Sea Change

Thank you to all who reviewed, with a very special thanks to Tambrathegreat for her invaluable help and encouragement. A stronger shoulder I've never cried on. Without her, you wouldn't be reading this right now.




Chapter 2


After Severus had, to Albus' consternation, refused to talk about the contents of the memory he had viewed, he left, insisting he wished to be alone. He had strode past Minerva McGonagall, who was in the midst of an altercation with her least favourite employee at the bottom of the stairwell, without a word. The rather blank expression on his face raised her alarm signals, and she abruptly hurried back to her office.


"Really, Minerva," Horace Slughorn huffed, following her into her inner sanctum, "no point in being unreasonable about this..."


"Oh do hush, Horace!" she snapped over her shoulder. She stopped and looked up at her mentor's portrait, not fooled for a minute by his dozing countenance. "Albus? Albus!" she said sharply, rapping on her desk for emphasis, "whatever did you say to Severus? He looked quite ill when he left. Is he alright?"


"He has had some rather startling news I'm afraid, Minerva," Dumbledore said, "he simply needs some time to absorb it, I think. You might, perhaps, wish to firecall him later however, just to be sure."


Minerva remained gazing at the painted face of her friend for a moment, and when no more was forthcoming, sighed, "Very well, Albus. I will do that."


"Thank you, my dear," Dumbledore smiled, sat back in his chair, and closed his eyes, humming tunelessly to himself.


Hearing Slughorn clear his throat loudly behind her, Minerva closed her own eyes momentarily and sighed in resignation before turning to confront the problem at hand. She motioned for the stout man to sit, and rounded her desk to take her own seat.


She scowled over the rim of her square spectacles and gusted out an annoyed sigh. "Are you quite sure you've thought this through, Horace?" she addressed the rotund man. "You certainly aren't making things any easier for me!"


"Quite sure, Minerva, quite sure," Horace Slughorn harrumphed, "need I remind you, I only came back as a favour to Albus. I've already stayed far longer than I ever intended to," he added aggreivedly. "Nineteen years longer! I am no longer...."


"Yes, yes, Horace," Minerva sharply cut him off, "you are no longer a young man. Need I remind you, none of us are as young as we used to be, however, some of us feel a sense of loyalty to the institution which has housed and fed us, not to mention protected us all these years."


"Now, now Minerva, no need to bring the claws out," Slughorn sniffed, "you can't talk me out of it this time."


Minerva gave a sly smile and said, "Even were I to tell you that Harry Potter will be joining us this autumn as our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"


Slughorn brightened slightly and appeared to consider it, but then made Minerva purse her lips in a grim line as he sighed and said, "That won't work this time, I'm afraid, Minerva. I'm too old and too tired, and although you're as worthy an adversary as Albus was, nothing you can dangle in front of me could persuade me to stay past the end of year term. Not even Mr. Potter."


"Oh for Merlin's sake, Horace!" Minerva snapped in annoyance, "the term ends in a fortnight! Where am I going to find another Potions Master by the starting term? You are leaving me in a most inconvenient pickle!"


A faint chuckle was heard from behind the irate Headmistress, and she scowled at the portly man in front of her even more fiercely.


"No offense, Minerva," Slughorn said warily, "however, that is not really my problem, is it?" He drew back in alarm as the woman across the desk glared at him dangerously. He gave a nervous chuckle and tried appealing to the portrait of his friend that loomed behind her. "Tell her, Albus, I never really wanted to return in the first place, did I? Make her see reason."


"True as that may be, Horace," Dumbledore said faintly, "I'm afraid you will find yourself on your own in this matter."


"Hmphf!" Slughorn snorted, and took it upon himself to conjure up a drinks tray. "Surely we can reach a civil accord on this, Minerva," he said, pouring and offering her a cognac.


She snatched it out of his hand and transfigured it into a cup of tea, continuing to glare at him over the rim of it. "Horace," she said tersely, "I do not appreciate you waiting until this late date to inform me of your decision to defect. While I may be able to get along without a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, seeing the relatively peaceful times we find ourselves in, it is inconceivable that I can begin a new school year without a Potions professor! Need I remind you, Potions is an essential subject for all witches and wizards, and I do not see how you can consciously deny that! Think of the children, Horace!"


"Minerva," Slughorn chuckled, "surely you flatter me, however...."


"However, your first concern is, and always has been, yourself!" Headmistress McGonagall snapped, now beyond caring whether she offended or not. "You have always demonstrated a remarkable capacity for self preservation and comfort, Horace, regardless that children will go uneducated, regardless that you are leaving me destitute at the very last moment!"


Slughorn took the insult in stride, determined not to be drawn into an argument over his lacking merits. He was too old and too tired to care anymore, one way or another, what Minerva McGonagall thought of him, and in any case, what she said was true. He did enjoy his creature comforts and the old castle had become, in proportion to his aging self, increasingly damp and drafty, aggravating his arthritis. Not to mention all those stairs, and the increasingly onerous duty of being Head of Slytherin. He disliked these daily reminders of his age, and none more than the knowledge that he was now teaching the grandchildren of his former students. There had even been a few alarming cases of great grandchildren! No, he was willing to let Minerva's disparaging attitude slide, if it would gain him peace and quiet, and the small cottage he'd secured for himself.


"Why don't you approach my predecessor for the position," he shrugged, "he is, after all, experienced, not to mention considerably younger than I. He is also, as you know, an excellent Potions Master. I should know," he chuckled, "he was my best student."


"Severus Snape deserves his retirement far more than you do, Horace Slughorn," Minerva snapped, "he...."


"Now, now, my dear," came Albus' voice from behind her. "If Horace does not wish to continue in our noble profession, far be it for us to attempt to force him. We will persevere, Minerva. We always have."


Minerva turned to glare at the portrait of her mentor and former employer, pursing her lips into near nonexistence before saying tersely, "Thank you for your input in this matter, Albus. You are, however, not helping in the least, and unless you know where I may engage another Potions Master at this late date, I'll thank you to let me deal with this problem."


"As it happens, my dear" Albus said calmly, "I do believe I do." He smiled benignly, then closed his eyes and resumed his tuneless humming.


Minerva continued to glare at him in exasperation, and then without turning around, snapped, "Your resignation is duly noted, Horace. Good day."



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Severus Snape stoically refused to think about anything other than getting himself back to Spinner's End, and now that he had arrived, a veritable tidal wave of conflicting emotions crashed over him.


He made his shaky way to his kitchen and fumbled through the cabinets for the bottle of firewhiskey he kept. He found it and a glass, tore the top off and poured himself a very healthy shot, the bottle chattering against the rim of the glass, threatening to crack them both. He quickly downed two shots, swallowed hard, and taking the bottle and glass with him, returned to his sitting room, falling heavily into a chair.


He closed his eyes, and huffed out a deep and shaky sigh. The sting behind his eyelids heralded something he hadn't felt in years. Tears, and he felt helpless in the face of them. Quickly, he poured again, hastily downing the shot, the burn staving off the sob he'd felt trying to wrench its way out of his throat.


He blinked rapidly, dispelling the sign of his weakness. He would not give into his baser emotions. He would not. A soughing sigh tore from his throat and he curled one fist around the bottle, the other around his glass. Before he even realised what he was doing, he had launched the glass across the room. The sound of it shattering mirrored his own shattered heart.


"You manipulating bastard, Albus," he muttered woundedly, and took a large swig from his bottle. The scenes he'd witnessed in the pensieve came flooding back through his mind, and a part of him marvelled anew at Dumbledore's orchestration.


How dare the old man keep this from him? How dare he allow Severus' own child to wander about right under his nose without telling him who he was? Severus fumed inwardly, taking another hearty swig from the bottle. How dare he let Severus believe that the boy belonged to that scum Potter?


And with Black as his godfather!! Severus felt the rage, long held in abeyance, rise as he took another swig from the rapidly emptying bottle. The amber liquid burned on the way down, creating a clean trail for his fury to rise upon. It filled his mind, expanding in a red miasma, spreading through his body as well. It became a living entity that replaced the foundering despair in which he had existed for so many years.


How could Dumbledore have allowed the boy to befriend and live with, indeed love, the man who had nearly led Severus to his death, knowing the true relationship between them?


He wanted to howl out his rage and pain, but bit it back, slamming the bottle down on the table so hard it shattered as the glass he'd thrown had. This was the final betrayal and he'd been silent too long. Dumbledore needed to be held accountable for his actions and Severus would be the piper he would finally pay.


With that thought in mind, he strode to the fireplace, flung a handful of floo powder into the flames, growled out his destination, and stepped through to the Head's office at Hogwarts.


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