Forgiveness

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


Forgiveness

Chapter 4

Severus lay in a twilight world somewhere between death and life. A child cried in the distance, but he could not be moved to care about it. He watched from his vantage point above his body with mild disinterest as Potter approached, and Dying Severus let loose the memories that would help The-Boy-Who-Lived defeat the Snake-Who-Would-Not-Die. The bluish miasma spilled out of every orifice on his erstwhile face. Apart Severus knew the fool on the floor had given the boy too much, but could not bring it to Dying Severus' attention. The boy left with the Know-It-All, and Apart Severus saw a stirring in the darkness of the hallway. He braced himself for the horrors of Hel to take him. Hel had been his constant companion his entire life. He knew her well, with her ravening appetite for Life. He would never enter Valhalla, he was no valiant warrior; his lot was to forever be the companion of the Bitch-goddess in her continuous quest for respite from the hunger that both devoured her and recreated her in a continuous cycle of death and rebirth.

Hel, the evil bitch, never came. Instead Aberforth Dumbledore entered, with his florid features and ravaged mind. He took Dying Severus in his arms, his hands shaking, either from lack of drink or strong emotion, possibly both, Apart Severus observed coolly. The man tipped a vial against Dying Severus' throat and the wound closed and then there was no more duality, just Severus, blood-soaked and flawed, wallowing in his own filth.

“I had the Bloody Baron lookin' after you. Come on, boy. We've got to get you out of here before anyone returns.” The older man struggled under the weight of the dark wizard, until Severus realised he could stand on his own. Aberforth shoved something at Severus. The younger wizard looked down at the object, seeing a goat's skull, bleached white and polished to a smooth sheen. “It's a Portkey. It'll take you as far from here as you want.”

“Albus sent you?” Severus asked, hoping his general's final act had been to preserve the life of the man that had been ordered to murder him, the man whom Albus had said was like a son to him. That act of compassion, alone, would have allowed Severus some measure of solace.

Aberforth looked away, his eyes bright with tears. “I never much liked the way he used you, or the boy either.”

Severus touched the proferred Portkey, a gift from the wrong Dumbledore. Before taking it, he paused. “There are others who chose the same path. Did he forget them too?”

“Just leave, Snape. Take care of yourself for once, and don't worry about anyone else.” The older wizard pushed the Portkey into his hand and Severus said the word, envisioning days on a white beach and impossibly idyllic conditions.

He landed in a pile of refuse in Queens, New York.

Aberforth never was the wizard that Albus was.

&*&*&

Severus and the children were up at dawn, all three anticipating their new life with varying degrees of joy and dread. For the day, Severus chose his only remaining Potions robes; the unrelieved black and the severe lines suited him. He watched as the boy went to the toilet; Stella stood beside Severus. “So, do you prefer Dad or Daddy?” she asked.

The girl had prattled on all last evening about the subject. Severus just wanted her to give the topic a rest. He scowled, then realised the expression could easily be misinterpreted, and then there would be tears. His days as a spy for the Order had been less stressful.

“My dear,” he began, wincing at the pompous sound of the words, but unable to formulate a more suitable soft phrase. “I wish you to be as comfortable as possible in your choice of appellations for myself. Please, feel free to write a report using each term, expressing both pro and con for each name. When you are finished, let me read it, and then we will discuss your choice.”

Joseph Pony said as he walked into the room, “Squirt, you're drivin' him ape-shit. He gets more polite when you're doin' that; just save yourself some work and call him what you want.”

“Language, Mr. Red Horse,” Severus said severely, compressing his lips in a thin line of disapproval.

“English, Mr. Tuvock.” Joseph Pony smirked. “Sorry, Dad.”

Severus swept from the room, his clothing clutched to his chest as if it were protection against the boy's jibes. He observed Joseph Pony's closed expression as he shut the bathroom door. Of all days for the boy to be impossible, he had to choose today. Severus had not dwelt on his last hour in Scotland for some time. The dream in the early hours of the morning had unsettled him. He turned on the shower, hoping that there was some hot water left after the boy's ablutions of the morning.

The trickle of water was tepid at best. Severus had tried charming the water to stay heated as it had been at Hogwarts. He was only fair at charms, however, and dismal at common household spells, having lived most of his adult life as an inmate of Hogwarts. The water had stayed warm but not hot. He finally reverted to the Muggle methods of heating just to stop the complaints of the children when they showered.

He stripped from his clothes, avoiding the long mirror on the back of the door from long-standing policy. Once in the shower, he scrubbed himself with the bar of yellow soap from head to toe.

He closed his eyes to the spray, letting it dribble into his mouth.

&*&*&

Severus stood in a cold basement room, stripped to his white briefs. Thank the gods Lucius had forced him to go shopping before his induction into the Knights. Of course, Lord Voldemort had changed the name of his followers recently, but no matter, he would soon belong to this brotherhood. He would be a member of a family with the same high ideals as his own. He was to be inducted into their ranks tonight. He had not expected to have to strip to his smalls to do it, however.

He kept his eyes straight ahead, but was well aware of the other occupants in the room, both semi-nude and garbed in black with the masks of their rank. Severus had thought that joining the organisation might give him the means to make a mark in the world. After hearing the charismatic man speak, he was more certain. Lucius had provided the introduction and the rest was history.

He had been content with his choice until he had been asked to stand in a cold room, locked in the struggle he always felt when he was exposed. His back itched, his balls ached from the chill and he was growing tired of the exhausted theatrics of this poorly-conceived idea of a nineteenth-century secret society meeting. Who was this man to expose Severus' flaws for all to see?

He sensed a movement to his left. Mulciber was attempting to fidget through an itch, if Severus knew his compatriot at all. Someone coughed to his left in the back row, one of the Death Eaters. Severus stood still, his eyes fixed ahead.

He stared forward while the others around him gave into the aching of feet or mystery skin irritations. Severus was nothing if not iron-willed.

Finally, Severus's attention was drawn to the centre of the room. The Dark Lord now stood before the assembled group, his pale features luminous against the midnight backdrop. Several of the inductees gasped. Severus remained impassive, unimpressed by a simple Disillusionment spell.

The Dark Lord swept the assembled group with strangely glowing eyes, his disdain obvious. He walked the line before him, a mixed bag of frightened boys and eager young men. The Dark Lord paused before the first cringing specimen, letting his strange eyes bore into the man-boy. He did this with each candidate, most trembling or bristling under the weight of the stare. Only one, so far, had remained calm. Those that balked at the Dark Lord's treatment were dragged away. Those that cringed were welcomed, but sent to the outer areas, banished from the inner circle.

The Dark Lord came to Severus, after inspecting a calm Mulciber, who had been allowed to stay. Severus held himself still and calm, even though his guts twisted and he felt like spewing the remnants of the meagre meal he had forced himself to eat before the meeting. The Dark Lord smiled and moved on. Only three men remained after his inspection: Mulciber, a Slavic man whom Snape recognised as Karkaroff, and himself.

The Dark Lord Transfigured a throne from a pebble, then sat, arranging his heavy, violet robes artfully. His voice was high and cold, a thing that bothered Severus, when he said, “Bring the first forward.”

Two Death Eaters, presumably Mulciber's sponsors, stepped forward, drawing the young man towards the throne. The Dark Lord ordered Mulciber stripped further, and Severus' friend since his school days allowed it to happen as if entranced. Without warning, Voldemort Cruciated Mulciber, who groaned and writhed with bone-breaking intensity under the curse. As suddenly and violently as the curse was applied, he was let go. Another spell was cast, and this time the writhing which Mulciber underwent was pleasure. After he had spent himself, the Dark Lord smiled and cast a cleansing charm for him. “Do you wish to fight for me? Do you wish to experience the heights and the depths of pain and pleasure? Will you serve me no matter what is asked of you?”

Mulciber kow-towed, his head touching the floor now mired with his sweat and spunk. “I will, My Lord.”

The Dark Lord merely inclined his head. “Arise, my servant, and bear my mark.”

Mulciber screamed in agony and pleasure as the Dark Lord's wand touched his skin, his eyes burning with new purpose. He turned to the assembled group and was invested with his cloak and a silver mask in the shape of a skull.

Severus was next.

&*&*&

The water was now cold and Severus felt his thin frame shake with unexpected tremors. He switched off the shower and hastily cast drying and warming charms. His trembling did not abate as he clothed himself. He sat on the chemical toilet's closed lid, trying to quell the watery roiling in his gut. He gulped air, as if it would provide the relief he needed from the ever-increasing visions of his past.

Once he felt more under control, he practiced the rudimentary Occlusion exercises taught him by his mother. His breathing came slowly and softly to his ears, his heart rate slowed and his mind no longer flitted from scene to horrifying scene. He remained calm for moments and decided it was time to make his entrance into the common area. His odd little family was waiting for him.

Family. Severus stopped short of the door, his hand on the knob, electrified and mortified by the joy that coursed through him as he tasted the bittersweetness of the word. Family.

His friendship with Lily had been the closest he had ever come to that state before. That had turned out so well for him, he thought, as a dark sadness curled around his heart. A diminished sense of joy lingered, but he was able to exit the facilities without looking the fool that he felt.

The girl greeted him at the door, her expression troubled. She hugged him tightly around the waist and for once, Severus touched her voluntarily, his hand flitting over her soft hair. She said against his taut stomach, “I'm sorry I make you crazy.”

He allowed a rare smile to cross his face, leaving the traces of unease he had felt earlier. “I think that is your job, Stella.”

“Daddy,” she laughed. “It is not.”

Joseph Pony snorted from behind the book he read. “Yep, that's always been your job, squirt. You do it too well for it not to be.”

Severus extracted himself from the girl's embrace and walked to the stove. He retrieved the eggs and quart of milk from the small under-the-counter fridge and assembled the other ingredients for pancakes. He had a few hours before he needed to report for his first day of work. Stella sat quietly, but excited sparks burst out of her wand as she picked it up. Pancakes were her favourite. Severus smirked to himself, happy that he could please the girl so easily.

Joseph Pony interrupted his reverie to inquire about a potion he was studying. Severus answered, forgetting the distance between himself and the boy for a moment. He glanced up at the end of his answer and saw the boy's eyes alight with unguarded pleasure for a moment before he shuttered his gaze and returned to his book.

&*&*&

Severus drove the battered pick-up into the small town of Heavener, taking delight that it did resemble the Western movies in which he had invested many hours of his childhood. The buildings were an older style of architecture, made of bricks and mortar with the facades of the American version of antiquity. He left the windows open to the truck as he filled the fuel tank at a small modern convenience store on the outskirts of town. As he entered the establishment to pay for his purchase, a grizzled, old man seated at a table nodded to him, before he returned to his perusal of the newspaper emblazoned with the title The Heavener Ledger. Severus was forcefully reminded of The Quibbler from the typeface and old-fashioned ornateness of the paper's press-style.

He approached the bored cashier, positioned behind the counter that could have doubled as a fortress of formica and wood. He paid with the Muggle-script, still dully uneasy about the use of it. The cashier, a young man in his late teens if Severus could tell by the amount of spots dotting the boy's face, looked up expectantly. “'S'that all, sir?”

“Yes, thank you,” Severus grunted, noting with amusement the lift of the boy's brow at the wizard's accent.

“You ain't from around here are you?” The boy stepped closer to the counter. “Where you headin'?”

“Where he's headin' ain't none o' yore business,” the old man intoned, not bothering to look up from the paper.

The spotted boy still stared at Severus, as if he could see through the glamour cast on the wizard's clothes. “You just be careful around town, mister. Some people don't take it nice when you go pokin' where it don't belong. Right, Brick?”

The old man, thus addressed, stood, tucking the paper under his arm. “Pardon our old mother hen here, he's been dropped on his head too many times by his mama.”

The man left the store after shooting a warning glance at the boy. Severus left as well. The older man was waiting by Severus's pick-up. The dark wizard paused, slipping his wand to a position of readiness. The old man nodded affably as Severus approached. “I was sent here to take you to the compound. Doc Dance got your owl yesterday. Name's Brick. McGowan.”

Severus inclined his head and opened the passenger side door. As soon as he was seated behind the driver's wheel, he started the rough engine, hearing the strange pinging he had heard this morning when he first started it. He would need to check that when he got back to the caravan at the lake.

“Yore one o' them quiet types,” Brick said. “Should get on fine with the crew we got. Most of us ain't too sociable, if you know what I mean. Big brains and all. S'why we were sent here by the company. They don't want to lose good minds, but sure don't want to put up with a bad image.”

Brick wheezed out a laugh, his false teeth clacking loudly. Severus nodded shortly, unable to formulate a reply. Brick continued his monologue. “Ol' Doc, she spent some time in England durin' that war they had, and after. She don't talk about it much, but it shook her up somethin' awful. Spent some time in that prison they have there. But I s'pose you should hear that from her. Don't want her thinkin' I'm tellin' tales out of school.”

Severus remained silent, even as he felt his heart-rate increase. He knew his picture had been plastered over the newspapers in both wizarding and Muggle Britain, both before and after his supposed death. If his new employer recognised him, he would need to leave post-haste. He wished he had had the foresight to cast a glamour on himself before embarking on the day. With a sinking feeling, he turned into the long, dirt drive that Brick indicated led to the compound.


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