Forgiveness

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


Forgiveness

Chapter 1

Most nights Severus woke screaming soundlessly, he could feel the tendons of his jaws popping with the exertion of the cries he would utter. As he shook the nightmare visions, he would watch the two children. The boy, Joseph Pony, would stir restlessly in his sleep, almost as if he were in sympathetic agreement with Severus; the only time in the day the arrogant, challenging boy would be. The girl, Stella, would wake, and begin preparing tea for him on the propane stove of the caravan. She never asked why Severus dreamed. He suspected she knew. The Old Woman had been a respected seer, and the girl, even in her flighty prepubescence, seemed to follow the Old Woman's path.

Sometimes, Stella would stay up with him, watching him in stoic silence as he carefully put shaking hands around the steaming mug, mindful not to slosh the hot liquid on himself. His thin, cruel lips would curve down unapologetically, and he would ignore the girl. Other times, she would go back to her small bed. He knew she still watched him, but her act of obedience did not draw his displeasure.

Lately, he had dreamt of endless bouts of Crucio, or other more brutal favourites of Voldemort, inflicted on him by various people, mainly those with whom he was familiar. His body ached from the memories. Tonight's bout had been inflicted by the inmates of the caravan and the Old Woman. Albus and Lily had been present in the dream, cheering them on.

Stella waited for a moment, to ensure he would not spill the steaming drink on himself with his trembling hands, then retreated to her bed.

They had been travelling for three months.

Since the death of the Old Woman, Severus had drifted a little less aimlessly. He had two extra mouths to feed now. Joseph Pony was his apprentice and could make the simpler potions that Severus offered for sale by owl-order. The girl would aid them in their endeavours in between the school assignments he would give her. He had thought his teaching days were over, but it seemed he was destined to mould young minds, no matter where he landed.

At least the two he taught this time were not dunderheads. The girl was particularly quick, but Joseph Pony was fast earning Severus' respect with his sharp mind and quiet efficient ways. Not that he would tell either of them that in such direct terms.

Severus cursed his luck as he cast the Tempus charm, ascertaining he had only slept two hours before he awoke. There would be no more sleep for him tonight, such was the pattern of his slumber. He had really needed a restful night. Tomorrow he had an interview with a prestigious potions manufacturer. It was located in Chicago. The girl, if he got the position, would be able to go to a proper wizarding academy, and the boy would be able to do what young men do at a certain age.

He stirred from his reverie as he noted a change in the nearly nightly routine. The girl spoke, her voice unusually measured and solemn in her address, “Uncle 'Rus, Joseph Pony made a new batch of Dreamless Sleep today; would you like me to get some for you?”

“No, thank you, my dear.” The words of endearment were still foreign on his tongue. He rolled them around in his head, as if he were a wine aficionado tasting a strange, new vintage. “Now go to sleep. You have a great deal of work to do tomorrow.”

Silence settled again on the silver-fish caravan as Severus sipped his tea, his nerves still jangling, but less alarmingly so.

“Uncle 'Rus, the dreams, they're getting worse instead of better, aren't they?” The girl's soft query startled Severus, but he did not outwardly acknowledge the fact.

The boy stirred from his slumber. “Shut up, will ya, squirt? Mr. Tuvock don't need you pryin' into his business, and I need my sleep.”

Severus' eyes narrowed at the boy's nickname for him. The two children had come up with it after viewing some Muggle television show. Tuvock was an emotionless alien with whom the children thought he bore a resemblance. The boy knew the appellation irritated him, and therefore used it with great frequency.

Severus stood, poured the remnants of his tea down the small sink, and then stalked to his bed alcove and drew the curtains.

&*&*&

The interview went as well as could be expected, with him running on two hours sleep and a doubled dose of Pepper-Up potion. He surreptitiously rubbed his jaw, still feeling sticky and unshaven. The officious-looking prick behind the desk shuffled papers, peering occasionally over the frames of his expensive glasses. Severus' eyes swept the over-styled, puffed-up git. He had taken an instant disliking to the man.

The man shuffled through the papers once more. “So, Russell, you've been in this country how long?”

Severus answered evenly, attempting to mask his irritation at the man's familiarity, even if it was with an assumed name, “I have resided here since 1998.”

“You've travelled a lot.” The man bent his head to another stack of papers, not meeting the dark wizard's eyes. Severus knew the statement was actually a question.

“Indeed, I thought it best to familiarise myself with my new home before settling into an area.” Severus' repressive tone did not affect the man, who started tapping the desk top with his Muggle pencil.

“I see you have your immigration documents in order.” Severus merely smiled at the man's comment. Yes, for the name Russell Thomas Spane, the immigration documents were, indeed, in order. There were several other identities that had equal amounts of the proper documentation, if he needed them.

“Well, I think everything's in order,” the prick reiterated. Severus suspected the man may have some overriding mental compulsion for 'order.' He wisely refrained from voicing the observation. He needed this job.

The man stood abruptly, extending his hand. “It was nice meeting you, Russell. I'll let my manager look at your qualifications, and you'll hear from us.”

Severus unfolded his thin frame from the chair, shaking the man's hand with some degree of suppressed distaste. One thing he missed about England was that his fellow countrymen did not have the need to touch each other at every greeting; a simple, elegant bow sufficed. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Bender. I shall await your reply.”

&*&*&

Severus went shopping for the potions ingredients they would need to complete the owl-orders. He used the last bit of their money for the purchase. He cursed himself for the thousandth time. If he had had any foresight that he would survive, during the final year of the war he would have secured his years of savings outside of the confines of Gringotts. Severus had lived frugally during his tenure as a teacher at Hogwarts, and had accrued a tidy sum. He had increased the sum moderately as he had backed various ventures, and they had paid off. He was no Malfoy, but he could have kept the three of them in comfort for some years with it. The girl, at least, could have received a proper education.

Fat lot of good it did him, when he couldn't touch the Galleons that he had so painfully scraped together.

Yes, he knew he had been tried in absentia and found not guilty, if the reports of the Daily Prophet were to be believed. He knew how the Dark Lord had subverted that particular machine, and he wasn't sure he could trust the story, no matter who was the new Minister of Magic. The Quibbler was probably more reliable. For heaven's sake, the daily rag had reported that Potter, of all people, had testified on his behalf. Did the Ministry think him that gullible? It was insulting, really.

He laid down the paper money that passed for currency in this country. They used Muggle money, as the Federal government was well-aware of the wizarding world, having been founded by a mixed bag of wizards and Muggles alike; Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin being the most notable wizards of the group. Of course, the International Statute of Secrecy still applied, it was just interpreted in a different manner in this country.

The bored witch behind the counter bagged his purchases. She popped her gum obnoxiously and nodded her head to the ambient music playing in the store as she did so. Severus swept out of the store, never giving the girl a backwards glance. He was hopeful that, once he was employed, Joseph Pony would be able to carry on the owl-order business, and thus be able to make these forays himself. The boy could earn some money while still completing his apprenticeship.

Severus Disapparated from the wizarding quarter of Chicago to the small clearing in which he had chosen to park their caravan. Stella was outside in the brisk, early-spring air, frowning slightly over her book as she shivered. Severus noted her squint as she read. He would need to take her to a Healer to have her vision tested.

“You don't want to go in there,” she warned, without looking up from her book. He cast a quick warming charm on her, without acknowledging her comment, and strode purposefully toward caravan.

As Severus approached, the unmistakable stench of ruined potions ingredients wafted toward him. He covered his nose with his hand, coughing. He did not know how Joseph Pony could stand to be inside without the windows open. The wizard flicked his wand, and with a silent spell, caused all the apertures in the caravan to open at once. He could hear the boy's ragged cough over the din of the Muggle rock music that he blared when he worked alone.

Severus could have wept when he saw the disaster inside their abode/Potion's lab. The boy had melted two of their best cauldrons. Cauldrons they could ill-afford to replace, even if he got the new job. Potions ingredients, gathered over many years, had been contaminated, their bottles broken by whatever had exploded. Viscous gobs of what looked suspiciously like a poorly-executed Draught of Peace, decorated the floor, ceilings and counters. Bed linens had been doused in water and then employed to contain a fire. Severus' thin control slipped, and he cursed roundly as he looked for the boy, righting the disaster as he went.

The boy coughed again and the Potions Master was able to spy the tip of one of the boy's ragged trainers peeking out of the closet-sized bathroom. Joseph Pony was sprawled across the toilet, his neck hanging limply over its edge. He ached to beat the boy within an inch of his life, but instead touched him on the shoulder lightly. He kept his voice flat, but heard the cold anger slip into his inflection anyway. “What caused this?”

He saw Joseph Pony flinch, and then the boy looked up at him, his eyes full of remorse. “You know how I was talking about ramping up our production?”

Severus nodded, remembering the conversation and how he had forbidden the experimental the methods the boy had proposed.

Joseph Pony continued, “I thought if I used a propane fire, instead of magical fire, you know like I said? I thought it would make things run faster, so I put the cauldrons over the burners.”

The older wizard could feel the flush of anger on his cheeks as a vein throbbed painfully in his temple. He would not give in to his anger, but it was a near thing as he looked at the repentant boy. He turned his back on Joseph Pony, and began casting spells to scourge the caravan. He felt his jerky movements and knew the boy had interpreted his silence. Joseph Pony stood up, and began righting things, using his eagle talon to cast his spells, rather than the wand Severus had purchased for him when they first arrived in Chicago.

Severus sensed Stella at the door. Before she could add to his irritation, she said, “Uncle 'Rus? There's an owl here for you.”

She fled before he could thank her. When they had first started on their journey, Severus had lost his temper over a minor infraction. He had thrown one of the tantrums that he usually only reserved for Potter. After his anger had passed, it had taken him weeks to get the children to trust him again. Had he been in his old life, the change from youthful boisterousness to silent fear would have been satisfactory. But, as he had to share such close quarters with the children, he had ended up feeling like a first-class bastard. He had vowed to control his temper as best he could around them. He hated seeing the shadow of fear every time he was displeased. He remembered what that feeling was like from his own childhood.

Stella stood by the owl, her hands in her jeans pockets. She was talking to it softly, her eyes lit with longing. The girl was fascinated with animals. She attempted to bring every stray dog or kitten into the caravan every time she happened across one. Severus, while hating to disappoint the girl, had had to tell her to release the animals. They simply could not afford a pet. Maybe when they were more settled, he promised himself, she could have an owl, Kneazle or domesticated Jarvey of her own.

Severus passed an Owl Treat to Stella so that she might feed the bird as he reached to retrieve the message from its leg. He scanned the first paragraph and crumpled it between his hands. He had failed.

&*&*&

He watched the Old Woman as she prepared the fry-bread for the evening dinner, her hands batting the ball of dough between them almost playfully as she flattened it to cook. She kept an eye on the grease, making sure it was not too hot while she spoke to Severus.

“I don't care what you think you were, Boy.” She slapped the dough one more time and flopped it in the grease. The bread gave a satisfying pop and then settled in to cook. “You're the teacher that was chosen for them. I dreamed it.”

“Madam, I am wholly unprepared to assume the responsibility of two children.” Severus objected. “I have no money, no job prospects, and have been quite content to live that way for the last three-and-a-half years. I will not assume any more duties out of a sense of obligation. I have fulfilled all of those for which I was personally responsible. I suggest you speak to your tribe about its duties.”

The Old Woman cackled, “Hoo-whee! Boy, you know, I like listenin' to you speak. Don't much like what I'm hearin', but when you say it, it's nice, ennit?”

Severus fell to silence, unable to formulate a reply. The woman was as mad and obstinate as Albus. The only difference between the two was their choice in treats. Instead of sweets, she offered fry-bread.

She pulled the bread out of the iron frying pan, still steaming and bubbling, and placed it before him, along with a plastic honey-bear. “Don't matter much, Boy. You'll be takin' 'em after I'm gone. You got a destiny to fulfill. Just make sure you do it.”

&*&*&

“Uncle 'Rus?” Stella placed her small hand on his shoulder, the nails painted in blue lacquer that was chipping off at the edges. He had promised her that they would get her a proper manicure when he cashed his first paycheck. “I think you need to really read this.”

The girl thrust the parchment into his hands. Severus looked at the document numbly. He could not force himself to face his failure once more. He let it slip between his fingers, and Stella retrieved it. “Uncle 'Rus, it says that you got the job. We just have to relocate.”

Severus grabbed the paper from her hand and re-read the letter, not even skipping the portion that caused him such despair.


Dear Mr. Spane,

At this time, we regret to inform you that our offices in Chicago, have no positions available. We must respectfully decline your services.

You expressed your willingness to relocate, so we have contacted our research facility, located in Heavener, Oklahoma. That office does have need of a Potions Master who is well-versed in research. We will offer a bonus of $1000.00 to offset any inconvenience you may experience at your relocation.

Please contact this office to finalize your employment records. You will be expected to report at the research facility for your first day of duty, a week from this date.

Thank you for your time. Please feel free to re-apply for the position you originally sought at this office in one year.

Sincerely,

Martha Bramblesworth
Chief of Human Resources

Severus bestowed a rare smile as Stella danced happily about him. Joseph Pony, now thoroughly scrubbed, stood in the door of the caravan, shirtless and with his jeans riding his bony hips. He gave Severus a thumbs-up before he retreated from the cold.

The Potions Master heaved a gusty sigh of relief. There was time for celebration later, right now he had to tea to prepare and a caravan to set to rights.

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