Ghost of a Chance

I know this isn't possibly an original fic idea, but it's my own take on a clichŽ...and I hope you enjoy it/ it's ok!


Chapter One

It was a mild day in March when Snape found himself facing Lucius Malfoy over tea, chatting mindlessly about potions (Snape), the latest fashions (Lucius), and decent restaurants (both), when somehow, they got on to the topic of Snape's ancestral home.

"Remodeling is almost done, I take it?" Lucius asked, daintily sipping his tea. Snape held his own cup close to his chin, noting with mild distaste that the tea, charmed to stay hot, was beginning to curl his hair.

"Mm, yes," he answered absently. "Although I find myself in need of servants."

Lucius nodded in understanding. "I take it you still harbor that strong dislike of house elves," he stated.

Snape wrinkled his nose. "I cannot think of anything more annoying, attention-seeking, and wearisome than a house elf," he said contemptuously.

"What about Potter?" Lucius inquired, well aware of Snape's opinion of the boy after years of having to listen to the Potion Master's complaints.

Snape was silent in response. Potter. Potter had changed, for the better, and they had just begun to tolerate each other (after a phenomenal bout of accusations, insults, curses, self-pity, and finally, mutual understanding) when Potter had gone off and defeated the Dark Lord, done a few interviews, and then abruptly vanished from...everyone's life. After over three years, not even Weasley or Granger knew where he was. And I bet that stings, Snape thought viciously.

"Severus?" Lucius prodded, giving him an amused look. "You were saying?"

Snape blinked. "Potter is no longer an issue," he said smoothly. "But you can see why house elves are...not feasible."

Lucius nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I may have just the thing for you," he said slowly, giving his teacup a slight caress as he set it down on the table. "It's a wizarding servant service that trains wizards and witches to be anything from cooks to butlers. It's all rather high-end and rather expensively luxuriant-which is why I happened to be looking into it-but it suits your needs rather nicely, don't you think?"

"I fail to see how," Snape said coldly.

Lucius looked nonplussed-or rather, as nonplussed as a Malfoy could look. "But Severus," he persisted, "a well-trained, professional manservant, skilled in everything, schooled to meet your every whim...what isn't appealing about this?"

Snape frowned. "It is a solution," he admitted, "I will look into it, if you insist."

Lucius smiled. "Oh, I do insist, I do," he replied silkily.

Snape sighed. "Fine," he snapped grudgingly. "I'll get one."

--------

Preferred Gender?

Snape stared at the form in front of him, debating whether or not he was actually going to go through with this. Damn Lucius and his persuasive reasoning.

Tapping his quill against the parchment, he gave the clerk a reassuring glance and glared at the parchment again. 'Male,' he finally scrawled in the corresponding line.

Abilities?

This one was tricky, Snape mused. He wanted to avoid getting more than one servant at all costs, because not only was he unsure if he could tolerate more than one, but most of his finances had gone into refurbishing his ancestral home, and, well, a teacher's pay was hardly enough to get by. 'Skilled cook,' he finally wrote. 'Adept at cleaning.' And after a moment's contemplation, he reluctantly added 'personal attendant.'

With a sigh he filled out the rest of the form, answering everything from his profession to the size and address of his home. When he was done, he rolled up the parchment and handed it to the clerk, who smiled brightly at him and disappeared into the back room.

When the clerk returned, he handed a receipt to Snape. "A servant from our available staff should apparate to your home in approximately one hour," he said. "Wizarding Manservant Services does charge a one-time fee of ten galleons, but individual payments from clients to staff is to be decided between you and your new servant."

Snape nodded curtly, counted out ten galleons, and handed them to the clerk. After taking his receipt, he left the store and returned to his manor to await his new manservant.

------

The crack of someone apparating onto Snape's doorstep hailed the arrival of the much-anticipated manservant. Armed with his temper and his misgivings, Snape threw open to door to reveal a young man dressed in a trim, sleek black outfit.

What struck Snape as odd was that the man's hair was pure white, an abnormality Snape would have passed off as albinism if the man hadn't also possessed luminous grey eyes, which ruled out any lack of pigmentation. He was also slighter than Snape had imagined, with a lithe, fluid build fit for a Seeker. "Pleased to meet you," the young man finally said, breaking the silence that had stretched between them. "I'm your new servant," he continued more smoothly, handing Snape a small, white business card.

Snape took the proffered card and quickly scanned the silver, curling script. 'Amateo J. Pherryster,' he read to himself, indulging in a small amount of amusement at the odd name, 'First class manservant.'

Snape looked back at Amateo. "I'm Severus Snape, your new employer," he introduced cautiously, well aware of his fame during the war, even though Amateo looked a bit young to have participated. When no recognition at his name flashed in Amateo's eyes, Snape breathed a mental sigh of relief. "Come in," he offered a shade more cordially.

Amateo obligingly stepped past him and into the hall.

"Come this way," Snape ordered brusquely, walking out of the hall and into the dining room. "I'm going to give you a quick tour of the house, tell you the rules, and then I will retire. You will not disturb me unless I call for you, is that understood?"

"Completely," Amateo murmured docilely.

"This is the dining room," Snape continued. "Don't spend long cleaning it unless you have some urgent desire to do so, because I take food in my room or in my study." He stopped talking to move on to the library. "The library connects to my study," he said, pointing to a door at the far end. "If you ever enter my study without my permission, Wizarding Manservant Services will never hear from you again and your friends will never find your remains."

Amateo looked unperturbed, and only nodded to show he understood.

"Down the hall is the kitchen. I assume you know how to cook," Snape said.

Amateo nodded. "Of course," he affirmed verbally.

Snape nodded and walked back into the hall again. An ornate grand staircase curved up to the second floor, matched with an equally opulent chandelier overhead. Much to Snape's disgust, the Prince side of the family had had intensely flamboyant tastes.

"Up here are my rooms and the guest rooms," Snape began again, stifling a yawn. The day must have exhausted him more than he thought if he was tiring already. Then again, he was getting old...

"I'm sure I will be able to figure things out from here," Amateo cut in smoothly. "You seem tired, master, shall I prepare your bed?"

Snape whirled around to glare at Amateo. "I did not acquire you so that you could coddle me!" he hissed. "If you insist, I will cease introducing you to the house and I will retire. But I do not require your help in any other way."

Amateo looked abashed. "Please accept my apologies, master, I was too forward. My last employer was very lenient, and I'm afraid some of my training has slipped. It will not happen again."

Snape softened-slightly. It was his servant's first day, after all. "The basement is completely off limits to you," he said finally. "It serves as my potions lab, and I will not risk you ruining an important project. Other than that I trust you will be satisfied with one hundred galleons per month, plus food and lodging? You may make use of one of the guest rooms for yourself."

Amateo inclined his head. "That would be most satisfactory, master," he agreed. "At what time should I prepare breakfast for you tomorrow?"

"Eight a.m.," Snape answered at once. "You may send it to my rooms."

"Very well, master," Amateo said, bowing. "If there is nothing else you command, I bid you goodnight."

Snape nodded. "Good night," he replied.

------

Snape awoke to the smell of buttered toast. A simple breakfast, like he preferred. Opening his eyes, he sat up from his bed and saw that a tray of toast, fruit, and-could that possibly be tea? -was sitting on his desk. Amateo was nowhere to be seen, although Snape also noticed that fresh work robes were laid out on a chair for him.

Stepping out of bed, Snape donned a dressing robe embroidered with tiny replicas of the Prince family crest and sat at his desk to eat. The toast was just crispy enough and not too burnt, the fruit was delicious and flavorful, and the tea was his favorite kind, Earl Grey. Ten points to Amateo.

After he finished breakfast, Snape put on his work robes and withdrew to his study, and then the basement, to work on some delicate potions research. He never caught a glimpse of Amateo.

When he emerged from his study it was just past noon. A quick glance around the library showed that Amateo had been dusting, and, on closer inspection, the books had been resorted alphabetically by author. Snape blinked. How thorough.

"Amateo," he said suddenly, and Amateo instantly appeared at his side in an unnervingly silent manner.

"Yes, master?" Amateo asked, keeping his eyes downcast.

Snape frowned slightly. He wanted a servant, not a timid shell of a human being. Maybe Amateo just needed to get adjusted to his needs and whims. "I will take lunch in my study," he said. "You may serve it at half past twelve."

Amateo bowed. "Very well, master," he said softly, before disappearing as silently as he had come.

Snape returned to his study and sat at his desk. Life with a servant did have its perks, he supposed. It would certainly take a lot of things off his mind, like cleaning and meals and such. Also-well, he would never admit that he was lonely, but having someone else around had already proven to be...comforting. He refused to let it irk him that Amateo had withdrawn into a professional shell; the man had so far proven to be an exceptional servant, and that was all he had to be. Although-

"Master," Snape heard Amateo say, interrupting his thoughts. "Your lunch is ready."

Snape turned and saw that Amateo had set down a tray on his desk, laden with rustic bread and Gouda cheese, steaming soup and a salad. It was...surprisingly Muggle-ish, but Snape had no complaints, for after he began eating, everything proved to hit the spot. "Thank you, Amateo," he said sincerely, only to realize that Amateo had disappeared again.

After finishing lunch he returned to work on some potions. Life, he mused while stirring a Sleeping Draught potion, was rather dull around here. Wake up, eat, work, eat, work, eat, sleep, wake up...in fact, he would probably perish from monotony if it weren't for Amateo popping up at odd moments, dusting statues and serving food and whatever else he did.

Not to mention that Amateo was rather attractive.

Snape crushed that line of thought with grim determination and finished stirring the potion. Putting a stasis spell on it, he turned his attention to his next project, a more rare potion that he was experimenting with, only to realize that he had left the book with instructions in his bedroom.

Muttering curses at his inconvenient choice of bedtime reading, he climbed the two stories worth of stairs up to his bedroom and pushed open the door to retrieve his book.

What he saw stopped him in his tracks. Amateo was kneeling, half under the bed, and exposing his (very appealing) black uniform-clad rear end, while spelling away the dust bunnies.

When he emerged from the depths of the bed's underside, hair covered with dusty fluff, Snape was still frozen, as if spellbound. "Master?" Amateo queried, looking concerned.

Snape swallowed and blinked. 'My...book," he managed to say, searching it out and finding it on his bedside table. An unfamiliar wand was on top of it.

"Oh. Here," Amateo said, picking up what must have been his wand from the book and levitating the book over to him. Starting to hum a tune, he returned to his dusting.

Snape blinked again. "Were you doing those cleaning spells wandlessly?" he asked in surprise.

Amateo paused in the middle of his humming and looked up. "No," he answered demurely, before returning to his cleaning.

Snape narrowed his eyes and regarded Amateo shrewdly, but his servant seemed to take no notice of him. As much as his curiosity pressured him, he knew how much he liked his privacy respected, and he remembered he had a potion to start, so after some hesitation he left the room.

He also vowed to shove his growing attraction to Amateo out of his mind.

Life went on in this manner until Snape and Amateo had developed a fairly regular routine. At first, apart from meals and the occasional chance encounter in the halls, Snape never really spoke to Amateo. Over time, however, Amateo had slowly but surely ingrained himself into the activities of the manor, and he had even begun helping Snape with potions. The only reason Snape allowed this was because Amateo seemed fairly competent, and didn't insist on inane chatter to fill up the inevitable silences that stretched between them. And yet, even after Amateo was firmly entrenched in Snape's life, they rarely interacted more than what was necessary. Everything was kept strictly professional.

But Snape couldn't help his observations that Amateo really was very appealing, in his own way, and despite his frequent vows to stop thinking about it, he often caught himself admiring Amateo's lithe and supple figure as he moved around. He quelled these observations; Amateo was probably less than half his age, anyway. The temptation was there, though, Amateo being as controlled and submissive as he was, and Snape, being, well, Snape.

One night, despite his efforts to prevent it, Snape found his thoughts slipping back to the war, and Voldemort, Dumbledore, and Harry Potter, the key players. As well as his own contributions and mistakes.

...More mistakes than contributions, now that he thought about it.

Naturally, this course of thinking led to opening a bottle of wine, and before he knew it, he was finishing the bottle and staring into the fireplace flames, haunted with visions of warfare and death that even copious amounts of alcohol couldn't drown.

A tentative knock at the door interrupted his grim reminiscing, and before he had a chance to answer, Amateo had stepped in and walked over to Snape.

"I'm drunk," Snape informed Amateo, gratefully that at least he wasn't slurring his words.

"I'm aware of that," he heard Amateo say amusedly, and then he felt cool, dry fingers ruffle his hair. "I wonder what drove you to drink," Amateo speculated in such a way that Snape knew he didn't have to answer. But he did anyway.

"The war," he said simply.

"Ah," Amateo commented, discreetly removing the wine bottle and wine glass away from where Snape could get at them. Not that there was much left, but Snape appreciated Amateo's sensibility. "No wonder you polished off the bottle, then, master," Amateo continued ruefully.

"Were you old enough to take part in it?" Snape asked in surprise. He'd figured Amateo was fresh out of school.

"I'm twenty-one," Amateo informed him with a smile, leaning against the left arm of Snape's chair. "Of course I was part of the war."

Snape stilled. "Then you know...who I am," he stated simply.

"Everyone knows how you are, master. You're a hero," Amateo replied, fingers brushing Snape's left forearm sadly.

"No, I'm not," Snape denied defiantly. "I couldn't save him," he added in an undertone, mortified to discover a single tear had slipped down his cheek. Amateo didn't ask whom.

"I didn't figure you for a sad drunk," Snape thought he heard Amateo mutter, before fingers reached out and brushed away his tear. "Come on, let's get you to bed," Amateo urged, and surprisingly strong arms slipped around Snape's shoulders and helped him up.

Snape staggered, but managed to make it out of the study with less difficulty than he anticipated. The stairs proved to be a harder challenge, but eventually he made it to his bedroom with much help from Amateo.

Amateo gently put him on his bed and went into the bathroom. A moment later he reemerged and helped Snape into the bathroom. "I've prepared a bath for you," Amateo said, just in case Snape couldn't see the steaming, scented, water-filled tub, and before Snape could protest, Amateo began undressing him.

"Wait," Snape managed, after Amateo was halfway done unbuttoning Snape's robes. "What are you doing?" he asked suspiciously, nervous about revealing his body.

"Master, in addition to being your cook and cleaner, I'm also your personal attendant," Amateo explained patiently. "So I'm attending to your person, as you can see," he finished, taking off Snape's robes and underclothing. "Now get in," he ordered, and it was the first order Amateo had ever made that Snape could recall.

Snape managed to get in on his own, still overly conscious of the fact that he was nude, but as the hot water began soothing his tired body, it occurred to him that maybe he should listen to Amateo more often. "Thank you," he said gruffly, as Amateo began skillfully washing his hair. "You don't have to-"

"I want to," Amateo said grimly, and Snape frowned. Surely his hair wasn't as greasy as that.

"If I may be so bold, master-it is," Amateo said, and Snape realized he had unintentionally voiced his thoughts out loud.

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Why, you impertinent-" he stopped when Amateo murmured rinsing and drying spells, and conjured soap. Wandlessly.

"You're a powerful wizard to be able to do wandless spells so easily," Snape remarked carefully, mindful of the fact that he was both inebriated and on dangerously nosy grounds. "Why are you working as a servant?"

Amateo paused in the middle of lathering Snape's shoulders with the soap. The strong scent of lemongrass filled the air. "You're a powerful wizard yourself, master," Amateo finally replied. "Why are you voluntarily holing yourself up in your ancestral home with no one but a servant?"

Pondering that question only led Snape back to his original thoughts on the war. It was hard to think clearly-the alcohol had clearly affected him more than he intended-but he answered as best he could. "I hate attention," he said simply. He paused. "So did Potter, I guess," he added in a non sequitor mutter, as Amateo motioned for him to get out.

Heated towels magically wrapped around him and dried him off, and then Amateo helped him into proper sleeping attire and guided him to his bed. "I miss him," Snape murmured drowsily, as Amateo tucked him into bed. "Damned nuisance though. We'd just gotten over our differences..."

The combination of alcohol and the relaxing bath worked against him and he fell asleep before he could finish his sentence.

Amateo remained by the bed and reached out one hand to caress Snape's cheek. "He missed you too," he said softly, before quietly leaving the room.

-----

Snape woke up with a wicked hangover and the nagging sensation that something strange had happened the night before.

Looking over at his desk, he saw a tray of buttered, steaming hot crumpets with a selection of jams and his usual mug of Earl Grey. A small bottle with the note, "For your hangover" was also on his desk. Snape gratefully drank it down and proceeded to devour the crumpets and tea with relish.

Once he was finished, he dressed (Amateo had laid out his work robes, as usual) and left his room, heading towards the potions lab to work. He was uneasy that he still couldn't clearly remember what had happened the night before, and he didn't trust his drunk self to behave properly, so he made a mental note to ask Amateo about it.

Speaking of whom-at the top of the stairs, he paused at the sight of Amateo, who was levitating himself up to the level of the chandelier, attempting to dust it and maintain his balance at the same time. Judging from the amount of precarious wobbling Amateo was experiencing, his hold on the levitation spell was less than safe, so Snape quietly edged down the stairs, not wanting to startle Amateo and make him lose his concentration. Halfway down the stairs, almost directly underneath the chandelier, he unintentionally stepped on a stair that creaked. Loudly.

Consequently, Amateo lost his concentration over the spell. And fell on top of Snape.

Snape overbalanced flat on his back with Amateo on top of him, his face still set in an expectant flinch.

Snape felt legs on either sides of his hips, and realized with shock, and then arousal, that Amateo had landed in a straddling position on top of Snape's midsection. Snape really didn't mind that as much as he should have. In fact...he was really enjoying it more than was proper.

But most surprising was that Snape could very physically tell that Amateo was enjoying it too.

In shock, Snape looked up at Amateo's startled eyes, before Amateo jumped up, face slightly flushed, and then, with shaky hands, helped Snape up from the floor.

"I'm so sorry, I lost my concentration-" he began.

"I didn't mean to startle you-" Snape started at the same time. They both stopped and stared at each other warily.

Not wanting to admit just yet that he lusted after Amateo, Snape took advantage of a peculiar thing about Amateo's eyes that he had just noticed. "Are those contacts you're wearing?" he said abruptly, recognizing the tell-tale circular contours of clear, Muggle material that Snape knew of from Draco's times of desperate alternatives to glamors when he wanted to go unnoticed, as both Lucius and himself could see through all but the strongest of glamors.

Amateo started ever so slightly, hiding his surprise well. "No," he lied, avoiding Snape's penetrating gaze.

Snape was having none of it. "In our master-servant contract, it clearly says there is to be no dishonesty between the employer and servant," Snape reminded Amateo curtly. "I am disappointed in you, Amateo."

He saw Amateo stiffen in shock, and possibly shame, and almost regretted his harshness.

"I'm sorry," Amteo whispered, hanging his head. "I am wearing contact lenses. It's just...I don't like my true eye color."

Snape frowned-that was hardly cause to lie. "Take them out," he ordered.

Amateo's eyes widened. "I-" he began.

"Now," Snape ordered.

Amateo's shoulders slumped in grudging defeat and he reached up to pluck the contact lenses from hsi eyes.

When he looked up again at Snape, his eyes were a brilliant green.

Snape's breath caught in his throat. Now he knew why Amateo was so self-conscious-his eyes looked just like...

"They make me look like him," Amateo explained glumly, completing Snape's thoughts.
"I don't like the attention it draws."

Snape bit his lip. "Very well," he said, still shaken, "but there's no one here but you and me. There will be no need for you to continue to wear them." He did not feel it was necessary to mention that he wanted to be reminded of Potter's eyes, but all the same, he had the uncomfortable feeling that that exact fact hung unspoken between them, increasing the awkwardness of the situation tenfold.

Snape tried to turn from Amateo quickly, and felt an unexpected pang in his back. He winced before he could stop himself, and Amateo was immediately at his side in an apologetic flurry of hands and offers of pain-relieving potions. "I'm fine," Snape assured Amateo through gritted teeth. "I must have just pulled something in my back when I fell. Don't worry about it." He looked at Amateo to see that Amateo clearly did not want to let it go. "I will be in my lab. I wish to work in solitude until dinner is ready. Don't call for me, I'll come up when I'm ready."

Amateo nodded, almost successful at hiding the hurt in his eyes-lovely green eyes, Snape observed again absent mindedly-before bowing. "As you desire, master," he replied in his professional manner.

I desire you, Snape thought absently as he walked away, nearly tripping over his feet in shock when he realized what he had just thought. Blinking, he made his way down to the basement and immersed himself in the complicity and distractions that potions offered him, resolving not to reemerge until he got himself under complete control.


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That's it for chapter one...constructive criticism is welcome, as well as any other comments, suggestions, etc.