himself.

Fizzing Whizbees, Droobles Best Blowing Gum, Canary Creams, Acid Pops, Ice Mice, peppermint creams shaped like toads, Fudge Flies and Sugar Quills…

Like being eleven years old again. And for some time, his body reshaped and gained the form of his eleven-years-old self. Sleep took over him floating in mid-air, Fizzing Whizbees popping in his mouth, and slowly cradled him down. Lying on the wooden floor of the sweetshop; Hermione Granger’s perfume lingering in the air around him, he fell asleep, and for once, Snape could not remember having nightmares.

* * *

He drifted slowly into wakefulness, as if, for some reason, he had consumed medic-chocolate before falling asleep. The sugary scents of Honeydukes were gone, and the cold realization of his whereabouts sank into his bones like October frost. There was the pungent smell of medication; the sharp-sweet fragrance of Lemon Drops and Albus. And mysteriously, a waning fragrance that was roses and expensive soap and feminine sweat, which was entirely Hermione Granger’s. Why her scent should be awaiting him when he woke up, Snape couldn’t tell. Nor why he should find it soothing instead of terrifying.

Reluctant to face whatever awakening had been awaiting him, Snape opened his eyes. And swore. “Holy shit, Albus! What the hell have you done to yourself?”

The shift had almost been visible. From strong, powerful wizard, Albus Dumbledore transformed overnight into a fragile, worried old man. His crumpled skin was pale and dry like old parchment; his hair dropping in limp, lifeless strands from his skull, and his eyes were faded, and oddly dim.

“Good morning, Severus. Judging by your eloquence, you impress me as being well: seeing you’re back to your old charming mannerisms.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Albus. You look like shit.”

Dumbledore smiled calmly. “What a cheering welcome into this bright, new afternoon. Though I must admit to being disappointed with myself for providing you a reason to stray off topic.”

Snape felt himself dissolving into the mattress, in useless heap of bones and what little flesh. “Do you know what you look like? You look old, and you look worried and unhealthy. God damn you, Albus,” he said with a strained voice. “You look human, and it scares the hell out of me.”

“Well, at least I’m not looking – how did you put it? d, wd, worried and unhealthy, on a daily basis. Which you do, by the way.”

Snape groaned. “This conversation is-“

“-Your way of avoiding the truly burning issues,” Dumbledore summed up. “That’s all right, my dear boy. I will not pry. Not until… Not before we’re both ready.”

He looked at the old man, fighting the urge to shut his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see the sorrow and the tiredness flickering in those blue depths. Suddenly cold, Snape wrapped himself with the heavy, winter blanket, afraid of what he might find in Dumbledore’s gaze. He was tired and guilty, and sickened to understand he had no idea how to face Hermione Granger and her child. Couldn’t face Justin. All the roads lead to Acheron.

He knew that Aniko’s ghost would walk through the Polish winter forever, looking for the village that no longer existed. He knew that Quentin would die, time and time again. He knew that the black birds would eat away his body, never stopping until Justin’s bloodied, disfigured soul, was exposed underneath.

Snape breathed deeply before facing Dumbledore once again. “I am exhausted.”

“That’s to be expected after going through such an emotional breakdown,” Dumbledore told him sympathetically.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

The older man’s expression became serious. “I have never known you to be a coward,” he said gravely.

Snape made a choked sound in the back of his throat, not a cry, nor laughter either. “You have never known me to be anything but a coward, Headmaster. First my cowardice drove me to the Dark Lord’s service, then, when I could no longer take anymore, I cowered and turned to you. And you kept ignoring my flaws, determined to divert me, or perhaps to provide me with some twisted image of myself that I could live with. I confess that seeing myself in your eyes was the closest thing to serenity I have ever experienced. But the truth is, Albus, this war is never going to end. Not for me.”

“I have disappointed you, Severus, and for that, I apologize-“

“-There is nothing you should apologize to me for.”

“Please, let me be the judge of that. Moreover, my dear boy, you must know that some of our sins are strictly ours to envision and figure out, and no protestation would ever change that.” Dumbledore gave Snape a tired glance, and then continued. “It was not in my power to grant you the redemption you needed. Over the years, I have found that whether or not it was my duty to redeem you, it doesn’t matter at all. I wanted to redeem you, andcovecovered it was not in my power. That is a load from which even you can’t unburden me. We are human, Severus, and therefore, never omnipotent. We keep regretting the things we could not have managed, and I imagine we always will. I don’t wish you to unburden me from the load of not being omnipotent. I don’t wish you to unburden me from the load of being human, that is. Nonetheless, the fact I did not succeed in redeeming you, is not to say you are hess.ess. It is not to say you should, or have the moral right to give in. I therefore beseech you, Severus, go and find your redemption. There is still hope for you.”

Snape shut his eyes. “I am tired, Albus. So tired, you could not imagine. Sometimes I honestly don’t think I mind about the cause anymore because I’m so fucking spent. It’s hard to tell when, but somewhere along the line survival stopped being something you do on an instinct and became a struggle. Oh, Blast! Hear me, I’m practically whining. My point is- I don’t mind. Don’t tell me about redemption because I’m too exhausted to care, and if I wasn’t exhausted, I wouldn’t be listening to youher,her, because I’ve grown tired of false hopes. Est ubi gloria nunc Babyloniae? Spare me. I hardly mind.”

“It is unfortunate then, that I do,” Dumbledore answered him calmly. “And I won’t give up on you. Even if you wish I had.”

“You should be attending to your school.”

“Ah! Such luck that it is my school so I can attend to it the way I see fit. Here, I see Poppy approaching to check on you… I’ll just go see to some of the other patients while you are treated, then we can dine together.” And the Headmaster glided behind the white screen of the partition, leaving Snape to the mercy of Madam Pomfrey.

The mediwitch stood on his bedside, watching him with a dry, practical expression. The truth was that Snape was generally fond of the small, laconic woman. She attended to her duties competently and skillfully, harbored a genuine concern for the student body, and refrained from bothering Snape more than was absolutely necessary, which was already more than enough. Right now, however, he barely felt in the mood to have any sort of company. Therefore, he allowed Poppy to attend him, answered her questions with grunts and monosyllables and was grateful when she finally left him alone. Unfortunately, Dumbledore didn’t care to do so either. The ancient wizard had reappeared several minutes after Poppy was gone, with a house-elf carrying two dinner trays at his side. The food was placed on a small, collapsible table, and Dumbledore sank back to the chair in which Snape had found him upon waking up.

Reluctantly, Snape shifted to a sitting position, rearranging the blanket around his body.

“Bon appetit!” The older boomed cheerfully. “I see we have your favourites!”

He snorted. “We have a sample of everything served for dinner in the great hall.”

“Well. Then it must contain your favourite!” Dumbledore answered cheerfully, refusing to be put off by Snape’s chilly demeanor.

“I don’t have any favourites.”

Dumbledore lifted an eyebrow. “If I remember correctly, there are certain dishes you despise less than others. We can consider those as your favourites.”

Snape eyed the food mistrustfully. Some baked potatoes, sausages, cooked vegetables, eggs, pudding, pumpkin juice… nothing ou the the ordinary. He watched Dumbledore reaching for the black pudding. The concept of British food was something he always found repulsive. Aniko had used to cook him… Rakott krumpli, lecsó and töltött paprika, with mákos tészta and palacsinta for dessert. Basic, rural food, simply done out of simple ingredients, almost as if she wished to annoy the house-elves. Hogwarts food was basic enough so not to bother him, but the taste of Aniko’s cooking lingered. Haunted him. Like her ghost. Like the father he grown to be. Snape choked on his food, spitting out the half chewed bacon. “I can’t eat this,” he blurted, “I’m sorry.”

Dumbledore frowned. “Is there anything else in specific you’d like to eat?”

He thought of Aniko’s palacsinta. Odd, as he usually didn’t think of sweets when being asked about food. His mother’s crepe had been thin and light, but nonetheless precise with its doughiness and its light sweetness. Aniko would have made her own white cheese if Justin would have only allowed it. And raisins. He loved the raisins. But Aniko was long gone, dead at fifty-five after long years of abuse, taken swiftly and brutally by a deadly cancer: an appropriate end to a woman who had barely known a moment of happiness.

“Severus… Severus!” Dumbledore’s voice penetrated the thick haze of his thoughts.

“Yes… I’m sorry, Headmaster. I’ve beriftrifting.”

“I asked you if there’s anything in specific you would like to eat.”

Snape shook his head. “No, no. The food here will do fine.” Reaching for a scone, he covered it with some jam, then took a bite of the pastry. Hot, and doughy and tasteless. Hunger was a growling pain in the bottom of his stomach, an animal he had to satiate, but nonetheless, eating made Snape want to throw up. Even though his body’s demand for food reminded him that he was a part of the living world, he’d rather be hungry.

“Do you have any plans for New Year\'s Eve?”

He blinked. Dumbledore’s question came as a complete surprise. Snape swallowed the bit of pastry he had been chewing, and turned to glare at the Headmaster. “You know I don’t have any.”

“The Order’s meeting will be held on the afternoon of December’s 31. We’ll be gathering in 12 Grimauld Place. I hear a party is planned after the meeting.”

“A vile notion,” Snape grumbled automatically. “Who is responsible? Let me guess. It sounds like something Mrs Potter might like throwing… with the help of her annoying brothers, that is.”

Virginia Weasley Potter, like her mother before her, was gifted with the ability to handle large numbers of people. Apparently, she enjoyed doing so. Putting a possible career aside in order to marry Potter and raise their children, the obnoxious girl seemed fond of managing her accompaniments as well. That was how the Order had now come to enjoy her skills.

“It looks like you are correct,” Dumbledore confirmed. “Seeing that our plans for New Year\'s Eve are compromised due to the coming meeting, young Ginny has been kind enough to throw a party. I, for once, am extremely grateful.”

“Of course.”

“I glad to see you’re excited at the prospect.”

Snape managed another scone, buttered this time, and some vegetables. “Is there a reason,” he began, his eyebrows knotting, “Why was Miss Granger sitting at my bedside?”

The Headmaster looked at him quizzically. “Do you remember the events leading to your hospital admission?”

Was Dumbledore referring to the half-witted woman’s jumping on him, or her irksome decision to treat him like a baby once his control had been shattered and his higher-brain stopped serving him? Than yes, he remembered it all too well. Damn her, for treating him like incapable child; damn her for showing up at the moment when he was the weakest, and thwarting his defenses. Damn her for staying, and damn her for being so soft and so warm he could not let go. Damn him for not wanting to let go. For wanting her to stay forever. “I never wanted her to-,” he blurted out, voice trailing in mid-sentence. “It doesn’t give her the right…-”

“Doesn’t give her what right, Severus? To care for you? To be worried about you? To wish you well?”

“She shouldn’t. By all means, Albus…! The woman is ought to hate me.”

“But she doesn’t. While you refuse to let go of your old grudges.”

Snape scowled. “What are you trying to say, Albus?”

Dumbledore gave Snape a guarded gaze. Something about him sizzled, like the low hum of magic in a young wizarding child. “What I shall say is, that perhaps you have something to learn from Hermione Granger.”

“That’s absurd.”

Dumbledore only shrugged. “Tell me, Severus, when you look in the mirror, who is it that you see.”

“That is cruel.”

“All right,” the Headmaster agreed. “We’ll try it from another angle. Can you please tell me what terrified you so much the other day, that you had to withdraw?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do,” Dumbledore answered quietly. “Why were you threatened, Severus?”

“It was… I didn’t. I wasn’t threatened. It was because, I was sick.” He clenched his fists. “The child. She came to me, and I pushed her away. I was cruel. I knew I was hurting her and carried on anyway. I wanted to hurt her. She was getting too close; I needed to make sure she’d never attempt to reach for me again. And that felt good, crushing her like that, like the little, annoying insect she was, avenging the discomfort she put me into. Avenging what Justin… what Justin…” A ribbon of blood trickled down his palm, but he didn’t notice it. “It felt right. Fuck it all to hell. I’m a sick, sadistic bastard, Albus. I deserve everything he ever did to me. He knew I worth shit. I am just like him. And I hated him so much, Albus. I hate him so damn much.”

“You hate him so much,” the old wizard picked up the dying echo of Snape\'s words, “that you never went on with your life. You hated him so much that you let him make you hurt Aubrey, in a similar, though not so severe way as he hurt you. Tell me, my dear boy, where has your hatred led you?”

“Stop it, Albus.”

But he didn’t. “Your hatred led you to the exact point where you looked in the mirror and you saw Justin Snape. It led you to destruction. Don’t you agree with me, then, when I tell you it might now be the time to take a different path?”

“There is no different path,” he managed through gritted teeth.

“Yes there is,” Dumbledore objected. “The path Hermione Granger chose to take the day she was raped.”

“She was but a child. She didn’t know what she was doing.”

“That’s behind the point. The important thing is where did that choice take her?”

“I fail to see your point, Albus.”

“Once again you evade me. But I respect your intelligence, and have no doubt you’ll be able to complete the process without me. Just give it some thought, Severus.”

Shaking, Snape let his fists unclench, staring at the blood smeared on his left palm. “She despises me.”

Dumbledore shook his head quietly. “You are the only one who despises yourself.”

“I’m returning to my chambers.”

“I believe Poppy is the one you should approach on the matter.”

“That’s what I’m about to do.”

“And ask her to attend to your hand as well.”

“Of course.”

* The Chapter\'s title is taken from T. S. Eliot\'s \"The Waste Land\".

* Nodens - British God. God of healing; related to the Irish god Nuada.

* Sulis - British Goddess. Goddess of healing, she presided over hot springs in Aquae Sulis (modern Bath); often conflated with the Roman goddess Minerva.


A/N

Just wanted to thank everyone who made the effort and reviewed: the former two chapters were difficult to write, and in a way, consuming. So thank you JennD, Rumours, IrishRavenX, Tanya, Tanyec, Deb (who\'s continuous reviews became something I\'ve learned to expect :-) thank you!), spaz141 (a special thank you as well), and also to Nocturnus (!), Susan, franflutewitch, excessivelyperky, deblovesdragon (your diagnosis concerning the ability of two incomplete people to complete each other was marvelous, and I havrmiormione relating to this subject exactly in one of the following chapters), chibidiaima, and loup garou (if I forgot someone one, just hit me over the head with a cactus) thank you so much!