Forgiveness

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This chapter was beta'ed by Drusilla of Perfect Imagination.

Forgiveness

Chapter 12

“You disgust me,” Albus had said, and the sentiment was echoed in the eyes of the woman looking at him, lids heavy with lack of sleep, mouth drawn in a scowl reminiscent of one of his own.

Nothing changed in the room after her pronouncement, but Severus' vision shifted as if he were back in the shack on the edge of Hogsmeade, bleeding his life out on the filthy floor. He felt cool hands on his neck before he saw them, felt the pressure of yet another vial on his lips before he tasted the Calming Draught contained in it. He heard her concern before it registered in his split brain. “Russe.. Mr.... Snape, come on, breathe.”

She knuckled him in his sternum, and then he was whole and raging. He screamed in the incoherent way he had at Potter on two notable times, spittle flying, nerves stretched beyond taut to breaking. Instead of backing away like a mad-woman, she eased forward, holding him in her arms. She rocked him, whispering soft things in his fear-deafened ears. He raged on, a broken animal howling its pain, snapping at the hand that would help it. He felt his fingers, long and gracile, dig into the soft flesh of her arms and could do nothing but let them sink further. He knew there would be bruises and prayed they would not count against him when he was arrested in this new country.

He was so tired of being the goat.

Slowly, the Draught took effect and he could focus on her words. “...not in danger. The war is over.”

But Severus knew it never would be for him. He had so much for which to atone. He dragged his fingers from her flesh and to his over-ripe hair, long overdue for a wash. “I do wish to apologise, Doctor.”

“For...?”

“My deception.” Severus would have moved out of the bed, save he had not entirely lost his reason. He was still in the altogether, and would not inflict his inadequate physique to her further scrutiny. “Please, my clothes, I would like to tell the children that I will be leaving them. They are Lakota from the Rosebud Reservation. You will contact their tribe when I am gone, to ensure their proper care and...”

Severus was shamed by the break in his voice as he thought of leaving his Stella to the indifferent care of strangers and the interruption of Joseph Pony's promising career. The doctor's quizzical gaze brought him back to the matter at hand. “I do assume, after these revelations, that I am sacked?”

Antonia smoothed her hands from his elbows to his wrists, eliciting a shiver from Severus that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature of the air-conditioned room. He had endured more of her caresses in the last day than he had received in his lifetime at the hands of his indifferent mother or even Lily. She sighed. “No. You're not fired. I may have to fire Russell Spane, but if Severus Snape wants the job.... the company doesn't need to know you're one and the same person. I assume you're here illegally, so... we'll think of some way to get your immigration status cleared up.”

Severus was wary immediately. No one did anything for him without a steep price tag attached. He could not keep the tone of wary hope out of his question as he asked, “You'll do this for me. Why?”

The doctor rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand. “There are several reasons. Not the least of which is your considerable knowledge and talent. Frankly, we need your skills on this project, and your work is internationally recognised.”

Severus had an irrational desire to kiss her for her truthfulness. It sneaked up on him while she made the maddening contact with his hand. He closed his eyes against the image, which only made the desire worse as he pictured her under him, her soft, full lips against his thin, hard ones, her exhalations of desire against his mouth. He opened his eyes. “And if I do not wish to stay, will you turn me in to your authorities?”

She had the temerity to laugh at him, and rage swept Severus once again. He trembled with the intensity of it. “I'm not offering you a deal. You can stay or go. We'll miss your skill, but the project will get along without you.”

“And the children, will you turn them out?”

“Mr. Snape, Sev... Oh hell, I don't know what to call you.” The doctor stood abruptly, and suddenly Severus was aware of the strain she was under by the taut line of her shoulders and the heaviness of her gait. “Stay, or don't, but don't abandon those children of yours. They need you more than you care to admit.”

She left, taking the warmth with her.


&*&*&

After Lily, there had been only one other woman who had drawn his interest, no matter how unworthy he was to have her favours He could not say he loved Charity Burbage, that sentiment was locked safely away in Lily's grave. His heart had died with her that night. But the Muggle Studies teacher had been pleasant company with no ties to his former life at Hogwarts or as a Death Eater. She had been hired directly out of university from the Canadian University of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She was Muggle-born and unprepossessing. Her company was pleasant and her body welcoming. Their association had been brief, by necessity. Albus needed his undivided attention once the Dark Lord had, indeed, resurrected himself. So, Charity was the sacrifice that Severus had to make. He did miss her at times.

Nevertheless, it came as some shock to hear, during a meeting with a newly-freed Lucius, that she was to be killed. There were no tears left in him to spare for her, merely a sad recognition that, once again, Severus was responsible for a friend's death. He could have told her to leave the country after her ill-conceived letter to the Daily Prophet. He could have protected her by giving her his name during their brief dalliance, for all that would have been worth, but he had been constrained from acting. He wondered idly if Albus had calculated her death, and deemed it a necessary sacrifice. Sometimes he hated the old man more than he had ever loved Lily.

Lucius looked at his old friend strangely once he delivered the news, but said nothing more on the subject. The comrades in conspiracy continued their talk as if there were no incipient ghosts present, no ravening spirits that would forever howl for Severus' guilty blood.

When he returned to Hogwarts, not even a month later, Severus was the one to clean out Charity's belongings. He would allow no other to enter her room. It was his penance to see to the tatty articles left by the warm woman who briefly endured his cold company.

It was when he found her letter to him that he broke down in tears that were unbidden and sudden, like an early winter squall. The note had been hidden in the secret space she had shown him while they slept together, he knew the charms to unlock the area, and he did so. There could be no incriminating documents to compromise this spy's identity.

In the letter, she told him she loved him,and even though he would never feel the same way about her, she hoped he could find his happiness with some other witch. She wished him well.

He had never told her his heart had died nearly twenty years before and by his own hand. He had not wanted to see the horror of his acts reflected in her kind eyes.

Severus made a great show to the staff of incinerating her belongings, along with the letter, slipped from his pocket in the last moment. From the swirling ashes in the dead fire, his hope died. He would never make it through the war. He did not want to. He had turned from the fire, cleansed of hope. He would do what he must and seek his final reward. That was the end he deserved and the end he sought.

&*&*&

Hours later, Antonia returned bearing another tray with more broth. Severus grunted; he would let her assume the meaning of the sound. She watched as he tucked in, and he ignored her interest, studiously gulping the broth and eating the dry toast, his straying eyes on the patch of peeling paint he had discovered in his hours of liberty. Once done, he sipped the tea, uncomfortably aware that the sheet had slipped during his gustative sojourn. She moved toward him, tucking the sheet firmly under his arms. The action caused him to pause. “How much did I say, while I was... out?”

“Not as much as you might think.” She sat primly on the edge of the bed, knees together, arms folded across her chest. “Joseph Pony told me most of it. His grandmother gave him the information that she gleaned from various publications.”

“So, she gave me a name after all...” Severus muttered, feeling betrayed by the Old Woman. “I suppose I have completely lost the boy's respect.”

“What? Mr.... What should I call you?' Antonia asked in apparent frustration.

Severus considered her request before answering, “I have become accustomed to 'Rus. I suppose that might be the most appropriate moniker.”

She snorted. “Do you want me to add Uncle to that?”

Severus' mind flooded with scenarios in which it might be quite pleasant for the doctor to call him Uncle. He held his face still, the erotic content of his thoughts were his own, even if they did disturbingly star the doctor. Once he had his emotions and other aspects of his person under firm control, he answered silkily, “No, 'Rus will be sufficient.”

“Okay, Rus.” She stressed his name. “Before we continue your treatments, I need to know what you did this morning. I detected moderate amounts of Datura in your system, apparently introduced via the burn on your hand. You really should have taken care of that before you handled the plant material.”

“Thank you, doctor for your unnecessary chastisement.” Severus narrowed his eyes. “I was unduly distracted, and the fault was entirely mine. Do, please, continue.”

Antonia inclined her head, her lips tightening in suppressed irritation. “The other findings are more worrisome, however. How many times were you Cruciated during the war, Rus?”

Severus regarded her with some disdain. “Are you merely curious, or is there a reason for the question?”

“Can't you give an answer without challenging me?” Antonia's scowl increased. “I'm waiting. Once? Twice? How many times?”

“At least three times.” Severus let the doctor relax, before adding, “A week for two years after the Dark Lord's return. In the early days of my service, I'm sure it was more often. It was the Dark Lord's favourite form of discipline. I think he relished the sexual overtones of it. He loved power, and since I was not one to grovel...”

Antonia had the grace to look ill. She began toying with the sheet, pleating it between her fingers and letting it go back to its flat shape before re-pleating it. When she gained some control, she said, “You have severe damage to your nerves. It showed up in the last scans I did.”

“Hmm,” Severus hummed. He knew too well the damage that had been wrought. Poppy had warned him just before Dumbledore's murder that his nervous system was deteriorating and that he was headed for a cell in St. Mungo's if he did not stop his spying. Severus' contribution had been too vital to desist, so he endured. “I was never supposed to survive.”

The doctor considered him for a moment. She answered his self-pitying response with some feigned dispassion, “Well, you did.”

They both returned to silence. Severus contemplated the spot on the wall that had drawn his interest before. It looked like the profile of a Hippogriff on first notice, but took on the aspect of a Thestral the more he looked.

“You're lucky, you know,” she finally said to the silence.

Severus quirked his eyebrow, a look that would have drawn the ire of Minerva McGonagall, but provoked no more than a smirk from the doctor. “How so?” he retorted. “That I survived when I never wanted to, or that I landed in your care, a person singularly disposed to provoke my irritation at every turn?”

“That I dealt with the effects of this particular torture in Zimbabwe,” Antonia continued easily. “Voldemort could have learned a good deal from the Hutu.”

Severus noted the haunted look in her eyes and felt unaccountably ashamed for his petulance. He turned from her, exposing his hip, before he realised the scar it carried from the Hippogriff's protective zeal was exposed. She ran her finger along it. “Or maybe not...”

&*&*&

Charity approached him during the Yule celebration of Potter's famed fourth year. Severus was on edge due to the proximity of Karkaroff, the Headmaster of Durmstrang, and fellow inductee into the Order of Stupid Bastards. She stood next to him in the line of chaperones. Severus had paid little attention to her before, but even he had to admit she looked particularly fetching in her gown. He slanted her a dark smile and her eyes kindled. Once the ball was over, and all the students but a few were safely bundled into bed, she had offered Severus a nightcap.

She was a tiny thing, he noted as he tucked her hand in his elbow. If he held her, her head would fit neatly under his chin. He wondered if her body would fit him smoothly. He found out that night as he sank into her. Her sweet sighs were balm to his ego. Years of greasy githood fell away as he drew responses from her and she from him. He awoke with a start the next day. It was strange waking with a woman wrapped around him, cozy, but odd. It was if she was offering him expiation for his sins, real and imagined. He held her stiffly until she woke, a soft smile on her lips, desire in her eyes. Severus took her again.

Things went well between them until the third event of the ill-fated Tri-Wizard Tournament. It was then that Albus called Severus to his office and told the younger wizard that he must lose all extraneous influences. The time had come for him to regain his focus.

Severus objected, but the words Albus had spoken so many years before echoed in his mind.

“Your disgust me,” Albus had said.

And Severus had braved Charity's tears for the greater good. His penance would continue until Albus saw fit to end it.

&*&*&

“You have questions, Doctor, about my true role in the war.” Severus began to break the contact of her hand to his buttocks.

“I was in England at the time,” she answered, her tone carefully neutral.

Severus shifted his frame, aware that the sheet covered less of him than he would have liked, but seeking to see her face in the clear light of early evening. “You have questions. I will give you this one chance to ask them, no matter how impertinent they may be. I may not give full answers to protect certain people, please respect that, but I will attempt to answer all your questions.”

“Look, 'Rus, this isn't some interrogation. I've learned all I need to know about you.” Antonia stood and began fussing with the tray on the bed. “If you want to tell me something, do it.”

Severus leaned forward, his voice a low, menacing rumble, “So, you think me a tamed Death Eater, or an honorable man. Do not believe everything you read, Doctor. I have raped and killed and at one time revelled in depravities that would make your African tribesmen look like children playing Exploding Snap. I am neither nice nor particularly noble. Do not mistake me for the weakling they wrote of in the papers. I am not he.”

The doctor moved toward him, her hands seeking his face and drawing his nightshade eyes to hers. With her lips scant millimetres from his, she smiled. “You know, animals that are frightened will make themselves appear bigger to scare off an attacker. I am not attacking you, Severus Snape, so what is truly frightening you? Are you afraid that your life's work was to be a bad-ass, and now that the war is over, you no longer have a purpose?”

Severus flung her hands away from him, screaming, “GET OUT!”

Antonia lifted the tray from the bed, the picture of calm possession. “You really are a frightened little man. I'll be back with your first round of meds in a few minutes. Your clothes are being repaired, but Joseph Pony brought you boxers and a t-shirt to sleep in.”

She left the room once again, the evening light slanting onto her hair, burnishing it in shades of copper and gold. She did not look back as she added, “The kids want to see you, so get dressed.”

&*&*&

“'Daddy, are you okay?” Stella asked as she poked her head through the door to Severus' erstwhile cell.

Severus put aside his book, letting the feeling of well-being wash over him at the sight of his daughter's rattily-braided hair and mismatched clothes. “Come in, my dear.”

Stella rushed forward, crushing him with a frantic hug. Joseph Pony stood at the door, his customary smirk a little more tentative than normal. “How ya doin'?”

“Better, Joseph Pony,” Severus nodded. The boy moved to the other side of his bed. The boy's arm snaked around his shoulders and he bent, giving Severus a fleeting hug, before he sat on the bed.

“You scared us.” The boy looked away, an expression of his fragility. “Now will you go to the Medicine-Keeper, like I asked you to?”

“Yes.” Severus' compliance shocked the boy to silence. Stella moved closer to Severus and burrowed under his chin. “Stella, your hair is tickling my nose, please.”

She smoothed her hair down with a spit-slicked hand. “I'm not leavin' you.”

“Neither am I, Stella, neither am I,” Severus whispered into her ear. Maybe the Old Woman had been right to saddle him with the imp and the misanthrope. His life might have a purpose after the war.


END PART ONE


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