Chapter 7- Friends, Foes, and Clothes
6 October 2007
If mirrors could talk—and thank Circe, this one didn't—surely this particular collection of glass and lead would be cackling with unholy glee as Snape fussed endlessly with the high collar of his outer robe. It did not matter what he did or how he tugged or folded; the idiotic piece of cloth just didn't lie right.
"Oh, sod this for a game of soldiers…" he cursed and ripped the ruddy garment off. Consulting the mirror again, he decided to forgo the robe entirely. It was undoubtedly a less formal public style than he was accustomed to but hardly indecent. True, his vest now looked a little off, and one could clearly see the remnants of Nagini's bite on his neck…
But it's not the scars that are bothering you, is it?
With a sigh, he admitted defeat. The collar, the scars… they were only symptomatic of a broader dissatisfaction that had been haunting him since his last birthday. Severus knew that he should be more grateful for what he had, but he simply wasn't. Grimly, he stared in the mirror, mouth twisting as he took in his depressing appearance.
Oh, but it would be wonderful to blame this all on Granger…
It wasn't her fault, not precisely. But ever since the morning after the ball, he'd been unable to look in the mirror and see anything remotely pleasing; the internal dissatisfaction had steadily spread outward. A solid week had gone by, and Snape had spent more time stewing over his wardrobe and appearance than a spotty youth. Hell, he hadn't spent this much time worrying about his own appearance when he was a spotty youth.
How much longer can this go on? Snape thought to himself, then cringed at the self-pity tone. No more, he decided abruptly. If the definition of insanity is doing the same task over and over again while expecting different results, then I clearly need to change something or risk becoming a neighbour to Lockhart.
Now, the question is, what can I change?
Thinking about the areas in which he had some control, Severus came to several rapid conclusions.
I am hundreds of kilometres from Hogwarts; if things go badly, I can Obliviate anyone who might spread the tale and intimidate the rest into silence. If there is ever a time to take a chance, this is it.
Snagging a piece of parchment from his bedside table, he began to write a brief note.
Lucius-
You have always claimed that you could work wonders if given free reign on my wardrobe. Should you still be up to the challenge, you have exactly forty-eight hours to get your poncey arse down here and do so.
Yours, etc
SS
P.S. Don't make me write to Narcissa, or your account at Gringotts will be funding this folly.
Surprisingly, it only took Lucius until supper to respond to his summons.
With a sigh of great satisfaction, the man lowered himself into one of the wing-backed chairs of the private lounge, fastidiously smoothing his peacock blue robes around him as he did so.
"So, my old friend," he drawled, eyes glinting with sardonic mirth, "what brings about this sudden epiphany?"
"Can I not simply wish for change for change's sake?" he responded waspishly, pouring two cups of tea.
Lucius chuckled. "You are a creature of habit, Severus. I might buy that reasoning from another man, but not you. Out with it… what is the impetus for such a decision?"
"Three guesses. The first two don't count."
"A woman, then." Malfoy's smile became slyer. "Has a French bird of paradise finally caught your eye? Or perhaps it's a Spanish señora, luring you with her offer to tango… A buxom Belgian?"
Fleetingly, Snape debated on whether or not there was any benefit in prevaricating. Best not. The blasted man will skewer me with the truth at the worst possible moment if I make him puzzle it out… "None of the above. She's English, as a matter of fact."
The other man's expression faded into careful neutrality. "Granger."
He gave a sharp nod, unwilling to say the words.
"Well, I will admit, it's not that much of a shock. McGonagall was certainly gauche enough with her machinations this summer."
"You knew?" Snape exclaimed before he could stop himself. "You knew and didn't think to warn me?"
Lucius gave him a chiding look. "Really, Severus, it was entirely clear. The woman is about as subtle as the Weasley's joke shop. In truth, I thought you only agreed to this expedition in order to humour her."
"It wasn't all that obvious," he grumbled.
"Yes, it was," Lucius persisted. "Firstly, Granger is the only single staff member under fifty, and her favourite to boot. Had your Scottish counterpart not been seeking to set you up, she would have sent one of the more senior staff, or at least one that did not have a full teaching load. Do you have any idea how much it cost to bring Flitwick back for a year of supply teaching?"
"As I signed off on the budget, yes."
"Really," Malfoy sighed again, "the effort of organizing such a trip—to France, no less!—was massive. To then let another person enjoy the spoils… if that doesn't scream setup, then I don't know what would."
"Put it that way…" I really am going to have to spike some cat balm when I return!
"Quite so." Lucius steepled his fingers together consideringly and gave him a long look. "Still, I suppose if you are going to bring a woman twenty years to your junior to our social gatherings, you could do far worse than Granger. That horrid Brown chit, for example, has been unsuccessfully trying to attach herself to Edward Nott for ages."
"I am pleased that my choice meets with your royal stamp of approval," he said, voice full of venom.
Again, Malfoy got that damnable glint in his eye. "And as much as it pains me to admit it, she is at least far better looking than-"
Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and after a moment the door swung open. Hermione breezed, thumbing through the evening post.
"You've several letters-" she began, and then cut off suddenly when she caught sight of his guest.
Lucius rose swiftly from his chair and made a formal bow. "Professor Granger. A pleasure, as always."
Her reaction was a bit like watching a cat puff up in anger at the sight of a dog; Snape could swear that her hair seemingly doubled in size, and her features sharpened in preparation for an attack. I must be an utter fool to think that this could ever work!
"Mr. Malfoy."
"Your timing is most fortuitous. We were just speaking of you."
Granger's eyes narrowed, and she shot him an accusatory glance. "Were you, now?"
Oh, bollocks. I'll kill Lucius if he tries to have a spot of fun!
"Why, yes, we were," the other man continued smoothly. "I was telling the Headmaster that I had received several favourable reports concerning your Advanced Charms seminar from one my French counterparts."
"How perfectly wonderful to hear." Granger's mouth stretched into a parody of a smile, and she glanced between the two men for a long moment before continuing her questioning. "Pray tell, Mr. Malfoy, what brings you to Beauxbatons so unexpectedly?"
Lucius own grin only deepened. "Shopping, Professor Granger. I find that my winter wardrobe is sadly lacking, and as my closest friend happens to be residing in France, it seemed only appropriate to take a little trip to the Continent and refresh my closet."
"Shopping?" Her voice rippled with ill-concealed scorn.
"Indeed." Lucius stretched out an arm to better reveal the expertly tailored lines of his robes. "As you can see, these old rags are helplessly out of date."
Either Granger cottoned on to the fact that Malfoy was deliberately needling her, or she finally decided to remember her manners; her expression levelled into more impersonal lines. "As I know nothing about fashion, I shall leave the two of you to it." With a shallow bow, she placed his letters on the side table and made to leave.
"Professor Granger," Snape called, and she paused in the doorway. "As Lucius is also on the Board of Governors, Madame Maxime has invited us for after dinner drinks tonight. We will attend as a group."
Unspoken in his words was the dictate that she would not only attend but behave; he would tolerate none of the usual bickering between them. Her jaw firmed, but she remained outwardly calm.
"As you wish."
The door had barely closed behind her when Lucius raised a supercilious eyebrow, no doubt preparing to make some sort of scathing comment. Giving the man a firm glare, Snape spoke. "No more of that. I am well aware that you can act like an adult without resorting to all the campy dramatics of a village theatre group."
"Yes, I can. But the question is, why would I want to?"
"Because I am asking it of you."
Malfoy went silent, glancing at the delicate teacup held in his broad hands. "You are determined to have her, then?"
Severus swallowed, something of his old insecurities flaring up. "I haven't made up my mind entirely." And given what just occurred, everything could go to hell in a handbasket before 'it' even gets started…
"Yes or no, Severus?"
Lucius was his best friend and had been at his side through the worst of it; moreover, he knew Severus better than anyone else living, and perhaps even dead. Still, it was an effort to answer the question as bluntly as required.
"I mean to try," he admitted finally, fingers drumming an uncertain rhythm on his own cup.
To his relief, Lucius didn't tease him further. "Very well."
"That's all you have to say?"
"Would you prefer the dramatics?" Taking in his expression, the other man chuckled darkly. "You've been unhappy for the better part of a year and distinctly unfulfilled for the last two. If it takes a sparkling new wardrobe and the dubious charms of Hogwarts' second-worst harpy to improve matters, then who am I to gainsay you?"
"It's a bit more complicated than that," Snape grumbled. And it was; for all that Granger was an impetus for this change, she was not truly the lever.
"A fact that I am well aware of. But one should always go for the easy birds first, and then worry about the tricky shots after."
"Granger is neither a bird nor easy."
Malfoy smirked. "I wouldn't be so sure of that. Just wait until I get done with you."
Alas, the ceasefire was only temporary; while they both behaved reasonably enough during drinks that night, Snape came back into Express the following morning to find the air crackling with magic and raw fury.
Lucius was genuinely furious, of that he could easily tell, and Granger's eyes were flashing in a fashion that typically heralded a swift hexing. The Slytherin rose as soon as he saw Snape, hand gripping his cane tightly.
"Are you ready to depart?"
Snape had meant to change before the shopping expedition commenced, but seeing the state his friend was in, decided that it would be prudent to forgo any primping.
"Lead on."
In short order, the two of them had Apparated to the wizarding quarter of Paris, and Lucius was striding through the hordes of noonday shoppers with enough of a glower to make passers-by flinch.
"Dare I ask?"
"I would recommend," he hissed through clinched teeth, "that you educate your Professor Granger about just how much freedom the lot of us had when the Dark Lord demanded something. "
"What on earth were you discussing?" Snape inquired after a pause, hastily dodging a witch and several snot-nosed sprogs.
"I was trying to… well, it doesn't matter. Originally we were discussing the difference between French and English hospitality traditions. As you know, the House of Malfoy has always been more aligned with the French style, rather than the English. When I attempted to point out some of the finer aspects that relate to estate charmwork, Granger had the temerity to comment that she had noticed no such protections when she had visited the Manor. As if I had any say in the matter..."
"Ahh," he said slowly and understood why Malfoy was furious. There had not been a choice to play host to the Dark Lord during the last months before the Battle of Hogwarts, nor had there been anything the Malfoys could have done differently once Granger and her compatriots and become 'guests' of the Manor; any protests would have resulted in a painful and lingering death for all involved. The Dark Lord's autarchic action had been both a threat and insult to the House of Malfoy, and Granger should have recognized that.
They halted in front a discreet shop front simply labelled "Lasueur".
"Lucius."
The man turned, hand on the doorknob.
"I will speak with her. And should she prove to be less than understanding about that aspect of our shared past, yesterday's discussion will be rendered purely academic."
Some of the tension ebbed out of the man, and the beginnings of rueful humour softened the taut lines of his face. Giving his forearm a brief squeeze, Malfoy spoke. "Severus, I don't mean to get in the way-"
"No," he interrupted. "I don't have so many friends that I would abandon one who has never forsaken me."
Lucius looked away before clearing his throat. "Draco taught me a rather amusing Muggle phrase several weeks ago. 'Bros before Hoes,' I believe it was." The man enunciated the phrase with deliberate relish.
Snape couldn't help the loud guffaw that broke free. "From more of those blasted American films, I gather? Well, vulgar as the statement may be, it does rather strike at the heart of the matter."
"It does, doesn't it? Of course, we are excluding Narcissa from the edict."
He rolled his eyes. "Naturally. While I am no longer well-versed in Muggle colloquial vernacular, I highly doubt your wife would fall under the category of 'hoe.' Now, can we get this over with before I lose my nerve entirely?"
Martin Lesueur had surprisingly hard eyes for one who worked with finer fabrics of life.
"Hello, Lucius," he said greeting, gaze measuring Snape as he came from behind a counter. "I am disappointed. You promised me a challenge, not merely someone who is in dire need of updating."
Lucius dismissed the Frenchmen's words with a blasé wave. "Repeat that sentiment once you need him to try on a few items. Severus, this is Martin Lesueur. You would do well to not argue with him. Martin, allow me to present Headmaster Severus Snape. Martin, if he does dare argue with you, listen."
They shook hands a touch warily; the man was not at all the flamboyant fop that Severus had been expecting. Clad in an unpretentious white button-down shirt and navy slacks, Lesueur could have passed for a Muggle, and Snape found that fact oddly reassuring.
"I understand, Headmaster, that you are looking to completely overhaul your wardrobe?"
"I am."
"Then I would have you look around at what I currently have in stock. Find items that you like, as well as things that you do not, and ponder on what sort impression you are seeking to make. While you are doing that, I have some new robes that will be of interest to your friend. Does that sound reasonable?"
"It will do well enough."
The shop was thankfully devoid of other patrons, and Snape spent the first few minutes just trying to decipher the general layout of the place.
It had been decades since he'd last truly been shopping; Twilfitt and Tattings's had his measurements, and when he needed something replaced, he merely sent an owl with his order. If what he had did not fit the situation, then it was easy enough to transfigure it into something more appropriate.
As a child, he possessed only items that could be picked up out of one of the thrift-shop reject bins, or, as he got older, some of his Da's hand-me-downs; his Hogwarts robes had been the first new items he'd ever owned. As a bursary student, he'd stayed in his uniform seven days a week, not having anything decent to wear otherwise. Not surprisingly, his lack of proper clothes had always been a source of deep shame for him, made only worse when the inadequacies had been brutally exposed by the Marauders.
Directly following graduation, he started his Mastery, and that had necessitated a different type of uniform; it wasn't until he'd been hired to teach Potions that Snape had been forced to venture into a clothing shop for something completely new.
He had stood staring at the endless racks of shirts and jackets, feeling like an utter fraud when Albus Dumbledore had waltzed in.
"Severus, my dear boy. Here to buy your first set of professorial robes?"
"Yes."
"Excellent, excellent." For once, the man had decided to meddle in his favour. "And have you seen anything to your taste?"
"Not quite." Mostly because I had no idea what I should be looking for, you barmy bastard!
"Well, I rather imagine that you'll want something that will convey a certain sense of gravitas- I'm afraid you will be the youngest professor on staff by nearly twenty years, and you still do know the majority of the student body. Of course, it needs to be in a fabric that can handle the rigours of the Potions Classroom… poor Horace was just lamenting the loss of a particularly dear waistcoat just other day."
The Headmaster had started to flick through a rack, hard blue eyes focusing on Severus for an uncomfortably long moment. "Hmm, something in black, I would think. All the better to hide stains, and easier to coordinate, too. Imogene, my dear, do you have anything that would fit the bill?"
And just like that, Snape's infamous billowing black robes had been born. They had done their job as armour and concealing shield for almost thirty years, but he now wanted something new. Not the gaudy peacock-blue robes that Lucius wore, certainly…
"Headmaster, have you come to any conclusions?" The Frenchman reappeared at his side as if divining his thoughts.
"There are some rather fine robes over here, Severus," Lucius interjected, holding a positively ghastly item up for inspection.
Glancing over, he made a face. "Stripes? With a hint of a floral motif? I think not," he groused, knowing that he was being teased.
Lesueur smiled faintly. "While they are rather avant-garde, you could pull it off. Your figure is lean enough for it."
"And I would feel like a ruddy fool and an imposter the entire time." He shook his head. "No, I would like something more on the Muggle side of the aisle. And I am not opposed to some colour, nor a more modern cut."
"Am I correct in thinking that you are aiming for a style a little less 'Victorian Undertaker,' then?"
Snape glanced down at his attire wryly. "'Victorian Vicar,' please. No undertaker would risk something with this much billow."
"Of course." Lesueur gaze swept over him again. "I assume the rest of your wardrobe is of a similar design?"
"Yes."
He gave a Gallic shrug of unconcern. "From what I can see, the individual pieces are quite good. Incorporating new items would be the easiest; your look would change, but not so much that people would fail to recognize you. Have you found anything you do like?"
Reaching a long arm over to a shelf, he picked up a deep navy jumper. "This."
Lucius strolled over to have a look. "Cashmere, Severus? How positively decadent of you…"
Several hundred galleons later, Snape had easily tripled his wardrobe and Lucius was already trying to plan a future shopping trip to Milan. The man had also insisted that he wear one new item out of the store, and not surprisingly, Snape had chosen the first jumper.
Staring at the mirror in the dressing room, he had to admit that the look wasn't too far off his normal to be shocking, but was satisfyingly… contemporary. Younger? Snape wondered, taking in the tall dragonhide boots, elegant black woollen slacks, button-down shirt and v-neck jumper.
"Welcome to the twentieth century, my friend," Lucius said from behind him, a smug smile etched onto his face.
"You are aware that it's actually the twenty-first century?" he inquired dryly.
"Of course. Having earned an Outstanding in my Astronomy N.E.W.T, I am well aware of our current placement on the Gregorian calendar. Alas, your clothing hasn't quite joined us yet."
With deliberate insolence, Snape raked his gaze across his friend's brand new orange and purple paisley robes. "And if that's what the twenty-first century looks like, I'll gladly linger in the past."
"Suit yourself…"
"I plan on it."
Granger and Madame Gresham were discussing the week's upcoming menus when they returned to the Express, and the older woman leapt up to pour several cups of fresh tea.
"Headmaster, Mr. Malfoy. I trust your shopping trip went well?" Madame Gresham asked cheerfully.
"Oh, it was quite the success," Lucius responded. "Why, I even coerced Severus into buying a few things."
Madame Gresham smiled at him. "I can see. What a lovely jumper, Headmaster. It's so nice to see you in a bit of colour for a change."
Severus felt the beginnings of flush spread, and he busied himself with the remains of the newspaper to hide it. This is exactly what I don't want to happen… For the next several minutes he pointedly ignored the conversation flowing around him, and finally surfaced once Madame Gresham bustled away to the kitchens and would no longer natter on about his clothing.
Lucius stretched and gave Severus a pointed look. "I think that I shall retire for a nap before supper."
"Don't be late," Snape ordered sharply. "It starts at seven, and you know how I feel about being on time."
"Yes, yes, I know. You've lectured me on the subject any number of times."
He raised an eyebrow. "And yet, you always manage to arrive at ten past the appointed time."
"All the better to make an entrance." Malfoy sighed and rose in a dramatic cloud of paisley. Giving cool nod to Granger, he left the carriage.
She made a slight face and then saw Snape watching her. "What? The only other person I know that takes naps is Harry and Gin's five year old, and he only reluctantly."
"He's not actually going for a kip," Snape informed her flatly. "He's going to write his daily letter to Narcissa and then fuss over all of his new clothes."
Shrugging, she went back to her own papers. Snape let the topic drop, trying to sort out in his mind exactly what he wanted to say as well as the best way to approach the problem. Bluntness, I think. I want to make sure that there are no misunderstandings…
Despite having lived in the same Castle for the last five years, as well as the six years that she had been a student, Snape didn't know Granger all that well, and certainly not much the adult iteration that sat before him. Outside of the usual administrative rigmarole, there was virtually no mingling between himself and the more junior staff; he had been perfectly content to ignore her on the rare occasions that their social groups had collided.
If he was going to do this—'this' being some sort of relationship with Hermione—then he was damn well going to take his time and make sure that he actually wanted to get wet before jumping headlong into the shark-infested waters. And that meant getting to know her—and letting her see the parts of him that he'd much rather keep hidden.
But the open hostility he had seen in her earlier in the day bothered him greatly. While he wasn't expecting Hermione and Lucius to become bosom buddies—the man was a handful at the best of times, and given their personal history, her anger with him was justified— some tolerance of the past was required if there was any hope in hell of a personal relationship between the two of them.
As with Lucius, he was inherently and irrevocably a Dark wizard. After growing up amid the poverty and squalor of his dysfunctional youth, it was the force that made the most elemental, visceral sense to him; it spoke to the basest needs and desires that drove all of mankind- not to mention himself. Twenty years as a Death Eater had not dulled that fascination- studying the Dark Arts was like playing the ultimate chess match, not just against a single, external opponent, but also against the worst parts of oneself at the same time.
Lily had never accepted or understood that side of him; Albus had never had the stones to acknowledge that he was just as Dark as Severus was. Even with Minerva, it had taken almost dying before she'd actually trusted him. How would Hermione react?
Well, he thought, here goes nothing…
Taking a sip of tea, he spoke again. "Hermione, when you argued with Lucius earlier, who brought up the topic of hospitality traditions?"
She stiffened, sensing that she might not like the conversation. "Malfoy did. Why?"
"Because while it was a rather obtuse, Slytherin way to go about it, he was trying to apologise to you for what happened. By pointing out that you experienced none of the obnoxious Pureblood household rituals that should have been in place, Lucius was trying to show you that he had no control over events."
"Then he should have simply should have apologised," she replied firmly, mouth thinning.
Leaning back in his chair, he watched her fiddle with her papers, the defensiveness practically rolling off her in visible waves. It wasn't as if Granger was prejudiced against the Slytherin or pureblooded students, and he knew her to be fair-minded when it came to most matters; her issues with Lucius were deeply personal ones.
"Do you think that he had a choice in allowing the Dark Lord to reside in Malfoy Manor?" he asked placidly.
It was her turn to eye him in some speculation. "I think that he had many choices over the course of his life, and he consistently made the wrong ones."
Not nearly good enough, Granger… He made a soft, almost gentle sound of derision. "Ah, so in your youth, you never decided to involve yourself in a cause, thinking that it would only affect you, only to find out much later that it would have dire consequences for those whom you loved?"
She went white at his reference to her family, anger and hurt flaring in her eyes. "What I did in the war was quite different from joining the Death Eaters. Moreover, I Obliviated my parents to save them, not harm them! It was done out of love."
"And you do not think that Lucius is motivated by that same emotion?"
"Love of power, perhaps," she conceded, "…but as for the rest? You cannot excuse away being what amounts to a terrorist and murderer because it was done out of love."
His gaze turned mocking. "You cannot? Funny, that, because my Order of Merlin would beg to differ."
"You know what I mean!"
"Virtually every crime and moral offence that you can level against Lucius is one that I am equally guilty of. Really," he drawled, "the most significant difference between he and I relates to his penchant for financial maleficence. Not having the blunt for such shenanigans, I naturally could not compete with him in that arena."
"You," she hissed, "did not give a young girl a possessed, evil book with the hopes of opening up the Chamber of Secrets and killing off Muggle-born children. You did not try to topple the entire government for personal gain, or grant sanctuary a despotic mass murderer-"
"No. But I was a bully of the worst sort for the majority of my teaching career, and did, in fact, torture students under my care; hell, I tortured and killed many people who had good reason to trust me. I aided in the fall of the Ministry of Magic. Oh, but the laundry list of things that I did… What makes me any different than him, Hermione? Why am I to be forgiven, and not he?"
Granger appeared close to tears; whether from fury or frustration, he could not tell. "What do you want from me, Snape? To suddenly hate you again?"
"No," he said quietly. "My greatest wish hasn't changed since your student days. I want you to think, and think critically."
He thought for a moment that she would walk out on him, and he kept his tone as dispassionate as he dared. "Why do you think that so many purebloods aligned with Dark Lord, Hermione?"
"Shall I make you a list? Xenophobia, bigotry, latent misogyny, ignorance, inbreeding…"
"In part? Certainly. But Pureblood society didn't suddenly decide at a garden party one Sunday to rip apart the entire social fabric of wizarding Britain. It wasn't a whim, I assure you. There were reasons for their rage, and excellent ones at that. When Albus Dumbledore became the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, he and number of like-minded cronies spearheaded any number of acts and provisions that threatened the core of Pureblood culture."
"What a pity," Granger spat.
He matched her scorn. "Yes, I imagine that you would have no problem with being told who and how you would marry, have your family's livelihood utterly destroyed and possessions redistributed for the 'greater good,' not to mention your dearly held traditions outlawed. And that was just to start."
"I cannot believe that you, of all people, would preach on the superiority of Pureblood beliefs!"
Deliberately, he stared her down, giving her words all the silent contempt that they deserved. "You purposely misunderstand me, Professor Granger. Everyone has a reason, and everyone has a price; you would do well to learn about the causes of the Dark Lord's rise so that you may better teach those who would bring about another like him."
That cooled her ire a few degrees. "Understand," Snape said, switching into something akin to his lecture mode, "that much like every uprising and civil war in humanity's long and bloody history, while nominally about ideology, our conflict had more to do with resources and population numbers. By nineteen-sixty, the Pureblood families of Britain were outnumbered by Muggles and half-bloods three to one; by nineteen-seventy-five, there were just as many seismic socio-political changes happening in the magical community as there were in the Muggle."
"And Lucius?" she asked, leaning back in her own chair and crossing her arms.
"And Lucius fell into the situation as the oldest son of a well-known family on the brink of economic ruin, thanks to the gambling and spendthrift ways of his parents. In five years, he turned the family's fortunes around, and then as the government took a sharp turn to the left, it appeared that he would lose everything he had worked so hard for. Understandably, he decided to fight back."
Unable to sit still, he rose and started to pace, remembering the tumult of his student days. "The Dark Lord was the first person to actually push back on the social reforms being proposed by Dumbledore. He advocated a return to the old ways and traditional practices; according to many, it was the only method that could restore the magical community to the stability and prosperity that it had once enjoyed. At first, his rhetoric concerning Muggles and the Muggleborn was not overtly racist. He argued that like any newcomer, they did not have the background to understand why things had always been done a certain way and knew not what they were unknowingly dismantling. But as their influence grew, so did Pureblood anxiety around the sudden influx of new ideas and culture. It was felt that Muggleborns did not assimilate, as much as invade."
Taking a moment to sip his tea, he tried to organise his thoughts into a more succinct argument. "There was serious talk about forcibly dismantling the large Pureblood estates and redistributing the wealth, of outlawing a variety of magical practices and spells, as well as lessening the Statute of Secrecy. Was it any wonder that a fair amount of the wizarding populace saw those actions as a direct threat? And then it grew ugly after several prominent members of the Rowle and Crabbe families were arrested and thrown into Azkaban for treason. The pushback began in earnest… and at that point, Lucius formally joined the retinue of the Dark Lord, which later became the core of the Death Eaters." Seeing the question in Hermione's gaze, he added, "I joined four years after Lucius did after the group had effectively militarised."
He'd been so angry and incredibly bitter at the world at that time in his life; Snape had joined the Death Eaters in a bid not just for acceptance, but also in the name of revenge. By the time that he had started to have second thoughts, it was too late, and matters were spiralling out of control.
"I regretted taking the Dark Mark almost immediately; Lucius… ah, well, it was almost a decade before he came to share my views, and by then the violence had reached truly sickening levels. For him, it wasn't until after it became clear that the Dark Lord would rise again that he reconsidered his position. And by then, of course, he had far more to lose and very little chance of escaping the horrors."
Slanting her a sardonic glance, he went on. "Lucius saved my life and cover countless times over the years; without his support, I would have been lucky to survive past your fifth year at Hogwarts. More importantly, he saved dozens of Pureblood families who chose to not align with the Dark Lord, and later, many of the more… innocent followers. And in the end, of course, he threw his towel in with Potter and Order."
"Thus saving his own skin," Hermione muttered without much heat.
"Yes," he agreed. "To save his own skin and that of his family. He is a survivor, just as I am… and you, for that matter. Hermione, had he tried to intervene when you were brought to the Manor, it would have meant the slow and terrible death of first his son, then his wife, and finally him. You would have died, along with Potter and Weasley, and it would have doomed me as well."
He sighed, wondering if he had made any sense. "Again, I am not trying to excuse his behaviour or actions or even pureblood politics, but events are far less black and white than someone like Dumbledore would have you believe. I am not asking you to change your mind about him nor take a liking to the man. However, just as you would not stand idly by and allow me to insult Mr Potter, I will not let you be unjustly rude to my best friend. You don't have to respect him; I only request that you are civil to him, and he will do the same."
Her expression, when Snape finally chanced a look, was a cypher. "Why are you telling me all this?" she asked finally.
Waffling for a long moment, he wondered if he should lay it all out on the table. No, he decided, better for the both of us if I leave some wiggle room… "Because Minerva suggested that we might become friends. "
"Did she now?"
"Oddly enough, she did. But I am no Byronic hero, Hermione. Truth be told, I am no hero at all. Lucius and I are different sides of the same coin, and if there is any chance of us becoming friends, you need to accept that. I am a murderer. As you termed it, a terrorist, and many other terrible things besides."
It was impressive how little he could read from her countenance, and Snape was sorely tempted to exercise a spot of Legilimency to discern what effect his speech had on her. She wasn't arguing with him, and he couldn't decide if that was a good sign or not.
"Now," he said dryly, "as I am not nearly as sanguine about the past as this conversation would indicate, I am in need my own little kip before supper. I hope that we can continue this conversation at a later point. I can only imagine that you might have further questions."
"I usually do," she replied quietly, brown eyes watchful.
And that is the best that I can hope for… With a final nod, he left the compartment, desiring a very stiff drink indeed.
A.N.~ Sooooo, what do you think? This was an odd chapter to write- I had planned for it to be all fluff, but in the end, Severus needed to get some things off his chest. It is ever so fun when the characters you write decide to take over.
I received a host of entertaining guesses about who the mystery visitor would be; Blue night fairy guessed it correctly, and Marriage1988 and Amarenima Redwood came close (Narcissa Malfoy and Gildroy Lockhart respectively). Well done, you three! Bonus points to the anonymous reviewer who suggested 'Inspector Poirot with bells on'. I giggled about that one for days. Likewise, merci beaucoup to all those who left reviews last chapter- just an anon reader, Amarenima Redwood, lena1987, mak5258, DADAMistress, a guest, stexgirl2000, marzipan4, Onyx Obsidian, RhodaBush, Marriage1988, Blue night fairy, Nachtwens, frog8590, Silverwolf1986, mama123, Brightki, HarryPGinnyW4eva, ConstanceScully and Banglabou. Last but not least, the one-shot went to review number 17 penned by Marriage1988.
Next chapter- things get... bloody.
Happy reading, and beware the Ides of March!
