Forgiveness

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

Chapter 21

Severus admitted that there were certain social niceties in which he had never indulged. Some were left unattended because he refused to be drawn into meaningless social interaction with abysmally stupid people, others because they were simply wrong on some level, and quite a few because he never had the opportunity in which to partake.

He, for instance, had never spoken in any length to Bellatrix Lestrange. He had never engaged her in conversation over one of the interminable yet elegant dinners at her brother-in-law's house even when seated beside the Dark Lord's favourite sycophant by Narcissa, who took great pleasure in watching his discomfiture. He could not abide the Dark lunatic. He had never spoken voluntarily to the odious Umbridge woman or accepted Sybil Trelawney's offer of a nightcap, both of these for obvious reasons. He had never given in to Albus' shy advances when the man was in his cups, although that particular situation only occurred once. Albus had been truly repentant the next morning to the point of bringing Severus a basket of rare and costly potions ingredients along with a shamefaced apology. Severus never mentioned the incident again, but was Slytherin enough to file the Light Lord's actions away for future use if needed.

He had never offered an olive branch to Sirius Black, no matter how much his employer insisted. Although he wished he had taken Lupin's sincere apology when he had the chance during the year they worked together. Lupin had been the only one of the Marauders who might have been an intellectual equal to Severus, no matter how much he doubted the Wolf's sincerity at the time. That was water under the bridge, however, so much spilt milk and other such rot. Severus vaguely recalled seeing the man's name, along with his young wife's, amongst the list of the dead in the newspaper before he tore his eyes down the page to see his own.

As for those opportunities in which he had not engaged because he was not in position, the list was shorter but much more personal in nature. Severus had never had a soft woman's body pressed up against his ready hardness in the morning more than once. He had never been able to slide his length into her and have her gasping in response within moments of his intrusion. He had never looked across a room later in the day and seen that same woman, busy with whatever portion of the project they shared, and know with a certainty born of experiences shared just that morning, that she was his and would welcome his advances once more. He had never shared any part of his solitary life with anyone, not even Lily, until now.

The thought of this new state of interpersonal relations both irritated and intrigued him

It was early Sunday morning, later than Severus usually rose, but still early enough that the mid-November frost littered the ground outside the window in the shower. He leaned under the spray, hot but not painful, letting the water wash the sleep out of his eyes.

Normally, he would prepare a breakfast for Stella and Joseph Pony, but Stella was at something called a "Slumber-Party," - which Antonia informed him would involve no sleeping - and would not return until Monday evening. Joseph Pony was occupied with Miss DuPre for the weekend, with an array of contraceptive potions. Severus felt satisfied that the boy was fully protected from unwanted repercussions.

He and Antonia had their own more daunting plans that day.

He reached for the soap, a yellow bar of Dial that smelled of camphor and perfume. It was a Muggle product, but superior to any wizarding equivalent in its ability to strip the layer of oil off his skin and hair. He lathered and began washing his face, only to feel soap slick hands, not his own, on his torso. He most definitely had never shared a shower with a female before. It was disconcerting, to say the least, to find that the actions of his paramour aroused him almost to aching need immediately.

Antonia maddened him as she slowly washed his torso avoiding the area craving her touch, his lower body already strung tightly from her actions. She asked, "Where's your shampoo?"

He opened his eyes. "Stella and Joseph Pony have some that they use. They are on the cabinet."

He blinked as she left the curtain-enclosed space and returned with the sweet-smelling, honey-coloured variety that Stella preferred. "Get your head wet."

For a moment visions of an entirely inappropriate nature flashed through his mind's eye. Her tart rejoinder to his unvoiced imagery was spoken with a hint of laughter, "The one above your shoulders, Severus.”

"What do you intend to do?" His innate sense of self-preservation would not allow immediate compliance without knowing what lay ahead.

"Just do it," Antonia answered, her unencumbered hand pushing against the flesh of his stomach. He glared at her with his lips compressed into a thin, stubborn line. "I want to wash your hair, d'you mind?"

"You find me unattractive," Severus answered, his eyes narrowing as a feeling of pain roosted like an evil omen on the left side of his chest. “You wish to change me.”

"I'm finding you annoying not ugly." Antonia returned, and then showed him just how attractive she found him even with his scars, Dark Mark, huge nose and greasy hair.

Severus decided he liked to share his shower.

&*&*&

Later, after dressing with more than normal care in his best clothes, an unrelieved black ensemble with a black shirt, black trousers and an embroidered waistcoat of black thread on black silk, he lastly donned his black frock coat and robes. He ran his hands through his sweet-smelling hair, now soft and not yet greasy, and then retrieved his tie, also black, from the top of the dresser and began tying it in the Windsor knot his mother had shown him as a boy. Antonia entered the room smirking as she saw his apparel. “Do you have a rubber band*?”

Severus looked at her in the mirror. She wore a shade of green that matched the ring of colour on the outer rim of her irises. She looked lovely with her auburn hair against the woollen robes. “Thank you, my dear, I have one.”

“Let me guess, it’s hot pink, right?” Antonia sniggered. “Hurry up; they're making lunch for us." She turned as if to leave, but paused. "And, Severus?”

Severus quirked a brow at her, indicating mild irritation. She gave him a dazzling smile. “You look nice.”

He realised as she left the room that he was the one who should have said that to her.

&*&*&

He sat in the foyer of Malfoy Manor, an ill-featured, sallow little boy of twelve. Lucius Malfoy, ethereally handsome Head Boy with his perfect pedigree and loads of Galleons, had invited Severus to meet his father, Abraxas Malfoy. It was several hours into the visit, and Severus was still sitting on the simple Provencal settee embroidered in silk with Jacobean bird and flower motifs. He scratched his head as, once again, he heard a raised voice issuing from the study. It was Mr. Malfoy with his cold grey-green eyes, steely hair and known Dark associations. Several times in the hours he waited, Severus had heard the unmistakable swish of a cane through the air and then a sharp thwack! as it hit bare flesh.

When Severus met him, Mr. Malfoy had been as terrifying as Lucius had described him. Mr. Malfoy had connections to the now defunct Knights of Walpurgis. He was rumoured to carry a mark on his arm that tied him to an even more elite cadre of pure-blood wizarding families who followed the charismatic Lord Voldemort. He had greeted his son with a sneer as the two boys entered a private room at the station with the Malfoy name emblazoned on the frosted glass window. Lucius introduced Severus to the older wizard and Severus bowed with the proper degree of respect, a thing Lucius had drilled him on during their months-long preparations for the young Slytherin’s visit. Lucius kept his face stoic as Mr. Malfoy stared at Severus, his cold eyes running over Severus’ second-hand robes and Reparo’ed shoes. “What is this?”

Lucius’ eyes widened slightly as his father moved Severus’ face with his silver-tipped cane, his disdain of the younger Slytherin evident. “Snape… Your mother is that blood-traitor who married the Muggle. She was a few years behind me. She disgraced the Prince name and Slytherin.”

Severus froze, unable to give an answer that would not condemn him in the pure-blood’s eyes. Lucius had not covered this in their contingencies. They had not figured on Abraxas Malfoy knowing the Snape name at all. The older Malfoy whipped his gaze to Lucius. “You thought to foist off a half-blood cur on me, boy? He will be most displeased by your associations.”

“No father. Severus is quite good at...”

Abraxas flicked his cane from under Severus’ chin to land with a resounding blow on Lucius’ hands. The older boy gave no sign of reaction, though Severus could see what the effort cost him as his lips grew white and his nostrils flared.

“We shall discuss this at the Manor,” Mr. Malfoy pronounced as he swept from the room without a backward glance at the two boys.

Now, sitting in the dying light of the day, Severus wished he had never come to this beautiful manor that housed such hatred. If he wanted to be ignored and listen to someone being abusive, mum and dad could do that well and not really make Severus feel all that bad about it. Not much, anyway. He could be with Lily during the day, and they would meet at their special place and he would dream about kissing her at night. If he was at Spinner’s End he would tell himself every morning that today would be the day that he would snog her like he knew some of the older students did in the broom closets and unused classrooms at Hogwarts. He wasn’t sure he would do it well, but Severus knew he was a quick study.

He closed his eyes, scratchy and tired from the last of the harsh light spilling through the huge windows.

Sometime later, he jerked from a doze when a pale hand shook him awake. It was Lucius, his eyes red-rimmed and moist-looking. “Come, Severus, let me show you to your room. The house-elves have been instructed to serve tea. Tomorrow I’ll show you around and maybe we can play some Quidditch on the pitch.”

The younger Slytherin followed the Head Boy, whose gait was stiff and back held ramrod straight. Severus had walked like that more than a few times himself, and for the same reason. Lucius did not need to tell him not to mention the day’s events. Severus knew.

&*&*&

Severus escorted Antonia to the office Floo so that they might take it to her parents’ house. He repressed the urge to rub his sweaty hands on his trousers. He had not been this nervous since he had asked Lily to Hogsmeade with him in fourth year.

Antonia pointed at a strange owl perched on the owlery. “I wonder who that could be for.”

Severus spared the creature a glance but made no comment. Joseph Pony had been in contact with a cousin in Kansas over the past weeks. Though the boy’s tribe had an aversion to the birds, Severus thought it might still be for him. The younger generation of aborigines was doing away with the prejudices and superstitions of the past.

Once the two entered the building and were standing before the fire, Antonia turned to Severus and straightened his tie. “You’ll do fine. Daddy won’t kill you... much.”

She took his hand in hers as he pronounced their destination.

&*&*&

Severus was tense throughout the dinner. The roast chicken, cooked until the skin was gold and crispy with savoury herbs and spices, tasted like ash to Severus. Bob Dance watched him as he ate, a look of bemusement on his face, while Livia remained the gracious, pureblood hostess. Her cool demeanour eased Severus as much as her husband’s set him on edge. Antonia had grown girlishly loquacious, another matter that caused her father some subdued hilarity. Severus scowled at the woman he intended to court, worried that she might be having second thoughts about the entire situation.

Severus could barely string two words together as the conversation flowed around him. Livia covered Severus’ sudden lack of wit and her own daughter’s nervousness with light and intelligent comments on national politics, art and potions. At some point during the meal, Severus felt Antonia’s hand on his knee. She squeezed it once before removing it to pass a dish of rice pilaf to her father. His confidence returned, but did nothing to allay his nervous anticipation.

Once the eternal meal was over, the two women set about clearing the table while Severus formally, and with great care, requested a meeting with Antonia’s father. Dance said, “Sure, ‘Rus. Come out to the garage, we can talk out there while I change the spark plugs on the car. May as well kill two birds with one stone.”

The mention of death, whether avian or Severus’ own, caused Severus to be glad he had brought his wand.

“Bob,” Livia warned good-naturedly. “The poor man’s nervous enough, without you teasing him.”

The older man slapped Severus’ back, an action that might have proven fatal to his future father-in-law had Severus still been in thrall to the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore. “Come on, Snape, we’ll go to the den. Livia hates it.”

Severus followed the man to a comfortable room panelled in dark wood with prints of biplanes in dogfights on the walls, the action caught in the static medium with streaks of colour and white against architectural clouds. Severus admired the skill of the Muggle artist who had given the paintings life. Military memorabilia littered the surfaces of several curios and a bookshelf ran the length of the room. Severus could see all the volumes were military histories spanning from the ancient world to the most recent conflict in Afghanistan and Iraq. He was surprised to see Skeeter’s biography of Albus and another on the rise of Voldemort among the Muggle histories. A large, institutional desk, much like the one in Severus’ office at Hogwarts, housed a cumbersome computer. Bob sat in a worn, wooden chair at the desk and bade Severus to sit on the orange and brown plaid couch. He reached into a drawer in the desk and motioned Severus to close the door to the room. When Severus did with a flick of his wand and a wordless incantation, Dance pulled out a bottle of twelve-year-old scotch and two, thick glasses bearing the likeness of a red-haired Scottish clown named McDonald.

“So, Livia says this is a big deal amongst you folks, you wanting to talk to me.” Dance handed Severus a nearly full glass. Severus sipped the liquid, appreciating its smooth, smoky taste.

“Yes, sir. I have come to request your permission to court your daughter.” Severus swallowed more scotch, letting the warmth spread through him. Fortunately, today he had had little pain and so had not had to take the Muggle drugs that did the most to ease his discomfort.

Dance shook his head, making Severus’ heart plummet. Would he be able to give up his doctor if her father refused? In a life of disappointments, it seemed that this one might be most bitter.

When all seemed lost, Dance gave a soft laugh, breaking the tension building in Severus. “’Rus, I’ve been married to Livia for forty-eight years. In that time, I’ve become used to exploding cauldrons, things flying around me, Curses, Hexes and Jinxes. With my firmly non-magical grasp of science, I’ve had to accept the impossible, the improbable and the outright terrifying. In all those years, I’ve accepted everything about my family’s world.” Dance took a long draw from his tumbler. “I just want to ask you one thing before I give my answer.”

“You may ask anything of me you desire,” Severus answered with an addendum to follow as he held up an elegant hand before Dance could proceed. “I will answer, contingent on three conditions.”

Dance seemed to appreciate Severus’ caution. “I do understand, Snape. You and I were in the same line of work, so to speak. Go ahead, what are your conditions?”

Severus held up one long finger. “That the questions pertain to me personally, not the war, not my activities, nor my involvement with persons who might still be harmed by admission of their true loyalties.”

“Okay, that’s one.”

Another long finger joined the first. “That you do not question me about past relationships. I am a private man.”

“Two.”

A third finger joined the others. “Any information you gain of a sensitive nature, must be kept in the strictest of confidence.”

Dance stuck out his blunt-fingered hand. “Deal.”

Severus took the offered appendage and they shook on it, a type of binding magic between Muggle and wizard. Dance poured a bit more scotch into Severus’ glass and his own before he asked, “Will you accept my daughter like I‘ve accepted Livia and stick with her through good and bad?”

“Yes,” Severus said without having to think. She would be his new duty with obvious benefits.

Dance lifted his glass and drained it. “Drink up, son; we’ve got a Bride Price to negotiate, if Livia told me right.”

In the end, after several hours of negotiations, a pint of liquor between them, and stories involving war, rats and evil men from both of them, Severus came away with a potential bride. Bob Dance would be in receipt of four fainting goats, a miniature donkey - complete with cart and harness - and a case of Ogden’s to be delivered when Livia was not home. The final payment would be due December thirty-first to please two-faced Janus, the god of doorways and change. It was an auspicious date that satisfied Severus immensely. The deal was sealed with a Wizard’s Oath, which Dance could not perceive, but left Severus gasping with the intensity of the ancient magic.

Both men drank one more glass of scotch before repairing to the facilities to take care of rather urgent problems that arose due to the consumption of such a large quantity of liquid on top of a filling meal. Once done, Severus followed tradition and approached his bride, who was eating ice cream in front of the TV with her mother. Livia rose and curtsied to Severus. “Welcome to the family, Mr. Snape. You and your wonderful children will be attending Thanksgiving dinner next week, I hope.”

Severus bowed from his waist. “We shall be honoured, Madam.”

“You wizards are a strange lot,” Bob said from the door. “Kiss the girl. She’s been on pins and needles the whole time we talked, if I know her.”

“Dad!” Antonia objected. “Severus doesn’t want to ...”

Severus pulled her from the divan and kissed her thoroughly as her nearly empty bowl clattered to the floor forgotten. He thanked the gods for all of Dance’s fortifying liquor, or he never would have been able to overcome his reservations about public displays.

When he released Antonia, she wrinkled her nose. “You’ve been in Dad’s scotch.”

Livia huffed, “Bob, you know what the doctor said about drinking... “

&*&*&

They came back to the compound and were greeted by Brick in the main building who tipped his hat at Antonia and handed her an envelope. “Owl came for you.”

“Thanks, Brick.” She took the letter from his hand and read it.

The older man looked at the considerably looser Severus. “Dance got you with that damned scotch, huh?”

“I believe so,” Severus answered affably.

Brick dipped his head once before saying, “Well, I hope things went well for you and Antonia.”

“They did.”

Antonia cursed, crumpling the letter. “Brick, we need another cottage prepared. We’re being given a new study to conduct. They want us to work on Cruciation Psychosis. There‘s a young couple coming from Cameroon, Wednesday.” Antonia referred to the crumpled letter, smoothing it out with a grimace as she looked. “It’s a Mr. and Mrs. Zabini; they were recommended to us by some WHO doctors I worked with there.”

&*&*&

Lucius tracked Mr. Zabini and his new wife of only hours, Pansy Parkinson, to the outskirts of Beauxbatons where Zabini had expended his last bit of magic to shield his wife from the extended Cursing of her own father. Malfoy sent his Patronus, a weak one with the indistinct form of an arctic fox, to Severus. The Headmaster was in the midst of a midnight conference with Albus when the messenger came with the news.

Upon his arrival by Portkey, Severus battled both Nott and Parkinson, a feat almost as easy as toying with that fraud, Lockhart, while Lucius secured the girl in a burned-out Abbey a few miles away. Both spies had thought Zabini, with his severed hand and Curse-blasted face, a loss. Once Severus secured the Death Eaters, Obliviated them and set new memories in their dim brains, he turned to the lifeless figure of the child who had fought like a man.

Had the boy not moved his head, Severus would have left him for dead.

He brought Zabini to the Abbey, past the room where the new Mrs. Zabini howled in pain and rage, madness settling on her shoulders like a mantle of daggers. Severus did what he could, but the young man’s hand, cursed off with a spell of Severus’ own design, could not be reattached.

Hours later, with the sun rising weakly through a barren fog, Zabini awoke. His dark eyes pain-filled and feverish, he asked, “Pansy?”

The girl howled once again and Zabini smiled as a tear slipped from his eye. “Thank you, sir. I’ll take it from here.”

Severus made the boy drink a phial of Dreamless Sleep and watched as he sank into a healing slumber. The Headmaster then Portkeyed back to Hogwarts. It would not do for him to be absent this morning; the Carrows would most certainly make note of the fact. Lucius would be able to care for the children until they were well enough to flee again. Both spies knew their duties, no matter how much those actions might cost them in the long run.


End Part II

&*&*&


*This is a weird regional idiom. Hair bands, ponytail holders, and hair ties are called rubber bands generically. Most Okies say this and everyone understands, when referring to hair, they are speaking of the cloth-covered elastic bands that will not damage hair, not the latex office products that rip it out in large clumps.